Month: March 2018

40 Reflections #18: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

I often look around our home and see the jobs others don’t. The cobwebs housing a spider “that really is going to catch the mosquitos and flies that sneak in…really!” Or the towels that just never make it on the hooks, the windows that are riddled with dog nose kisses, and the baseboards I spitefully glare at while I secretly decide moving would be easier than cleaning them. It’s times like these when I know seemingly mundane jobs need to be done, and I just have to delve into the task. But why go it alone, when many hands make light work? It’s all about recruitment.

There is one specific word beckoning me to pass my children a mop and the bright blue toilet cleaner…or vinegar for those who steer away from toxicity.

The same word my sisters and I grew up knowing, even said under one’s breath, would not end well.

Bored.

Said alone, it’s just one syllable that doesn’t amount to much, but when you accompany it with:

“I-I-I-I-I-I’M” (said in a whiny tone held approximately 3 seconds or more) and then BOOOORRRRED! It takes on a completely new meaning.

Where exactly does “bored” sit on life’s balance beam? Is it fighting for space next to lackadaisical and uncreative, or is it teetering on the edge with solace and quiet? It’s really our call.

Nowadays at the onset of bored, we plop ourselves in front of a screen and detach ourselves from the emotion altogether. This escape from the now builds an emotional chain link fence in front of solace and deprives us of confronting the quiet. The act of being alone and the feelings that accompany it can be uncomfortable at first for some, or always for others.

We clamor to fill the boredom void, much like the panic and announcement of “awkward silence!” when quiet finds its way into a conversation. Why not embrace the quiet, focus on our breathing, meditate, or pray? Life so rarely gives us the gift of calm. So when it does, much like not waking the baby or poking the bear, don’t disturb the solace. Embrace it.

(Unless you hear the whiny “I’m BORED” then, pass over the toilet wand.)

Dig Deep: Meditate in a quiet space.

Lenten Challenge: Go to Adoration, a consummate sanctuary.

 

40 Reflections #17: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Kids say the darndest and deepest things.

Today while teaching a fitness class to five, six and seven year olds, I introduced obstacle courses. When asking the children to share what they already knew, most of them referred to their own back yard or America Ninja Warrior courses. Others swapped adventures to one of the many large bouncy gyms with trampolines lining the floors, ropes hanging from the ceiling, and rightly named monkey bars linking the paths together.

Then one free-spirited, blue-eyed, second grade boy shot his hand up and said, “They’re kind of like life.” My head spun around, and over the mumbling of other responses, I asked him to repeat his thought, to ensure my ears heard correctly. He said, “You know, like life. Sometimes you come up to hard parts and have to work hard to pass them, then there are the easy parts, and then the medium parts.” I asked for an example, which had obviously been brewing. “You know, like one time after I built a huge Lego set my brother ran over and smashed it. That was a hard one to get over.”

Eternally moved by the unblemished thoughts from children, I thanked him for connecting the obstacle challenge to our real lives. We moved on, with teams designing their own obstacle courses around the playground, and sharing their ideas with their classmates.

As adults, we like to believe children don’t, or rather, shouldn’t experience worldly concerns, simply weaving their day from cereal to legos, and Goldfish to Curious George.

Sadly, today’s world doles out alligator size obstacles to our children – from bullying and broken families, to trauma and loss. But much like an obstacle course on the playground, when the “hard parts” confront us, we can find a way to get through them, even if it means rebuilding the Lego Star Wars Jedi Starfighter with Hyperdrive.

Second graders are so smart.

Dig Deep: Go to the nearest playground and use the equipment for body weight exercises.

Lenten Challenge: Think about the obstacles in your life. Pray God will help you overcome.

40 Reflections #16: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

I love to run, no matter the weather. Heat, humidity, snow, wind or rain. One Sunday after church, my husband and I went for a run while our children were in Sunday School. Rain was coming down and I wrangled with my rain jacket’s hood. Our run started and as expected, the hood obscured my peripheral vision.

Since I think and talk on runs, and I can’t just put a jacket on without overanalyzing it, I shared my “hood” thoughts with my captive audience, my dear husband.

Here’s what I saw through my running lens on that rainy day:

1. Through my tunnel view, I thought about those days when all we see is the charmed life everyone else seems to be living, measuring ourselves against them, and attempting to improve ourselves with every bite of kale, stride on the treadmill, and dollar earned.
2. The rain obscured my view as it came down harder, and I quietly said a prayer to always see the world from a lens focused solely on others, eliminate shallow thoughts, and to begin each day with an act of warm generosity. 
3. As our run came to an end, and my aperture began widening, I vowed to try fervently to live a life devoid of comparison, and give freely (remember I said, “try” I later added “go to confession more” if all else fails).

Ultimately from the peep hole my hood provided on our run, I learned the need to eliminate the unnecessary fluff around me, and turn the spotlight on those I can serve.

Dig Deep: Rain or shine, get your workout in, no excuses.

Lenten Challenge: Focus on giving.

40 Reflections – #15:  40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Last week, our son was riding bikes, exploring the woods, and climbing trees with a friend. After a while, he came home from the trails and told us a tree fell on him. A little daunting, but luckily he was with a friend who was able to lift it off. Turned out it was an old, small pine tree he was climbing when it just snapped. Thankfully, he was wearing his bike helmet and ended up with only a scratched face, and legs. On Monday at school, he was questioned by friends about the mark on his face, and he shared his story. In the group of students, one boy pressed further, “Do you have a video of it?” “No video” was the reply. “Well then, it didn’t happen.” They debated back and forth, then finally, being a professional selective listener, our son confirmed, “it really did happen” and then moved on, ignoring further hassle.

At bedtime, he told me this story and we sat and picked it apart like old layers of paint peeling off the wall trying to find the original color. My inaugural feeling on the boy’s need for documentation to prove the truth was a feeling of exhaustion. Nowadays, technology negotiates our day much like a seeing eye dog, but with swipes, texts, and posts. We click pictures of our meals, and memories, shorten words and deliver messages as fast as our thumbs can go. Conversations dwindle with our busy lives, along with the age-old craft of storytelling – exactly what our son was doing.

As young children, there’s faith in stories. Maurice Sendak takes us to a wild rumpus and faithfully floats us home with Max as he arrives home to his warm dinner.

Faith in friendship is palpable when Charlotte sits in her web and says:

“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life, anyway? We’re born, we live a little while, we die. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.”
― E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web

Faith requires vulnerability. Stripping the need for that which is tangible. In “Yes, Virginia There is a Santa Claus” Francis Church interprets faith in his editorial in The New York Sun in 1897:

“You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart.”

The historian Stephen Nissenbaum connects ”Yes, Virginia” with not only faith in Santa Claus, but faith in faith. In the late 19th century religious doubt ran rampant among middle-class Americans. According to Mr. Nissenbaum “…God must exist simply because people so badly needed Him to.” When Mr. Church referred to ”the skepticism of a skeptical age, he was speaking to grown-ups.”

Now that doubt cloaks children too.

We make an emotional investment with every story we tell. Some may believe if a tree falls on a boy in a forest it’s true, doubters will question and want video proof. The vital action is to tell the story, be the raconteur and propel your listeners with you on a journey of faith.

Dig Deep: Go on a Rosary Run! Yesterday I did and it took my mind off the pain. 🙂 Run on!

Lenten Challenge: Pray for the doubters and cynics in the world, truly that’s all of us at times. Keep story-telling alive!

 

 

 

40 Reflections – #14: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Strolling into our daughter’s high school tonight, I chatted with another mom about the academic recognition event we were to attend. Neither of us knew any details, but we both agreed it was another feather in our children’s H.S. hats, boosting their list of activities on college applications…someday. (Who knows if they even need all the plumes of a peacock anyway?) Like most moms of ninth graders, we walk the high school path blindly. Reminding each other of forms, fees, and deadlines,Leaning on each other when tears are shed, all the while being told by “upperclassmen” moms to BEWARE because four years goes REALLY fast. These are the same moms who 10 years ago rolled their baskets (‘buggy’ in the south) by me and the kids in stores:

• Noting how I “REALLY had my hands full”;

(Not true, never carried all 3 kids at once)

• wondering how I did it;

(Probably did it, and am still doing it all wrong)

• and firmly stating: “enjoy it NOW, because it goes by SO FAST!

(half-truth: loud crying slows things down, but everything else races by)

As the event began, students with a 3.75 Grade Point Average (GPA), or higher, were inducted into the academic club. Of course today’s GPA’s are super-sized – climbing up to 5.0 in some areas, compared to the 4.0 of the past. It was a brief ceremony with a strong message from the teacher sponsoring the club. She shared a quote from a math professor from Young Harris College in Georgia:

“Fight the ghost of mediocrity”

I immediately wrote down these words and reflected for a moment. Peering around the auditorium at all the students, I marveled at the hours they had invested in their studies, the projects they designed, Power Point Presentations they clicked their way through, and hours of sleep they lost worrying about tests, grades, and GPA’s. Cycling between school, sports, instruments, and friends, can be hard to revel when kids are trying to become the well-rounded young adults we’ve tried (sometimes with too much vigor) to mold.

As parents or children, we all feel pressure. We strive to find balance, and pray we will have someone there to catch us when we stumble and fall, ultimately helping us transcend mediocrity. Embrace each other, time does fly.

**At best, this post is mediocre, but I’ll embrace that too.

Dig Deep: Power right past mediocrity, and try a 3-minute plank hold today!

Lenten Challenge: As Mathew Kelly from Dynamic Catholic would say: “Be the best version of yourself.”

40 Reflections – #13: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Last week my son had a chest cough, and then a fever, ultimately diagnosed as the flu. As time was critical, I picked up the phone in search of Tamiflu, the possible remedy to stop the virus from escalating. After calling dozens of pharmacies that had too little of the correct dose, only the adult dose, and definitely not the liquid suspension, I realized a four-leaf clover would be easier to stumble upon. Likewise, Tamiflu was only effective for the first 48 hours of symptom onset, so I abandoned the idea.

From the essential oil enthusiasts, elderberry pearls were touted as an even better option. Contemplating my search for the vintage antidote, I heard 90’s guitar music being strummed by my son whose fever had broke and looked 95% better. Plan B is always “let it run its course”.

All the digging for the Tamiflu took me back to the sick days of my childhood. Back in the 70’s band 80’s when I grew up, very rarely did we miss school.  If you were sick, there were two diagnoses: 1) you were throwing up and/or feverish, or 2) you had a cold – likely the result of you “going out with a wet head” which mom said would definitely lead to “catching pneumonia”.

Sickness 1:  With the stomach bug and a fever, you were sure to stay home. A trashcan was placed next to your bed, a towel over your pillow (not sure why – but I do it with my kids), and a 911 antique bell sat on your nightstand to knock over as you lunged for the trashcan alerting anyone close by to help. Mom would give you flat Coke, and if that settled, warm Jello would follow with saltines. The scent of chicken and rice would linger in the air, ready to be served to the rest of the crew and you, IF the aforementioned items settled.

Sickness 2:  Colds. As in any family, sharing is only easy when it involves germs. In fact, when I was five, one of my sisters who had Chicken Pox had a nightmare, climbed into bed with me, and kindly gave me the itchy sickness as she slept soundly.

When we were kids, at the onset of a tickle in your throat, you were directed to:

1. Gargle with saltwater.
2. Apply Mentholatum to your chapped nose (Vics Vapo Rub knockoff).
3. Take your Penicillin.

Notice how I skipped one compulsory step in our current healthcare system? Yes, the “go to the doctor” part.

From birth to 18, mom took my sisters and me to Dr. Tandysh. A kind man, respected by my mom which was key, and the perfect combination of doctor and father. For colds, Dr. Tandysh would typically send us home with a prescription for penicillin.  About 10% of the time, on the way home, we’d swing by Ruppee’s Drug Store, and Victor, the Pharmacist, would fill it while we waited. The other 90% of the time, Mom would say, “We have plenty, no need to get more.”

Plenty of Penicillin?

Who has plenty?

Mom, back in the day.

At home, nestled between the Afrin and Baby Asprin in our lazy susan deemed, “medicine cabinet”, sat a transparent medicine bottle that read:  Penicillin.  By the word refill, I’m guessing there must have been the tired #8 lying on its side representing infinity because the bottle was optimistically half full. Always.

The Penicillin regimen would begin after a few days of consistent cold symptoms. If it was tough to swallow, Mom would crush the pill between two spoons and add honey (10% less yucky). We were then directed to only take it for a few days, thus supporting the stockpile of little white pills. I never thought there were any oddities about our limitless stream of Penicillin. I figured it was a staple item, like soap, toothpaste, or butter. “Pass the Penicillin” was parallel with passing the milk. And for goodness sake, don’t use the last one, save some for the rest of us.

In the ’90s, once I began paying for my own insurance, picking up prescriptions, and visiting doctors, I quickly learned to have plenty of Penicillin was apparently not typical.

Today, if one of our children is sick, the rigmarole begins by:

1. Calling the doctor’s office at 7:28 a.m.,
2. Pressing redial until 7:30 when the office opens,
3. Once answered, set it on the counter on speaker – and from rote memory.
4. Press 1 – then 0 –
5. Then hold.
6. HOLD.
7. HOLD.
8. Attempt to make a sick appointment.
9. Abort the idea of seeing a doctor; a nurse practitioner is fine too.
10. Go to the office; be reminded of your high deductible, which has not been met.
11. Linger outside the “sick” seating area, and avoid touching anything.
12. Prepare to hear “Let it run its course” or receive a prescription.
13. Leave the doctor’s office.
14. Realize you forgot to get a note for school.
15. Return to doctor’s office, attain note, and slip out flu-free. You hope.
16. Call Mom and have her pass you the Penicillin via mail.

My childhood was a much simpler time. We ate clean, organic meals without having to label them as such. The exercise was simply going outside and playing. Phones were attached to walls. Hose water was quenching and even tastier when made into Tang. Finally, my favorite part of growing up was having family down the street if you needed them, or just some of their Penicillin.

Dig Deep: Consider trying Essential Oils. May save you a trip to the doctor.

Lenten Challenge: Pray for someone who is sick.