grinchy

With only a week to go before my due date, I'm ready to meet Baby Fig. People keep asking Mr. Kenobi if I'm "nesting." While the inner pits (a.k.a. inside our house) could definitely use some cleaning, I have been ferociously working (and delegating) outside work. This has led to some crazy moments that should be chalked up to "nesting" - or something other than sanity.

Take, for example, my beautiful gardens. The newly planted flowers and greenery are actually surviving. This is a miracle unto itself, but the fact remains that I may actually get some blooms and vegetables on this shady property. Of course, much could still go wrong on this plan, but at least we've made it home with plants, put them into the freshly amended soil, and covered with what seemed like acres worth of bark dust. It looks nice, and things are growing.

The problem lies with neighborhood animals. Or perhaps, just perhaps, the problem lies with my present condition. I'm not admitting any intolerance, but have to confess to insisting that Mr. Kenobi string up makeshift fencing with stakes and bright pink twine to keep passing doggies from tromping through the itty-bitty plantings. My hope was, of course, that these fences would also restrain the mysterious kitties who frequent my yard as a litter box.

The fence has kept dogs off the gardens. That, and perhaps I'm biased, but it seems that most dog owners are more aware of their pets' activities, since dogs are usually on a leash while moseying about the neighborhood. Cats, meanwhile, seem to roam unsupervised, especially at night.

I have a problem with this. First, if you're a cat owner, please know that I love you (if I know you) and even like your animal. I'm allergic to him or her, so I probably won't ever be a "cat person," but I am an animal lover in general. However, I also recognize that your beloved animal is put at risk when you open the door, shoo him outside, and wait until morning to welcome him back for a can of tuna. There are predators, cars, and other dangers that, in my opinion, are reasons enough to keep a litter box & pet indoors or supervised on leash. That, of course, and municipal codes requiring your responsibility.

Ah, but yes. Cats like to roam, don't they? Well, then somebody is going to be unhappy: you, me, or your kitty. See, maybe it's pregnancy brain, but I have come to the conclusion that your cat's right to roam ends where my mulch begins. Especially when cat poo is a known risk for health. In particular, my health and little Baby Fig. Herein lies where I'm toeing the line of becoming the neighborhood crazy lady.

Let me be clear: I like animals, and don't want to harm anyone or their pets. So, I've looked at humane, kind, even loving ways to keep the kitty poop out of my gardens. I've used spray bottles and shower settings from the water hose. I've tried cayenne pepper. (Incidentally, this does work, but cayenne must be purchased in bulk if you ever water things and/or have more than a few square feet of garden space.) I've had Mr. Kenobi put up fences, both with string and stakes, as well as fully fencing the back yard. I've even tried - gasp! - directly telling neighbors that I don't like the cats roaming about.

Still, kitties and their souvenirs pepper my flower gardens, scratch up baby blooms, and generally annoy me. I used to have some measure of perspective, but the recent season of allergies (intolerable, especially since I can't take any real medications right now!) and daily growth of my tummy have somehow diminished my sense of humor. Recently, a friend recommended an eco-friendly, creative solution: plant plastic forks, handle down, in the soil. Evidently, the forks won't hurt the cats, but discourage them from littering about in the gardens. I'm game to try anything.

So, (and yes, this is where "crazy" and "nesting" start to flow into the same sentence), I have planted dozens of forks around hostas, impatients, roses, and petunias. What once looked like a nicely manicured garden now looks like a curiously planted picnic remnant. And I, the once patient and well-humored lady next door, have plastic forks planted amid flowers, in hopes that I can deter my neighbors' cats from doing business in my gardens.

Lovely. When Baby Fig arrives, perhaps my patience and perspective will return. In the meantime, I'm hoping the kitties will make some new habits or at least we can all laugh a bit at my version of "nesting."

neighborly influence

As you might guess from the lack of posts here, I have been quite busy.  In particular, last week was full.  On Friday, Obi-2 & I helped out at Obi-1's school with a "Reading Well."  Basically, the PTA purchases a boat-load of books, and each child in the school is invited to come in and choose one, free of charge, to keep.  My friend was in charge, and nobody signed up to help her all day, so we dropped in and held her new baby while she facilitated the afternoon.  It wasn't very interesting for Obi-2, but he was a trooper and lovely helper for those hours.

By the end of Friday afternoon, I decided the boys (and I) deserved a little celebration.  We headed into our local Italian cafe, which is complete with those beautiful glass-fronted displays of decadent treats.  Obi-2's class had been studying the letter "S" all week, so I offered to get the boys S cookies, which excited them both.  

When we walked in, we were greeted by the incredible smells of fresh bread and pastries, and the smiling face of Grandpa Frank.  Grandpa Frank is the owner's dad, and has recently moved to the rainy northwest from New York.  He is everything sweet about an Italian grandpa, and he loves kids.  Problem is, he always thinks I have girls... and greets them as such.  He's figured out that Obi-1 is a boy, though he always asks me, "Is this a girl or a boy?  I can't tell!"    

No matter how much I hint or correct him, he always greets Obi-2 as a "baby doll" or "cutest little sister" or something similar.  I usually smile, try a couple corrections, and then move on.  On this particular day, however, Grandpa Frank and his friends made it a veritable little Italy in the cafe.  The sights, conversations, and smells just took me to another place, and so we enjoyed the familial feel of the cafe with them. Grandpa Frank took special interest in us, a mom and her two little ones at a table.  He kept complimenting the girls - and when he finally remembered that Obi-1 is a boy, he apologized but complimented his sister, anyway.

We got our "S cookies" and sat down to enjoy a little Mama-boy time.  Then, Grandpa Frank came up to our table.  He looked at me and said, "What are their names again?"  Well, I can't reveal this to you online friends, but let's just say their names are pretty basic, easily pronounced names.  They're not super common names, but they're also not odd inventions or exotic entities, either.

"You people out here have such weird names for kids!  Why don't you just name them something normal?"  Grandpa Frank admonished me for choosing names he couldn't understand.  Then he looked at the boys, especially Obi-1, and said, "Do me a favor, kid.  Next time you come in here, get a proper hair cut. You look like a girl.  You look like your sister!"

At this point, I had to step in.  "Actually, they're both boys, Frank.  Brothers."  He looked at me, looked at Obi-2, and back at me, totally surprised.

  

"You're kidding!  Then he needs a haircut, too!  Geesh, you people need to put labels or something on your kids.  I just embarrassed that boy.  They look like girls." 

No, Grandpa Frank, you didn't embarrass him, but you're starting to push some buttons.  All of this reminds me of my Bampa, who probably would have done exactly the same thing.   Unfortunately, my Bampa died when Obi-1 was a little baby.  He was the last of Mr. Kenobi's & my living grandparents, and so we lost a generation in our families.  My boys' grandpas (our dads) simply cannot get away with the grumpy-old-man routine... partly because they live too far away, and mostly because they're simply too young! 

On the other hand, Grandpa Frank has earned the age to be one of those truly treasured old men in the neighborhood.  The kind who says what he thinks, even if it's not very politically correct.  The kind who tells a 5-year old with beautiful, curly hair that he needs a haircut because he looks like a girl.  The kind who calls a long-haired, surfer-boy 3-year-old that he's a darling little "baby doll."

We all need a Grandpa like that once in a while.  Too much PC, diplomatic talk makes us soft and overly sensitive.  Plus, sometimes we need somebody to be definitive about things.  Grandpa Frank believes boys should have short hair.  Period.  This weekend, my boys got hair cuts.  They were due, and it is time to let go of the toddler locks and trim it almost above their ears.  It's not a buzz cut, and some will say they still look a little girlish, but it's cut nonetheless.

They got to watch "The Grinch" while I trimmed & cut inches - inches! - of curls from their head.  Obi-1 commented as I went, "You're kind of like the grinch, Mama, cause you're taking all my hair!"  He wasn't upset, however.  He was ready to have a cut, and thrilled to watch a movie on a Saturday morning.  I, of course, felt a twinge of loving sadness that can only be delivered by a Grandpa.  It was hard to see the curls fall, but they always grow back.  By next summer, they can be surfer boys again.

And in the meantime, Grandpa Frank (and my brother, and many others who've commented on my long-haired hippie boys) will be pleased. 

honor

I hope you had a chance to thank a veteran today.  They often don't ask for thanks.  Sometimes they shy from the attention you offer.  Yet, thank them anyway.  Veterans have demonstrated service to us, our country, and often our world.  They do this with little pay, slight recognition, and even less time with the people and places they love.  They do what they do, often to leave their service with more scars than joys.  

My brother is a veteran.  In my selfishness, I sometimes wish he wasn't.  I sometimes wish he didn't have a calling that takes him into harm, away from those who love him.  I sometimes wish it was easier to understand his work, or support his deployments, or agree with his leaders.  Being a veteran has cost him holidays and birthdays away from his young daughter.  It has stressed his marriage with long-distance phone calls and parenting from afar.  It has sent him into months of loneliness, and moved him far from his home.  

His work has offered opportunities to earn respect and insight from some of the world's best people.  Being a veteran has given him much work, much pride, and many skills.  It has shown him the mixed reaction of citizens who prefers sound-bites and statistics over understanding the complexities of his work.  It has made him a simple and convenient image for those who want to elevate their political ideas.  It has also helped him understand the richness of his own ideas and beliefs.

If you don't have a brother, or relative, or friend who's a veteran, I'm sorry.  You may have to look to a stranger to say thanks.  They are walking & working among you.   They are also hidden.  Look in a soup kitchen, shelter, or hospital to find many who deserve your honor.  

Thank you, bro, for your service and commitment to a calling I don't always understand & sometimes don't want to support.  Thank you, veterans, for the honor you've shown us all.

sundance

When we moved, many people prayed for the boys and I to transition easily.  They were wise friends, knowing that the loss of routine can make life difficult.  When and where to get groceries, how to run errands in the shortest amount of time and traffic, where to tune in for weather or news, and many other mundane details of life can provide comfort in a new place.  All of the new details could have easily overwhelmed this young mom of two little boys.  

In fact, they did for a little while.  I couldn't find a bulk grocery section like the one I was used to shopping in Seattle.  The freeway system crisscrossed the rivers and bridges in a confusing muddle.  The library was home to rowdy teenagers after school.  The church search - well, that was long and lonely.  And of course, all of our friends were three hours away.  More than a couple times that I sat on my steps and cried over the loss of "normal."

Then, a month of so into our move here, I went to a different place for our Monday grocery trip.  Within steps of our parking spot, life got a little sunnier.  We met Sundance, and he helped us make this place home.

Week after week, Sundance has greeted us as we headed into our grocery adventures.  At times, we stop and visit on the way in, slowly getting to know this remarkable man and his story.  I've heard about his college baseball scholarship and completed bachelor's degree.  I listened to how his sister took care of his parents, and how he'd see them around the holidays.  I've heard tidbits of the struggles he had faced in life and decisions that had lasting impact on his life.  When the boys are impatient or rambunctious, he's reminded them to "listen to their mother" as we turned in through the automatic doors.  When they are modeling for best-kid-of-the-year brochures, he says something like, "your mom must have taught you well."  I think we often all needed those little notes of humor and genuine compliments in our morning.

My friends have teased that I must take that song, "Who are the people in your neighborhood...?" pretty seriously.  Perhaps - I admit that I go to that grocery store because of Sundance, Anastasia "the samples girl," and Suzie "the checker."  There are closer, maybe even better, places to get our groceries.  These people make the trip for milk and sundries something we actually look forward to.  Who can say that about grocery shopping with little kids?

One our way out of the grocery store, we often stop to buy a paper from Sundance. Occasionally, when his short poems were published, he'd point them out with contagious confidence.  I love reading his creations, little excerpts of his personality in short, poignant lines.  When we don't buy a paper, we often pick up a little something in the aisles for Sundance.  The boys take turns getting to carry Sundance's favorite strawberry cereal bars or a tall water bottle as I push the cart past the flowers and out the door.  Sometimes we'll stop and visit some more, and other times we have to leave with a little wave and, "see you next week, Sundance!"  

"God bless you and all your loved ones," Sundance always says with a smile.  At first, I smiled and nodded, but it wasn't long before I struck up a conversation with him about his beliefs.  What did "God" mean to him?  Sundance was unashamed to answer, "I'm a Christian.  I've been following Jesus for a long time, and that's just the way I live."  His beliefs were solid pieces of his character, and his tolerance of differences was far-reaching and sincere. Every person who knew him, regardless of their own beliefs, is blessed with his signature goodbye.

Sundance's life is simple.  He once described the room he rented for $20 a day.  "I'm simple, but happy," he'd say confidently.  "I don't have a lot of the things that cause stress for people.  I don't care if gas prices rise - I don't have a car.  I love my work, and live my life."  His one little luxury is a small tv that brought various baseball games to his room in the summer.  Far from regretting what might have been, had injury not dashed his possibilities of a long pitching career, Sundance was quite content and peaceful with his life.  Once we talked about how he'd tried to apply for various other, higher paying professional jobs.  However, at his age, with some of his past mistakes, it was difficult to find an employer willing to invest in him. He wasn't bitter or even disappointed, though.  His life was blessed, and he loved the people and work he encountered each day.  Blessed, he assured me, didn't mean easy, however.  Some seasons are better for street paper vendors, and others are more difficult.  Nearing 60 years old, he knew he would probably continue newspaper sales every day for the rest of his life.  There would be no retirement, just years of days of work.

Sundance has always noticed if we missed a Monday morning at the store.  As we rounded the corner and stopped to say hello, he'd ask about our recent trips or vacations.  I've watched many conversations where he patiently listened to 3 and 4-year old boys relay their adventures.  He always seemed happy to see us back on routine.  I've been amazed and humbled thathe would know our habits so well, but I also appreciated that things had become "normal" and comfortable enough in our routine.  Finally, it seems, we have a little community in the errands and grocery trips of life.

A couple weeks ago, I went to get groceries and missed Sundance.  No other paper vendor stood out there and I assumed he must have been sick - or perhaps lucky enough to get tickets to a baseball game - that particular day.  It was unusual for him to miss a moment of his work, but I didn't worry too much about it.  I just missed him, and the boys missed giving high-fives out the side of the shopping cart and picking out strawberry bars.  I actually looked forward to the next time we'd see Sundance, so I could let him know we had missed him and remind him that he's appreciated and noticed.  

As it turns out, I won't get to tell him.  As I walked from our car last Thursday, I was greeted by a new face selling papers.  Sundance, he reported, had passed away a week-and-a-half earlier.   He had evidently gone in his sleep, or while watching tv.  

Stunned, I entered the store and tried to navigate the cheese options while I processed the news.  I've written before about minivan theology.   It's the seminary of life - where the beliefs we hold meet the questions and challenges of young minds.  It's living out my faith in the presence of little eyes, ears, and lives that soak it up and imitate me, for better or worse.  It's answering "why" to the things that seem most important, yet most difficult to articulate.   In a grocery store, between samples of hummus and various scents of dish soap, minivan theology took a new turn.  What happens when somebody dies?  In particular, what happened to Sundance?

I am so grateful for the conversations I had with Sundance over the past two years.  With confidence I could explain how his death is sad for us, but actually happy for Sundance.  I could hold back my own tears in order to let my children hear how Sundance is with God forever.  I could remember that this man, nearly sixty years old, will never have to work through old age, trying to pull together the daily rent and food costs of his simple life.  I could acknowledge that death, however gaping in loss to us, is the end of pain and loneliness, of standing in the cold rain to sell papers, of accepting the judgements of those who don't recognize the human blessing before them.  I could look at my children, and agree with them that it was "so nice" to have had him as a friend, even if we're very sad now to lose him.

Sundance was a remarkable human being.  He was a gift to that store, to every customer he greeted on that side of the automatic doors, to every ear that heard, "God bless you and all your loved ones."  He gave a new face to my understanding of working poverty - one of strength and gratitude, of love and discipline, of compassion and confidence.   

I will miss him.  I will grieve the change on that entrance to the grocery store.  I will continue to process the loss with my boys, who daily ask about Sundance's life and God's decisions.  Most of all, I will be thankful, selfishly, for the friendship and comfort I found in our weekly visits.  He helped me find "home" in this new place, and now his Maker has taken him home forever.

two wheels

My dad ran behind his six-year-old daughter, a dishtowel wrapped around the back of my banana-seat to hoist me up as I tipped.  Around and around the block he ran, while I yelled, "don't let go!"  Suddenly I didn't hear him breathing  behind my shoulder.  I looked, crashed, and cried indignantly, "you let go!"  

He saw that I could do it, and had confidence in me that I didn't yet have in myself.  That, and he was tired of running.

Flash forward to my life as a parent.  Obi-1, who is nearly 5, has been itching to ride a "two wheeler."  Our neighbor boy, "Li'l Joe," and his family introduced us to family biking.  I think it's fair to say they've encouraged Mr. Kenobi's commute-by-bike, showing confidence that he could do it long before we were certain.  They loaned us little bikes when all we thought necessary for a 2 year old's riding pleasure was a tricycle.  Once Obi-1 watched his friend take off on a 2-wheeler, he immediately wanted to do the same.  For two weeks, we've been trying to teach him patience, though not very successfully!  

And so you can imagine Saturday evening, while the neighborhood kids were all out riding up and down the block on scooters and bikes, that Obi-1 again asked to ride a 2-wheeler.  Without so much as a second thought, Li'l Joe's dad got up and went to his garage, returning with a smaller 2-wheeled bike.  I was skeptical, but gave Obi-1 the go-ahead to get on.  However, I looked to my neighbor and said something about hoping we didn't spend the evening in the emergency room.  

Fortunately, Obi-1 didn't share my lack of confidence.  He pushed himself along by foot for a few yards, then pulled up his feet and pedaled.  Within a few more yards, he was riding.  Mr. Kenobi and I didn't even have to leave our lawn chairs.

Sometimes you need somebody else to believe in you.  Other times, you have to just believe in yourself.

give em what they want

Dancing is to the eye

what music is to the ear.

~ Marjorie Forney, dance arts pioneer

I'm teaching dance this week at a local arts camp.  While I've assisted in a few classes over the past decade, this is the first time I've pulled out my ballet slippers in the great northwest.  Let's just say it was exciting but uncomfortable!  Uncomfortable mostly because of the wardrobe challenges: either the shoes and clothes are smaller, or I am bigger. Um, yeah.  Like that's a question. 

Anyway, about 22 kids signed up for "dance" class.  The brochure had a sentence about creative movement and introductory dance when describing my classes.  Evidently this was widely read as "hip hop dances" by the young students.  While they seem to be having fun in spite of this, I've been mildly amused at the parents who've let me know they were surprised their children were getting "ballet instead of hip hop."

"I'm excited she's getting ballet.  It's just that we thought she was going to learn some new hip hop dances.  But ballet is great.  Really."

First, folks, it's hardly ballet.  If it were ballet, there would be technique.  And bars.  And mirrors.  Have I mentioned I don't need mirrors?   Moreover, I wouldn't teach ballet to sweet, unsuspecting, introductory "art camp" kids.  I've safely proven (in my mother's studio) that I'm a strict ballet teacher, even for trained students. 

So, I'm teaching creative movement.  It's a simple combination of basic ballet, jazz, and modern technique, to give them a small taste of dance.  A wide variety of music inspires them to move with lots of rhythms, instruments, and musicality.  I hope they'll finish the week with some safe ways to warm up their muscles, several basic movements (and vocabulary) from different dance disciplines, a few short pieces of choreography, and some basic performance and theater etiquette.  Most of all, I hope they have an overwhelming urge to put on some music and dance!

What I'm not teaching is hip hop.  When done well, it's incredibly technical and impressive.  However, it's not my area of expertise and it's not something that is well taught in a 5-day kids' camp.  Let me be clear: I do not oppose hip hop dance.  In fact, I have a healthy appreciation for the cultural and artistic contribution it has provided the dance world.  That said, there are a few problems with me teaching hip hop dance to this group of 1st - 6th graders:

1.  Skill Levels.  Most of my week's students have little to no dance background.  Hip hop quickly leads to injuries if done poorly.  In this type of class structure, I can't possibly make sure everyone is using perfect technique or following complex choreography safely.

2. Influence.  Often, the hip hop seen in music videos and even dance squads is charged with provocative moves and outfits.  I can't control what ideas kids might have of this genre, and so it's hard to teach appropriate choreography and not disappoint.  Plus, one of my primary goals is to give them creative space, and I don't want the shake-yer-booty moves they have learned elsewhere influencing our time.

3. Exposure.  Hip hop is the most common form of dance most of these kids have experienced.  This being a camp and all, I'd like to offer a taste of the art of dance that they may not know.  It's a chance to broaden their horizons and expose them to something new.

So, surprise or not, we're just doing "dance."  Not hip hop, not ballet, and not really any other specific genre.  This is not going to take the place of a high quality class from a trained and experienced teacher.  It's simply a fun way for them, and I, to use our bodies as instruments - dancing with joy to the song set before us.

day 1

All the nations you have made shall come 

and worship before you, O Lord,

and shall glorify your name.

(Psalm 86:9)

We've arrived in Mexico with health, good spirits, and eagerness to begin our work.  Last night was a chance to rest in our dorm-style rooms at the camp.  Today we headed into the Queretaro City to participate with our host church.  Less than a year old, this is a growing and vibrant group of people who are eager to greet us with hospitality.  They have grown to include a few families from a nearby village, and hope to plant a church more locally for this core group.  Our work this week will be to help them connect with neighbors and raise interest in this little rural village's new church.

Today, however, will be spent with the "mother" church, or the main congregation.  We drive through Mexican roads to a designated meeting place, and then are escorted with a host family to the church.  To our surprise, the van pulled up to the curb in a residential neighborhood.  This service is held in an enclosed, tiled courtyard in front of a modest but welcoming home.   For those familiar with "house churches," this would be somewhat familiar, but ours is a group accustomed to buildings and coffee bars, video projection and classrooms.

Our host explained that in Mexico, most people define a church's "success" by its large (nice) building, kids' clubs, programs, and the like.  Their ministry is counter-cultural in its vision.  This church sets out to plant churches that multiply, rather than grow into enormity.  They focus on discipleship, leader development, and building local church connected to others in the region.  They don't desire large programs or buildings.  Rather, they set out to build communities of Christ-followers and their (often unbelieving) neighbors, and avoid the common "insider" clubs of other evangelical churches in their country.  It is a challenging proposition, but one that is gaining strength and enthusiasm with those they serve.

The service was simple but beautiful.  A prayer began the time, then we sang a few songs.  A leader stood at the front and asked for prayer requests.  Somebody's father was ill, another's son is struggling in school, and similar stories of family needs described.  A few reports were given to share God's faithful answers to prior week's prayers.  Toward the end of this time, a young woman stood up, and with accented English, she shared that our team's arrival was an answer to many prayers for this congregation - reminders to them of God's provision and blessing across the world.  They were excited to share in the week ahead, and grateful to host us.   

Smiles and nodding heads told us that everyone in that courtyard shared her heartfelt words.  Just when we thought we could not be more welcomed, a few people came out of the home carrying trays of cake and drinks.  It seems this church has a "break" much like our home church enjoys, and today they were celebrating the arrival of new friends.  We mingled and spoke, some of us with clear Spanish and others of us (me included) in phrases mixed with pantomime.  As connections grew, we realized how much we all looked forward to this week.

As service continued, a leader stood to teach a short lesson.  He explained that this church first and always finds their teaching in scripture, not the dictates of a church or particular person.  While people may fail and churches may error, he reminds the group that God is faithful and true.  Those in attendance opened bibles or shared views over a shoulder of the friend next to them.  Together, the group read aloud from Psalms.  Then the teacher asked them to turn to the New Testament, where he read and began to explain a passage.  

Younger children gathered in a side room for a bible study geared toward their understanding, and the boys began to squirm in the growing heat and Spanish language.  I joined a couple of other mothers with very young kids in the living room.   To my delight, one of our hosts is from the Seattle area, so not only is she from the US (and speaks English!), but we have much to discuss (including a shared delight in Starbucks' coffee and vision for families growing together in faith).  Our children quickly introduced themselves to each other and began playing, and the mothers explained that each week, parents flow from courtyard to indoors with little children, helping to train their young ones to be part of the church while giving grace to those who have a hard time sitting still for a teaching time.  

After the teaching time, we all returned to the main group, and the young class' teacher announced they had some special recognition for the fathers in the group.  It was Dia del Padres, so each child has written the blessings they have from the fathers, recognizing and thanking their dads in a special way.  The dads were brought to the front of the room, and each child had a chance to share.  One little girl broke into tears part-way into her paragraph, and her father embraced her with tears in his own eyes.  Even my boys were invited to participate, complete with a hand-drawn picture of Mr. Kenobi in the company of Bob the Tomato & Larry the Cucumber.  In small voices they recognized the fun they enjoy with their daddy, then ran to give him enormous hugs.  

This tradition is one we will see repeated this week - taking time out to publicly recognize the people God has given into our lives, the gifts and love we've received through others.  These Christians make a priority to show gratitude for the gifts of God, and in the process remind each other of the treasures in his community.

How sweet it was to hear their words to one another and our team, and especially poignant to see each directed praise to our Father.  I'm not sure I've ever felt so welcome, anywhere, as I did this day.  As we mingle and say goodbyes to this church, I realized the first of my lessons:

We thought we came to give and to serve.  

It is apparent that we have also come to learn and receive.

giving and going

Dear Friends,

A while back, we began seeking ways our whole family might serve in other areas of the world.  We’re excited to set out on such an adventure, and we’re asking for your prayers while we go.

This summer, we will spend a week serving families near Queretaro, Mexico.  A local ministry there is is planting a church in the very small town of San Idelfonso.  This organization has already helped local Christians plant several churches in Mexico, and is committed to encouraging church growth in this area. They are reaching out in neighborhoods with many activities and ministries, and developing genuine relationships with their neighbors.  We will be staying nearby, and working with those families to establish and encourage them.  Together, we hope to help a community of grace and truth grow in central Mexico.  

For many reasons, this is an amazing opportunity.  The various plans of our partners there will offer everyone a chance to contribute on this trip.  Even Obi-1 (4 1/2) & Obi-2 (3), will find they are gifted people, sent out to share their time & talents.  We’re excited to show our boys, and our neighbors in Mexico, that we have a hope, joy, and purpose worth sharing.  Hopefully, these values of “giving and going” will continue to grow in our family. 

As we prepare, we ask for your help and prayers.  We need safe travels, open hearts (for us and those we serve), and abilities to do whatever is required of us.  We’ll also need patience and perseverance while we’re in a foreign place.  We look forward to worshipping with new friends, and seeing the church grow in this area.  We hope to connect with local people, and demonstrate our faith in real, practical ways.  Most of all, we pray that those we meet will see Christ’s love in our lives, and be attracted to Him.  

Throughout the week, we will spend time doing outreach, evangelism, children's programs in the park, and meeting local neighbors.  We anticipate a lot of walking!  We will be fed by friends in Mexico, and relax with friends who join us from the US.  Most of our time will be in rural towns, but we will also have a day to enjoy the city of Queretaro.  While we hope for a chance to update the blog from the road, I'm not sure if internet access will be available.

If you have any questions or thoughts, please email us or leave a comment here.  Thank you for supporting us in so many ways.  We are excited to share our stories when we return!

Blessings,

The Kenobi Family

moving day

We hugged her goodbye, and wished her safe travels.  Our collegiate friend is headed home for summer break.  She's spent days, nights, and many meals with us over the past several months.  Sometimes we joke I'm like her mother, encouraging "good choices" and listening with sympathy as she relays the angst of young friendships and freshman classes.  

I prefer to consider myself her big sister.  After all, I'm only 11 years older!  While hers is a different age and season than mine, we have much in common.  I love the fun and youth of our friendship.  I also enjoy the challenge of getting to know her.  She is beautiful, yet humble.  She is quiet, yet engaging.  She is strong, yet yielding.  She is wise, yet learning.  I will miss her, and look forward to the days when she returns to our dinner table and the "pink room" upstairs.

Meanwhile, however, the pink room will not go empty.  We hugged another beloved woman hello, and asked her about her most recent travels.  These two guests, part of our family by commitment and choice, actually passed one another in the hall.  One carried duffle bags and biology notebooks out, while the other carried work suits and luggage in.  

Mr. Kenobi's mother, better known as "Grandma," moved in today.  She needs a place to stay while sorting out where she and Grandpa will decide to live. Grandpa has a job he loves in California, but her job is here in the northwest.  Either one will have to relocate, or they will spend another year (or more) enduring the interstate commute to one another.  When one asks her about a timeline for her life, it's not as simple as a college term.  Only they know how long this will last.

So, today was moving day.  I prepared another meal for five, and processed the transition.  This morning, I was jokingly referred to as "Mom" by a girl who stands eye-level across the kitchen.  Now I'm the daughter in the house, standing eye-to-eye with another generation.  It's time to sort identities. I make the home, and yet am finding my place in the family; I'm a friend, and yet a child.  I love the man, she loves the son.  I parent, but she grandparents.  

Together, we'll share a space and family until the next season begins.   

it takes a village

There's a popular saying, though I'm not sure I buy into it completely, that "it takes a village to raise a child."  Perhaps it does.  Today, for better or worse, I was part of a child's village.

A young teen & his friend were walking down the sidewalk as I turned the corner.   Piled in our minivan, blocks away from our mac & cheese lunch, we were all eager to get home.  I looked over and saw this young guy toss a metal bed frame (the type that holds the mattress only) over a fence.  He and his friends skipped into a jog, heading to the convenience store for their snack.

I could have gone on, or ignored them, or rambled about "kids these days," but I'm glad I didn't.  This is my neighborhood, and that's my neighbor.  "Love thy neighbor," I thought, and "love is patient and kind... love speaks the truth..."  Okay, the teen and homeowner are my neighbors, so how do I love them?  

I whipped around the corner and pulled into the parking lot just as they emerged with their sodas and chips.   "Hey," I called out my window, somewhat surprised when they turned around.  "I saw you toss that bed frame into that yard.  You need to go apologize to that neighbor and get it back."

"Uh.  Okay?"  the kid seemed shocked and sheepish.  Some crazy lady in a minivan was watching for his reaction.  The boys started to cross the street and walk past the yard.  I started to turn home, but saw them walking away.  Do I continue, or shrug it off?  

"No - that yard belongs to this house," I said, pointing to the entrance.  

"Now?!"  he seemed incredulous.  

"Yes, now.  If I don't see you try to make this right by yourself, I'll need to report it to the police.  You made a mistake and you can fix it."

He looked a little surprised and annoyed, but handed his soda to a friend and motioned them on.  He hiked up a dilapidated set of stairs to a house that hasn't seen a lot of attention for many years.  He knocked at the door, then peered back at me, waiting at the curb.  After a couple minutes, it was clear nobody would answer, so he turned down the stairs and came near my car.

"Nobody's there," he sighed, as if to say, "are you happy now?!"  

I handed him a notebook and pen.  "What's this for?"  he asked.  

"Write them a note.  Say who you are, where you go to school, and what you've done.  You seem like a smart guy.  You know it was wrong, so tell them you're sorry, and you're willing to come back and get it."  I clicked the pen and handed it over.  With another small eye roll, he started writing.  I could see "my name is...." and "I go to ... school" and "I'm sorry..." and "I'll come back to get it." written in earnest.  I watched, sort of surprised, as he wrote a full paragraph of honest apology.

He finished and looked at me, unsure of what to do with his note.  I smiled and said, "Good. Now go put it in his mailbox slot & head back to school.  That's all you can do for now."

With little reaction, he went back up the stairs and inserted the note while we watched from the minivan.  Once he came back, he looked at me as if to say, "anything else?!"  I just smiled again, truly wanting to encourage him.  "You did the right thing," I said, really meaning it. "Thanks."

And that was it.  He headed back to school, we headed back home, while a few teachable moments were created in my minivan.  He didn't look at all resentful - so perhaps it was a teachable moment for him, too.  We were, for that moment, a village.

your definition

"Hey Mama, do you know what compassion means?"

 - Obi-1, age 4+

This question came between bites of peanut-butter & jelly sandwich, in one of those wonderful, spontaneous moments of motherhood.  

I think I do know what it means.

When I asked for his thoughts, he gave a really sweet & true definition.  It made me think about other responses.  So, I'm posing a question, rather than an answer today.

Do you know what compassion means?  

What do you say?

thirteen school thoughts

Our district is doing some research to understand what neighborhood parents would need in order to keep their kids in the public school system through graduation. While local elementary schools continue to improve and gain popularity, the high schools haven't overcome the stigma of "urban school problems."  So, I was asked by a friend of a friend to compile a list of my thoughts about local schools.   

It seems that many local parents who are involved and support their neighborhood school are opting to move into the suburbs or send their children into "chartered" waters instead of stick with the local public system.  Many believe that city schools are a failure, and parents who know the choices (and can afford to make them) are making moves to get their children a solid education.  It is safe to note, however, that suburban schools face their own challenges, as do charter and private schools.  In short, the public schools around here are trying to see if there are long-term solutions, not just band-aids, to make education better.

I'm not completely sure how I feel about all of this. I have many friends who homeschool, others who send their kids to private or charter options, a few in local schools, and even more who have moved to the suburbs. I hear the widespread opinion that city schools aren't teaching our children. However, when we moved here I looked at the numbers and started talking to parents and teachers, and appearances aren't always reality.

So, I've enlisted the help of Obi-1 and Obi-2 to think about school. We're years off from high school, but kindergarten is just around the corner. With their help, we put together a list of ideas about what schools should have, do, and be. I'm very curious to see the response of parents and educators who have far more insight on this topic. 

In your comments, please remember that I try to protect my family's identity & neighborhood on this blog. Thanks!

Question: What should we have in school?  (with MamaToo's thoughts in notes)

1. Reading! (Literacy, languages, and learning by research are all important skills.  Though this blog is often guilty of typos, it's important that my children learn to read, speak, and write well.)
   


2. Color & art projects (Yes - art, art, art!)
   


3. Playing with friends (A place of safe, positive, diverse social interactions is important.)


4. Telling stories (Hearing the stories of other students & teachers encourages learning, as well as creates memories and builds a positive teen culture.  Building listening skills encourages life-long learning.)


5. Jumping & running (Absolutely - an active life is a healthy life!)


6. Counting (Math skills spill into nearly every career and subject, and are critical pieces of education.)


7. Singing songs & playing instruments (Again, yes - art, art, art - more than just colors!  Creative skills are problem solving skills!  While we're at it, how about dancing and acting, too?)


8. Using a computer (More than just games!  A strong technology training equips children to be part of the culture and pace of our society.)


9. Learning about animals and plants.  (Fresh out of the book Ralph S. Mouse, my boys are eager to have a classroom pet.  In the bigger picture, I will look for strong science curricula & teachers, as well as many opportunities for experiential learning.)


10. Kindergarten in the morning, so we can have lunch with Mama (In a longer-range view, a balance of school & school work gives value to time with family.  This is important to me, and will factor into our school & activities choices.  Hours of homework after hours of school leaves little time for human interaction.)


11. We can build things.  (I seem to have some kinesthetic learners on my hands!  I do think it will be important to see varied teaching & learning styles represented in classrooms, to stretch their learning.  Also, a variety of technical/skill classes available, in addition to strong academic subjects, will convince me a school is committed to preparing every child to use his/her gifts.)


12. From MamaToo: this should go without saying, but kids better be able to use the bathroom, hang out in the library, and go up and down stairwells safely.  I'm pretty sure they can in our local schools, but I've heard horror stories of basic safety needs run awry by gangs or unruly kids.  I can't send my kids somewhere they aren't safe.


13. Also from MamaToo: a diverse population.  We chose to live in an urban area, so I can't see sending my children to a school that doesn't have students of different economic, ethnic, political, or even religious backgrounds.  I think something more homogenous wouldn't represent the place we live and the people we love.  I'm not seeking out challenge, but I don't want to keep them from engaging diversity.  Obviously, that brings its own challenges, but those are part of real life in the real world.  It seems better to learn how to interact and succeed within diversity while you're still young.

p.s. I almost forgot - many people write lists on Thursdays, not all of them as heavy topics as school choices! :)  Be sure to visit them, and leave your link in comments if you're a TT-er! :)

let your light so shine

The house was exactly what we wanted. The neighborhood looked fantastic - neighbors were out playing with their children, and homes were kept in a way that said, "I like living here." Our realtor showed us through the home, and we knew it was the right place. As we started to drive away, we noticed the next-door neighbor's house didn't fit. It was in dire disrepair, appearing nearly abandoned, with an old car parked (or rather, set) in the driveway. I commented that it was either a drug-infested rental, or an elderly person unable to keep up on their home. We hoped it was the latter.

Oddly, it did not deter us. Other places like that had kept us away. The unknown, the possible risk, the ugliness unmasked... we were like many home buyers who wanted appearances to matter. In this case, by God's grace, it did not matter, because that was meant to be our neighbor.

Beautiful Mary lives next door in that house. She's lived there since since 1961. Her husband's parents lived there before them, and when her beloved passed away her son gave her a dog for companionship. Years later, a younger dog, Gracie, and a couple cats keep Mary company, as do the neighbors. Neighbors mow the yard and take care of the plants as best we can. Friends pick up her groceries - canned dog food (chunks, not ground), cases of pepsi, fresh pies. Treats and dinners are carted over to fill in her meal options. Neighbors sit with her on the porch and watch the sidewalk activities throughout summer, and little boys ride up to her front door to ring bicycle bells and shout "Hi Mary!" She likes to be independent, but she receives help graciously. She is a beautiful piece of our neighborhood.

I had planned to get a wreath for Mary when I got ours this week. We got back from church on Sunday to see that somebody else beat us to it. Many neighbors spent the afternoon hanging lights and putting up decorations, and the first one done hurried over to Mary's to hang a colored strand across the front of her porch. The extension cord reaches across property, to make sure she can enjoy the festive look without adding to her electricity bill. When I looked out at this neighbor, generously giving his time to let Mary enjoy some of the beauty of lights, I nearly cried at the joy of living in such a place. When Mary came out and saw it, she did cry. Overwhelmed, she just kept saying that that we (all of us) were too kind, too good, too much.

If I didn't know them better, I'd give those neighbors a giant award for their kindness and generosity. They made Mary's day... week... Christmas season. I do know them, though, and I know that serving others is just what they do. I also know that others in the neighborhood were jumping to help, to be part of blessing Mary. It was a moment - one of many we've had here - of setting out lights in each others' lives.

Some people don't think much of our neighborhood. Some write about our urban area with disdain, carrying prejudices and focusing on problems. Many choose to live somewhere "nicer" or "safer" or "better" or "more beautiful," though appearances rarely match reality. I don't know that we've ever lived someplace better, and there is a rare beauty in our neighborhood. This is a place where love thrives.

As we anticipate and prepare for Christmas, we want to keep our focus. I think our neighbors helped with that this weekend.

"let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven."

boo has spread

Boo!

This is just an update to say that our little "Boo" project has spread throughout the 'hood. Almost every house on our block (both sides!) has a "Boo" sign. Can you imagine? This is a long city block, and there are a lot of houses. We've had a lot of boo-ing.

Our neighbors have been making copies, thinking up clever treats, and blessing each other with sweet surprises. I'm thankful to be here, and when the neighbors come knocking on my door tomorrow, I'll be happy to see them. When it rains again & I'm homesick for my friends or old neighborhood, remind me of this. God is good, all the time.

Oh, and if you're looking for a fun spin on celebrating this holiday, we read "The Pumpkin Patch Parable" this week. You might enjoy it as well.

boo

We're spending less time outdoors on bikes or in the sprinkler nowadays. It's another reason I don't like the soggy weather here - I miss all the random times with our neighbors that we enjoy in the summer.

So, we're boo-ing the neighbors, and frankly, I'm hoping the sentiment spreads!

I was unfamiliar with this tradition until I stumbled on it in a craft store. It's basically a very sweet way to be neighborly. "Boo-ing" requires secretly delivering treats to 2 neighbors. The packages can be as simple or complicated as you want; the main point is to have fun and be thoughtful.

While I don't consider myself particularly crafty, I can follow directions and enjoy cool, homemade projects. Some people mistake this for creativity. I say, "there's nothing new under heaven" and figure a borrowed good idea is nearly as nice as an original. Plus, I'm happy to share it with anyone who wants to copy it, too!

I share my grandmother's habit of saving and reusing things, so I simply used a couple of gift boxes I had on hand. I did buy a plastic table cover from the dollar store (for $1 - imagine that) and cut it to cover the boxes. Result: cute & somewhat weather-resistant gift packaging!


Inside the boxes, the boys and I put a variety of little sweets, some purchased and some homemade (leaf cookies). I bought little celo bags and filled a couple with candy corn and caramels. I also bought a pair of "goofy glasses" for each box. Finally, I bought some doggy treats, as one of the neighbors we chose to "Boo" has a pet.



Now we'll simply sneak to the neighbors' houses & deposit their gift by the door. Boo instructions are copied or printed on a double-sided page, which is pictured below.

(Hopefully these pictures can be enlarged when you click on them. Feel free to print it out and copy for your own use!)

Instruction side:


Sign side (for them to post on their door):



Here's the text, in case you can't or don't want to click on that photo or you'd rather make your own signs. I found the poem on a website, but when I went to write this for you I couldn't find it again to give proper credit. Feel free to comment if you know the source!

Happy Halloween

This treat is for you, we hope you enjoy.

The idea is simple, one all can employ.

You pass "BOO" along to two other neighbors.

Along with any kind of Halloween favors.

If we all do our part, and spread the good cheer,

By Halloween night it will be very clear,

We're a friendly bunch, we like to share fun

So please do your part to keep "BOO" on the run!

You’ve been BOO’ed! Here’s what to do:
1. Enjoy your treat!
2. Place the “BOO” sign (the back of this sheet) on your front door.
3. Within 2 days, make 2 copies of this note AND 2 “BOO” packages.
4. Secretly deliver the “BOO” treats to 2 neighbors who don’t have a sign on their front door.
5. Keep an eye on nearby doors to see how fast BOO spreads!

I know Halloween gets a bit of controversy, but we think it's a great opportunity to have fun and bless our neighbors. After all, how often to people show up at your house unannounced, except for this one night every year? So, perhaps you'll enjoy starting this tradition as much as we have today. I can't wait to hear if it spreads in your neighborhood, too!

thirteen camping memories

... note: I forgot to publish this yesterday (Thursday). So, yes, I know it's not truly a Thursday Thirteen (even in Australia, where it's already moved onto the weekend!) Just pretend it is, or pretend you forgot to read yesterday, and enjoy the little list!

We went camping, and it was fantastic. I've decided that should be one of those things they require to get your parenting license. (What? You didn't have to get a license?) There are benefits of camping you simply cannot match in your home, like encouraging that friend who just watched her child pick something out of the dirt and put it in her mouth with a laid back, "hey, it's organic!" and then hearing her echo it to another squeamish mama later. That, my friends, is priceless. So are some other great memories of our weekend...

1. S'mores. Simply put, there are few better reasons to go camping. My friend asked me if whole-wheat graham crackers make them a health food. "Only if you use my dark chocolate," I quipped.



2. The only thing better than s'mores is plain roasted marshmallows, which I love. Perhaps it's the process as much as the treat, really. I love roasting them slowly, turning constantly so they're just barely golden and perfectly molten inside. Mr. Kenobi likes to start them on fire and eat the crunchy part... eeeeewww!



3. "Airplanes! Look at all the airplanes!" My Obi-1, now nearly 4, was amazed by the bright lights above him on the first night. Oh, dear - we have an urban boy.
   "Those are stars," his daddy corrected.




4. Counting the stars - after explaining they're not airplanes - is an amazing way to see my son connect with the bible story we read a few weeks ago. Genesis 15:5-6 tells a beautiful story about Abraham, and we memorized a related verse from Galatians. To see that story, the amazing largeness of creation, and the promises of God come together in my son's mind was beautiful.



5. Hanging out around the campfire with other grownups... after everyone's kids were sleeping. Every bit of packing, organizing, cleaning, laundry, and too-thin-camping-mats was worth it to get to know these precious friends better.



6. Coffee. Delivered hot & fresh in a French Press from friends next "door."



7. Simplified housekeeping. Boiling water, biodegradable soap, four plates, four utensils, four cups, a pan, and some dish towels. Dishes were done after every meal, and took only a few minutes and little water. I am reminded of how wasteful our home life can be when I look at the little hands reaching for his fourth new cup of the day!



8. Simplified housekeeping, part II. Sure, you can wear those shorts again today! What's three days in the same clothes?



9. Swimming - er, wading - in the river. It was all of 60 degrees, so quite refreshing, if you will. The boys were warned sternly of the dangers of rivers:
   

   "You can only go to the river with Mama or Daddy. If you go by yourself, you could fall in and get water up your nose!"

   My friends' child is not nearly so cautious (she can swim!) and needed a more convincing warning:
   

   "If you go in without us, you could get swept down the river and never see Mama again!"

   Therapy with that s'more, anyone? :)



10. Snakes (that I didn't see, thankfully!), weird cartoon-looking caterpillars (orange with "fake eyes" painted on their backs), and baboons hiding in the grass by our site (actually, that's how he said "bamboo," but who's getting picky on pronunciation?) Ahhh, nature. It's exactly the kind of stuff you need to get out of the city to see.



11. Our first real hike - on foot for everyone. Both Obi's did great. We only went about 1 hour, and probably covered less than a mile, but it was a good introduction (read: everyone had fun) to hiking without carrying a boy in the backpack.



12. Sleeping in the tent. Under the stars. With the breeze gently blowing through (or emphatically, as it did Saturday) and the whole Kenobi clan nestled into our sleeping bags.



13. Shared meals in lawn chairs. New friends and stronger friendships emerged from our weekend, often borne out of pot-luck style meals in the shade of our campsite.

I've decided on a new business idea for my lists (I'll explain later). Make fun of me if you want, but things are ready for our next outing and the hardest part was finding our tent. Now that the weekend is behind us, we're looking forward to the next outing. Perhaps you'll join us!

buy less, save more

This was the slogan on a nearby billboard. It got me thinking, again, about food & social justice. It also got me thinking about humility and thanksgiving.

To be fair, I'll state the obvious: the Kenobi household has more than enough.

More than enough space.

More than enough food.

More than enough money.

More than enough toys.

More than enough chairs.

More than enough time.

More than enough beds.

More than enough laughter.

More than enough everything.

I hope that, no matter how much or how little we have, this will be the truth of my heart, mind, and words.

A friend told me about Erika Haub, and I am so thankful. It is beautiful to hear her perspective on life in a very desperate inner-city neighborhood. In a recent post, she commented, “I just don’t believe that every person or household needs to have every thing.” She talked about sharing a washing machine, among other acts of generousity.

Not much later, I read this post , an note to Erika from somebody who inspired and challenged me. The friend was examining her own stewardship, and wanted to make providing groceries for somebody else a standard piece of her household grocery budget.

Two questions hold true for everyone: Do we give? Do we receive?

How do we provide for ourselves? What is our priority for others; the poor, the stranger, the imprisoned, the hurt, the rejected, the forgotten, the lonely, the weak? We are given abundantly as a means for caring for ourselves and others' needs. It's not about giving our leftovers or seasonal needs - we must prioritize both if we are good stewards of all we have.

If we forget this, or deceive ourselves to believe we've somehow earned everything we have, we will hold our money and things very tightly. Circumstance, providence, or choices eventually will take our possessions, and the things held tightest will leave the biggest wounds.

When we hold our gifts with open hands - generously sharing, gratefully receiving, viewing everything we have to be a blessing - we find ourselves knowing true abundance. We will clearly see that all we have is more than enough.

it's been a year, part i

It's been a year. Since we moved. I remember I was told that "it takes a year" whenever I was struggling with the idea of making new friends, finding my way around a new city, feeling connected in community, etc.

Last week, the final week of our first year here, I thought to myself, "yeah, right. It's going to take more than a year." But maybe I was wrong, or maybe I needed perspective. Perhaps I just needed one more week.

We had a house full of guests this weekend, and more are on the way. The Kenobi B&B is getting booked up, I like to say! :) We're finding ourselves in the "building" stages of friendships - beyond the awkward meet & greet of those first months - more and more. The sidewalk is getting full, as is the yard, with impromptu gatherings. I can refer to them as "friends," not just neighbors, now. I can give somebody directions to my home, as well as to major area landmarks, and I can find myself in and out of most places in the city. We know the samples lady at the local Trader Joes, and the favorite vendors at the Famer's Market.

Obi-1 is in his first week of VBS camp, and this morning I trekked 3 neighbor boys off together in my minivan. When I returned with the kids, our neighbors had us over for an impromptu lunch. Those types of things make me feel like perhaps we're getting comfortable here.

I'm starting to feel like this place fits. We are getting our stuff mixed in with others' stuff (the way it should be, in my opinion). We're sharing what we have, and blessed by others who do the same. Our oldest boy rides a neighbor's bike, given to us on a long-term loan. Hand-me-down clothes have been passed around between several people. Dishes are left at homes where meals or snacks were shared, as are children's toys and socks.

Our schedule is starting to reflect connectedness, too. We are planning a camping trip with a few other neighbors, as well as a weekend with our church. I helped throw a baby shower for a new friend. I have play times, and berry-picking outings, and a variety of dinners planned in the coming weeks. We're working our tails off to organize and participate in work parties for the church nursery. We know the art shows in town, and when the children's museum exhibit changes.

Life is busy and full, and I'm feeling like maybe this whole "it takes a year" thing has some merit. It's been a year, and while we're not fully unpacked, perhaps we're getting settled here.

somebody more like you

“I hope you meet someone your height
so you can see eye to eye
with someone as small as you…
…I hope you find somebody more like you.”
~ Nickel Creek

“Just as iron sharpens iron,
friends sharpen the minds of each other.”
~ Proverbs 27:17

I sense a conflict in our culture. The northwest is a very peace-loving, diversity-embracing sort of place, not only in its politics, but in how friends and neighbors interact. While I appreciate the polite nature of folks, sometimes it seems like we are superficial. Instead of really embracing others as they are, we’re often just avoiding differences. People talk about diversity, but mean sameness. There's a sense that if we can just avoid bringing up our differences, we can pretend or prove that we’re really the same. Everyone is equal. We do and say what is right in our own eyes, and we'll avoid those who say or do what is wrong in our own eyes. It happens no matter how far left or right people lean. It happens almost without our notice.

This twists its way into our willingness to hear and see the disagreeable. It creeps into attitudes and schedules, dragging us into dull relationships. We pretend (maybe even genuinely believe) to be open minded, but we end up harshly judging and avoiding anyone who speaks in disagreement with us. We fool ourselves into thinking that it’s healthy to only invest our time and energy in others who are like us. It is not.

We need to be challenged, sharpened, rebuked, encouraged, and engaged.

There is great joy in relationships that challenge my mind and heart. When we moved here, we were excited about our new neighborhood, in part, because it has a lot of diversity. While much has changed in recent years, it still bears scars and honors of its history. I find many benefits of this urban place; I hope perhaps we’ll be less likely to slink into complacency, and our children might witness our faith as more than talk or ideas. There are many who seem to do this intentionally, as Erika’s life and writing from the margins can testify. These are the stories and lives that inspire me.

Sure, it’s more comfortable to be around people who are as right as you are about child-rearing, war, God, marriage, art, work, money, and everything else you find important. It’s also easy for like to attract like because most of us know where to go, how to speak, and how to quickly size others up. We love our spam-filtering, caller-ID, car-in-the-garage world. It’s easy to avoid those who don’t fit our target profile. I want to work against this temptation to cast judgment and cast out.

Maybe you can relate. I enjoy reading. Though limited in uninterrupted time, I’m starting to prefer the paperless options of websites and blogs. It’s cheap and convenient; it's also effective clutter-control! I can easily find current events from every angle. I love recipes I can download and use at-will. Parenting subjects are available at the click of a button, and there are many blogs who can give me a laugh or offer encouragement.

While full of options, it's very easy way to find people who think like me. It's also easy to find myself in the more challenging topics and conversations. Unfortunately, I’m not a professional writer, and often what I type & what I mean are read differently. There are also no systems of accountability online, unlike neighbors or friends with phone numbers and addresses. I am keenly aware that online relationships, however powerful or thought-provoking or comfortable, cannot replace face-to-face, life-along-life relationships.

Recently, I was reading Shannon’s blog and a great piece on what she called “Momma Code.” One of its many comments was very honest and vulnerable. To paraphrase, the reader said that she preferred being alone to trying to make friends with somebody who didn’t share her views or interests. I don’t want to slam this woman, because I actually think she’s saying what most of us think: “It’s really not worth my time to invest in you if you’re wrong so often.” Why would we spend our time with somebody who thinks differently than us?

Is it possible that surrounding ourselves with our own likeness might be flat-out idolatry? If we allow ourselves to get too comfy with those who pat us on the back and make us feel “in,” we build a very self-centered culture that will impact many future generations. This is part of my motivation to engage people who force me to think, struggle, and stop relying on myself.

However, I’m sure at least one of my friends is reading this and thinking about a call to be “equally yoked.” While I think that biblical passage (2 Corinthians 6:14) is far too often taken out of context and loosely applied in error, I do recognized the joy and blessing of relationships with those who share my values and world view. It’s just that the legalistic application, (that we cannot or should not engage those who are not “one of us”), seems like the well-rebuked attitude of a Pharisee. I do enjoy friends and read writers who make me laugh or cry or nod in agreement. The Daring One is good for a frequent giggle and nod. Llama Mama has a true gift of style, weaving truth, humor, and honesty in her writing, usually giving me a glimpse of how another woman lives out her faith in everyday circumstances. Maria, through her deeply personal entries, can take me from laughter to sympathy within paragraphs.

Some people may challenge me on one day and speak directly to my heart on another. Should I avoid the occasional disagreements, even on major issues? Is there still value in hearing the other person? I think it’s important to find ourselves in friendships, readings, and discussions that do not always pander to our own views. When Mallory recently wrote about body image in thoughtful and personal terms, I appreciated the challenge to consider my own prejudices, notions, and solutions along with her. Wacky Mommy can make me laugh with her glimpses of life, though sometimes I disagree with her.

Reading material is only a start. Relationships (real ones) that do not challenge us cannot help us grow. In order for iron to sharpen iron, there must be contact and it will be abrasive at times. What friendships challenge us? Who makes me think? When do we laugh? What does it look like to relax and be known? Why do I invest my time? Why should they invest in me?

I think avoiding people who are different begins with how we treat the ideas and things we don't like. Sometimes we find offense in media, writing, or movies. A common reaction is a lot of hot-air blowing and threats. While I’m not a fan of frequent boycotting, I also don’t go out of my way to see or read something uninteresting. Authors and producers purposely create controversy in order to stir interest and recognition of their work. I think it’s an important skill to recognize when something is basically marketing. I don't want to be trapped by somebody trying to sell or gain from the controversy.

However, this forces me to think of raising children who are lights in a dark world. It is easier, in my mama instincts, to avoid all potential dangers. I want to shield my children from harm. This is our honor and responsibility, as guardians of such precious gifts. However, we must carefully consider the danger of avoidance as well as exposure. There is danger of lost opportunity for spiritual growth, intellectual stimulation, and character development every time we avoid somebody or something that is different.

I don’t want my children engaging a lot of controversy at young ages, partly to guard their mind and developing imaginations from influences I dislike. I must be careful, however, to avoid treating pieces of art, heard or seen, as evil or dangerous. If we see the object as depraved and lost, rather than the artist, we lose the opportunity to exercise compassion or share truth. Kids who avoid differences, who haven’t been allowed to develop critical thinking and faith, may be set up for serious mistakes and regrets far past my moments of influence.

We grow in faith through the real trials, testing, and wrestling with truth, not theoretical or ideological concepts. As my children enter years of discerning what they hear, read, and watch, and who they are with, I hope I’m willing to get their (and my) minds and hearts stirred. May I rely more on prayer, discernment, and a loving, gracious Keeper of promises, and be released from the traps of avoiding the others.

life group casserole

We host Life Group every Wednesday. This week was no exception, even with Mr. Kenobi out of town on business. Usually, our evening gatherings are open-topic. We weave parts of the prior Sunday's scripture & sermon into conversation, add job updates and work challenges, sprinkle in kid antics, marriage plans, home decorating, camping ideas, and toss together with whatever else is part of life. (Hmmm... that Sounds like a recipe - "Life Group Casserole," anyone?)

We pray, celebrate, cry, and laugh together...

Lately, our pastor has been teaching a sermon series on family. One of his primary points has been recognizing that diversity is part of God's design for family. We're reminded that we are the family of God, by His grace and adoption, through Christ. This is true for our local church as well as on a global scale.

So, tonight I invited all to come over early & enjoy dinner together. Spaghetti and meatballs for everyone (well, except the boys and our vegetarian friends). Cesar salad with homemade dressing, decent wine, and yummy garlic bread. Actually, I think the Obis made a meal of the garlic bread.

It was fun. It was family. It was, well... Life.