Parenting Part V

        I have a friend who suggested that parenting is concentric circles: when a baby is born they are extremely close.  When they start to walk, the circle widens.  When they go to school it expands more.  When they start making friends it expands again.  When they leave for college it expands hugely, and when they partner with someone else, the circles in which we connect to our children expand once more.

        My youngest has a partner now, and Christmas break was an exercise for me in seeing just how far the circle of closeness that I share with my youngest child might expand.  Youngest's partner came home with her for Christmas break, at my request.  But while Youngest still managed to take whole days out of the month to spend time with her local friends, she could not do the same for me.  We caught moments together.  Little spaces in the midst of the busyness of the season to have open conversation. Still, by "open" conversation, I mean that I was open and she listened... as much as a 19 year old is willing to do. It was painful for me.  

    I didn't handle it well, becoming angry at her over little things because I was having a hard time sharing honestly about the deep grief I was feeling at her absence. At the time I felt she could handle my anger more easily than my grief and disappointment at the lack of closeness. I didn't want her to feel pressured to be closer than she wanted or needed to be. Reflecting back, that was undoubtedly a bad choice on my part, but it made sense to me at the time.  I'm aware that this is normal. Youngest is doing what she needs to do at this point in her life.  She is making appropriate choices and stepping away as is to be expected as she pulls closer to her friends and her partner.  All of that is what we raise our kids to do.  But at times, I admit here in this safe space, it leaves me feeling a bit lost.

    I have always put my kids first.  I knew that parenting meant that my number one priority had to be to raise and protect my kids.  But when I became a solo parent, the only one to raise them and to care for them, this feeling of mama-bear, protect the kids and draw them close at any cost - that feeling became exponentially stronger.  They were no longer just my priority, they were my life.  Yes, I still worked: to support the kids.  Yes, I still had friends and connections: so that I could be a better parent and support to my kids.  I moved back to the Bay Area, because I felt they needed more family and support. For the last 14 years, almost everything I have done and chosen to do has been for them.  

    So now that they are all basically out of the house?  I realize I am still the bank for them: funding their schooling, supporting them financially.  But even that has a clear deadline to it.  Youngest will graduate college in 2 1/2 more years.  She plans to go to grad school but she expects to fund that herself and is working to save the money to do so.  I can see the next widening circle coming at the point at which they are no longer reliant on me for their funding.  And I'm preparing, as much as I can, for the even greater distance that will accompany that change.

    Yes, I have my own partner: David is an incredible partner and friend. Somehow early on, though, we set up a dynamic where I support the kids and he supports me.  That has to change so we have a more equal relationship, and that will take time. I have friends who are extremely important to me.  But of course they also put their own families first.  I have my job, my work.  But there are days, like today, when I question whether I am making any difference whatsoever.  I wonder what the point is when I clearly have not been able to persuade anyone who didn't already understand our call: beyond anything else we are to be about loving, supporting and caring for the least of these, for those who are in pain, for those who are marginalized, for those society rejects as unwanted, unneeded, unvalued.  I have not been able to convince anyone of this, and it literally breaks my heart in light of the damage and the hurt that is coming to our most vulnerable at this point in time.   And so I wander and wonder what I am doing.     

    I think all of these feelings are common as attached parents watch their kids grow up and leave the nest.  As I have said before, we celebrate their growing, but we also grieve it.  We delight in their independence, but we also miss their dependence on us.  We celebrate as they step into the world, but we also grieve the closeness.  These are all part of raising kids.

    So today I commit to doing something that is life-giving for me that is not about caring for my kids.  I signed up for a horticulture class at the local community college and today I will begin that class.  I've written many times about my love for plants, trees and gardening.  I am going to take this class to spend time learning and being with plants.  This is for me.  And I'm hopeful that it will nourish me.  My plants are my new babies, and I'm looking forward to learning more how to care for them, how to be a better plant-mother.  For those of you who are in a similar place to me, I encourage you as well to find a way to nourish yourself, to step in a new direction that can give you meaning and joy.  We will never stop being parents.  But we can learn new things and find new purposes as well.  Thanks be to God!

Days 17-18

     We did a short trip up to Mendocino for a couple days.  That was wonderful!  All of us who are home (so not Middle, but the other four of us) went up to see the Botanical gardens and to just BE in Mendocino.  We'd been there before, though none of us had remembered having done so until we saw the gardens.  Just incredible.  The front looks like a small garden store.  Nothing to give away the reality of the huge gardens that go all the way to the ocean which are hiding behind it.  Totally worth the 3 1/2 hour drive each way!  We then spent most of the next day just walking around Mendocino, walking along the beach, visiting the cute little shops, eating good food and just being family together.  Eldest loved it so much, they picked up a job application for the local book store.  We will see... but if they get the job, what an incredible excuse to visit more regularly!

    Pics below:  

    Today, the 20th of May, eldest turns 24... where has the time gone?  I'm so glad we have this time together before they permanently spread their wings and fly!

A New Day Is Coming - Pentecost Sermon

 Galatians 4:1-7

Luke 11:11-13

Acts 2:1-4

            Today we once again have this amazing story that we hear every year about Pentecost.  And while it is really only four verses that we hear today, I want to start by once again doing a bit of a word study.  What I read to you today said “they were all together in one place”.  The word translated as “all together” has much deeper meaning than just “being together in one place.  It means more, “they were in one accord” in that place, or they “shared the same ardor, heat or passion”.  In other words, they weren’t just in the same place physically, but also mentally and more importantly, spiritually.  This passage follows the last time they have just seen Jesus.  They have seen him, Jesus has declared to them that the Holy Spirit will be coming upon them, Jesus has left them, they have travelled to Jerusalem, picked the disciple to replace Judas and now they are gathered together in a spirit of prayer and commitment when the Holy Spirit descends upon them. 

           Later in Acts, as we heard in our last month’s study of Acts, that this time is followed by many, many conflicts, and disagreements about who they are to be, who and what the church is and what it will and should do.  But that is not where they are here.  Here it began, with this moment of deep oneness, connection, and excitement about who they were and what they were called to do.  They understood their mission and they were about to begin it. 

            It is often in that space when we are most closely connected, most deeply aligned, excited about starting something new in which we experience the Spirit.  Note once again that this Spirit is not experienced by people alone here.  It comes to them when they are in community and worshiping, praying together.  These are not individualistic experiences.  They are experiences in community, in one-ness, in ardor.  And again, it happens at the beginning, in their excitement and passion about their work.

            As my lectionary group discussed this passage this week some of the pastors in our group talked about beginning congregations, being the start-up pastors for new churches and that in that excitement and spirit of passionate unity, they, too had group experiences of deep and profound movement of the Holy Spirit in their midst.  Everyone was working together towards one goal, the startup of the particular congregation, and the intensity of prayer and commitment often brought about these deep moments of sensing God’s presence in their midst, of feeling the Spirit guiding, shaping, encouraging their work.  But these wonderful and intense highs of the Spirit’s calling, the Spirit’s movement don’t usually last.  They are mountain top experiences of deep and profound joy, wonder, awe that quickly end up forgotten when conflicts arise, when differences of opinion show up.

            They shared that often those mountain top highs of sensing the Spirit can come back during a new pastor search or at the beginning of a new pastorate.  Then you have the “honeymoon” stage for a while, but that too wears off after a time.  And then those moments become harder to find.  But Holy Spirit moments do not have to be big events.  They don’t have to be big highs.  They are just moments when we rest in God, moments when we feel God’s presence, moments when we remember our deep connections to God, and through God to one another.  Holy Spirit moments are times when we are able to put aside our differences and to be united as one body, connected to God and one another.  All were connected, all were united under this Spirit.

            Today’s passage from Galatians is an extension of Pentecost.  To remind you of what we read, Paul writes about the facts of Roman society at the time.  “As long as the heir is a minor, he has no advantage over the slave.  Though legally he owns the inheritance, he can’t claim it until he is officially an “adult”, an age set by a father.  But when they become legal adults, they can claim their inheritance.  Paul says that in a similar way, in grace we have now been set free as adults, able to experience the heritage which God has prepared for us.  We are fully adopted as God’s heirs now.  That once the Spirit was received, we were made full adults, no longer slaves but full children, heirs.  This, too, then is a statement of inclusion and full heirs/adults.  Acts 10 tells us that God has no partiality.  As we read last week from Galatians 3, Paul tells us the walls no longer mean anything.  In Christ there is no Jew nor Greek, male nor female, etc, etc.  Inclusion is no longer limited by walls that need to be broken down.  That Pentecost passion includes everyone, which is why everyone can now understand each other even across differences in language.  That is what Pentecost is about. 

            But we struggle in our regular times, in our down times, when our passion and excitement for our faith, our church, are low.  And much of this struggle begins with the fact that we just don’t hear each other.  We just don’t understand one another.  I thought about starting this sermon with the words, “Hola!  Como Estan?  Estan felices ahora?  ¿Qual día es hoy en la iglesia?”  I know some of you would understand, but some wouldn’t. 

Still, we don’t even have to be speaking different languages to fail to understand one another.  One of my lectionary friends told us that when his son was little, their car broke down and they had to have it towed.  He told his son that he would soon get to see the car towed.  But when the tow man showed up to tow the car, the son was very confused and said, “where’s the car toad?  I want to see the car toad!” thinking that there would be a toad hopping around.  I remember when I was a child being told that the world was round.  I kept looking up to see the people on the other side of the world because I thought we were all on the INSIDE, rather than the outside of the earth.   

When we speak different languages, we can look it up in a dictionary when we don’t understand.  But idiomatic phrases still make it hard to understand each other.  Phrases like “don’t have a cow!”  or  “it’s raining cats and dogs”.  What are some of your favorite idiomatic expressions?  I used one the other day that was so familiar to me but that my children said they had never heard before and didn’t know what it meant.  “a Tempest in a teacup”

We also have trouble because we don’t communicate well.  I can’t tell you how many times people have made to me extremely vague unhelpful comments that communicate absolutely nothing.  “It isn’t like that” they will say.  “It isn’t like what?” I will ask.  “It just isn’t like THAT!” they will insist.  “Tell me what it is like?” I will push.  “Not like THAT.” They will say. 

But even more than poor communication, we struggle as a people to listen.  We don’t reflect back to check things out, we don’t ask clarifying questions.  But even more than all of this, we plan our responses while we are listening rather than just listening.  I’ve found this to be especially true in the Bay Area in which we talk so fast that there is no time for listening, for giving space to truly hear and THEN to form our responses.  I’ve shared this with you before but when David and I first met we struggled a bit with communication because he doesn’t listen in this terrible way.  He actually listens to hear.  Then he pauses to determine his response.  Because I was used to the pace of communication here, I would assume he wasn’t going to respond at all when he took the time to respond.  We’ve both learned: but I fear his learning has been in the negative direction of realizing he has to jump in more quickly rather than what he used to do in order to stay in the conversation.

We are divided.  And we make that so much worse than it needs to be.

            When I was in Cleveland there was a music group formed called “Elders of Jazz”.  These were “elders” in two senses of the word: they were all Presbyterian elders (ruling and teaching elders) from different Presbyterian congregations in the area.  They were also all retired, so “elder” in that sense too.  They served together, going around to different congregations with offerings of Jazz music for a Sunday.  However, at one point the founding church had a strong disagreement with the Presbytery.  That disagreement started with a theological difference, but moved then into the church withdrawing from the Presbytery and arguing with the Presbytery over the cost of doing so (as you know, our churches are owned by the Presbytery, not by the congregation, so when a church leaves the denomination, they are required to buy their building and grounds form the Presbytery).  This created a rift.  There was no longer a place for them to meet, to practice.  There was no longer common ground for them to be a united “elders of jazz”.  But they had the vision to see that disputes are temporary if we trust in the Spirit.  And that God’s call to be united in Christ extends beyond our differences and our diversity.  So they put a statement together for the Presbytery that said, “We currently are not meeting, but we are still in existence and waiting for the Spirit to unify us once again.”  With that attitude, they were, indeed unified once again, despite their differences and despite their struggles.  They remembered what it was to be “one in Christ”.  They remembered that the Spirit’s job is to connect us all and God and that if we let the Spirit do that, She will.  They remembered that they did not need to be in charge of everything, or control everything, or fight every time there was a disagreement. And so they prayed.  And they waited for the Spirit.  And they trusted that the Spirit would come.  As it did.

God gives us the gift of understanding each other across our differences – differences in understanding, differences in culture, differences in beliefs, differences in language.  This is the gift of God’s Spirit, uniting us and calling us to be church together, to be one together.  Amen.

Growing, Learning

     A wise man once said to me, "When I graduated from high school, I knew everything.  When I finished college, I realized there were a few things I didn't really know anything about.  By the time I received my master's, I realized there were only one or two areas in which I was really an expert.  But when I finished my doctorate, I finally realized that I really knew nothing about anything."

    I think I was in my first year of college when he said this to me.  And so, as someone who was still feeling pretty smart, pretty learned, pretty on top of the world, I could only nod in my own sense of "understanding this" as just one more sign that I did, in fact, know all that was necessary for me to know.  But, while education certainly has been part of teaching me in the fact that I really know precious little about anything, I actually think my greater teacher has been time and experience.  The longer I am on this planet, the more I realize how little I truly understand about pretty much anything.

    I write as a way to deal with all that I don't understand, as a way to try to process through the many levels and layers of non-understanding that I experience.  As William Faulkner once said, “I never know what I think about something until I read what I’ve written on it.”

    But this morning I simply found myself aware of how little I understand of other people: their motives, their decisions, their beliefs, even.  

    Still, rather than seeing this as a failing, I'm seeing it more as an invitation.  I want to learn, I want to grow.  And I find that in my learning, there is also growing.  In my exploring and talking to others, especially, perhaps, others who see the world very differently than I do, I do grow.  

    A small group in my church is taking the Brownicity Course: What Lies Between Us.  While our group had been reading a number of wonderful books on Racism in the United States, I have to say, this course that we are now taking is absolutely incredible.  It covers so much material and backs all of it with resources, readings, podcasts, videos, etc.  It is a very inexpensive course that has far more information and data in it than I could have expected and it far exceeds my expectations in terms of both quantity and quality of what is being offered.  While the history of this country is disturbing, shocking, upsetting in so many ways as we look at how we have harmed people of color and frankly anyone that we chose at different points in time to identify as "different" or "other", I deeply believe that we will never be able to make the changes we want to see, the changes that are necessary on our journey to "love one another as we love ourselves" until we truly understand our history.  

    But in the midst of this, my understanding of the continued racism, anger, and hatred that we see has baffled me at so many levels.  This course is helping me in that, as well.  One of the videos we were given to watch was a Ted talk on the psychological differences between liberals and conservatives.  Taking the time to look at the base differences in values was very helpful, as well as why those differences in values exist in the first place.  

    I still find myself feeling very frustrated that we are so divided as a country that we hear different news, invest in different beliefs about what is real, and most of all, are given radically different "facts" that simply cannot be reconciled together.  Of course, where you stand on the spectrum determines which facts you believe and which you decide are lies.  And while I do think that there are always multiple ways of interpreting the same facts, there are things that actually happened and things that really didn't; there are truths about what is happening and there are lies.  And while my perspective tells me a certain group of news is lies, I know that others who disagree with me believe that what I am hearing is lies.  I believe more and more strongly that the role of our leaders is to tell the truth, to not make up stories that confuse, alienate, and divide us as a people, as a country.  But my strong belief in this will not affect leaders, will not change the fact that "truths" and "lies" have become a currency in our country that is more valuable to those buying and selling it than human relationships and human lives.  While I will do my part to promote honesty in reporting and in leadership, I am coming to the belief that it will take a conversion that only God can bring about to convince people, and perhaps to convince us as a nation, of the profound importance of truth-telling, and the huge individual responsibility in being careful about what you choose to accept as "facts".  

    In the meantime, I will continue to read, continue to learn, and continue to try to grow both in my own commitment to loving my neighbors, ALL my neighbors, as myself and in my commitment to working to understand even those who are so radically different from myself.

    Blessings and hope for a new year.

Taking Care During Times of Crisis

        As most of you know, our family crashed into devastating, life-changing crisis at the very end of 2010, a crisis that lingered and continued really until early 2013 when we started to finally get a grip on a "new normal" and settle into lives that were different, but were starting to feel okay.  Many people during and after that time asked me how we survived it.  I look back and the answers are really clear to me:
    1.  I had a great deal of support from friends, counselors, family.  I relied on that heavily, calling, emailing, and spending time with people who were there to help.
    2.  I played the piano almost every day.  Yes, it was part of my job, but it became much more than that.  It was an emotional outlet for me, a way of expressing feelings I couldn't otherwise even name, a way to "create" out of chaos and express out of dark pain.
    3.  I danced with my daughter.  Every morning as we were getting ready for school, we would put in music after her older siblings had left for school and my daughter and I would dance around the kitchen and family room.  This too was creative expression, as was the music.  But this was a time also of engagement with my beloved child, exercise, time together, an outlet, and an opportunity for a lot of laughter.  This also often involved singing, stretching those vocal chords and making joyful noise, despite how we were actually feeling on a day to day basis.
    4.  I wrote.  I journaled, mostly in the form of letters to God: I put everything down that I was experiencing, used it as prayer time, talked to God about my feelings, my thoughts and experiences and what I was going through.
    5.  I walked.  Sometimes alone, sometimes with others, I hiked and got myself out in nature and into the air, breathed, surrounded myself with creation.
    6.  I slept.  I went to bed by nine every night.  I often took long naps on the weekends.  I needed the sleep to process.  But more, I was just exhausted from trying to hold myself and my kids together, and I needed that extra time to recoup.
    7.  I spent time each day reflecting on the good things that were in my life, reaching out with thank yous to those who had been helpful, expressed gratitude, both to God and to people for their presence in my life.
    8. I found myself searching for and finding ways to give back, to offer care to others, to find meaning in being a helper, a pastor, in the world.  I would add to this that the fact that my kids really needed me to be okay, to help them through the crisis, to support them through the trauma, was absolutely essential to my well-being.  It wasn't an option for me to NOT be okay.  I had to get through each day, for their sakes, and so I did.  Having others dependent on me gave me the strong sense of not having a choice about if or how I handled the trauma.
    9. There were also a lot of things I stopped doing during this time: I didn't watch TV.  I completely stopped listening to the news.  I didn't engage Facebook, and even closed down my account.  I didn't eat junk.  And I think that all of these things I didn't do were as important for me getting through that crisis as everything that I did do.
    But the thing that I want to say about all of this is that, at least for the first 6 months to a year, none of these things that I chose to do or chose to avoid were conscious decisions.  I automatically did these things, out of what felt like necessity or compulsion.  I needed to do them and I did.  They helped me to not only survive, but to thrive through the challenges that we faced: to grow, to bloom, to become a person I am much happier being.  It was only after I was beginning to really recover that I started reading about the gifts of choosing gratitude, of exercise, of writing, singing, dancing in times of crisis.  It was only after I started feeling a "new normal" that I learned that TV is a depressant and should be avoided when we are struggling, and that it is important during trauma to step away from the news.  It was only later that I learned that extra sleep is essential during traumatic times and that I remembered how eating well makes a huge difference to one's emotional as well as physical health.  It is only recently that I've found myself focusing on the importance of art and laughter in dealing with trauma, whether that be making music, dancing or creating art in other forms.  And I remembered that it is in giving back to others that we help ourselves the very most.
     Now we are all in crisis, in trauma time again.  And I find myself once again choosing behaviors, almost despite myself, that are survival tools.  I find myself daily being called to go "play in the dirt" - to be outside gardening, digging around, breathing the air, exercising.  I am walking and doing yoga.  I am again intentionally spending time with my kids, baking healthy foods (and sometimes comfort foods), finding funny things to share.  I am limiting my time with the news again, as well as with Facebook (as much as my work will allow).  The TV holds much less attraction for me than normal, and I am writing: daily notes to my congregation but also in my journal.  I'm reaching out to people once more for support.  I'm sleeping more than usual.  I'm being more generous with my resources, especially to those most in need.  And I'm trying to find time to make music with my kids.  Once more I am aware that they need me to be okay through this (as does the congregation) and so it is not a option I can choose to NOT be okay.
      As I reflected on all of this, I was struck with how strong my inner survival instinct really is, or from a faith perspective, how loud the leading of God was that led me on a daily basis to choose healthy, necessary behaviors.  I do what I need to do to make it through this time, or any crisis time.  I wonder that I can't continue in these healthy behaviors during normal times and I am aware that my life would undoubtedly be better if I could keep these up during normal times.  But I am amazed at how strong the pull is, in crisis times, to choose these healthier and important ways of moving through life.  Again, from a faith perspective, this is one of the reasons why my faith and trust in a loving God is so strong.  I hear that voice, constantly, urging me to do what will be best for myself, my family and the larger community and world.  It encourages wholeness and well-being for everyone, no matter what is going on that is disruptive and painful.  It reminds me daily of our interconnection and need for all of us to work for health and wholeness for everyone.
      I hope that you, too, are finding yourself doing the things that you need to do to move through this time.  If you need help, we are here to support and offer suggestions.  But I think the biggest advise I would give is to notice your own choices.  What are you feeling impelled or compelled to do?  What does that small voice encourage you to do to take care of yourself, your loved ones and the world?  How are you surviving and even thriving through each day?  And what is guiding those decisions that you make?
      These are not easy times.  But difficult times are fertile ground for deep learning and deep connecting with God and creation.  Take time to rest in that, to learn from this time, to be open to what life is telling us this day.

Watching our fledglings leave the nest

         I've been feeling very down lately.  Anxious, sad, stressed, depressed.
         Lonely.
         I couldn't figure out why.  Yes, we've experienced an important family death lately.  But I felt that didn't really account for the level of my anxiety and sadness.  It certainly didn't make sense to me that I'd be feeling lonely while surrounded by family, while reconnecting with family folk I haven't seen in forever, while anticipating my daughter coming home from school for winter break.
        But then I remembered that it was that time of year which is always hard for me, or has been for the past 9 years.  9 years ago my life changed radically and I went from being a partnered person caring for my three thriving kids into a solo mom dealing with tragedy and stress and loss and trying to help my kids through the same.  This time of year, every year, I feel this way.  I think that our bodies remember, our bodies house those memories associated with season and time, even when we don't consciously remember what is triggering our feelings.
        But this year is also different for me in another way.  My eldest daughter has "gotten it together," is leaving the nest, is spreading her wings, making friends at school, not calling as often and certainly not needing my help or support as much. She is learning well how to "adult," and she is stepping into doing what needs to be done on her own, she is living her awesome, beautiful life in ways I don't even begin to understand.  She is connecting deeply to others, to her peers.  She is doing it right.  She is doing what we all hope our kids will do - stepping into being her own person and taking flight.
       The truth is that I am struggling with it.  When I became a mother, even though I was working and still had friends and other family to occupy my time, I moved into a new identity.  My primary identity became that of being a mother.  I love being a mother.  I think about my children constantly, even when I am not with them, they are the lights of my life, my biggest joys, my greatest gifts and the raising of them has been my biggest accomplishment.  This became doubly so when I became a solo mom.  They were where my focus had to be.  Their concerns became my largest challenges.  Their needs and fears and sufferings took the largest part of my attention. Truthfully everything I did, and have done ever since, including working, has been to make sure they have what they need and are okay as they step into life.  I had to do this, or they would not have become the healthy, happy, well-adjusted kids (in the face of and despite great crisis) that they have become.  The fact that my eldest is thriving in school and in her life is in part a testimony to the depth of love and support I gave her that has enabled her to bloom, to work through her losses, and to grow into a beautiful young woman.  I know this.  I can't take full credit, and I won't.  We were surrounded and continue to be surrounded by a community of helpful, caring people and they have credit too.  Eldest herself also needs to take a lot of credit, for being willing to do the work, to grow, to learn, and to step forward.  But I can claim a piece of it.  They know they are loved beyond measure.  They know they are more important than anything to me, and that I would do anything to make sure they are healthy and happy.  That knowledge and that experience has made a difference in their ability to move and grow and live.
       Still, I find myself feeling a little bit like Shel Silverstein's Giving Tree.  When they were born I gave them my apples, fed them off of the sweat and tears of my work and my care.  But when we went through crisis I gave them not only the branches, but my very trunk so that they might survive and thrive.  Again, I made a choice to do what I believed was necessary for them to be okay.  And it has paid off for them.  But now I am the stump, especially where my eldest is concerned.  I am waiting for her to come home and rest for awhile on that stump that is me before she leaves again for other adventures.  And this is a sad and hard thing for me.  I won't change it.  I will not ever choose to hold her back from her dreams and adventures, from her living her life as fully as she can.  But I am lonely for my eldest daughter.  And, at some level, for my other two children as they become independent teen-agers.
       I think about the olive tree in our back yard.  We cut down this huge olive tree because it was blocking the window, causing problems on the roof, was creating great mess both in the yard and tracked into our house, and, most importantly, it was creating pollens which were making my son (with his allergies to olive pollen) very sick.  We cut it down to a stump, and yet it has not given up.  Hundreds of new branches continue to sprout from the sides of the stump each year.  Each year that tree makes it clear that it belongs there and has no intention of dying.  I know that I can choose to be a stump like the olive tree: to find new ways to grow and thrive once my kids are gone.  I can invest more in other relationships now and to find my purpose, meaning and identity in my work and other activities.  I can and I will.
       I also know, though, that this still involves grief. Every change is a loss at some level.  And grief is a natural part of watching our kids grow and leave the nest.
       Today I am grieving my daughter.  Even as I am proud of her and grateful for who she is becoming, I am grieving our closeness, her needing me, her dependence.  I am grieving being the person she was closest to whom she loved the most.  I am grieving the primary identity I had as Eldest's mom.  I will always be her mom, but it can't be who I am first and foremost anymore.  My life has to be more about other things now, and less focused on her.
        I know most parents go through this, and I know that I, too, will survive it.  Being a parent is about self-less love.  We don't do it to have people always around us who will love and care for us.  We give of ourselves and watch the blooms grow that are our children.  I am so grateful to be mother to my three wonderful kids.  The grief is just a small part of that.  But I am naming it today in the hopes that others who might be feeling similarly know they are not alone.  And to name for myself that the sadness I'm feeling is okay.  It's a testimony to the depth of the love I gave and give still.  And for that I am grateful.

Ageism

     I've read a number of articles recently that have been talking about the ageist culture that we live in here in the United States.  Youth is considered the ideal.  Part of our definition of beauty includes having gray-less or white-less full heads of hair; smooth, unwrinkled and spotless skin; tight, flab-less, droop-less, and hair-free bodies; and perfectly white and straight teeth.  People who are older have a much harder time getting jobs, they are treated with less respect, and at some point they can even start to be almost invisible.  The needs and issues of the elderly are mostly pushed under the rug, hidden away.  Additionally, the images we have of older people on TV are mostly of people past their usefulness, past their meaning, past being contributing members of society.  If we do see them active, they are usually golfing with other older people; not volunteering, working, or giving back to the society, and certainly not teaching or mentoring or working with younger folk.We celebrate and idolize our youth.
     This is especially true for women.  My 17 year old took a drama class over the summer in which they actually spent time looking at what ages and what percentages of women and men are hired for differing acting roles.  Men, they found, tend to be hired for more jobs as they age, up to a point.  Women have, almost without exception, about a 5 year period in which they are highly sought after, after which they 'age out' and are no longer hired, especially for key and prominent acting roles.  The same is true in the church: older men's experience is valued, but without exception my female pastor friends are finding they "age out" at about 50 in terms of being able to get a new pastoring job.  The ads on TV mostly aim to make women look younger.  Men, with the exception of a culture that pushes for full heads of hair, do not need to pretend to be younger than they are by changing their bodies to look younger. 
      Again, there is article after article out there about this problem.  I don't need to repeat them all.  We know it to be true.  We no longer value the wisdom of age, the old images of the "wise woman" are no longer prevalent (though we still have a few of the wizened older man), and a huge portion of the advertisements we see focus on ways to make us look younger for longer, to try to hold on to our youth rather than to age with grace and even joy.
       Instead of repeating what we know, what I want to talk about is the change we need to make to confront this.  It will take courage and it will take intentionality to do so.  But I believe one of the ways we can fight this is to actively, publicly and with commitment and intentionality step into our own aging with delight and pride, rather than with despair and shame.  That means a number of things:
     1. Refusing to dye our hair when it starts to become white or gray, but instead choosing to see the different colors for the beauty, the variety, the signs of experience that they are.
     2. Stopping spending large amounts of money on "anti-wrinkle creams", botox treatments, anti-cellulite treatments and instead seeing every wrinkle, scar and age mark as the medals of having really lived.
     3. Sharing our age with a sense of pride and acceptance rather than shame. 
     4.  Talking about the joys and gifts, as well as the struggles and pains of aging, not in hushed whispers but in open conversations, both with others who are our own ages, as well as with younger folk. 
      5. Talking to potential employers about the gifts we've gained through experience and with the wisdom of our age. 
      6. Refusing to become stuck in our ideas and mind-sets as we age, but using the time we've been given to continue to learn and grow, striving to become better human beings. 
      7.  Seeing ourselves as mentors for younger folk and not being afraid to offer our wisdom, knowledge and advice.  Acknowledging to the world that we really do grow with time, we mature and learn through experience.
      8.  Be willing to turn to folk older than ourselves for advice, mentoring and wisdom: practice valuing the aging as well as the elderly and model that valuing for others.
       I know there are many other ways and I would love to hear your thoughts about them.
       I also understand that this is not easy to do within a culture that actively fights against aging and does not value our elderly.  I know this from my own experience.  The other day I pulled my hair back into a pony-tail and my son responded with "That makes you look older."  Without even thinking about it, I said, "Well, that's too bad," and I removed the pony-tail. 
        Fortunately, I've been talking about ageism with my kids and my eldest daughter called me on my response right away.  "Why is it too bad?" she asked.  "Isn't it a good thing to celebrate looking older? Isn't that what you are teaching us?  That you are okay with the growing gray?  That you celebrate the wrinkles and signs of age?"   
        "You are right.  There is that loud voice of culture still in my head and in my life, even as I fight against it.  Thank you for the reminder.  I need to step back into my intentionality of aging with grace and joy."  I put the pony-tail back in my hair.  But I could not deny that there was still a part of me struggling with the idea that I'm looking older.  It remains a part of me that I have to intentionally confront, regularly.
         I look forward to hearing your ideas about confronting ageism.  I look forward to seeing the ways in which we, together, can change a culture back to one that values the wisdom and experience that time give.

Understanding, Learning and Growing through Touch

So, for those of you who read the notes I had on this, I again apologize for the confusion.  But here is the "real" article, rather than just my scatty notes:
       
        On our vacation this summer, we did most of the usual Northern CA touristy things.  I wanted to re-introduce children who had been too little to remember the area when we left to those things that had been enjoyable and educational to me about growing up in the Bay Area (and that we hadn't already done, like Muir Woods and Golden Gate Park, etc.).  We went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium (though I have to admit, we have been there many times), Carmel's beach and art galleries, to Hearst Castle and the Marin Marine Mammal Center, to the Bay Model and Marin Headlands, to Columbia, Moaning Caverns and Half Moon Bay, Filoli Gardens, Black Diamond Mines, Meekham Arboretum and even the Oakland Zoo. We went to the Drive in Movie theater and the It's It factory, we took the train up to Old Sacramento and went to the Train Museum.  We took the Ferry from Vallejo to Pier 39 and Fisherman's Wharf. Some of us went to Santa Cruz. We hiked down from Mt. Diablo on a long night hike and we spent two days hiking around Yosemite, up the falls, around Glacier Point, etc.  We heard a talk in Yosemite by Mountain Climber Ron Kauk and spent time afterwards talking with him about Restorative Justice.  We were active, busy, learning, seeing, experiencing.  
       Everywhere we went I was struck again and again by the reality and realization that those things that were touched, not just seen or heard, but touched and experienced physically - those were the things that had the most impact on us.  The things I held or experienced (hiking, breathing in the trees' scent, feeling the waterfalls spray on my arms and face), those are the things that will remain with me.  The things I just saw or heard?  Not so much.
       In education we talk a lot about those who are visual learners vs. those who are audio learners.  I remember taking a test in one of the education classes at seminary on which kind of learner I was.  Interestingly, while they said that most people are visual learners, and a few less are audio learners, they also acknowledged that there is a small group of people that are something else.  I was part of that "something else" and came up as a "kinetic" learner.  It's true, I am.  I learn by doing, by being in a place, by moving and acting.  
       As we walked around all of these special places, I was struck by how much all people, and especially children, actually learn more through touch.  In every Museum we went to, and every outdoor place and every garden and every...well, every place we went, the young children especially were trying to climb and touch and handle and learn through their hands and bodies.  They yearned to explore, to feel, to hold, to climb on and around everything we saw.  
       What was equally true, though, was that as much as all of them wanted to touch and explore and experience, the universal mantra and the signs on everything instead yelled at these young people constantly, "Do Not touch!"  "Do Not climb!"  "Do Not Pick Up!"  And as I watched the kids with more rule-abiding parents work hard to restrain their kids and keep them from doing what was natural, learning through touch; and as I watched the kids whose parents were paying less attention take off and climb and touch and handle all those forbidden things with wonder and joy and curiosity, I found myself deeply troubled.  Do we take away from our kids their best methods of learning, of living, and being part of this world?  Do we, like we used to do by forbidding left-handers to use their left hands, harm our children by denying them the natural ways of growing that they, by instinct, thrive on?  Is the reason most of us are labeled "visual" learners simply because we've been so denied our natural and deeply primary way of learning that we have, in fact, abandoned it in many cases?  
       Touch is so incredibly meaningful in all of our lives.  Our family watched Temple Grandin last night.  And again, I found myself reflecting on the importance of touch.  As a person with autism, Temple did not like people to touch her, but she did want to be "hugged" by something cocoonish that she made.  Touch remained incredibly important. Avoiding it may have been avoiding a kind of intimacy with that which she could not understand that therefore felt threatening.  But touch also calmed her, when done correctly.  My eldest child reacted to the traumas in her life by putting up a physical barrier.  She allows me to hug her and even invites it from me, but she has put up a wall against all others, a physical way of refusing to connect with other people.  In contrast, my younger two climb all over each other and me and the world every opportunity they have. However, my son, with his sensory integration disorder, has to choose any touch that he experiences.  If someone approaches him and touches him without him seeing it coming, it hurts him.  For myself, when my world flipped upside down I found that the person who had done the flipping became "untouchable" for me - that a touch from him felt (feels) like a burn. The harm I had experienced became embodied in this physical reaction.  In contrast, there have been times when I have been held that it literally felt that the holding was melting away all the pain in the world. The healing that can be done by touch is real.  
        Touch has the ability to heal, it has the ability to hurt, it has the ability to teach and it has the ability to harm.  It reflects our feelings, our fears, our intimacies and our needs.  To deny its importance is to deny something central to our humanity.  
         So I find myself returning to the place I started. Some of our cultural centers, especially children's museums and science centers, are coming to understand more fully the importance of touch and are allowing places where kids can interact with what they see.  But I think we are too slow in this movement, and still too cautious about touch.  To touch is to understand, to know, to experience, to connect with.  
         As I reflect back on our vacation, I will especially remember those things that involved all of my senses as well as my breath and my movements.  I deeply value the hikes where rocks were touched, birds heard, trees and places smelled, beauty seen and body challenged.  I am grateful for the long and strenuous hikes, climbs and descents.  I am grateful for the hands I shook, the humans I touched and with whom I was able to connect. I am grateful for the opportunities my kids had to do the same.  And I pray we can continue to move forward in our honoring of touch as a way to understand and to connect, not only to one another, but to all our world.