ashes

Last night the boys and I went to eat and help at our church's fourth Third Tuesday Supper. We sat with a guy named Carmen who I recognized instantly from dinner the month before. Carmen has presence. He's large and loud and friendly. And, from what I pieced together, Carmen has quite a history. Homelessness, alcoholism, broken relationships. His road hasn't been easy and most of it he's navigated alone.

We got our meals after Carmen did, and when we went over to sit with him, he beamed.

"I was hoping you'd sit here," he said.

As we settled into our seats and Elliott greeted our new friend for the tenth time, Carmen smiled. "I feel like I have two boys, tonight," he said. "I never got to have kids."

"Well, tonight you do," I smiled.

"Thank you, Amy," he said. "That makes me feel real good."

And, so, for twenty minutes last night, Carmen was family. It felt real good. Like we belonged at that table at that time. Like we belonged together.

Months ago pastor Bill gave a sermon about belonging. In a nutshell, the message was this: first belong, then behave, then believe. In other words, you don't come to the family of God believing, you come as someone who belongs. Then you behave as someone who belongs. And then, in a mysterious, marvelous way, belief follows.

Nowhere is this message played out as well as at our Third Tuesday Suppers. The meal is delicious and totally free, and no one knows if you parked your Jaguar outside, took the bus or walked from the nearest homeless shelter. Everyone is equal. Everyone comes as someone who belongs.

It's a poignant message on the first day of Lent, when the God of love went to the greatest lengths to show us that each and every one of us belongs. All of our posturing, one-up-manship, stuff? Ashes. They just don't mean a thing.

I wondered this morning if this is why people give things up for Lent. To prove that the things they like best don't own them. To prove that chocolate and Facebook don't hold a candle to the things that really matter. To show God that he matters more. Or maybe it's just the time to quit something unhealthy, to lose a few pounds, to stop wasting time.

In any case, in honor of Carmen, here's my list. Starting today I'm giving up judging a book by its cover. I'm giving up the idea that one person is more worthy than another. I am giving up the perception that there are requirements to belonging to the family of God.

Yesterday I was in line at the post office and a Spanish-speaking woman who I had seen park her bike outside was trying to mail a flat rate box to Mexico that she had stuffed beyond the limit. The post mistress refused to send her package but the plastic bag she had carried the box in while she rode her bike was ripped. Seeing her quandary, I quickly emptied the reusable Target bag I bought for a dollar and handed it to her. The other customers in line looked at me like I had given her a bar of gold. "Wow, that was really nice of you," one woman said.

Come on, people, it was a bag. And if I hadn't had it with me, I probably wouldn't have done anything. Because if I hadn't had an easy solution, any other option would have felt like a burden, an inconvenience, and for someone who, on the surface, didn't really seem to belong anyway. I'm nice, but I have some things to give up.

Remember, oh man, that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

In this Lenten season, I will strive to remember. That though we are nothing, because of God's great, immeasurable love for us, we are something. Wealthy, homeless, educated, disabled. Young. Old. The haves. The have nots. Carmen. The woman in the post office. Me. All of us. We belong.

So, for Lent, I am giving up laziness, ignorance, inaction, fear and selfishness as much as I possibly can. And in their place I am going to look for a way each and every day to remind someone that they are not just ashes taking up space on this planet. They matter. To God, to others, and to the one made-for-love family where we all belong.

weekend in review

There were yummy oatmeal pancakes and the most indulgent chocolate mousse. Lots of Olympics watched and lots of knitting while watching. Forts built and destroyed. Glass shattered and cleaned up. Valentines delivered and wonderful dinner eaten with friends. But best of all, there was sun. In the windows. On the sledding hill. For more than one of us, that was best of all.

in the eleventh hour

Quite literally Valentine's Day crafting started here around 11 p.m. last night. I have faced the fact that I am a procrastinator, and I am okay with it because my best ideas and execution always come at the last minute. (Or, at least, I like to think that's true.) Liam has been tinkering with his cute painted valentine mailbox for a few days but, after going round and round over an actual valentine idea, we couldn't come up with anything that met his approval. Finally, last night after dinner I showed him an idea I found on another blog and we went for it.


I shot the picture before bed and uploaded the image to Costo at about midnight last night and picked up the prints and the suckers this morning. We both love how they turned out. (Yes, that is an actual sucker stuck into his photographed hands.)


Last night I got the idea to make his teacher and class helper a valentine-ish coffee clutch. This morning I taught Liam how to sew on the buttons, which will probably end up being his highlight of the day. Why do I forget how much joy it brings this boy to feel useful and creative? It's so much faster to just do things myself, but not nearly as rewarding. I am 100% sure that the first thing he told his teacher when he gave her the cup today is that HE sewed on her button.


I had also been thinking about the fact that it is school spirit day today and the kindergarten color is pink. Liam does not own one iota of pink. So I thought it would be cute to make him a valentine shirt. I wasn't sure how he'd feel about wearing hearts, so I made some zigzag scribbles on them to make them look a little more boy-ish. This will probably be the last year I can get away with prettying up my sweet boy, but he was game today. In fact, after he put the shirt on and stood and looked at himself in the mirror, he told me he needed a haircut and could I please cut his hair before school. (I think the carpet bangs in the photo tipped him off.) So now there is paint on the counter, fabric scraps all over the table and hair on the bathroom floor. It's our crazy life. But it's in the midst of this kind of crazy that I love our life most.

liam on the 4 am earthquake

This morning after learning that waking to the feeling of our house lifting off the ground and slamming back to earth was caused by a 3.8 earthquake:

Me: Liam, do you remember waking up last night?

Liam: Oh, yeah. I think it was my blanket. It made a really loud noise when it fell off my bed.

back to basics :: small change number two

Last month I wrote that I (and, by default "we") was (were) going to participate in a movement to make one small change a month in order to try to be more earth friendly. Our January effort to cut back on the flow of paper into our house was a bigger task than I ever imagined. It is astonishing how much printed material goes straight from the mailbox and the curb into the recycle bin. Over and over again.

Here the change: Now every time I receive something I could care less about (which, for me, is nearly every catalog, flyer and circular that comes in the door), I login to Catalog Choice (thank you, Ann!) and get myself off that mailing list. Or, as a last resort, I find a number to call. So far I'm doing it. Not sure yet if it's working. But it feels like more of a conscious effort.

This month I again decided to tackle one small change that would reduce our environmental footprint in some miniscule way as well as help me with my effort to simplify. And I chose... no pre-packaged convenience foods. In other words, make all meals from scratch.

Okay, this probably sounds like the opposite of simple, but in my view, "simplify" ultimately means to pare down, to de-clutter and to get back to basics. Taking simple, wholesome ingredients and making good, easy meals fits into this picture. Plus, the amount of trash that piles up when we eat mostly meals pre-packaged vs. the amount of trash that's left after cooking a meal from scratch is huge. I would love to know how often my grandparents filled a 30 gallon garbage can when feeding six kids three meals a day. It is frankly embarrassing how much trash and recycling is generated by our little family of four on a weekly basis. I am guessing we generate at least three times as much garbage as they did.

The other added bonus of our new way of eating is that we save money. Not surprising, I know. But, still, for someone who has had a habit of running to the store every other day to "pick up some stuff for dinner," getting back to basics in the kitchen is a relief in more ways than one.

Our twice monthly organic fruit and vegetable delivery from Timber Creek Farms helps keep veggies at the forefront of all our meals, and is yet another way to keep the packaging waste to a minimum. If you live within 100 miles of Chicago you MUST check this out.

Anyway, here's what we're eating for dinner:

:: Big baked potatoes with toppings (for the Brit: baked beans, for Liam: loads of fresh parmesan, for me: broccoli and cheese)
:: Crustless quiche any and every way (here is how I make it)
:: Black Bean Burgers (Liam practically made these alone - five stars!)
:: Mediterranean Soup and any other good homemade soups I can convince my dear husband equals dinner (bread helps)
:: Gingery Chickpea & Tomato Stew (five stars!)
:: Spaghetti, sometimes with bolognese sauce
:: Beet risotto or other types depending on what came in the vegetable delivery
:: Lots of variations on our favorite penne, greens and beans

And, of course, bread and bread, and cookies and cookies.

I plan to make pizza soon. Although I imagine that is one area where we'll cave. Not sure I could ever match Home Run Inn.

Any other ideas?

full circle in song

Today I spent several hours with my grandma alone. Just a few weeks ago she was making us dinner, holding Elliott in her lap and teaching Liam a Bible verse for the letter "N". This afternoon she could hardly keep her eyes open, barely understood a thing I said to her and didn't even recognize me until I told her who I was. My grandma is failing fast and it's heartbreaking.

When I arrived I pulled up a chair next to her and tried to figure out what to do for the next four hours. I thought of reading to her but I was sure she'd never hear me. No chance for a conversation. And reading the book I brought seemed like a cop out. As I rubbed her leg, I had a flashback to all the times as a child when I'd sleep over at her house and she'd sit with me in the darkened bedroom rubbing my back and singing to me. I clung to those moments and carried them with me through the rough years that followed. My grandma's voice was pure gold.

So I decided I'd sing. I found a hymnal and started flipping through, stopping at any hymn I recognized. Occasionally my grandma flashed a big smile, twice - out of tune and out of breath - she sang along, many times she made a small sound that let me know she was listening, a lot of the time she was sound asleep. But I sang on. For two hours straight I sang. Here is what I learned by singing today:

1. Music stirs the soul. No matter what state a person is in, music - and singing in particular - uplifts. I have read in several places that many Haitians could be heard singing in the streets the night after the earthquake. Their songs were hope filled despite their circumstance.

2. Singing changes everyone. The change in my grandma's countenance was obvious to me. Although I am a completely average singer, I love to sing and to have someone to sing to, unaccompanied, for two hours straight, lifted my spirits in a way that my regular shower gig never really does.

3. I know a lot of hymns. After two hours of singing I still hadn't gotten through the hymn book. I wasn't surprised I knew so many. I was surprised I could sing them without a piano or better singer to get them started. These are hymns I've heard and sung since I was a girl - at church, at camp, at my grandma's house. Years ago I was the one listening; now that the notes are written in my heart, I could just open my mouth and sing.

4. Sacred music is called sacred for a reason. I haven't given a lot of thought to hymns in the past. There are some I really like, but today, with just me and my hymn book and my grandma, I experienced how deep and moving and beautiful they all are. At one point after I finished a hymn, my grandma sighed and said, "There's a lot of poetry in those," like she was just discovering it for the first time. I know, though, that she has heard and sung these songs thousands of times. Therein lies the mystery: at 94, when your body and mind are failing you, the music still speaks anew. I guess this is why we imagine that angels sing. How could they not?

Coming from a large extended family of singers, I had the added bonus of hearing all the harmonies and voices in my head as I sang. And it struck me today how lucky I am to have this hymn-singing heritage. So, to you, my dear grandma Gaye, for singing to me so beautifully and lovingly while you rubbed my back and while you made your applesauce and baked your bread and sewed, and for leading your family in hymns of hope and praise, thank you, thank you, thank you. Nothing makes me happier right now than to know that for one small blip in time, I could give that gift back to you.

reclaiming fun

I have a friend Jane who was once a professional dancer. Today she teaches people how to have fun. Jane practices Interplay, which is one of those things that is completely mystifying and intimidating when it's explained but makes perfect sense when it's experienced. Truthfully, I've resisted going to an Interplay class because it sounded kind of goofy and awkward. I'm pretty open, but I wasn't sure I could comfortably dance around in front of other people and enjoy it.

This weekend Jane led an Interplay workshop at our church's women's retreat and I finally decided to turn off my inner critic and try it. I cannot remember the last time I spent an hour feeling the same kind of genuine joy and freedom. At one point, my partner at the time was listening to me tell a story in a made-up language and we laughed so hard we were crying. I loved every minute of the experience. For one full hour I not only had fun. I was fun.

This was an ah-ha moment for me because "fun" is probably not a word my husband or my kids would use to describe me. I like to think I'm fun, but I day to day I don't really live that way. I wondered if Interplay could be my ticket back to a more joy-filled experience of everyday life, particularly in interacting with my kids. I was sure they would love it. I would try it.

This morning started off rough. Elliott woke up early. Liam was lethargic and coughing. I taught them some silly movements anyway. They caught right on with pretend tae chi, swinging and hand dancing. Giggling and smiling before breakfast. That's an accomplishment.

I didn't really think about it until late in the afternoon, but starting the day with play and silly fun set the tone - for me. When I was with the guys in the basement - them playing, me knitting - something moved me to bag the project and suggest we play games instead. When I was working on my computer and Liam was resting on his bed reading, dying to be done with "quiet time" (inflicted because he had stayed home from school), on a whim I closed the laptop to play Monopoly Junior. I colored. I let them jump on the bed, and off of it. I closed the shower curtain at bath time and let them splash until their hearts content. I don't know what got into me.

I am an excellent multi-tasker. I take great pride in my ability to do about 15 things at the same time. For the most part, even simultaneously, all things get done well. All things but my family. This weekend it occurred to me that when it comes to people I can't multi-task and expect anyone to have fun. Unless I give my full heart, body and soul to play, I can't be fun.

The best reward today was that my kids were angels. They were smiley and silly and not one bit whiny. Not at all. And tonight when Liam was jumping off the bed just one last time, he turned to me with a big grin and said, "Do you know what my high point is today?"

"What?" I said.

"Having a really fun family."

Well, hello. I guess joining in the dance, no matter how goofy or intimidating or inconvenient it might seem, makes a difference. It makes me fun. What a revelation.