Our church has been trying to compile the resources to offer a full-time ministerial job to our music director, who’s about to graduate from seminary. We’ve had trouble hanging on to a youth director, so the plan is to fold the open, part-time youth position into this new ministry job. Supervising the youth program will be one more thing on her laundry list of duties.
We’ve got a caring children’s director who works part-time, but has way too much on her plate. Few additional resources are being directed towards children and families. Right now, middle grade needs are met by parents and youth needs are met by volunteers.
It makes me nervous. I volunteer all I can, but I can’t do it all. When my kids get older, they’ll need strong guidance and support. I’d like to see someone with a passion for youth guiding the ship.
I guess what makes me sad—and even a little sick—is that it feels like children and youth are destined to remain on the periphery in my church. We show them off as performers, but there’s no real recognition of their value as spiritual members of the church family.
The ironic thing is that the church invested significant resources into a study that concluded they needed to target families with children in order to grow.
But folks still don’t seem to get it.
I know a church can’t rely on paid staff for everything. I wish others would throw themselves into working with the children and youth who venture through our doors.
There are so few of us trying to do this important work. It makes me want to give up. It makes me want to stomp off and look for a church that gets it, if such a place exists.
But I can’t quit--and I don’t want to leave.
So, I have to find a way to increase the perceived value of the children and youth in our aging church. I must be here for a reason. Somehow--some way--I must make a difference.
I think it’s time to pray.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Still learning
My family valued education. It was the ticket out of the working class for my father. He was the first college graduate in his family, and he even went on to get his doctorate.
My parents wanted me to have the same opportunity. And, indeed, I managed to get my doctorate in school psychology in a busy year that included the birth of the twins.
I have tried to pass on the high standards to my children. I helped them learn to read before they started school and tried to offer enriching experiences.
But, at some point, I began to question whether or not high achievement was all it’s cracked up to be.
I realized that I didn’t take time to fully consider my own post-college choices. If I had, I probably would have gone a different route. A doctorate has limited value when you don’t want to work in the field.
And, I began to question whether the educational model offers all the tools for successful living. For one thing, it’s competitive. That’s great for those of us who do well academically, but it’s not great for everyone. I don’t believe human value should be tied to academic achievement. There are too many inherent prejudices in the system.
Knowledge is good. But true power comes from a wisdom and spiritual maturity that are rarely taught in school. Such wisdom recognizes the value of children as full people even before they begin school. We don’t have to feed them to make them flower. They come to us in full bloom.
The change in my perspective has been painful and slow-coming. I don’t think it’s reached my behavior yet. I still glow when my children bring home “perfect” papers. I still hope they’ll be leaders some day.
But I hope for more, too. I hope they’ll see beyond the surface. I hope they’ll find that education is one of many tools that can shape a human being.
Most of all, I hope they’ll know their light comes from their essence as children of God, and can never be dimmed.
My parents wanted me to have the same opportunity. And, indeed, I managed to get my doctorate in school psychology in a busy year that included the birth of the twins.
I have tried to pass on the high standards to my children. I helped them learn to read before they started school and tried to offer enriching experiences.
But, at some point, I began to question whether or not high achievement was all it’s cracked up to be.
I realized that I didn’t take time to fully consider my own post-college choices. If I had, I probably would have gone a different route. A doctorate has limited value when you don’t want to work in the field.
And, I began to question whether the educational model offers all the tools for successful living. For one thing, it’s competitive. That’s great for those of us who do well academically, but it’s not great for everyone. I don’t believe human value should be tied to academic achievement. There are too many inherent prejudices in the system.
Knowledge is good. But true power comes from a wisdom and spiritual maturity that are rarely taught in school. Such wisdom recognizes the value of children as full people even before they begin school. We don’t have to feed them to make them flower. They come to us in full bloom.
The change in my perspective has been painful and slow-coming. I don’t think it’s reached my behavior yet. I still glow when my children bring home “perfect” papers. I still hope they’ll be leaders some day.
But I hope for more, too. I hope they’ll see beyond the surface. I hope they’ll find that education is one of many tools that can shape a human being.
Most of all, I hope they’ll know their light comes from their essence as children of God, and can never be dimmed.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Come to the table
Working on a study guide for Children at the Lord’s Table has helped me realize that the Age of Enlightenment was a mixed blessing for children.
Prior to that time, children were viewed as small adults. Obviously, that was not always a good thing. Children were expected to do the work of adults at a young age. What we take for granted now about development wasn’t considered.
But “enlightened” thinking about children also led to a drop in their status in society. Children lost privileges and were presumed to be in need of control and education. One consequence seems to have been the withdrawal of the cup. Suddenly, people worried that children might not have the cognitive capacity to understand communion and might somehow misuse the elements.
Education is important, certainly, and children do benefit from boundaries. But, in a spiritual and moral sense, children do not have less value just because they do not contribute economically. Actually, children often possess an understanding of God that surpasses adults who have bought into the notion that value equals material possessions. In their innocence, children are wise.
Many of us hobble back and forth between trying to honor and control our children. Finding the right balance is not easy. But I don’t like closed doors. I want to invite all children warmly into the wonder of God’s mystery and love. Calling them to the table is one way to do that.
This is for you, I want to say. You are welcome here, always and forever, no matter what doors the world may close in your face. Whether young, old, beautiful, ugly, rich, poor, sick, healthy, dying or just-born--this is for you.
Come.
Prior to that time, children were viewed as small adults. Obviously, that was not always a good thing. Children were expected to do the work of adults at a young age. What we take for granted now about development wasn’t considered.
But “enlightened” thinking about children also led to a drop in their status in society. Children lost privileges and were presumed to be in need of control and education. One consequence seems to have been the withdrawal of the cup. Suddenly, people worried that children might not have the cognitive capacity to understand communion and might somehow misuse the elements.
Education is important, certainly, and children do benefit from boundaries. But, in a spiritual and moral sense, children do not have less value just because they do not contribute economically. Actually, children often possess an understanding of God that surpasses adults who have bought into the notion that value equals material possessions. In their innocence, children are wise.
Many of us hobble back and forth between trying to honor and control our children. Finding the right balance is not easy. But I don’t like closed doors. I want to invite all children warmly into the wonder of God’s mystery and love. Calling them to the table is one way to do that.
This is for you, I want to say. You are welcome here, always and forever, no matter what doors the world may close in your face. Whether young, old, beautiful, ugly, rich, poor, sick, healthy, dying or just-born--this is for you.
Come.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Talking it through
This week, I got the chance to write a brief news article for DisciplesWorld magazine (www.disciplesworld.com) about talking to children about traumatic events. It’s ideal when editorial needs and my own interests coincide. In situations like this, it might even be therapeutic.
Writing helps me process confusing and anxiety-provoking aspects of life. Sometimes I write my way out of a thundercloud and end up in the sun. Other times I write my way out of a muddle and into a solution. Only rarely do I write myself deeper into despair.
Writing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But we all need ways to release stress and process challenging situations. We need other people to talk things through with us and offer support when we are struggling.
I don’t know about you, but my social circle isn’t as wide as it might be. Even rarer are those friends with whom I can share my deepest fears and concerns and who I know accept and love me just the way I am.
Our ARK (Adults Relating to Kids) group is still in its infancy, but it’s a great forum for talking about some of the stuff that matters--and worries me--most. Yesterday, we talked about fighting and weapons. I shared how I struggle with weapons in our house--Nerf dart guns and plastic light sabers--and the maniacal play that ensues. Part of me knows its “normal” for boys to play this way. Another part of me cringes at the wild attacks my children wage on each other--and the furniture.
Talking with other parents helped me clarify where setting boundaries and having discussions with my children might help me bridge the gap between their play and my comfort zone. I couldn’t have gotten there on my own. My fear and anxiety ran too high.
Too soon this spring, our pilot ARK group will be over. But we’ll start up again in the fall and plan to meet for a longer stretch of time. I hope that we’ll all feel a little less stressed and more supported as parents--and people.
Writing helps me process confusing and anxiety-provoking aspects of life. Sometimes I write my way out of a thundercloud and end up in the sun. Other times I write my way out of a muddle and into a solution. Only rarely do I write myself deeper into despair.
Writing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But we all need ways to release stress and process challenging situations. We need other people to talk things through with us and offer support when we are struggling.
I don’t know about you, but my social circle isn’t as wide as it might be. Even rarer are those friends with whom I can share my deepest fears and concerns and who I know accept and love me just the way I am.
Our ARK (Adults Relating to Kids) group is still in its infancy, but it’s a great forum for talking about some of the stuff that matters--and worries me--most. Yesterday, we talked about fighting and weapons. I shared how I struggle with weapons in our house--Nerf dart guns and plastic light sabers--and the maniacal play that ensues. Part of me knows its “normal” for boys to play this way. Another part of me cringes at the wild attacks my children wage on each other--and the furniture.
Talking with other parents helped me clarify where setting boundaries and having discussions with my children might help me bridge the gap between their play and my comfort zone. I couldn’t have gotten there on my own. My fear and anxiety ran too high.
Too soon this spring, our pilot ARK group will be over. But we’ll start up again in the fall and plan to meet for a longer stretch of time. I hope that we’ll all feel a little less stressed and more supported as parents--and people.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Telling the kids
I don't usually repeat posts on my two blogs, but they seem to have different readers and this topic pertains to both, so I'm breaking my own rule today.
Well, we did it. We talked to the kids about Virginia Tech.
We asked what they had heard. Nothing, they said, although they recalled that Tech’s campus is where they like to ride bikes with Grandfather and their cousins. So I told them that a sick man had shot some students and professors there. Grandfather and Grandmother were not on campus at the time and are safe, but they’re sad—as are we—for all the families and friends who lost loved ones.
The boys had a few questions, some difficult to answer: "Why was he so mad?”, “Where is he (Cho Seung Hui) now?” and "How did he get the guns?” None of it is easy to explain, especially the fact that almost any adult can purchase the weaponry to carry out a massacre. That doesn’t help kids feel safe. But it did give me a chance to explain why I believe in gun control.
My sons’ questions related to their lives and their experiences in Blacksburg. They want to know if anything will change for them. And, on the one hand, it probably won’t. But, on the other hand, Virginia Tech, our family, and the world are changed by violent acts and their reverberations. I wish it wasn’t so, but I can’t deny that we live in a violent world.
Perhaps trying to protect my kids from exposure to violence is an extreme--not to mention futile--response. Perhaps, over the nest few years, we need to watch some violent imagery together and talk about what it means. That goes against every fiber of my being, but maybe I have to be willing to walk into the darkness with my children so they know they are not alone.
Yesterday, the boys wore their Virginia Tech jerseys in those unforgettable shades of orange and maroon. They showed their Hokie pride and sympathy for our beloved Blacksburg. Somehow, it seemed to help. Yes, I think we’re going to be okay.
May the same be true for everyone.
Well, we did it. We talked to the kids about Virginia Tech.
We asked what they had heard. Nothing, they said, although they recalled that Tech’s campus is where they like to ride bikes with Grandfather and their cousins. So I told them that a sick man had shot some students and professors there. Grandfather and Grandmother were not on campus at the time and are safe, but they’re sad—as are we—for all the families and friends who lost loved ones.
The boys had a few questions, some difficult to answer: "Why was he so mad?”, “Where is he (Cho Seung Hui) now?” and "How did he get the guns?” None of it is easy to explain, especially the fact that almost any adult can purchase the weaponry to carry out a massacre. That doesn’t help kids feel safe. But it did give me a chance to explain why I believe in gun control.
My sons’ questions related to their lives and their experiences in Blacksburg. They want to know if anything will change for them. And, on the one hand, it probably won’t. But, on the other hand, Virginia Tech, our family, and the world are changed by violent acts and their reverberations. I wish it wasn’t so, but I can’t deny that we live in a violent world.
Perhaps trying to protect my kids from exposure to violence is an extreme--not to mention futile--response. Perhaps, over the nest few years, we need to watch some violent imagery together and talk about what it means. That goes against every fiber of my being, but maybe I have to be willing to walk into the darkness with my children so they know they are not alone.
Yesterday, the boys wore their Virginia Tech jerseys in those unforgettable shades of orange and maroon. They showed their Hokie pride and sympathy for our beloved Blacksburg. Somehow, it seemed to help. Yes, I think we’re going to be okay.
May the same be true for everyone.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Only God
I’ve been writing about the Virginia Tech situation in Widen My Heart, my blog in the local newspaper. I’ve been struggling with what to say to the boys. So far, I’ve said nothing. Somehow it’s hard to take a moment out of our lively days to turn the talk to something dark and heinous.
I think it comes down to control. I want to feel in control and I want the boys to feel in control, too. Things like this remind us that we’re not in control. That’s why we need God.
My mother-in-law, who lives in Blacksburg, has found comfort and strength in her faith. She finished a recent email with the words, “Only God can help this situation!”
She’s right, of course.
Whether you’re on the front lines or only feel as though you are because of the media blitz, times like this scramble the senses. Several anniversaries of tragic losses fall in this week. Things can look pretty grim, through the media lens.
I tend to lose sight of the light when the darkness comes. But, of course, that’s when we need it most. I have to trust in my faith in God.
I can’t hide from evil, though I wish I could. I can’t shield my kids from everything scary, but I can try to provide a different lens to look through. So, with prayers for courage, I’ll talk with my boys this evening.
May God bless us, everyone.
I think it comes down to control. I want to feel in control and I want the boys to feel in control, too. Things like this remind us that we’re not in control. That’s why we need God.
My mother-in-law, who lives in Blacksburg, has found comfort and strength in her faith. She finished a recent email with the words, “Only God can help this situation!”
She’s right, of course.
Whether you’re on the front lines or only feel as though you are because of the media blitz, times like this scramble the senses. Several anniversaries of tragic losses fall in this week. Things can look pretty grim, through the media lens.
I tend to lose sight of the light when the darkness comes. But, of course, that’s when we need it most. I have to trust in my faith in God.
I can’t hide from evil, though I wish I could. I can’t shield my kids from everything scary, but I can try to provide a different lens to look through. So, with prayers for courage, I’ll talk with my boys this evening.
May God bless us, everyone.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Watching and wondering
Yesterday, I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and watched a wild scene unfold. A young woman was yelling and flailing her arms at three young children packed into the extended cab of a pickup truck. She shoved the children in, slammed the door, and then stuck her head back into the truck and laughed and pointed at them.
Her expression said “Ha, ha! I’m bigger than you and I win!” One child in the back pounded repeatedly on another with his fist. Then, the woman climbed into the passenger’s side of the truck and the man in the driver’s seat reversed rapidly, almost crashing into a passing car.
I sat in my car long after they had roared away, my stomach in knots.
I remember feeling out-of-control when my boys were little. I know there were some moments that must have been equally painful to observe, often after public outings or extended car trips. Still--from where I stand now--it’s unbearably sad.
What are we teaching children when we use fear, intimidation, and physical force to control them? I fear we are teaching them that “might makes right”. That value has been a core tenet in our society from the start and we continue to live it out. But it’s pretty primitive.
The more powerless we feel, the more likely we are to attack others. When we live in fear, we act out of fear.
Today, I’m wondering whether my children have heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech, which appears to have been the result of irrational paranoia. I hope the shooting wasn’t second-grade playground talk, but who knows? I almost said something to the boys this morning because their grandfather works at Virginia Tech and we visit Blacksburg often. But I couldn’t bring myself to start their day with talk of a college shooting.
How do we break the cycle of fear and violence? The responsibility falls on all of us who are mature and mentally healthy enough to understand why it matters. We can’t ignore the importance of these dynamics. We must do better--and help those who cannot help themselves.
What could I have done as I watched the parking lot scene? Surely, there must be something I can do.
Surely.
Her expression said “Ha, ha! I’m bigger than you and I win!” One child in the back pounded repeatedly on another with his fist. Then, the woman climbed into the passenger’s side of the truck and the man in the driver’s seat reversed rapidly, almost crashing into a passing car.
I sat in my car long after they had roared away, my stomach in knots.
I remember feeling out-of-control when my boys were little. I know there were some moments that must have been equally painful to observe, often after public outings or extended car trips. Still--from where I stand now--it’s unbearably sad.
What are we teaching children when we use fear, intimidation, and physical force to control them? I fear we are teaching them that “might makes right”. That value has been a core tenet in our society from the start and we continue to live it out. But it’s pretty primitive.
The more powerless we feel, the more likely we are to attack others. When we live in fear, we act out of fear.
Today, I’m wondering whether my children have heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech, which appears to have been the result of irrational paranoia. I hope the shooting wasn’t second-grade playground talk, but who knows? I almost said something to the boys this morning because their grandfather works at Virginia Tech and we visit Blacksburg often. But I couldn’t bring myself to start their day with talk of a college shooting.
How do we break the cycle of fear and violence? The responsibility falls on all of us who are mature and mentally healthy enough to understand why it matters. We can’t ignore the importance of these dynamics. We must do better--and help those who cannot help themselves.
What could I have done as I watched the parking lot scene? Surely, there must be something I can do.
Surely.
Monday, April 16, 2007
What now?
I’ve seen it coming. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve rushed it—or even created it—through my anxiety. But I don’t think so.
My children are outgrowing children’s church. The same boys who fit in so well not long ago seem awkward and out of place—not to mention hostile and cranky.
Maybe they’ve just become ‘tweens. They are only 8, but they seem older. In many ways, they’re already hovering between childhood and adolescence. I know they aren’t ready to be on their own, but they crave independence and freedom and choice.
Suddenly, they seem too big for their room, their clothes, the house—and children’s church. They’re pushing the boundaries, eager to break free of our close rein.
So, what happens now?
Our church has a “bubble” of kids in the 3rd grade range who are transitioning out of Worship & Wonder. We’ve talked about adding a program for grades 3-5, but resources are already spread thin. It would be hard to find another group of volunteers willing to forgo worship on a regular basis.
A better answer seems to be to make Sunday worship more inclusive. A second service expands the possibilities. But it’s still a mind bend for the boys to sit through worship.
I guess, just as the boys need new clothes, they need new rules, privileges, and opportunities—at home and at church. Spring seems to be when the growth really shows. It challenges us to get creative and find ways to connect children with meaningful opportunities for growth and exploration.
It’s exhausting, yet exciting. It’s scary, yet healthy. Kids grow—so we have to grow, too. Send any great resources for ages 8-12 my way, please. I need all the help I can get.
My children are outgrowing children’s church. The same boys who fit in so well not long ago seem awkward and out of place—not to mention hostile and cranky.
Maybe they’ve just become ‘tweens. They are only 8, but they seem older. In many ways, they’re already hovering between childhood and adolescence. I know they aren’t ready to be on their own, but they crave independence and freedom and choice.
Suddenly, they seem too big for their room, their clothes, the house—and children’s church. They’re pushing the boundaries, eager to break free of our close rein.
So, what happens now?
Our church has a “bubble” of kids in the 3rd grade range who are transitioning out of Worship & Wonder. We’ve talked about adding a program for grades 3-5, but resources are already spread thin. It would be hard to find another group of volunteers willing to forgo worship on a regular basis.
A better answer seems to be to make Sunday worship more inclusive. A second service expands the possibilities. But it’s still a mind bend for the boys to sit through worship.
I guess, just as the boys need new clothes, they need new rules, privileges, and opportunities—at home and at church. Spring seems to be when the growth really shows. It challenges us to get creative and find ways to connect children with meaningful opportunities for growth and exploration.
It’s exhausting, yet exciting. It’s scary, yet healthy. Kids grow—so we have to grow, too. Send any great resources for ages 8-12 my way, please. I need all the help I can get.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Learning from each other
Yesterday, I visited some friends who live in a retirement community in the Indianapolis area. They gave me a tour of the impressive facilities, which include a child care center. We peeked in and watched the children exploring and celebrating and doing all the things little ones do so naturally and joyfully.
Many residents of this community volunteer regularly in the child care center. The oldest volunteer is 102; he shares his poetry with the children. The director told me that some great-grandparents come over to visit with their great-grandchildren. The center provides a safe environment where they can spend time together. Some volunteers rock babies; others read books.
It seems like such an obvious marriage. I found myself wondering why more retirement communities don’t include child care facilities. So many children live far away from grandparents and great-grandparents today. This arrangement allows for surrogate relationships to develop, to everyone’s benefit. I know my grandparents would have loved the chance to visit with children--or even just watch them outside playing-- in their retirement community.
Bringing people from different generations together in caring relationships is one of my many interests. We seem to segregate ourselves when left to our own devices, as if we believe we have nothing in common with those at a different stage of life. Yet, in truth, we have much to give to each other, and much to gain--to paraphrase the title of my friend Emy Wadsworth’s wonderful book about mentoring (Giving Much/Gaining More).
A child care center inside a retirement community! Great ideas like this are meant to be shared.
Many residents of this community volunteer regularly in the child care center. The oldest volunteer is 102; he shares his poetry with the children. The director told me that some great-grandparents come over to visit with their great-grandchildren. The center provides a safe environment where they can spend time together. Some volunteers rock babies; others read books.
It seems like such an obvious marriage. I found myself wondering why more retirement communities don’t include child care facilities. So many children live far away from grandparents and great-grandparents today. This arrangement allows for surrogate relationships to develop, to everyone’s benefit. I know my grandparents would have loved the chance to visit with children--or even just watch them outside playing-- in their retirement community.
Bringing people from different generations together in caring relationships is one of my many interests. We seem to segregate ourselves when left to our own devices, as if we believe we have nothing in common with those at a different stage of life. Yet, in truth, we have much to give to each other, and much to gain--to paraphrase the title of my friend Emy Wadsworth’s wonderful book about mentoring (Giving Much/Gaining More).
A child care center inside a retirement community! Great ideas like this are meant to be shared.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Simple acknowledgment
Some days, it seems simple. If each of us stretched a bit, we could make this world better for children.
Of course, it’s not really simple. But I do believe there are small changes we could make to improve the world. One has to do with acknowledgement.
I used to walk with my friend, Margo, back when we both worked at a Denver elementary school. Margo called out a cheery “Hello!” to everyone we passed--and we passed some strange-looking characters in that neighborhood. To my surprise, almost everyone responded in an equally friendly way. She set the tone.
I’m shier than Margo, by nature, and often stay quiet or look away when passing strangers in the street. Most folks don’t say anything. Of course, I’ve been setting the tone, too.
In February, I attended a retreat at a retirement center for nuns and priests. In our introductory material, I read that the residents were happy to have us among them. They did, however, like to be acknowledged.
I think it’s the same for children. Looking back, I remember how pleased I was when someone made a point of talking to me or even just smiled at me in the grocery store. Most people didn’t. Again, I probably had my guard up. But I appreciated those gregarious adults who noticed me anyhow, and made me feel special.
So, this is my idea. What if we commit to acknowledging everyone we meet in a friendly manner, making a special effort with children and the elderly? Maybe you’re doing this already. But I know I can do better.
Let’s set the tone.
Of course, it’s not really simple. But I do believe there are small changes we could make to improve the world. One has to do with acknowledgement.
I used to walk with my friend, Margo, back when we both worked at a Denver elementary school. Margo called out a cheery “Hello!” to everyone we passed--and we passed some strange-looking characters in that neighborhood. To my surprise, almost everyone responded in an equally friendly way. She set the tone.
I’m shier than Margo, by nature, and often stay quiet or look away when passing strangers in the street. Most folks don’t say anything. Of course, I’ve been setting the tone, too.
In February, I attended a retreat at a retirement center for nuns and priests. In our introductory material, I read that the residents were happy to have us among them. They did, however, like to be acknowledged.
I think it’s the same for children. Looking back, I remember how pleased I was when someone made a point of talking to me or even just smiled at me in the grocery store. Most people didn’t. Again, I probably had my guard up. But I appreciated those gregarious adults who noticed me anyhow, and made me feel special.
So, this is my idea. What if we commit to acknowledging everyone we meet in a friendly manner, making a special effort with children and the elderly? Maybe you’re doing this already. But I know I can do better.
Let’s set the tone.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Federated Church's fresh start
Well, our second service at Federated debuted yesterday, on Easter Sunday. I showed up at 7:45 to power-greet folks--thank goodness Starbucks was open. The tables filled up and we started pulling down chairs for late-comers. All told, we had about 90 folks--a fine showing.
And the service was just what I’d hoped it would be. I love the praise music--well, I just love to sing. That’s one of the ways I worship. I don’t have enough singing and music in my life and this filled the gap.
Another cool thing was slips of paper for people to write concerns and celebrations to share. One child wrote, “Thank you, God, for the Easter Bunny!” I liked hearing the children’s voices intermingled with the adults’, and seeing families gathered together to worship.
Recently, the DHM Advocate ran an article about a theory, proposed by Urban T. Holmes and elaborated by Corrine Ware in Discover Your Spiritual Type, that there are four quadrants of spirituality: two of the mind (called Moralism and Head Trip) and two of the heart (called Meditation and Emotionality). Check it out at www.homemissionadvocate.com.
I see myself with a foot (and a hand) in each of the four areas--probably moving around, Twister-style. All those aspects of religion and spirituality engage and inspire me. But I’ve learned that my heart must be touched, or religion runs dry. I’ve got to “feel the love”. The second service offered that experience--or maybe it was all that caffeine.
I must confess, though, that I didn’t bring my kids along to the family-friendly service. I knew I’d be “on duty” and I wasn’t sure what that would mean for the kids. Plus, the boys have special dietary needs (celiac disease), so sometimes it’s just easier to avoid the tables of donuts. But, next time, I promise I’ll include them. I’ll pack some gluten-free treats and we’ll take our place at the table.
I knew we were on to something special when another boy told my children, who came after the early service for the Easter egg hunt and Sunday school, “You missed the best part!”
I’m pretty sure he meant the service, not the donuts.
And the service was just what I’d hoped it would be. I love the praise music--well, I just love to sing. That’s one of the ways I worship. I don’t have enough singing and music in my life and this filled the gap.
Another cool thing was slips of paper for people to write concerns and celebrations to share. One child wrote, “Thank you, God, for the Easter Bunny!” I liked hearing the children’s voices intermingled with the adults’, and seeing families gathered together to worship.
Recently, the DHM Advocate ran an article about a theory, proposed by Urban T. Holmes and elaborated by Corrine Ware in Discover Your Spiritual Type, that there are four quadrants of spirituality: two of the mind (called Moralism and Head Trip) and two of the heart (called Meditation and Emotionality). Check it out at www.homemissionadvocate.com.
I see myself with a foot (and a hand) in each of the four areas--probably moving around, Twister-style. All those aspects of religion and spirituality engage and inspire me. But I’ve learned that my heart must be touched, or religion runs dry. I’ve got to “feel the love”. The second service offered that experience--or maybe it was all that caffeine.
I must confess, though, that I didn’t bring my kids along to the family-friendly service. I knew I’d be “on duty” and I wasn’t sure what that would mean for the kids. Plus, the boys have special dietary needs (celiac disease), so sometimes it’s just easier to avoid the tables of donuts. But, next time, I promise I’ll include them. I’ll pack some gluten-free treats and we’ll take our place at the table.
I knew we were on to something special when another boy told my children, who came after the early service for the Easter egg hunt and Sunday school, “You missed the best part!”
I’m pretty sure he meant the service, not the donuts.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Children today
Sometimes I think my kids experience life much the way I did at their age. They are a combination of innocence and sophistication, awe and acid--just regular, rollicking 8-year-olds.
But, of course, the world is different. I think elementary school was a pretty innocent time for me. Things didn’t get scary until middle school when eleven-year-olds intermingled with fourteen-year-olds in the halls. Then, the scale tipped, and my confidence slipped off.
Looking back, it seems early; I know I was unprepared. But I guess we all hover on childhood’s edge at some point. It’s a big leap. And it seems like kids are being pushed to make it sooner, with less preparation.
I wonder about my 8-year-olds who look 10. Where are they on the spectrum of childhood to adolescence? How much sand remains in their hourglass of innocence?
Stories like the one about fifth-graders having sex in class make me nervous. And they make me realize we’ve got to talk openly about sexuality. The world gives one message, not intended for the eyes and senses of the children. But they’re exposed to it because we put ourselves first. Childhood is a casualty of our lust and greed.
But this isn’t meant to be another rant about society’s problems. What I am trying to face is that I owe my kids more. I’ve got to help balance the scale with reason and honesty.
I found some great resources through the “Our Whole Lives” website www.uua.org/religiouseducation/curricula/ourwhole/ . Either a church or parents could use these materials. I plan to follow the guidelines from this site to make sure I cover the bases with my kids in an age-appropriate manner. I hope maybe we can offer some programming for families at church, too. At least, I’ll summon the courage to make the suggestion.
It’s just too important to ignore.
But, of course, the world is different. I think elementary school was a pretty innocent time for me. Things didn’t get scary until middle school when eleven-year-olds intermingled with fourteen-year-olds in the halls. Then, the scale tipped, and my confidence slipped off.
Looking back, it seems early; I know I was unprepared. But I guess we all hover on childhood’s edge at some point. It’s a big leap. And it seems like kids are being pushed to make it sooner, with less preparation.
I wonder about my 8-year-olds who look 10. Where are they on the spectrum of childhood to adolescence? How much sand remains in their hourglass of innocence?
Stories like the one about fifth-graders having sex in class make me nervous. And they make me realize we’ve got to talk openly about sexuality. The world gives one message, not intended for the eyes and senses of the children. But they’re exposed to it because we put ourselves first. Childhood is a casualty of our lust and greed.
But this isn’t meant to be another rant about society’s problems. What I am trying to face is that I owe my kids more. I’ve got to help balance the scale with reason and honesty.
I found some great resources through the “Our Whole Lives” website www.uua.org/religiouseducation/curricula/ourwhole/ . Either a church or parents could use these materials. I plan to follow the guidelines from this site to make sure I cover the bases with my kids in an age-appropriate manner. I hope maybe we can offer some programming for families at church, too. At least, I’ll summon the courage to make the suggestion.
It’s just too important to ignore.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Where is God in this?
If I believe God is everywhere, bidden or not, then the question becomes “Where is God in this?” God must be in the middle--in my muddle and in my mud. But how can I glimpse Him? Where might He be?
God is in my light and my dark, my love and my hate, my success and my failings. God is in my beautiful and my ugly. God is in my friend and my foe. God is in parent and child. God is in the sun and the moon. God is in the spring, summer, fall, and winter. God is in each day and each night. There is no corner God doesn’t fill. God is in my mind and in the air I breathe. God is behind, and shining out from, the clouds. God is in my words, my thoughts, my whispers, and my tears. God is with me when I am empty, and when I am filled. God holds me when I suffer. God celebrates with me when I rejoice. God is the breeze that blows the trees. God is in the splendor of life and the dark, gritty underbelly. God is my hope.
Christ is the human model of devotion to God. I cannot emulate God and should not try. I can’t have that control. But I can submit and trust and, ultimately, surrender myself in God’s name. This is the Christian path.
Story is how we progress along the path. Story is the adventure and the relationships, the laughter and the tears. Story is our lives and how they intersect with the lives of those who came before and those who will come aft.
Music is the praise and the celebration and the Grand Huzzah. Music carries us along like foam on the ocean. Music colorizes and invigorates life.
Words are the pebbles that shine on the beach. Piled together, they are my Ebenezer.
And people…oh, people! People are unlike anything else. They are the me and the not me loosed like cannons in the world, splaying blood and vitriol and love. They completely defy my attempts to control them. I want to love people and, yet, I so determinedly won’t.
God, please help me. Deepen my compassion. Widen my heart so that I may have more room for others. I need their stories to further my own understanding and story. Let me pass over them like a warm breeze, a soft kiss, a gentle touch. Let me leave behind a blessing, rather than a scratch. Show me how to be sincere and true and kind and spread love where love is needed.
Now place me on the path to productive work so that I may extend my voice and my gifts and prompt others to wonder where God can be found in their lives.
Amen.
God is in my light and my dark, my love and my hate, my success and my failings. God is in my beautiful and my ugly. God is in my friend and my foe. God is in parent and child. God is in the sun and the moon. God is in the spring, summer, fall, and winter. God is in each day and each night. There is no corner God doesn’t fill. God is in my mind and in the air I breathe. God is behind, and shining out from, the clouds. God is in my words, my thoughts, my whispers, and my tears. God is with me when I am empty, and when I am filled. God holds me when I suffer. God celebrates with me when I rejoice. God is the breeze that blows the trees. God is in the splendor of life and the dark, gritty underbelly. God is my hope.
Christ is the human model of devotion to God. I cannot emulate God and should not try. I can’t have that control. But I can submit and trust and, ultimately, surrender myself in God’s name. This is the Christian path.
Story is how we progress along the path. Story is the adventure and the relationships, the laughter and the tears. Story is our lives and how they intersect with the lives of those who came before and those who will come aft.
Music is the praise and the celebration and the Grand Huzzah. Music carries us along like foam on the ocean. Music colorizes and invigorates life.
Words are the pebbles that shine on the beach. Piled together, they are my Ebenezer.
And people…oh, people! People are unlike anything else. They are the me and the not me loosed like cannons in the world, splaying blood and vitriol and love. They completely defy my attempts to control them. I want to love people and, yet, I so determinedly won’t.
God, please help me. Deepen my compassion. Widen my heart so that I may have more room for others. I need their stories to further my own understanding and story. Let me pass over them like a warm breeze, a soft kiss, a gentle touch. Let me leave behind a blessing, rather than a scratch. Show me how to be sincere and true and kind and spread love where love is needed.
Now place me on the path to productive work so that I may extend my voice and my gifts and prompt others to wonder where God can be found in their lives.
Amen.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Pie and parenting
The ARK group gathered for the second time yesterday. All ten parents met after church for a pot luck lunch and meeting. We feasted on homemade salads, cookies, and even a coconut pie. Since cooking is not my forte, I picked up a sandwich plate from the grocery store’s deli. Families ate together and then we split off to meet while the child care providers took the kids outside.
With ten parents (plus a sister and a baby) present, the dynamics of the group changed. Some people shared quite a bit, but several didn’t say a word. We discussed the lesson as we went and I think maybe I should have suggested that we save comments until the end. But the discussion seemed important, so I don’t know.
I’d hoped to get through Lesson One and a situation circle (a time for someone to share a difficult situation and ask for suggestions), but a couple of the participants had to leave early. Both single moms supervise visitation of their children with their fathers on Sunday afternoons, so that makes it a little hectic. Still, this first lesson laid the groundwork, I think. It’s deceptively simple, this unconditional love thing.
And I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon. A parent in the ARK group will bring up an issue and I’ll think, “Oh, we don’t really have that problem in our family.” Then, the next day, I’ll notice that actually we do have that issue. And I’ll have a new perspective on how to handle it.
Yesterday, a mother mentioned a neighbor who had treated her child unkindly. She realized that her reaction had not set the best example for her daughter. This morning, I found out that an adult with whom I struggle had said something to my son that made me quake. I mumbled curse words under my breath after my son left the room, only to realize he was still within hearing distance. I had to admit that I was wrong and I need to put aside my anger at this person and try to get along. They don’t call it the higher road because it’s easy to get on.
It’s subtle, the way talking honestly about parenting changes you. Windows open into other people’s minds and hearts and the world becomes wider. I appreciate my fellow ARK participants pulling back the blinds and letting the rest of us peer in, even when things are messy. No perfect people here--just caring parents, wanting to grow and learn.
We won’t meet again until the 22nd due to Easter and a congregational meeting. I hope we won’t lose momentum. I’ll keep you posted.
With ten parents (plus a sister and a baby) present, the dynamics of the group changed. Some people shared quite a bit, but several didn’t say a word. We discussed the lesson as we went and I think maybe I should have suggested that we save comments until the end. But the discussion seemed important, so I don’t know.
I’d hoped to get through Lesson One and a situation circle (a time for someone to share a difficult situation and ask for suggestions), but a couple of the participants had to leave early. Both single moms supervise visitation of their children with their fathers on Sunday afternoons, so that makes it a little hectic. Still, this first lesson laid the groundwork, I think. It’s deceptively simple, this unconditional love thing.
And I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon. A parent in the ARK group will bring up an issue and I’ll think, “Oh, we don’t really have that problem in our family.” Then, the next day, I’ll notice that actually we do have that issue. And I’ll have a new perspective on how to handle it.
Yesterday, a mother mentioned a neighbor who had treated her child unkindly. She realized that her reaction had not set the best example for her daughter. This morning, I found out that an adult with whom I struggle had said something to my son that made me quake. I mumbled curse words under my breath after my son left the room, only to realize he was still within hearing distance. I had to admit that I was wrong and I need to put aside my anger at this person and try to get along. They don’t call it the higher road because it’s easy to get on.
It’s subtle, the way talking honestly about parenting changes you. Windows open into other people’s minds and hearts and the world becomes wider. I appreciate my fellow ARK participants pulling back the blinds and letting the rest of us peer in, even when things are messy. No perfect people here--just caring parents, wanting to grow and learn.
We won’t meet again until the 22nd due to Easter and a congregational meeting. I hope we won’t lose momentum. I’ll keep you posted.
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