Ingesting Beauty

Of all the things our culture has wrong or twisted about food, under-appreciating its beauty is high on the list.  Beauty, and experiences thereof, are integrating experiences.  That means they make us feel whole.  They tie us together to ourselves inside.  In the presence of beauty, noticed and appreciated, we experience completeness.  The feeling is deep, even if fleeting.  The thing that we seem to forget is that beauty is meant to be internalized.

By design, beauty causes us to desire something "other," something different from us.  We want to possess it, have it course through us, make us more like itself somehow.  This is the call of Beauty Himself reaching out to us in the everyday.  Of all beauty, in all its invigorating forms, food actually becomes a part of our physical bodies.  Food attracts our eyes and noses right off the bat.  Quickly we put it in our hands and mouths and experience its texture and taste, sound making up the comforting background.  Once swallowed that food actually changes our internal structures.  It makes us stronger, gives us energy and endurance.  It can emotionally lift our spirits.  It can cause people to make noises normally reserved for the bedroom, and if that's not TMI enough for you, eating new food makes waste get pushed out (yes, I'm talking about poop and eating in the same paragraph).

Only food can tantalize all of our senses; not only our bodies but our souls as well if we'll let it.  No wonder there are so many food and feasting analogies throughout Scripture! Calling Jesus "the bread of life" is far from a simple illustration.  While the Word of God surely sustains us, it also binds us together.  It makes sense of our experiences.  It illustrates the cross-over between how our super-natural selves and our every-day lives interact.  The plain and simple of it is, without food, we die.  Without beauty, we become soul-less automatans; without ultimate Beauty, we spend our lives searching for something to make us really, really, whole - and nothing ever completely and permanently does.

We Americans are so removed from our food, so much haste and waste.  So much of our food comes from a box or a bag, eaten en route to yet more hastily spent time.  Food comes to us so easily that we forget to let it nourish us.  We're in such a hurry that we don't often to stop to think if what we're putting into our bodies is actually nourishing at all, much less what parts of us need the nourishment.  Imagine if every time we ate we took the time, both in the preparation and the eating, to let our bodies, souls, and minds be nourished.

So next time you're cooking at home, start a little earlier.  If you can, have a friend over who appreciates good food so you can talk about it.  Plate the food for yourself, throw a little smear of something across the top of your plate to make it fancy.  Take the time to appreciate the colors and smells. EAT SLOWLY.  Every few bites stop and think, "This is what God does for me, provides, nourishes, changes, strengthens--loves."  I guarantee you'll feel better when you're done.

It's a bird!? It's a plane!? It's...Icarus?

Today is the second official day of the summer and for my middle son, it's already a summer filled with freedom. In a short matter of two weeks my four-and-a-half-year-old superstar has learned to ride his two-wheeler, swim, and has started to learn to read. He's pretty convinced he's ready to move out tomorrow because, really, what more could he possibly need to learn to be a success in life? Wow, do I love him. As I watch his skill sets increase, and his sense of invincibility right along with it, I have to laugh at my own Icarus like temptations to push beyond the natural limitations physics give an experience - because I want the high that comes with showing off.

In my adult life, most of my showing off has happened at church. Somebody shows some appreciation for a talent and bam! I'm in that ministry "serving." Or I learn something at school, have some epiphany while studying the Word, and bam! I want to teach the next series, you know, because I'm so wise, and deep, and clever with my words. {Proverbs 18:2 - A fool does not delight in understanding, But only in revealing his own mind...snap.} This temptation to flaunt our spiritual feathers seems to be a pretty common experience, to varying degrees, amongst most adult Christians I know. We rush so quickly to share knowledge and display talents, desiring loving smiles and applause. How often do we look for the encouragement to come from our fellow children? Wanting them to appreciate our newfound abilities and affirm that those abilities are, in fact, every bit as cool as we feel when doing them?

How quickly that hunt for praise turns to discouragement and a sense of being deflated. Only a parent, not another kid, cheers every time the child experiences success. Only a parent notices nuanced improvements in form. Only a parent is able to see the inner growth of confidence manifest in the subtle smile on the face they know by heart. Only a parent can truly appreciate the magnificent balance of the inner and outer person growing at the same time.

What a patient Parent we have! When we desire to use a given (as in a gift) skill, to push it, despite our lack of mastery, our Parent still cheers. God reaches out to lift the chin out of the water and remind us to breathe. Grasps our reaching fingers when we've over-estimated the distance we're capable of. Wipes away tears and blood when we lose our balance and get road rash from going too fast. Smiles and explains patiently when we read the wrong word or don't understand what it is we've sounded out. I am amazed and humbled by God's "never-stopping-never-breaking-always-and-forever love" (The Jesus Storybook Bible - read it.). That God would look on me and smile. That I would be encouraged to keep going, even when I have made an absolute mess of things, that I would be fully known and loved in every nook and cranny, is overwhelming.

Lamentations 3:21-23 - This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope. The LORD's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Great is Your faithfulness!

Jesus Storybook Bible

Turning Over a Greener Leaf

With spring nearly upon us my green thumbs have begun to itch, and I have very little to scratch them with. I inherited the gardening bug from my grandfather and mom but little did I know it was going to be enhanced mutant X-man style by the green movement.

What started as a pleasure activity (gardening, enjoying annual flowers etc.) has turned into a water-conservation, recycling, composting, cloth diapering extravaganza! I laugh at myself as I make regular trips to what I still refer to as "my hippie-tree-hugger diaper store," and it is my ongoing challenge to find just the right balance of "browns" and "greens" to turn out beautiful, rich compost. I still enjoy gardening and landscape design for their own pleasures (I am secretly planning to redo some friends' yard whether they like it or not) but I desire more and more to live at the intersection of pleasure and practicality.

I am astonished when I try to calculate the amount of waste I have personally contributed to our landfills, and ashamed when I actually take the time to educate myself on the future of that trash. I have put hundreds if not thousands of diapers out there that will not begin to bio-degrade until long after the child that provided the fillings has passed out of this world. I was surprised to find that little things I used to do that I thought were so "green of me" (paper napkins, non-plasticized disposable plates, etc.) make no difference because our American landfills are sealed to prevent ground water contamination which means no air gets in to allow the trash to decompose naturally. I have exposed my children and myself to a TON of unnecessary chemicals in food, cleaning products, and clothing.

Now I'm not ready to go so far as to only buy organic foods, clothes and household items made from renewable resources, but, never say never right? It's unfortunate that making most of these greener choices is still cost prohibitive to most people, regardless of how they may feel ethically about the choices. And as we have tried to move more in this direction for our family we have also had to examine our motivations and callings (yes, I see it as a calling) to this lifestyle...

First, is it a calling? Do we, my family, and perhaps in the broader sense, we as Christians, still have a calling to be stewards of the Earth? What does that look like? Should we be living our lives as if Christ is coming back tomorrow so nothing matters or putting effort into preserving this Earth so that when God in his good pleasure returns it is still capable of supporting life? Can we the human race actually destroy the Earth? Are we that powerful?

Second, what lessons do I teach my children in this process? I hope that I am teaching them that they are worth taking care of. That making healthy choices in their eating habits is paramount beyond their looks, that education and not trends, is what matters. That their choices have long reaching effects, some of which cannot be predicted. That the Earth was given to us by God, and it is disrespectful to treat any gift given in love as a dumping ground.

Ultimately, I think a great part of this movement for me has been one of wanting to leave a legacy behind me of whole-person health. I want to engage in activities that strengthen my soul, mind, and body and that bring glory to my Creator. The creation is listed in scripture as something that will be redeemed by God along with us, so let's not throw it by the wayside now. Let's acknowledge that whether we live like a hermit in the mountains or in the middle of an urban metro-plex that we are surrounded by the projects of the living God and let that knowledge make us tender.

Post-Partum Depression

I have three beautiful children who I love and who are the light of my life. Each of their births and my pregnancy experiences were totally unique and wonderful and with two of them the after-period found me happy, light and confident. With my middle child however I found myself suffering from postpartum depression. It was totally unexpected, didn't match any of the descriptions in any of my books, and it scared me, every aspect of it scared me. I was terrified of feeling so out of control of my body, scared of taking medication, scared of not taking medication, scared by the stories in books, scared to tell my friends and family. It was a dark time literally and metaphorically.

A little background for my story here. I have the poster family for happiness. I am intelligent, educated, confident and secure in my faith. My children are beautiful and well behaved, treasures to everyone they meet. My husband is handsome, smart, helpful, supportive and involved, truly the ideal man. My parents live close and are involved in our lives (which we love) always eager to help in anyway possible and I am surrounded by an active friend and church group who are of the dinner and babysitter providing genre. I tell you these things reader not to brag but to make it clear that my community did not fail me, my depression was not the result of being overworked and abandoned, it was truly something in me that became unbalanced and required intervention.

My son was born on November 6, 2007 by planned C-section. Everything went smoothly, there were no complications. About a month later I still felt over-tired, which didn't surprise me, after all I had a newborn and a two-and-a-half year old requiring a lot of attention. What did surprise me was how stupid my husband was being. It seemed like no matter what he tried he could not please me. He wasn't helping enough around the house, he wasn't available to be with the kids, his cooking was sub-par, his attentions inadequate, he was failing me in every way and I was angry about it. Soon after I noticed this I began to realize that my until now perfect daughter was becoming a thorn in my side. She was "mouthy", dawdling, needy and I found myself less and less able to be patient with her. I was yelling more often, smiling less and slightly irritated all the time.

It was at this point that I thought, "maybe I'm depressed," but a search through my pregnancy books and online gave me a list of symptoms that didn't match, sleeplessness or nothing but sleeping, withdrawal from life, suicidal thoughts, appetite changes, fears, etc. None of these fit what I was experiencing so I chalked it up to being tired and soldiered on. After another couple weeks of feeling a little bit angry all the time I found myself actually thinking things that shocked me because they were spontaneous and unlike me. I remember rocking my son in the middle of the night looking down at his little face and thinking, "You are all that's holding me together right now." A few days later I was driving to our regular playgroup and contemplated (for less than a split second) driving into oncoming traffic, with both of my precious children in the car. I made it to playgroup and was blessed to find that only three of my closest friends were there who I immediately pulled into the kitchen and blurted out, "I think I'm depressed" and started bawling. Up until this moment I had not felt sad or any other emotion that I readily associated with depression but the tears were uncontrollable. I will forever be grateful to one of those girlfriends (who has struggled with anxiety/depression herself) who gently told me, "I've been worried about you" and hugged me, it was exactly what I needed to hear. I was still in denial though. To me depression may as well have been labeled "failure." That's what the list of symptoms said to me, I wasn't ready to admit that I couldn't "handle" the natural consequences of my life choices. Later that week I stood in the doorway of the nursery watching my husband and daughter play with the baby, all of them full of smiles and laughter. I steeled myself and said, "I think I might be depressed." What I really wanted was for my husband to affirm what I was feeling and tell me that it wasn't as bad as I thought, that I was doing a great job and that all this negativity was in my head (no pun intended). He instead immediately looked back at me and replied, "I agree 100%. You are for sure depressed." I went and called my doctor.

I started taking meds January 4, 2008 and on January 5, the sun came out for the first time in two months. I literally thought that. I used to laugh at those commercials for anti-depressants that talk about the sun being gone but I now know that is an incredibly accurate description. Over the next couple of days I continued to feel better and more like myself but now I had a new set of things to stress about. How long would I take the meds? How would I know when I didn't need them anymore? I also found out after sharing what I was going through with my mom that I was the third generation (that we know of) of women in our family to suffer with PPD, now I felt guilty that my legacy to my children, especially my daughter, would be one of mental illness. I hated feeling so dependent on that tiny green pill but I was petrified at the thought of what I might be like without it. I took the meds for about six months and then thought that I was ready to wean myself off. I was not. Within a few days of reducing my dose my husband and I both noticed a return to irritability and an apathy for the daily aspects of our lives so I went back to my regular dose. Eventually I knew I was really ready to stop because I rediscovered joy in tasks and hobbies that had been abandoned for nearly a year. I was excited to cook again, I felt up to the task of cleaning and organizing my home, I wanted to have people over. I found myself again, it took 10 months of medication and a lot of support from my family but I can now proudly say that I survived that time and that I think my closest relationships are stronger for it.

Something that I was initially frustrated by and ashamed of has now become more of a badge of honor to me, much like my c-section scar. I am reminded of the amazing ability God has given us to heal, of the incredible people I have been blessed to call family and friends. Much of that time will be burned forever into my memory and even as I type this, I cry, recalling how painful it was for me and imagining how painful it must have been for my family. I am so thankful for God's grace and redemption of me through that time, for my husband who stood by me and loved me through it and who would have even if I had never been treated. Thankful for my doctor who walked out of an appointment to talk to me on the phone and who didn't even make me come in, just called in the prescription. Thankful for my friends who didn't look at me weird or handle me with kid gloves. I'm thankful that my next pregnancy and delivery were depression free (and boy were we on high alert watching for it). But above all those things I am thankful that God gave me that precious little boy, who held me together when my world was falling apart.

the ignorant and childless

So yesterday on facebook, a "friend" had the following status update...

Dear mom flying with your infant across the row from us:
Please try purchasing a passaphire for your screaming bundle of joy on future flights lasting over five minutes. Or how about just not flying after juniors bedtime period. Thanks!!!!
Love, Your 120 fellow JetBlue passengers

now I know that this person is a generally kind and tolerant person, I think they may even have children they love in their family. But I was still so offended on behalf of the poor woman on the plane and for myself that I felt the need to vent about it a little, so here are my rants...

1. Learn to spell pacifier.

2. Sure make rude faces and be frustrated because public forms of travel are all about YOU!

3. I'm sure that mother planned on her baby screaming because that's not embarrassing at all for her, not to mention music to a parent's ears.

4. What would have fixed that situation for you, oh harbinger of intolerance? Her whipping out a boob to feed the kid? I bet you would have found that weird. Drugging the child with benadryl to make them sleep? You would have found that deplorable. Ignoring the child completely? Selfish.

The thing that bugs me so much about this is that it is the poster slogan for how selfish we as a culture tend to be and yet are totally unaware of it. Our culture is belittling to parents regardless of how they are raising their children. Working moms don't put their families first, stay at home moms are dumb or wasting their time, spanking is cruel, not spanking means you're a tree-hugging weirdo. Working dads are work-a-holics, stay at home dads are eunuchs. We parents can't win. No matter what we do we cannot make the childless portion of the population happy.

So you know what, screw you.

I'm tired of my character and life choices being judged by people who are observing situations that are totally normal for a child (i.e. crying, being frustrated, saying something "inappropriate", wetting their pants, etc.) and labeling me a success or a failure as a person based on that. These things children experience are not "value" situations. That kid cussing at his mom, okay, she probably needs to step up, but you know what...who knows? You don't know that situation, what they're going through at home, or what stresses that family may be dealing with that happen to be exposing themselves in front of you at the moment. We have a culture that is so intent on hiding our problems and appearing perfect in every way that when we see reality it frightens and offends us. "From the mouths of babes..." applies not only to moments like, "Mommy says Daddy is a jackass" but also to how we interact with people on a daily basis. How sad that even in infancy we expect children to stifle their feelings, subject their own very real needs to keep total strangers comfortable, and blame the parents for any slips. The real tragedy is that we parents continue to buy into this lie and perpetuate the cycle. Crying is normal, being frustrated and even angry is okay, we cannot plan for every situation and we will make mistakes. It'd be nice if the one thing we could count on was compassion and help from our fellow adults, but apparently their mamas didn't raise them right.

Where is my jet pack!?

I have to laugh at myself sometimes, okay, a lot. Over the last week or so I've thought of about five different topics I want to blog about but I'm too lazy to get up and get the laptop out. Today I find myself sitting in front of the computer with time to spare and can't think of one of those topics. This is where Star Trek style living would come in really handy. If I could just say, "Computer, record..." I could walk around the house musing out loud all of my deep thoughts that the world is just dying to hear and would never miss a beat. Of course there would be constant interjections of "Stop that!" "Leave him alone!" and "No, being a woot-off does not automatically make it a good deal!" The question is whether those more accurate glimpses of my life would inspire warm feelings and admiration of my transparency or just out me as a loon.

I can't remember the last time I had a solid chunk of time to myself where I was able to follow one train of thought through to completion (in the course of writing this paragraph I've made two phone calls, held a baby, looked for instruments, sung the ABC song, and currently am listening to my kids' version of a marching band). I don't even remember where I wanted to end up when I started this post. As technology continues to make it "easier and faster" for me to communicate and express my thoughts I find myself longing more and more for paper and ink. To write with, to read. To be forced to complete a thought, to be forced to make time for silence, solitude and simplicity (I am now playing harmonica for the band as I type).

I love my kids and life and wouldn't trade a thing but I am challenged to continue to find time to be myself for myself because as Dr. Phil put it, "You can only give out what you've taken in." Time for me is coming, but right now we have to run out to see the garbage truck!!

RPGs and me

So being married to whom I am married and having two boys I have accepted and am even excited about the fact that video games will be an inevitable part of my experience over the next couple of decades, bare minimum. However I find it incredibly frustrating that skills in some games do not carry over into others. For example, I play a mean game of Mario Kart, I will put a hurt on you like you have not felt in a long time. I am also a pretty good "player 2" when it comes to games like Mario Galaxy, I can be observant and have great response time (same skills that help in the driving games) so my husband and I are a pretty formidable team when it comes to some of those RPGs. Then today we get the Lego Star Wars for the Wii and I have not been so frustrated by a game ever. The controls make no sense, there is no explanation of what in the world you're supposed to be doing, what the goals are, where to go...ack! Even my kids finally said, "Mom, we're done with this." Now I'm sure that as time goes on we'll learn more about the game and how to play it but it surprised me how bothered I was by not intuitively taking to the game. I see this pattern in other areas of my life as well, I hesitate to try things that I don't think I will excel at and I'm likely to quit if the going gets tough. I don't particularly like this about myself and I'm working on it but it's been thrown in my face recently with my oldest starting kindergarten. Suddenly I see her fighting against learning new skills, becoming easily frustrated when things don't come easily, and wanting to quit when the going gets tough. My husband says that I have not set an example for her in that, that I try to control myself and at least attempt to project the attitude of "if at first..." but I wonder. I wonder how this will effect her school experience not to mention life and I wonder what I will learn about myself by watching her.