Moments of parenthood beauty

His small hand grasps mine and we walk down the road.  He picks the direction, and as we walk, he talks.  He opens up about his day, which is rare, and instead of "I don't remember" or a sigh and "Why do you always ask me so many questions?" it's "Hey, Mom, guess what?" and I hear the real reasons he got in trouble at school for the first time all year.  We stop to look at lichens on the tree branch, and he asks about the plants we see (and I'm tempted to make up names like his daddy does when I don't know).  He is glad to be walking with me, and there's no place I'd rather be.

I visit him at school for lunch, and even though he knows I'm coming, when he sees me at the bottom of the steps, his face lights up like Christmas.  And in between the boys posturing their coolness, my little boy runs and jumps straight into my arms, covering my face with kisses.  I feel like a celebrity as he drags me around, introducing me to everyone in the cafeteria, "This is my Mommy!"  And though the cafeteria smell takes me back twenty years to times of awkward isolation, suddenly I feel cool for the first time in my life.

She sits behind me in the car and chatters about her day and her friends.  Sometimes, she speaks so properly and grown up for a four-year-old that I have to hide a smile, or she would become embarrassed.  This morning, she reminded me as I was getting shoes that I "needed socks as well".  And when she was asking for clarification she said, "Am I correct in that we went there yesterday?"  She grows before my very eyes and sometimes I don't recognize her for her blaze of beauty and confidence.  But I know her in the shriek of excitement when I open the door every evening and that sweet smile that lights up her brilliant blue eyes.

These are the moments I want to freeze time and savor.  I want to replay these when the hurtful words and tearful tantrums make me fear that nothing we are trying to teach them is sinking in.  I want to hold their tender hearts in mine and be reminded that their sweetness, not their anger, is really who they are at the core.  I need to see this beauty when the chore of getting through the day seems an insurmountable task.  I want to feel their strength, confidence, and resilience when I fear sending them out into the big, bad world.  I want to know, deep down in my soul, that every day is oh so beautiful, just the way it is.  Let me love them just for who they are, even in the moments that aren't so profoundly sacred.

One Who is Not Busy

I recently had a conversation with a student in which I confessed that I had not been practicing what I preach.  I feel that my calling as the university chaplain at a small yet bustling and stressed campus is to be a minister of sanctuary, providing the space, opportunities, and reminders for all to find Sabbath to rest, pause, breathe, and to care for their souls.  It is hard to fight against a culture that measures success by how much we get done, and a rite of passage to complain about how busy we are.  As I was preparing for this new school year, I heard the still small voice inside my heart reminding me to stop.  To do less.  To be more.    And yet, in each interview for my position, I was asked what MORE I would be doing, which NEW programs I would add IN ADDITION TO what I was already doing.  And the loud and numerous voices overpowered that still small voice within.

I scheduled an array of programs, one for every day of the week.  I have been visible and have had well-attended programs.  I have reached more students and developed deeper connections.  I have been able to minister and share God's love.  But I have not been able to rest.  I have hopped from one activity to the next until my brain is a jumble and my body is at the point of collapse.  And after several tearful nights of taking home work in order to plan for the next day's events, I've realized that I can't keep going at this pace.  I am exhausted.  And I'm not modelling the rest and peace that I want students to value.

I've made my commitments, though, and I can't see anything that can be surrendered at this point (certainly not my sweet family, who is seeing less and less of me).  But I know my focus and my attitude must be adjusted, and I must find Sabbath in whatever pockets of time I can.  I've been working to shut my door more when I need that boundary to process and plan, and yet, I also appreciate the renewal that visiting with my students can bring.  Sometimes human interaction is strangely just what this introvert needs.  I have been trying to walk weekly with a minister friend, giving us time to catch up.    Lunch dates with my handsome husband are always good for my heart and spirit.  And when I truly need to hide and have some "me" time, sneaking away to the library to catch up on a little reading is always a treat.  Running as often as I can and my weekly yoga class allow me to care for my body and renew my energy.  And I've canceled one event this weekend (with some prodding from my students) so that I can take a much anticipated trip to the beach with my family.

I realized, though, that I can't always control my schedule or its demanding pace.  A minister's job is full of unplanned crises.  So I must learn to somehow find calm in the midst of my busyness.  I've been reading a book entitle One Who is Not Busy: Connecting with work in a deeply satisfying way.  It uses some Buddhist koans and meditation exercises to teach the principle of "simultaneous inclusion" which is the ability to be both "busy" and "not busy" simultaneously, finding focus and flow in our work so that we find pleasure in each task we complete and doing everything with our whole heart.  This is the antithesis of multitasking; instead, it is about applying singular focus to what we need to work on right now.  It involves not classifying tasks into "work", "home", or "pleasure", but engaging all of life in a flow.

Many studies have shown that true contentment comes from living in the moment, not anticipating what is to come, or longingly holding on to the past.  The trouble is that the present is often stressful and messy, especially in a household of two young children.  There are tantrums and lessons to be learned.  There is noise and clutter.  Something always needs to be fixed or explained or taken care of.  But I'm seeing more and more in my children's insistent voices is what they really need is for me to stop and listen.  One exhausting night, my daughter was insistently repeating, "listen to me, listen to me!" over the clamoring of her brother, and when I finally did, she took my face in her hands and just looked into my eyes.  Nothing else needed to be said.

It's a journey for me, but I'm working on embracing the William Morris quote I found while reading Gretchen Rubin's Happier at Home:  
"The true secret of happiness lies in the taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life." 

I'll start now, with this moment...

Grasp

http://lisajobaker.com/2012/09/five-minute-friday-grasp/

I grasp at moments, seeking to hold on to a minute or two of pause in a busy day, and they slip through my fingers like sand as the telephone rings, and someone knocks on the door.  I hide myself away for a moment of peace, and there is a need, as the tears flow and I comfort the hurting as my heart beats out the rhythm of time passing.  Minutes race by and appointments pop up with no time to plan, and I grasp for my papers, unfinished, the sermon still forming in my head as I take a deep breath and pray that it all falls into place.  There's the grasp of a hand on my shoulder in passing, and I stop again, smile, and summon my swirling thoughts into stillness as I reach for a greeting, a word of connection.  I grasp, seeking, and yet what I find is not what I had searched for.

I seek rest, and find connection.

I seek peace, and find hurt.

I seek stillness, and find that I am caught up in the chaos of busyness.

I seek myself, and find You.

I grasp the sense that You are here through it all.  You are in it all.  You are guiding me to a new understanding that although I can't control time, I don't need to.  When I am in your grasp, you are bringing all things together for good.