This past Mother's Day, I sat in church and listened to Bishop Edwin F. Gulick, Jr. of the Episcopal Church deliver a sermon about baptism. In it, the Bishop referred to the three gifts of the rite of baptism - hope, love and purpose. But with today's revelations from actress Angelina Jolie about her double mastectomy, I think that hope, love and purpose are also the gifts of life lived in relationship to one another. For the millions of women who are mothers who read Ms. Jolie's New York Times op-ed, that her children were the reasons why she made the painful choice of a rigorous three-month course of surgeries came as no surprise to them. And for the millions of us women who are not mothers, we, too, understood. While outsiders looking into our lives may choose to define us by our large breasts or our long legs or by our rock hard abs, we can only be truly defined by the choices that we make for those we love. Philosophers, poets, and musicians have rung their hands and exhausted countless dictionaries to find the meaning of life, when really, all they ever needed were three words - hope, love and purpose.
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Friday, August 5, 2011
The End of the Church Ladies??!!
This week, churchgoers were almost tossed off of our pews with the release of a new study on church attendance. It appears the church is experiencing woman problems. And no, I'm not talking about bloating and fatigue!! Actually, maybe it is fatigue because apparently women are spending less time in church.
Let me explain. Researchers from the California-based Barna Group surveyed 1,000 random people in 1991 as a part of its multi-part State of the Church series. The survey questioned interviewees on a handful of core religious behaviors: attendance at a church service in any given week; weekly Sunday school attendance; volunteering at a church; Bible reading; and labeling oneself a "Christian." Twenty years later, researchers repeated the survey, randomly selecting 1,600 people, and this week, the results were released. Here are some of the highlights:
Growing up, my worship life was dominated by lay women volunteers who were affectionately dubbed church ladies. These were the women who decorated the altar, polished the communion chalices, and produced the Sunday bulletin. They organized the Friday night bingo games and the annual all-parish crab feast and they knew how to make the coffee for the Sunday coffee hour. They attended Sunday church services religiously (yes, pun intended:) and they knew every parishioner by name. In my current church, women hold key leadership positions and on any given Sunday, women are in the pulpit and in the pews. Women volunteer as Sunday school teachers and choir members. We make meals for the hungry and collect clothing for the needy; we attend Bible study and committee meetings; we serve as vestry members and ordained ministers, and we still know how to work that urn for the coffee hour. On the surface, it doesn't look like much has changed, but take a closer look and you start to see hairline fractures all over the place.
To begin with, let's think about the life cycle of a woman in the church. In generations past, women went straight from their parents' house to their husband's house, and church was not only a spiritual refuge but a social outlet. For these young ladies in their early twenties, their involvement in the church gave them their first leadership roles. As their families grew, these women took on even more active roles in the church, and when their children were old enough to leave the nest, these women became the backbone of the church, taking the mantel from their elders.
But that life cycle has changed for women in the church. For starters, a lot of us moved from our parents' house and into our own home before we married. And while we were on our own, some of us opted for careers. A lot of us married in our early 30s, and some of us didn't marry at all. Some of us had children and left the professional workforce, while some became working moms. For those of us who became moms in our late 30s and early 40s, we're hit with the double whammy of caring for our small children and for our aging parents. All of these cultural developments have, over time, dramatically changed the way we women live out our faith, but this doesn't mean that our churches have kept pace.
Yes, there are churches that have amazing Sunday school and youth programs, but what is there for single, professional women or women struggling with infertility? Sure, your church might have lots of committees that do amazing community service, but if I'm a working mom with 2 kids on traveling basketball teams, then I'm more inclined to attack that overflowing pile of laundry than attend a 90-minute outreach committee meeting on a weeknight. And don't get me started on the alienation that women in the midst of marital separation and divorce feel at the hands of their churches.
So, does this mean the end of the Church Ladies?? Maybe it is, but it may also be the beginning of Church Ladies 2.0. Maybe it's time to let go of who women used to be and embrace who we are. I'm just saying:)
Let me explain. Researchers from the California-based Barna Group surveyed 1,000 random people in 1991 as a part of its multi-part State of the Church series. The survey questioned interviewees on a handful of core religious behaviors: attendance at a church service in any given week; weekly Sunday school attendance; volunteering at a church; Bible reading; and labeling oneself a "Christian." Twenty years later, researchers repeated the survey, randomly selecting 1,600 people, and this week, the results were released. Here are some of the highlights:
- Attendance at a church service in a given week? 47% (that's down 9 percentage points since 1991)
- Adults attending Sunday school? 18% (down 8 percentage points since 1991)
- Volunteering at church? 22% (the 1991 figure was 30%)
- Bible reading? 46% (1991 figure? 51%)
- Do you label yourselves"Christian"? Well, 31% of you who do haven't attended a church service in the last 6 months (a.k.a., the "unchurched").
Growing up, my worship life was dominated by lay women volunteers who were affectionately dubbed church ladies. These were the women who decorated the altar, polished the communion chalices, and produced the Sunday bulletin. They organized the Friday night bingo games and the annual all-parish crab feast and they knew how to make the coffee for the Sunday coffee hour. They attended Sunday church services religiously (yes, pun intended:) and they knew every parishioner by name. In my current church, women hold key leadership positions and on any given Sunday, women are in the pulpit and in the pews. Women volunteer as Sunday school teachers and choir members. We make meals for the hungry and collect clothing for the needy; we attend Bible study and committee meetings; we serve as vestry members and ordained ministers, and we still know how to work that urn for the coffee hour. On the surface, it doesn't look like much has changed, but take a closer look and you start to see hairline fractures all over the place.
To begin with, let's think about the life cycle of a woman in the church. In generations past, women went straight from their parents' house to their husband's house, and church was not only a spiritual refuge but a social outlet. For these young ladies in their early twenties, their involvement in the church gave them their first leadership roles. As their families grew, these women took on even more active roles in the church, and when their children were old enough to leave the nest, these women became the backbone of the church, taking the mantel from their elders.
But that life cycle has changed for women in the church. For starters, a lot of us moved from our parents' house and into our own home before we married. And while we were on our own, some of us opted for careers. A lot of us married in our early 30s, and some of us didn't marry at all. Some of us had children and left the professional workforce, while some became working moms. For those of us who became moms in our late 30s and early 40s, we're hit with the double whammy of caring for our small children and for our aging parents. All of these cultural developments have, over time, dramatically changed the way we women live out our faith, but this doesn't mean that our churches have kept pace.
Yes, there are churches that have amazing Sunday school and youth programs, but what is there for single, professional women or women struggling with infertility? Sure, your church might have lots of committees that do amazing community service, but if I'm a working mom with 2 kids on traveling basketball teams, then I'm more inclined to attack that overflowing pile of laundry than attend a 90-minute outreach committee meeting on a weeknight. And don't get me started on the alienation that women in the midst of marital separation and divorce feel at the hands of their churches.
So, does this mean the end of the Church Ladies?? Maybe it is, but it may also be the beginning of Church Ladies 2.0. Maybe it's time to let go of who women used to be and embrace who we are. I'm just saying:)
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Have You Had Enough of "Good Enough"?
The other day as I was flipping through the mail, I spotted my college alumni magazine. Page after page, in full color, were the stories of CEOs, scientists, and others who'd met with success in their post-collegiate lives. There were also the new brides and grooms surrounded by their alumni bridesmaids and groomsmen, and the parade of babies sporting their "future alumni" onesies. Some of the faces were familiar to me, as I remembered them sprinting across the campus plaza, sporting nasty plaid flannel pajama bottoms, a college sweatshirt, and a backpack, en route to the dining hall before they closed up the breakfast service for the morning. For most of us, college was an intense time - filled with some of the best times of our lives, and the worst. It was all extremes in college as we sorted through the perils of young adulthood and a future which seemed fat with possibility. At every turn, our parents and professors seemed to always be talking about our "potential", this nebulous, formless blob of endless pathways.
After graduation, "potential" pops up again, as parents try to steer the young graduate into a graduate school program or the world of work. This time, though, instead of exploring your "potential", as you were encouraged to do in the halcyon days of campus life, your "potential" has an expiration date. "Don't waste your potential" becomes the battle cry, and soon you hear the clock ticking down the years, months, weeks, and days until your "potential" withers and dies, usually around the time of your 30th birthday or the arrival of your first child, and then it's time to crown the next, new crop of children with the burden of "potential".
I don't know about you, but it seems odd to me that we, as humans, can see potential so clearly in the young, while confining our older selves to lives that are good enough. I watched my parents do this - sacrifice themselves to the Goddess of Potential residing in my childhood body. I had piano lessons and voice lessons and ballet lessons and my mom had endless hours driving me around and waiting for me. The dreams she'd had for herself were, instead, placed upon my seven-year-old shoulders and Mom lived a good enough life in order to give me an extraordinary start.
The Good Enough Life seems to be thriving, still, with a steadily growing membership. It's appeal is understandable, because the Good Enough Life seems effortless. There aren't many surprises in the Good Enough Life, there are only routine and repetition - the evil twins of existence who slap down anything that smacks of adventure and creativity. Maybe it's time for something more than good enough?
Now, I'm not going to go all Oprah on you and demand that you "live your best life now." It's hard for me to imagine that someone with billions of dollars doesn't have the means to live her best life! So think of me as a Local Oprah, who's got credit card bills, a pile of laundry, and a stack of newspapers she has to remember to put out for the Monday recycling pick-up, and believe me when I tell you that if you want something more than the good enough you have then you have to do it.
Living beyond good enough means doesn't mean living beyond your means, rather it means transcending your means. If you're the carpool mom, and the pick up the dry cleaning mom, and the cook breakfast/lunch/dinner mom who loved drawing and painting before she was a mother, than push beyond good enough and enroll in an art class. Don't have the money for an art class? Then make a space in your garage or your basement or your kitchen and just do it. Set a boundary for yourself that's kid-free/chore-free/worry-free and go beyond your good enough. Demand this for yourself.
Living beyond the good enough also means ending the excuses. How many times have you uttered the phrase "I can't...because" either mentally or out loud in a day? For the good enough life, this phrase is its motto. I can't take a tap dance class because my husband won't pick up the kids from soccer. I can't write for an hour a day because I have to work late. I can't volunteer at a mission because no one will cook dinner for my family. Eliminate this phrase, and, instead, focus your energy on figuring out how you can!
And, by the way, you might want to also drop the phrase "I used to" from your vocabulary, too. Free yourself from what you used to do, and who you used to be. I used to be skinny and I used to have hair that was not grey. You can twist yourself into knots over "used to", and that sort of navel-gazing is just fine for the good enough life because it drains you and defeats you, and soon, you're saying, "I can't...because."
This is a way of thinking that goes beyond the big, bad scary Potential. In fact, what I'm advocating may seem puny when compared to the grandeur of untapped, raw Potential, but some of the things that have defined me were these small moments when I was stepping outside of the good enough life. So, have you had enough of good enough? I'm just saying.
After graduation, "potential" pops up again, as parents try to steer the young graduate into a graduate school program or the world of work. This time, though, instead of exploring your "potential", as you were encouraged to do in the halcyon days of campus life, your "potential" has an expiration date. "Don't waste your potential" becomes the battle cry, and soon you hear the clock ticking down the years, months, weeks, and days until your "potential" withers and dies, usually around the time of your 30th birthday or the arrival of your first child, and then it's time to crown the next, new crop of children with the burden of "potential".
I don't know about you, but it seems odd to me that we, as humans, can see potential so clearly in the young, while confining our older selves to lives that are good enough. I watched my parents do this - sacrifice themselves to the Goddess of Potential residing in my childhood body. I had piano lessons and voice lessons and ballet lessons and my mom had endless hours driving me around and waiting for me. The dreams she'd had for herself were, instead, placed upon my seven-year-old shoulders and Mom lived a good enough life in order to give me an extraordinary start.
The Good Enough Life seems to be thriving, still, with a steadily growing membership. It's appeal is understandable, because the Good Enough Life seems effortless. There aren't many surprises in the Good Enough Life, there are only routine and repetition - the evil twins of existence who slap down anything that smacks of adventure and creativity. Maybe it's time for something more than good enough?
Now, I'm not going to go all Oprah on you and demand that you "live your best life now." It's hard for me to imagine that someone with billions of dollars doesn't have the means to live her best life! So think of me as a Local Oprah, who's got credit card bills, a pile of laundry, and a stack of newspapers she has to remember to put out for the Monday recycling pick-up, and believe me when I tell you that if you want something more than the good enough you have then you have to do it.
Living beyond good enough means doesn't mean living beyond your means, rather it means transcending your means. If you're the carpool mom, and the pick up the dry cleaning mom, and the cook breakfast/lunch/dinner mom who loved drawing and painting before she was a mother, than push beyond good enough and enroll in an art class. Don't have the money for an art class? Then make a space in your garage or your basement or your kitchen and just do it. Set a boundary for yourself that's kid-free/chore-free/worry-free and go beyond your good enough. Demand this for yourself.
Living beyond the good enough also means ending the excuses. How many times have you uttered the phrase "I can't...because" either mentally or out loud in a day? For the good enough life, this phrase is its motto. I can't take a tap dance class because my husband won't pick up the kids from soccer. I can't write for an hour a day because I have to work late. I can't volunteer at a mission because no one will cook dinner for my family. Eliminate this phrase, and, instead, focus your energy on figuring out how you can!
And, by the way, you might want to also drop the phrase "I used to" from your vocabulary, too. Free yourself from what you used to do, and who you used to be. I used to be skinny and I used to have hair that was not grey. You can twist yourself into knots over "used to", and that sort of navel-gazing is just fine for the good enough life because it drains you and defeats you, and soon, you're saying, "I can't...because."
This is a way of thinking that goes beyond the big, bad scary Potential. In fact, what I'm advocating may seem puny when compared to the grandeur of untapped, raw Potential, but some of the things that have defined me were these small moments when I was stepping outside of the good enough life. So, have you had enough of good enough? I'm just saying.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Vacation Bible School: Notes from the Trenches
Well, after 5 days, 23 hours, 15 camp songs, and countless potty breaks, my 2011 Vacation Bible School odyssey is over. It's a bitter-sweet parting. While I won't miss the early mornings and the kid-funk, that gamey brew that's one part sneakers, 2 parts glue, and 3 parts perspiration, that lingers in the air of closed classrooms at the end of the day, I will most certainly miss the wonderful children who sang their little hearts out with me everyday.
I'm not the conventional VBS teacher. I don't have children, I'm quite blunt, and I've got a bit of a smart mouth, as the old folks say. Oh, and I suck at crafts. I'm also a bit of a drama queen, though not in a bad way, which might explain why I was asked to be a drama teacher. Now, I'm not like Cameron Diaz in "Bad Teacher" - no, I'd say I'm more like "Pacifier" Vin Diesel, but in a skirt.
I volunteered for VBS (that's what those of us "in the know" call it) because I am a very guilty person and, like that song from "Oklahoma!", I'm just a gal who can't say no. But I came back everyday because it was just plain fun.
No, seriously, it WAS fun!
To start off with, there weren't any video games so there you are in a room full of rising second graders who are forced to have fun and to learn the old fashioned way - with human interaction. The kids played outside on the playground and not with a Wii controller. We played charades, drew pictures, and pretended to set up a government for the newly elected President Brett, who, at 7 years old, has promised to raise the debt ceiling without raising taxes! We talked about everything from Harry Potter to how much the Civil Rights Movement and the Beatitudes have in common. We made up skits involving costumes, props, blocking and plot lines that placed the Eiffel Tower on Mars and questioned whether those who show mercy are indeed blessed. This was like Childhood Unplugged!
For us teachers, it was like doing improv on a tightrope. Sure, you'd walk through the door in the morning with the perfect lesson plan, but it didn't take long for the little cherubs to do a simple whip count and know that they outnumbered us, and so I riffed. When I found out, on that first day, that my homeroom class of seven-year-olds considered themselves too sophisticated to color, I punted, and those coloring pages that I'd printed? Well, the kindergarten class LOVED them!! Instead of wanting to sit and listen to stories, these children wanted the freedom to make up the stories themselves, and so we let them, albeit with some parameters. We got to hear their logic and the ways in which they think about things. I started feeling a little like a late night talk show host, trying to get my guests chatting but making sure they wrap it up and hit their main points. It makes me wonder just how year-round teachers do it!
So, I want to thank all of the children from VBS 2011. And if you're about to take your first turn as a volunteer teacher for your summer church camp, I thought I'd share some of the best kept secrets about VBS to help you:
I'm not the conventional VBS teacher. I don't have children, I'm quite blunt, and I've got a bit of a smart mouth, as the old folks say. Oh, and I suck at crafts. I'm also a bit of a drama queen, though not in a bad way, which might explain why I was asked to be a drama teacher. Now, I'm not like Cameron Diaz in "Bad Teacher" - no, I'd say I'm more like "Pacifier" Vin Diesel, but in a skirt.
I volunteered for VBS (that's what those of us "in the know" call it) because I am a very guilty person and, like that song from "Oklahoma!", I'm just a gal who can't say no. But I came back everyday because it was just plain fun.
No, seriously, it WAS fun!
To start off with, there weren't any video games so there you are in a room full of rising second graders who are forced to have fun and to learn the old fashioned way - with human interaction. The kids played outside on the playground and not with a Wii controller. We played charades, drew pictures, and pretended to set up a government for the newly elected President Brett, who, at 7 years old, has promised to raise the debt ceiling without raising taxes! We talked about everything from Harry Potter to how much the Civil Rights Movement and the Beatitudes have in common. We made up skits involving costumes, props, blocking and plot lines that placed the Eiffel Tower on Mars and questioned whether those who show mercy are indeed blessed. This was like Childhood Unplugged!
For us teachers, it was like doing improv on a tightrope. Sure, you'd walk through the door in the morning with the perfect lesson plan, but it didn't take long for the little cherubs to do a simple whip count and know that they outnumbered us, and so I riffed. When I found out, on that first day, that my homeroom class of seven-year-olds considered themselves too sophisticated to color, I punted, and those coloring pages that I'd printed? Well, the kindergarten class LOVED them!! Instead of wanting to sit and listen to stories, these children wanted the freedom to make up the stories themselves, and so we let them, albeit with some parameters. We got to hear their logic and the ways in which they think about things. I started feeling a little like a late night talk show host, trying to get my guests chatting but making sure they wrap it up and hit their main points. It makes me wonder just how year-round teachers do it!
So, I want to thank all of the children from VBS 2011. And if you're about to take your first turn as a volunteer teacher for your summer church camp, I thought I'd share some of the best kept secrets about VBS to help you:
- The song "Kumbaya" is no longer a requirement.
- When you (or one of the kids in your class) accidentally uses a permanent marker on the classroom's dry-erase board, you can erase the mistake by drawing over the permanent marker with a dry-erase marker (not that I'm confessing anything!)
- Gummi Bears and Gummi Worms are to VBS as cartons of cigarettes are to the penitentiary.
- Don't wear flip-flops as toddlers LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to stomp exposed toes.
- Everything gets sticky.
- Never leave your bottle of water in a room with toddlers because all of them will drink from it!
- White pants are never a good idea!
- Want a quick self-esteem builder? Two words - "good job" - work great for toddlers through first grade. However, be warned, "good job" is white noise to older kids.
- Gluten free - IN/ peanut butter-OUT!!
- If you're not as flexible as you used to be, when you sit cross-legged on the classroom floor, your foot will fall asleep, so have an action plan in place.
- Most church camps are now guitar-free!!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
My Year of Yes: The Chronicles of a Church Volunteer
This month marks the completion of a year-long experiment in my spiritual life to engage more deeply with my church. It began last June when I accepted Rev. Erika's (that's right, I'm naming names!) invitation to participate in my church's annual Vacation Bible School program - a one-week religious day camp filled with daily worship, classroom instruction, and fun activities for children 4 years old and up. It seems my ADD was a good match with the high-energy demands of the pre-school set, and so Rev. Erika asked me to continue on, this time as a Sunday school teacher for the September through May cycle of classes. Well this I really had to think about. I mean one week during summer was easy-peasy, but the thought of having to turn up every Sunday morning was a challenge to me. And while I'm not a serial church-skipper (among my group of friends, I've definitely logged more in-church hours than most!), I have that Gen-X Existentialist streak which makes "obligation" a four-letter word. Saying yes would mean having to consistently think up something to do, something interesting and educational.
And did I mention that the class would consist of 3-year-olds?
That's right, toddlers - the most feared group of children, well, other than teens. Known for their cunning and guile, 3-year-olds (known in the Sunday school biz as "3s") were notorious for their short attention spans, pre-verbal run-on sentences, and their inability to color inside of the lines and use scissors. It would be like entering into the lions' den, you know, if all of the lions were just above your knees. But Rev. Erika offered me some assurances - the kids would be potty-trained (check!), I'd be part of a team of teachers for my class (check, check!!), and, I wouldn't be responsible for planning a lesson every week (check, check, check!). So, I said yes.
Any good journey into uncharted territory begins with, of course, the right accessories, and so a series of shopping trips was in order. I found a wonderful religious bookstore in my neighborhood. I'd been there before on a mission to find birthday cards for some of my born-again relatives, but I'd never really hung out there. I found the children's section and hit the jackpot, scoring Bible story coloring books, as well as a book on creative projects for toddlers. I found a children's Bible with a cartoon Moses and cartoon Jesus, and an interactive, magnetic big book that told the Advent and Christmas stories. The next stop was the craft store where I went hog-wild in the felt department, and found sheets of construction paper featuring every color under the rainbow. By the time I finished, my shopping cart was full and I was on my way.
I quickly met with the other two teachers in my team and we set about planning for the first part of the Sunday school year. It was then that I realized that, oh my God, I just signed up to teach Sunday school - what the hell was I thinking??
Soon the first day of class arrived and in a brightly lit carpeted room in my church's parish house, the 3s started to arrive. One by one, they arrived, clutching their mommy or daddy's hand, bottom lip quivering and then, you guessed it, the crying began! I wanted to be like Tom Hanks in "A League of Their Own" and tell these kids, "there's no crying in Sunday school!", but, instead, I sat down on the floor and started to talk to them, and I knew I was hooked. I felt such empathy for these little ones, I mean, here they were on a Sunday morning, and instead of just being able to play and watch TV, they were forced to get dressed and go sit in a building with a bunch of adults, oh, and they had to be quiet AND not pee their pants. And, to top it all off, they had to go to another room and pay attention, (whatever THAT means!) and be separated from mommy and daddy!!! It was almost inhuman.
Soon, we were getting to know each other and we developed a routine that consisted of free play and coloring, then group clean-up, an opening prayer and story time, a craftivity (my word!), snack time with a closing story, and then the arrival of mommies and daddies. Some days, it felt like "Daddy Daycare" when the kids were especially revved up and suffering from a case of the "can't-sit-downs". On other days, I felt like "Auntie Mame", a pied piper with unconventional ideas and a dedicated following.
In this Year of Yes, I learned a lot - like the finer points of glitter application and I also (hopefully) settled the debate between glue stick vs. liquid glue. I learned that 3-year-olds are a handful, but they're also honest and bright and yearning to understand how this world I take for granted fits together. I learned that on days when I felt overwhelmed and feared that I wasn't perfect, that 3-year-olds don't care about perfection, they care about moments and consistency and commitment. I also learned that when a 3-year-old refers to "yesterday", they mean last week, but let's not quibble:)
Anyway, with the completion of my Year of Yes, I'm keen to find another project. While I'm not term-limited to one year of the Year of Yes, I have a lot to consider. But, I must admit, I'm going through a weird Pepperidge Farm Goldfish withdrawal, so you never know...I'm just saying:)
And did I mention that the class would consist of 3-year-olds?
That's right, toddlers - the most feared group of children, well, other than teens. Known for their cunning and guile, 3-year-olds (known in the Sunday school biz as "3s") were notorious for their short attention spans, pre-verbal run-on sentences, and their inability to color inside of the lines and use scissors. It would be like entering into the lions' den, you know, if all of the lions were just above your knees. But Rev. Erika offered me some assurances - the kids would be potty-trained (check!), I'd be part of a team of teachers for my class (check, check!!), and, I wouldn't be responsible for planning a lesson every week (check, check, check!). So, I said yes.
Any good journey into uncharted territory begins with, of course, the right accessories, and so a series of shopping trips was in order. I found a wonderful religious bookstore in my neighborhood. I'd been there before on a mission to find birthday cards for some of my born-again relatives, but I'd never really hung out there. I found the children's section and hit the jackpot, scoring Bible story coloring books, as well as a book on creative projects for toddlers. I found a children's Bible with a cartoon Moses and cartoon Jesus, and an interactive, magnetic big book that told the Advent and Christmas stories. The next stop was the craft store where I went hog-wild in the felt department, and found sheets of construction paper featuring every color under the rainbow. By the time I finished, my shopping cart was full and I was on my way.
I quickly met with the other two teachers in my team and we set about planning for the first part of the Sunday school year. It was then that I realized that, oh my God, I just signed up to teach Sunday school - what the hell was I thinking??
Soon the first day of class arrived and in a brightly lit carpeted room in my church's parish house, the 3s started to arrive. One by one, they arrived, clutching their mommy or daddy's hand, bottom lip quivering and then, you guessed it, the crying began! I wanted to be like Tom Hanks in "A League of Their Own" and tell these kids, "there's no crying in Sunday school!", but, instead, I sat down on the floor and started to talk to them, and I knew I was hooked. I felt such empathy for these little ones, I mean, here they were on a Sunday morning, and instead of just being able to play and watch TV, they were forced to get dressed and go sit in a building with a bunch of adults, oh, and they had to be quiet AND not pee their pants. And, to top it all off, they had to go to another room and pay attention, (whatever THAT means!) and be separated from mommy and daddy!!! It was almost inhuman.
Soon, we were getting to know each other and we developed a routine that consisted of free play and coloring, then group clean-up, an opening prayer and story time, a craftivity (my word!), snack time with a closing story, and then the arrival of mommies and daddies. Some days, it felt like "Daddy Daycare" when the kids were especially revved up and suffering from a case of the "can't-sit-downs". On other days, I felt like "Auntie Mame", a pied piper with unconventional ideas and a dedicated following.
In this Year of Yes, I learned a lot - like the finer points of glitter application and I also (hopefully) settled the debate between glue stick vs. liquid glue. I learned that 3-year-olds are a handful, but they're also honest and bright and yearning to understand how this world I take for granted fits together. I learned that on days when I felt overwhelmed and feared that I wasn't perfect, that 3-year-olds don't care about perfection, they care about moments and consistency and commitment. I also learned that when a 3-year-old refers to "yesterday", they mean last week, but let's not quibble:)
Anyway, with the completion of my Year of Yes, I'm keen to find another project. While I'm not term-limited to one year of the Year of Yes, I have a lot to consider. But, I must admit, I'm going through a weird Pepperidge Farm Goldfish withdrawal, so you never know...I'm just saying:)
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Lent: Not Just for Catholics Anymore!
I'm at that age where everything old is now retro and hip. My old neon Reebok high tops from high school are vintage, and Tupperware parties are ironic. And now we can add Lent to that pile. For those not in the know, Lent is a liturgical season of reflection that prepares us for the coming of Easter. Growing up Roman Catholic as I did, Lent was a time of rules, lots of rules - fasting on Ash Wednesday, no meat on Fridays.
Lent also meant giving up something. The nuns at my elementary school said that in order for us to understand the sacrifice that Jesus would make for us when he was crucified, we needed to give up something dear to ourselves. So, like Star Trek, the search would begin for that meaningful thing. In years past, I'd focus on certain foods, like French fries, or sodas, or meat, or desserts. Thus, my Lenten journey became a jump start to my diet.
Some years, I tried to give up bad habits that I felt were stifling the development of my personal character, like gossiping. But I didn't last long with these, and would soon find myself swearing off of French fries for the duration of Lent.
Now, I've found that my non-RC (that's short for Roman Catholic) brothers and sisters are getting hip to Lent. Turns out that people like the idea of affecting deep personal change in the span of one month!! Lent has become their very own makeover show. Don't get me wrong, I think that it's a good thing when people take some sort of inventory of their lives. But the Lenten sacrifice, like New Year's resolutions to lose weight or join the gym, can become a short-lived endeavor that's abandoned when it's no longer convenient.
I've found myself at the end of Lent lighter in girth, but not necessarily more spiritually aware. Lent can become a time of intense navel-gazing, but it also has the potential to direct your focus outside of yourself. So what'll it be for me this Lent? I'm still unsure, but just to be on the safe side, I'll just avoid the McDonald's drive-thru for the next 40 days and 40 nights - no use in tempting fate! I'm just saying:)
Lent also meant giving up something. The nuns at my elementary school said that in order for us to understand the sacrifice that Jesus would make for us when he was crucified, we needed to give up something dear to ourselves. So, like Star Trek, the search would begin for that meaningful thing. In years past, I'd focus on certain foods, like French fries, or sodas, or meat, or desserts. Thus, my Lenten journey became a jump start to my diet.
Some years, I tried to give up bad habits that I felt were stifling the development of my personal character, like gossiping. But I didn't last long with these, and would soon find myself swearing off of French fries for the duration of Lent.
Now, I've found that my non-RC (that's short for Roman Catholic) brothers and sisters are getting hip to Lent. Turns out that people like the idea of affecting deep personal change in the span of one month!! Lent has become their very own makeover show. Don't get me wrong, I think that it's a good thing when people take some sort of inventory of their lives. But the Lenten sacrifice, like New Year's resolutions to lose weight or join the gym, can become a short-lived endeavor that's abandoned when it's no longer convenient.
I've found myself at the end of Lent lighter in girth, but not necessarily more spiritually aware. Lent can become a time of intense navel-gazing, but it also has the potential to direct your focus outside of yourself. So what'll it be for me this Lent? I'm still unsure, but just to be on the safe side, I'll just avoid the McDonald's drive-thru for the next 40 days and 40 nights - no use in tempting fate! I'm just saying:)
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The State of This Union
In a couple of weeks, the President will deliver his State of the Union address from the House chamber. And while I'm sure that his speechwriters are working overtime in preparation, I suspect that there are some topics that won't be covered. So, here, now, is the I'm Just Saying edition of the State of our earthly Union:
- We are a world without turn signals, doing what we want when we want, and changing direction without thought to those around us;
- We are a world where we ask forgiveness and not permission;
- We are a world for whom it is always our turn;
- We are a world where it's always about me - unless, of course it's a criticism, in which case it's either wrong or it's meant for someone else;
- We are a world in which we've abandoned "please" and "thank you" and eye contact and kind greetings to passersby on sidewalks/subway cars/supermarket aisles;
- We are a world where we all save seats, but never give up seats for someone in need of one;
- We are a world of tiny, little tribes shouting "me! me! me!" from the granite counter islands of our perfect kitchens;
- We are a world where WTF and LMAO are considered witty banter;
- We are a world where the thumbs are mightier than the pen;
- We are a world where plasma isn't just blood, and where a tablet isn't a pill to be swallowed, but a handheld electronic entertainment multiplex;
- We are a world where weaponized words are used to draw blood, and are then surprised when actual blood is shed;
- We are a world of bravery where ordinary people stand up to people with guns;
- We are a world of goodness where we nurse the injured, heal the sick, and hold the hands of the dying;
- We are a world of abundance where we share what we have with those in need, no matter how little we may have;
- We are a world of comfort, even to strangers, in times of sorrow.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Silent Night, Really??
So the stockings are hung, the pies are baked, and in a few more hours, as darkness covers the expanse of the mall parking lot, even the Santas will finally go home for their Merry Christmas. For Christmas people, we often refer to this Christmas Eve as the holiest of nights as we await the birth of Jesus. We sing quiet, lolling tunes, like "Silent Night", extolling the calmness of the world as Jesus enters in, surrounded by a star-studded cast of angels, animals, strangers bearing gifts, and Mary and Joseph.
So familiar are we with this scene that we, too, try to transform Christmas into this tranquil haven for ourselves and our families, with limited success. The arrival of a child is almost never quiet and hushed. There is laughter, tears, screaming (lots of screaming), chaos, and a bit of panic. There is joy in the midst of intense physical pain, and a complex desire to be everything you never thought you could be for this tiny little person. As my friends have become parents, I have watched them in seeming perpetual motion, working harder than they ever had before. The arrival of their children has clarified their thinking and made them acutely aware of the world that their children occupy.
The Christmas story should wake you up and push you out into a world that's churning with need.
I'm just saying:)
So familiar are we with this scene that we, too, try to transform Christmas into this tranquil haven for ourselves and our families, with limited success. The arrival of a child is almost never quiet and hushed. There is laughter, tears, screaming (lots of screaming), chaos, and a bit of panic. There is joy in the midst of intense physical pain, and a complex desire to be everything you never thought you could be for this tiny little person. As my friends have become parents, I have watched them in seeming perpetual motion, working harder than they ever had before. The arrival of their children has clarified their thinking and made them acutely aware of the world that their children occupy.
The Christmas story should wake you up and push you out into a world that's churning with need.
I'm just saying:)
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