Breathing into 2014

Secure your oxygen mask first. 

Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.

2013 is bidding adieu and 2014 waits in the wings. When I was tucking the kids into bed after our family-friendly countdown to 8 PM, I tried to remember what I did last year on this night. Then I remembered:  I started this blog.

I won’t make a resolution that I’ll be more diligent about blogging this year. I’m also not resolving to exercise more. My resolution is simple, but it is one that will take more strength than I realize. Here it is: be kinder to myself.

As a teenager I struggled with the whole “secure your mask first” approach. It sounded so selfish. And even though at 37 I logically know that securing your mask first is a no-

brainer for survival, I haven’t really gotten the message. Not fully, not enough.

So as a Type-A perfectionist who has struggled internally this past year more than in years past, I resolve and pray to be kinder to myself so that I can be kinder to others. Can I breathe more fully, get that oxygen deep into every cell so that I have something to give? 

Well, I’m not sure, but I hope that I can trust the Spirit being at work, helping me pay attention to what is broken and what needs healing. It’s all gift, this breath, this life. Why not savor it a little more?

Peace to you in 2014.

 

Kudos to a Kindergarten Teacher

Parents and all of us that were once school children can recall those teachers, the ones that left a lasting, positive impression. I think of the book that gets to the heart of the matter, "Thank you, Mr. Falker" by renowned children’s author, Patricia Polacco. Check it out: it is an amazing autobiographical account of Polacco, a student who struggled mightily with reading as a child and then went on to become a writer. (I thank my son Thomas’ 2^nd Grade teacher, Mrs. Schmoyer, for sharing that book with Thomas who then shared it with me).

My “thank you” this night goes to Mrs. Decker, my son Luke’s kindergarten teacher and here’s why. Luke loves to dance. Ever since he saw the Nutcracker last December, he regularly twirls and leaps around our living room. When friends and family come to visit, he dances for them. Last week at school, Luke was dancing at recess. But as he told his dad, the girls were making fun of him; they said only girls do ballet.  Of course we told him that’s not true, but we wanted his teacher to be aware of what was happening. We knew that Luke’s classmates didn’t intend harm, but at least the teacher might find moments here and there to encourage him.

I had sent an email at 8:30 in the morning and this led his teacher to not only find an encouraging word, but to do a ballet segment in class…that day! They watched videos of Sleeping Beauty on YouTube, making sure to note the men dancing. They talked about how boys are essential to these ballets. And more, they watched videos of football players taking ballet class as way to improve their skills on the field. I was floored that one email, one sharing of a story, would have such a powerful result in the classroom.

Yes, the girls will usually outnumber the boys in ballet class, especially in rural areas.  But I am thankful for a teacher whose example of encouragement and kindness overcame the stereotypes. Thank you, Mrs. Decker.

Chaotic Peacefulness

 

Just what were we thinking? We were thinking that there is much in the world that needs our prayer, especially the war in Syria. So we planned a brief prayer vigil this evening at our church. We hoped it would be a time for folks to pause and pray for peace in community.

What we weren’t thinking about was the children, namely our own. With Nathan leading the prayers and me being there to help lead some hymns a cappella, our children would need to be there as well. And so as it has been before and will likely be again, our children were the only children present.

We thought an intimate setting would be ideal, so Nathan arranged chairs in a circle in the front of the worship space, between the altar table and pulpit. It’s a lovely space for singing. He put candles on the floor and colorful crosses. The setting was a lovely combination of cathedral and living room.

There were just enough chairs set up for the number of people who came, including two for our two boys (the toddler’s seat was free: my lap). And as you can imagine, without pews to spread out on and being up front near all the cool churchy furniture, the kids went a little nutso. Many moments were frustrated and I had to leave the circle more than once.

Yet as I reflect more on this half hour of chaotic peacefulness (I do think that juxtaposition is possible), I realize just how much these children added, not detracted from my prayer.

Yes, my five year old squirmed and ran off, but he danced. In so many cultures, music and dancing are the same word; they cannot be separated. So when Luke left his chair and started dancing around the altar, I wonder if he gets something the rest of us have forgotten.

Yes, the toddler cried, but she sang.  When I sat her down on the pew and gave her a hymnal, she opened it and sang a song without words for two entire stanzas of FINLANDIA (and bobbed her head in rhythm for emphasis).

Yes, the seven year old was unfocused much of the time, but he prayed. During the Lord’s Prayer, his boy soprano voice could be heard clearly, a needed balance to our adult monotones.

Yes, the seven year old interrupted the pastor (dad) before we sang Psalm 46. But he participated. He just wanted the rest of us to wait until he found his page and took off his coat because he was hot.

Yes, they interrupted peace, but they shared peace. Our shy eldest hardly ever wants to share the peace of Christ in worship by shaking hands. In this small, intimate setting, he freely shared it.

Yes, it is hard taking children to worship. I was reminded of this reading a line from a mentor, Paul Westermeyer, this evening:  ‘The discipline of worship, like training for a marathon, requires stretches of boredom if there are to be moments of insight and the deepest joys and sorrows”  (Rise, O Church: Reflections on the Church,Its Music and Empire, Morningstar Music Publishers, 2008), p. 20.

For parents with children, worship can be more frustration than boredom, but like training for a marathon, we can be worn out. Especially when caregivers of children get the sense that children need to be “seen and not heard” so that the adults, the important ones, can get on with what’s important.

But then there are these moments when we get our second wind, a generous dose of the Holy Spirit.  It’s in such moments that I am reminded of why Jesus welcomed the children. They teach us about how the Spirit speaks/sings to us in distracted moments of chaos as well as in prayers for peace. 

Kinship at the Curve

When Nathan and I named our firstborn Thomas, we had in mind the apostle. We didn’t think for a minute about a blue steam engine that talked with a British accent. But folks who know us at all know about Thomas and his trains. Railroad enthusiast would not be a strong enough description.

As a parent, I’ve wondered about his infatuation a lot. His dad loved trains, so his interest makes sense, but I wonder about whether this train passion will flourish as he grows. Is it a phase? It’s hard to tell, but today I had a glimpse of what could become of his love of all things train.

We began the tradition of "adventure days" today. A friend shared with me this great idea of planning an adventure and not telling the kids where we were going ahead of time. When we arrived in Altoona, Pennsylvania at the Railroad Museum, Thomas leapt out of the car. No doubt… he was thrilled. Even better, a trip to the famous Horseshoe Curve.

When we arrived at the curve, there was a teenage boy next to the fence where you can watch the trains. He had a tripod set up, a camera around his neck. Though he was dressed  in shorts and a t-shirt like an “ordinary” teenager, I could tell this guy meant business. After a train came by, he started up a conversation with us and I was mesmerized. It was like time travel, perhaps a glimpse of a teenage Thomas. This young man was talking about paint schemes on locomotives, what engines were retired and when, when the next mixed freight should come around the curve. Wow… this guy was really into trains. And yes, that’s what he does on the weekends, especially in the summer. He goes around and watches trains, takes videos and pictures. I overheard his grandparents talking at the picnic table nearby and they, too, are into trains. They seemed very proud of their grandson’s passion.

I don’t know much about heritage units and 4-4-0s and the like, but I was moved at the ease with which Thomas talked with this stranger. Although  he struggles with meeting new people some of the time, a common interest encouraged him to share. The older and younger boy had a common passion, much I like I have with other church musicians. It’s about being with others who get you, who understand what makes you tick.

I don’t know where Thomas’s train passion will take him. He mentioned before bedtime that he wants to go back to the curve and pack breakfast, lunch and dinner and watch trains all day. “Sure, “ I said. “We’ll go back.” 

Alma Mater

These past few days I have been attending the biennial conference of the Association of Lutheran Church Musicians, held this year at my alma mater, Valparaiso University. I consider myself a proud alumnus. It is refreshing to walk the campus, to greet former teachers, to worship and sing in its grand chapel.

Such pride was tempered by a stroll through the campus bookstore. As deeply as I respect this institution and so many people connected with it, I have to be honest: I cannot purchase many of the items in their bookstore.

I was looking for a t-shirt to bring home for my youngest daughter. And sure, there were a few that had simply had the name “Valparaiso University” printed on the front. But the majority of them also had the imprinted symbol of the university’s sports, the crusader. This is what I cannot purchase.

One of the topics being addressed in the plenary sessions this week is the issue of the “religious nones” or the “religious alls” as one presenter phrased it more positively. A refrain we kept hearing is that many young people cannot associate with some segments of Christianity regarded as exclusionary. Bearing that in mind, I am back in that bookstore. Here this institution continues to brand itself with an image most exclusionary, a part of Christianity’s past that seems too violent to be promoted on a shirt, mug or bumper sticker.

Valparaiso is not the only home of the crusaders, of course.  I live less than ten miles from Susquehanna University, another liberal arts university with roots in the Lutheran church. Their sports players are also crusaders. And there are more .

I confess that I am not a historian professing detailed knowledge about the crusades. Any war takes two parties (at least) and some have proposed that those medieval Christians were acting in defense. Yet no matter the circumstances, when we endorse the crusader we are, in part, endorsing holy war. No swords becoming plow shares here.

If we are to seriously wrestle with Christianity and how it is perceived in our culture, perhaps starting with our college’s mascots wouldn’t be a bad idea. Because if our Christian colleges sports teams are battling with one another under the name of a holy war, it cannot help but shape us, even if it’s just by buying a shirt in a bookstore.