Tag Archives: family

The Summer Files: Day 5

Posted on by
Reply

 

It hasn’t yet been a week and The Son has discovered that sweat makes a good hair gel. Blond hair on end, unyielding energy pumping through his body, he goes, and goes, and goes, despite the powerful Az sun.
He’s managed to climb the entire height of the stucco column on the patio. I’m not sure if it’s the steroids he’s on for an irritable bowel, or if it’s the elation of summer freedom. I may never know.

The daughter approaches her vacation with a more subtle approach. At 7:30am, I rise late due to my nighttime Away job, and find the eight-year-old preparing a pot

The Polar Express, Az. style

The Polar Express, Az. style

of oatmeal for me. She knows I like it with honey, and dutifully scrapes the sugared stuff from the jug and heats it up so it pours smoothly into my bowl. Later on, she unearths my pointe shoes and wears them around the house like princess slippers.

After walking The Canine, I take them to the park where they bike circles around me. Hmm. Shortly after, I sit them down in front of the Goosebumps movie, starring Jack Back. Concerned at first that it might scare them despite the PG rating, I’m pleasantly surprised when they laugh through most of the film. Who knew evil garden gnomes weren’t scary?

While tending to my At-Home job—writing my newest book in The City of Light series–I decide it’s time for The Children to make their own City of Light.
We cut. We trim and paste. It’s still in progress, but I think this will be end up being a project to remember.

20160519_161103(1)

So far, I find myself tolerating enjoying Summer. Until next week.

A Single Beautiful Thing

Posted on by
Reply

There was a man in my college photography class who taught us how to capture a beautiful shot from anywhere. “Zoom in,” he said, “It’s about focus.” When he propped his photo up on our critique board, I saw a shadowed arch, eye-catching in its imperfection flowing through a gray sea. I didn’t think crack in a sidewalk until he told us that’s what it was.

I’m not sure what got me thinking about this seventeen-year-old memory; maybe some of you can relate, but when you become a parent, focusing on any single20160516_091434 thing becomes folklore. A crack in the sidewalk becomes a collection point for Cheerios overflowing beyond the crevice— milk and all— onto my freshly mopped floor.

Maybe it’s my son with the indeterminate illness, and my friend with the cancer diagnosis. The hard things like to come at once, so how do we manage to focus on a single beautiful thing amidst cold, hard reality?

If Peter had kept his eyes on Jesus, his feet would not have slipped through the water. He saw the storm, the waves–he even suspected Jesus was a ghost. But the few moments he focused on the Lord, he got his miracle—one that’s been documented to help us through every one of our hard seasons. An old reminder of what could be.

Jesus traveled with a team—I’m thinking of all of you right now. Let’s climb inside this boat together and fix our eyes on our King.

A Bird Song

Posted on by
Reply

Grandma Bird was never without a pocket full of Kleenex. Often when I sneeze, or feel full to the brim with allergens, I pull my own Kleenex from my pocket and think of her. Glasses hanging around her neck like a fine piece of jewelry, fingers and ears bare of adornment, Grandma knew that life wasn’t about impressing others.

How could she? She survived the Great Depression and never forgot it. Not that she was all business either—in eighth grade, when I had FINALLY achieved honor roll status, the certificate of my feat floated around our kitchen for a few weeks. My parents were proud, I was shocked, but my Grandma? Nope. She picked up my honor roll certificate without a glance and moved it out of the way of one of my drawings underneath. That was where my heart was and Grandma knew it.

20150526_112129

Just be you.

I didn’t need to impress her by struggling through classes, which, to tell you the truth, I mostly hated (Except English—how I love you, English). I worked harder that year so I could stay in music class, not to achieve honor roll. I just needed to reach the arts that most schools make so hard to find. Even if artists starve and get called all sorts of names like moody, poor, dreamers, without sensible ambition—those are stereotypes invented by people who worshiped scholastic hierarchy. Nothing but the stuff on paper or Kleenex you wad up a throw away.
But my heart on the right kind of paper? That’s me.

I’m eternally grateful that my kids attend a fine/performing arts school. It’s not an uppity right-side-of-the-tracks school by any means. It’s not a private school. It’s a school owned by a couple who knows that artistic kids need to be nourished just as much as the scholarly types.

Where is your heart? I hope you have a Grandma Bird to appreciate the real you.

Call of the Jungle

Posted on by
Reply

I don’t know that I’ve ever been so pressed to work as I am this year. I won’t list all the titles and duties, because that doesn’t really matter. But the panorama of my project list has kept me dazing into its hypnotic eyes so much that I began to feel like Mowgli unknowingly being crushed in the grip of Kaa.

Deep into the night, I’ve gone over my list of have-to-get-dones, thinking about what I could shed from the stack; I’m not a workaholic by nature, and am careful not to turn into one—this is the child of the workaholic speaking—but it’s difficult navigating through this jungle. Gotta finish.

Sometimes you have to put down the tools anyway, because Kaa will eat you alive if you allow her to become your idol.

20160309_134953

Our “fun” expert

So instead of preparing a blog ahead of time to avoid all those ugly editing blips, we took the kids to see Jungle Book, then come evening, I folded my daughter into my arms and we sat in front of the TV until her bedtime. On Sunday (blessed chair-sitting, holy-singing Sunday), the kids helped us with our grown-up chores, then we reveled in a bike ride. What’s better than the wind in your hair and God smiling upon your joy?

Don’t worry about getting lost in the wasteland—God made manna for those who rely on Him, not themselves.

I did learn something about the vital things you can miss when working too hard, but that’ll come next week.

Peace to you this Monday.

Pedaling Forward

Posted on by
Reply

Chloe just graduated to a new bike—a perfect infusion of pink and purple wonder-girl, just in time for spring. We didn’t realize how much she had grown until she laid down her old bike, replete with scratches and memories, and climbed onto her new one. What a difference! I thought her recent struggle to pedal was due to lack of riding, but no—she had moved into a new season of girlhood.

Off she cruised, uphill, over dirt and broken pavement; strong enough to handle itbike all despite the cold winter of insidedom. She was a little disappointed when her pristinely black tires arrived home coated in dirt, but was invigorated enough from her experience to let it go.

It seems to be a season of change for us, as well as for a few friends. Whether we think we’re ready to go forward or not, staying in our comfort zones may be more of a hindrance than we realize. In being called to the next step in our stories we may get a little dirty, but the experience can be spectacular.

What we can learn from Batman

Posted on by
Reply

Our Easter began with a service by Watson Lake and ended with Batman vs. Superman. The first was beautiful and peaceful–the breeze and sun couldn’t have 20150803_092538been more lovely. On a perfectly placed current soared a bald eagle which was a special treat for my son who had recently asked when he would see one again.

The second half of our day was exciting–a few hours of grown up time is a rare gift, especially when it’s a movie with an edge to it. Lecture me not, because I’m okay with a little violence and fantasy. It actually got me thinking about the whole spectrum of superhero fandom. Why do we get so excited about characters dripping in unreality? Why do we embrace these stories soaked in red capes and heroes that can fly? Our culture can’t get enough–we arrange babysitters for our kids so we can get away to watch grown-up movies which, in reality, are childlike stories.

So what really comes with Easter and Batman?

This is where Christians fail to be like kids (don’t laugh–it’s an order from God Himself: “And he said: Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 18:3)
It’s not good to be afraid of fantasy (what is it, really?). It’s not okay to put ideas of God in a box over here, away from the exciting stuff that happens over there. Do you remember what happened after the Resurrection?

“When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues[a] as the Spirit enabled them.” Acts 2:1-4

What else happened after the crucifixion?

“At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs after Jesus’ resurrection and[a] went into the holy city and appeared to many people.” Matthew 27:51-53

This is the kind of stuff we put over there, in fantasy, but it’s not. It’s reality friends (okay, except Batman, but it’s a good movie). That supernatural world we crave is here!

Maybe God sent the eagle over our Easter celebration because a child approached life with the perspective God wants us to have. Who knows? Maybe we’d see more of God’s superpowers if we didn’t write things off as coincidence. Maybe we’ve forgotten who God is and who we are.

 

What do you think?

 

Read Your Way to Success

Posted on by
2

Many youth I know can spin an argument like a flower without a root. That’s right. They can talk pretty, waft attractive opinions around the room and philosophize like their point is so natural, but when you dig to the bottom of their argument, there’s often nothing feeding it. Nothing in which to give it life. It’s an idea just waiting to wilt.

Many schools have adopted the following as a way to teach children to write: Argumentative (most important), Informative (a close second) and way at the end of the line…Narrative. Now at first glance, this makes sense. I hope my kids are required to debate at least once in their education. I hope they learn how to back up their opinions and make sure they have facts on their side. I hope they know how to research a topic well, and how to educate themselves in and out of the classroom.

20160321_085256

But can you find the whole story within arguments and encyclopedic-style information? My kids are already experts in the art of arguing. They will bring up every angle possible—gather up all the facts they know—and present their cases to me as if lawyers themselves. Honestly, it’s a close cousin to manipulation which is why we don’t allow them to get their way by arguing.

But when confronted with narratives—real life stories, or even fictional stories, kids learn the importance of roots: right and wrong, perseverance, inspiration (To Kill a Mockingbird and The Indian in the Cupboard to name a few).

When goodness sprouts despite the worlds darkness, there must be a root somewhere. Many of us call it God, which may be why institutions that don’t allow that kind of talk adhere to argument.

Please don’t misunderstand me here–my kids go to a great school and have great teachers, but there is always a hiccup, no matter where the classroom is. When studying the plain old facts, my daughter not only has trouble retaining them, but the purpose of learning gets lost on her. “Why should I care about it?”

Then on library day she finds a book about a Jewish girl who lived through World War II—the hatred and anguish that filled this time. Chloe couldn’t stop telling me about. She deeply felt the plight of this girl.

With narrative, people move beyond the argument to action—the kind born from people who really care (and can remember why they should).

May the world be full of bookworms.

Rest

Posted on by
Reply

Last week was Spring Break and it was anything but restful. Of all the weeks to be pressed to work a little harder to meet deadlines, it had to be the week my kids were free from their own. Exhausted before I had finished, I packed my kids in the car and we headed to my mom’s place where WiFi doesn’t exist and acres of land spread before us. My kids ran like rabbits on sugar and I pulled a chair under the sun to soak up some light.

It was a nice beak, but not quite enough. We headed back home and I dug into work again. While preparing for my writers group, I found an old blog that showed me what I had been missing.

It wasn’t the blog itself, but the photos. This is one of our trees. Resting.

100_2663Wintertime is when creation pulls in its blooms for a nap. The creatures nestle inside their burrows, even the colors fade into sleep until spring.

When the land has rested, it blooms again. It doesn’t run itself ragged like we do, feeling guilt from the smallest of breaks. It’s so easy to go and go until we burn out and then go some more.

Creation goes until its flame is the most beautiful. And then it rests a while.

1029131129

By the time it’s ready to go again, it lacks nothing. Its even able to give shade to those who may need it.

100_3066

And it becomes so renewed, it reflects the joy of others that surround it.

100_2969

 Pouring your best work into the world requires seasons of rest. Have a blessed week.

 

A Renaissance Life

Posted on by
Reply

The past few weeks have been about introducing our kids to culture at its best.

First, while Noah recovered from Pneumonia, I took Chloe to a few art galleries in downtown Prescott. We saw a lot of beautiful work, but we had two things to add to our Awesome List.

1. Years ago, we added to our personal art collection a print of an old man in the desert, holding a cat. Something about it just caught me when I bought it–well, we got to meet the artist, and tell him how much we’ve enjoyed his bit of story on our wall. Even though art is a career, it’s also personal; brave. So complimenting an artist on their work is to thank them for sharing part of their life with us.

2. Chloe discovered a whole new world when she saw a horse sculpture welded together from springs, knives, and various scraps of metal. Together, these bits and pieces made a breathtaking piece of art. It was a good reminder that we can take whatever we’re allotted in life and make something beautiful from it.20160227_134546

After Noah recovered enough to get out, we went to the Renaissance Festival. We basked in a day of mermaids, knights, and turkey legs. Besides watching my kid’s delighted faces, my favorite part was when an old man–had to be in his eighties–shuffled by us with his walker–and brand new set of elf ears.

Now that’s a man who has learned how to enjoy his life.

I hope you enjoyed your weekend too. I’ll see you next Monday!