In Gennesaret

Mothering did NOT come naturally to me. (Does it come naturally to anyone? It seemed like my friends had better instincts about the process than I did. I could have been wrong. But I digress . . . ) When my eldest was a baby, I, of course, consumed all sorts of books and magazines to try to figure this parenting stuff out. Problem was, those experts wouldn't necessarily address the specific situation I was struggling with. And when they did, they didn't necessarily agree with each other. And when they did, they certainly didn't know me and my kid. About when my daughter hit the age of two (I believe), we found ourselves in the trenches of the Night Wars. Like many parents, we had unwittingly trained her to only be able to fall asleep with our help -- we rocked her until she was drowsy enough to go directly to Slumberland when we lay her in her crib. This made for sweet, cuddly moments with a precious darling at 8pm . . . and nightmarish hours with a screaming demon child at...

Recently, my Bible study lesson asked me to name people I know who are peacemakers. And I tell you – I had to laugh for a minute. Is anybody actually trying to make peace in America these days? Anybody? I mean, at best, those of us who aren’t attacking perceived enemies are simply trying to avoid being attacked ourselves. Nobody seems to have the inclination to try to make peace right now. We're too invested in being right. But as I pondered the question, my mind gradually stumbled upon Stephanie. Stephanie is the administrative assistant at my school, the one who stays in the main office during the day. And she creates an atmosphere of peace in that space. Wanna know how? She simply affirms the value of everyone who walks in the door. Whatever they have to say is important and deserves to be fully understood; whatever they are experiencing at that moment is important and deserves her complete attention and to be addressed. That doesn’t mean every person’s words or ex...

I just threw away a half-full expired container of Parmesan cheese. And I tried to stifle my shame as I did so. Because, you see, this is not something that would have happened in my pre-earthquake life. I cooked back then. I had a well-stocked, well-organized kitchen from which I could prepare real food for my family. I shopped once a week from a well-planned list derived from a collection of meal ideas that I cycled through, keeping an eye on food I had in the cabinet and in the fridge so I would be using up what I had and let nothing go to waste. I even tried to cook relatively healthy food. And occasionally, I looked for new recipes that my family would like so I could try them, too. Because that’s what a good wife and mother does. Right? I mean, I’m not claiming to be any kind of kitchen goddess . . . but I at least tried . Doing less than that didn’t feel like an option. I don’t try anymore. And there’s a lot of other stuff I don’t do anymore either. I don’t dust every week...

November 1 is All Saints Day. Soooo, raise your hand if you were aware of this. Okay, thank you – now keep your hand up if this fact will be affecting your day in any noticeable way. Mm-hmm. Growing up Baptist, All Saints Day meant nothing to me. It was just an ancient historical something that gave us a reason for costumes and candy on October 31 st . But I have since learned that it’s a day when we (that is, we Christians) are supposed to remember and honor the saints that “went before us”. And that's a lovely idea. So I felt an urge in church, when All Saints Day was mentioned, to schedule a pause in my day to remember believers who went before me . . . in particular, people at University Baptist Church in Wichita, the church I grew up in. Like Dorothy Melugin. From the earliest age I can remember, Mrs. Melugin was the kitchen lady – I think her official role was Chair of the Hospitality Committee (because we were Baptists and had to committee everything to death). She w...

( God, beaming at the humans he just created.) Aw, look at them! They’re so cute with their hair and their smiles and their short attention spans and their fragile egos. I’m going to enjoy hanging out with these guys. But now I need to figure out how to make that happen. Relationship , I mean. You gotta know someone to have a relationship with them, right? I know them , of course – inside and out. But I have to figure out how they can know me . . . how they can even understand who I am. I mean, they can’t really comprehend me in my entirety, bless their limited little hearts. But I can give them glimpses of me, here and there. Enough to make them want more and seek me out. ‘Cause I want them to seek me out. So let’s see . . . I’ll start with   . . . a Parent. Yes! Perfect. Every human will have a Parent. A stronger, bigger fellow human who protects them and nurtures them . . . who belongs to them no matter what . . . who adores them even on the days when they seem to be g...

A few weeks ago, someone on Facebook mentioned Rich Mullins. Rich Mullins,  people!   I used to have a “best of” cassette with a bunch of his songs. (Actually, I may still have it somewhere – I just don’t have anything to play a cassette tape on anymore.) But that random mention on FB sent me on a Rich Mullins jag. The man had some really powerful music. “Calling Out Your Name” absolutely sends me soaring in worship. “We Are Not as Strong as We Think We Are” moves me deeply. And I spent a couple days driving around with hands raised in praise (well, one hand up, one still on the wheel) while listening to “If I Stand”. Googling the songs again sent me also to articles talking about Mullins himself, someone I didn’t really know much about. I knew he died relatively young in a car crash (in 1997 at the age of 41). I also learned that he went to college at Friends University in Wichita, my hometown – which explained his reference to “the Keeper of the Plains” which I always wond...

Not many people know that I have a master’s degree in Guidance and Counseling. Mainly because I’ve never used it, at least not professionally. The only real “counseling” I’ve done outside of friends and family was the twelve-week internship at a middle school which I had to do to close out the program and get my degree. That experience proved to me that I had no business being a school counselor, bless my heart. My mentor was a wonderful African-American woman whom I admired and enjoyed; I could have spent hours soaking in her wisdom and never have gotten saturated. A few weeks into the internship, she organized a weekly meeting with a group of boys who were dealing with anger issues, a group that we were supposed to co-lead. She gradually let me take over more of the leadership of the group as time went on – which, of course, was exactly what was needed for my education but unfortunately not at all what was needed for these poor boys’ edification. Do you remember what I said a w...