A gaffe of epic proportions:
"Thank you for watching my son," I said, hanging the diaper bag on the hook and signing in my baby boy for the hour-and-a-half church service.
"You're welcome," the volunteer said, another little baby boy on her hip.
"Who is this little one?" I asked innocently, squeezing his chubby baby toes.
"Oh, he belongs to me," she answered with a smile.
Perhaps it was the way she beam-smiled at me - not exactly like a tired mama, more like a doting grandmother. Or perhaps it was the fleeting thought that her grown daughters work in town, I had seen them at a store.
"Is this your first grandbaby?"
"No, this is my son," she said neutrally, not overly mad and not overly nice.
Well, it's time to patch things up, said my brain.
"I am so sorry," I said.
Deep down, I'm still shouting to the narrator, "Don't say it! Don't say it!" But it always ends with me, tactless and unafraid:
"For some reason, I thought your daughter, the one who works in town, was pregnant."
Crickets chirp. And you can hear me slap myself on the forehead.
Her look wasn't overly mad or overly nice, just overly disgusted.
The End.
Resting Near the Delete Button,
Karen
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Life Abundant
My little sister has a big bump.
A scary looking bump. It can't help but draw the eye down towards her belly.
It gets me excited for her every time we talk on the phone, this new life in her named Baby Lillian. It also stirs up those nostalgic "remember when's."
As is always the case with me, even my nostalgia is plagued by misplaced mother-guilt. Just ask my little sister, she'll tell you all the ways I regret my mothering of babies - the hurrying of time, the rigor of schedules, the stiff rigidity that could not consider a bottle of formula or a snuggle in bed with Baby. Then, the extreme swing in the other direction, where I rocked at the cost of any other priority, as if to make up for lost time.
But when I look back, I realize that lack of time was never the real problem. Being present in those moments was the problem. My biggest regret in all of life - not just in early motherhood, but in every stage, every day - is in not being thankful for this. Right now, the this is a quiet moment at a dark desk, my face glowing in the reflection of a screen...sounds of kids settling into bed interrupting my already distracted thoughts...this sticky laptop that must have been witness to a lollipop annihilation...scrub that tomorrow...the smell of fresh paint lingering (and I secretly like it)... If I could say it loud without disturbing drowsy Littles, I'd shout it: I'm thankful now.
Isn't this grace, that I have been given this moment, and the hard ones too, not to be hurried or accomplished or checked off the to-do list, but to be lived? Even this, I cannot do apart from Another, who wants me to have "life and have it abundantly" (John 10:10).
"I watch the hands move grace on the clock face. I'm growing older. These children growing up. But time is not running out. This day is not a sieve, losing time. With each passing minute, each passing year, there's this deepening awareness that I am filling, gaining time." -Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts, page 77
This life is not to be endured, but to be lived. Abundantly. Remind me of this during my next root canal and you just might see an example of ungrace. For sure, this abundant life is not done without Him. He makes purpose out of my irrelevant moments, sense out of my nonsense, gratitude out of tantrums, and even joy out of my regrets. Gaining time today, and praying you are too.
Resting in this Eternity,
Karen
If you haven't visited here in a while, let me explain: each Monday, I meet with hundreds of other women who are pouring gratitude out in journals, keyboards, and the backs of receipts. It's lifted my eyes upward, where I rejoice for crazy things like spilled paint and floss. If you would like to start your own list, you can start your own at A Holy Experience.
69. this goofy sticky keyboard (my finger keeps getting stuck on the ssssss)
70. puppy antics
71. good books piled high
72. fresh paint and wallpaper, and my mother who inspires, motivates, and mops up my spilled paint
73. this man I love, who comforted Punkin the best way after those puppy antics chewed up her artwork - with time, affection, and scotch tape
74. Dr. Gray, the dentist Sugs loves
75. nightly "rocket ship" rides to the top bunk and little kid vows to come home from the moon in the morning
76. a smilebox from Japan that made me, well, smile
77. Pizza with grandparents
78. Three squirt bottles and all the giggles they produced tonight
79. Willing listeners who allowed me to share so securely
80. A real tea party
81. Early morning coffee with Real Gil
82. the Bread of Life - a perfectly satisfying and strengthening meal
83. gusts of wind and these strong walls that shelter me tonight
84. the whimsy of Grandpa eating a lollipop
85. teachers like Miss Diedre, Mr. Nelson-with-the-guitar, & Miss Melody
86. staged fights (with swords and nunchucks) at noon that had us all laughing
87. snowballs thrown at our departing car and kids laughing at Grandpa
88. the long, lulling rock in a rocking chair (How long has it been since I did that?)
89. cheers at church
90. My mother-in-law cooking and serving while I...set the table?
91. Little Sister's baby bump
A scary looking bump. It can't help but draw the eye down towards her belly.
It gets me excited for her every time we talk on the phone, this new life in her named Baby Lillian. It also stirs up those nostalgic "remember when's."
As is always the case with me, even my nostalgia is plagued by misplaced mother-guilt. Just ask my little sister, she'll tell you all the ways I regret my mothering of babies - the hurrying of time, the rigor of schedules, the stiff rigidity that could not consider a bottle of formula or a snuggle in bed with Baby. Then, the extreme swing in the other direction, where I rocked at the cost of any other priority, as if to make up for lost time.
But when I look back, I realize that lack of time was never the real problem. Being present in those moments was the problem. My biggest regret in all of life - not just in early motherhood, but in every stage, every day - is in not being thankful for this. Right now, the this is a quiet moment at a dark desk, my face glowing in the reflection of a screen...sounds of kids settling into bed interrupting my already distracted thoughts...this sticky laptop that must have been witness to a lollipop annihilation...scrub that tomorrow...the smell of fresh paint lingering (and I secretly like it)... If I could say it loud without disturbing drowsy Littles, I'd shout it: I'm thankful now.
Isn't this grace, that I have been given this moment, and the hard ones too, not to be hurried or accomplished or checked off the to-do list, but to be lived? Even this, I cannot do apart from Another, who wants me to have "life and have it abundantly" (John 10:10).
"I watch the hands move grace on the clock face. I'm growing older. These children growing up. But time is not running out. This day is not a sieve, losing time. With each passing minute, each passing year, there's this deepening awareness that I am filling, gaining time." -Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts, page 77
This life is not to be endured, but to be lived. Abundantly. Remind me of this during my next root canal and you just might see an example of ungrace. For sure, this abundant life is not done without Him. He makes purpose out of my irrelevant moments, sense out of my nonsense, gratitude out of tantrums, and even joy out of my regrets. Gaining time today, and praying you are too.
Resting in this Eternity,
Karen
If you haven't visited here in a while, let me explain: each Monday, I meet with hundreds of other women who are pouring gratitude out in journals, keyboards, and the backs of receipts. It's lifted my eyes upward, where I rejoice for crazy things like spilled paint and floss. If you would like to start your own list, you can start your own at A Holy Experience.
69. this goofy sticky keyboard (my finger keeps getting stuck on the ssssss)
70. puppy antics
71. good books piled high
72. fresh paint and wallpaper, and my mother who inspires, motivates, and mops up my spilled paint
73. this man I love, who comforted Punkin the best way after those puppy antics chewed up her artwork - with time, affection, and scotch tape
74. Dr. Gray, the dentist Sugs loves
75. nightly "rocket ship" rides to the top bunk and little kid vows to come home from the moon in the morning
76. a smilebox from Japan that made me, well, smile
77. Pizza with grandparents
78. Three squirt bottles and all the giggles they produced tonight
79. Willing listeners who allowed me to share so securely
80. A real tea party
81. Early morning coffee with Real Gil
82. the Bread of Life - a perfectly satisfying and strengthening meal
83. gusts of wind and these strong walls that shelter me tonight
84. the whimsy of Grandpa eating a lollipop
85. teachers like Miss Diedre, Mr. Nelson-with-the-guitar, & Miss Melody
86. staged fights (with swords and nunchucks) at noon that had us all laughing
87. snowballs thrown at our departing car and kids laughing at Grandpa
88. the long, lulling rock in a rocking chair (How long has it been since I did that?)
89. cheers at church
90. My mother-in-law cooking and serving while I...set the table?
91. Little Sister's baby bump
Thursday, March 24, 2011
When Tucked In Really Means Tucked In
Uncle Kenny died on Sunday afternoon.
Grandpa found him sitting in his easy chair, the television still tuned to his favorite channel, and my kids' most recent homemade works of art posted on his refrigerator. Putting down the plate of still-warm food my mother had sent Grandpa to deliver, he called 9-1-1 and checked his best friend's body for a pulse. There was none.
Let me clarify: Uncle Kenny wasn't really our uncle, he was my father's uncle. That got a little too confusing for us and even more complicated for the kids, so we all just called him what my dad called him: Uncle Kenny. More than an uncle, though, he was my grandfather's first cousin by blood (not hard in a family of seventeen kids!) and best friend for life. A single father of four adult daughters, he wasn't afraid of our family chaos or the occasional childish interruption.
Grandpa and Kenny always reminded me of Grumpy Old Men, only they weren't grumpy. They were energetic, funny, and child-like in their awe of the world. They spent endless hours hunting the high desert for ghost towns, blue rocks (requested by my daughter), and treasures untold. When we went along for the fun, they strapped kids on the backs of their quads and ventured off into the dust. A kid's heaven, for sure, as was the bowl of Jell-O Great-Grandma had made them afterward.
Uncle Kenny celebrated every birthday and holiday with our family, including the religious ones that he did not necessarily ascribe to. Last Easter, he asked my mom why Jesus was so important to the Christians. I was secretly glad he hadn't asked me after I heard how good her answer was.
Then, just a few weeks ago, Grandpa and Uncle Kenny stopped by our house. I brewed coffee and cut brownies, the kind that's thick with frosting. Both the kids and Uncle Kenny ate the frosting first.
Between stories of political woes and travesties, I shook my head and said, "The answer is Jesus, we just need Jesus." Such a cliche answer, in retrospect.
"You think so?" Uncle Kenny asked.
"Yeah," I answered shyly, but gaining momentum. "Real life doesn't start the minute we get to heaven; it starts the minute we know Jesus."
He smiled encouragingly, even nodded around his coffee cup. But I wonder what he really thought. Was I the religious nutcase that kept serving him Jesus-talk with his brownie? Was I a misguided zealot? A weak-minded intolerant conservative?
We ended the conversation with hugs, and off those two went, nagging and teasing each other all the way to the truck. It was only two weeks until my dad's birthday, when the family would all gather around my mother's buffet spread, but Uncle Kenny decided the morning of our get-together to stay home and rest. And he died that afternoon.
If I could have done it again, I would have said it a hundred more ways (to make sure he was fully convinced I was a religious nutcase!). Not because I needed to change his mind, but because God loved him, plain and simple. Why not tell a person this?
So, to all the Uncle Kenny's out there who I have yet to bravely risk embarrassing myself and them, here's what I should have said:
Jesus is the reason I get up in the morning.
Life without Him is hopeless for me.
A walk with Jesus is a walk of faith - there are no perfect proofs or scientific experiments that make it all sensible. In fact, if anything, this Christian life seems the exact opposite of logic. A.W. Tozer says it this way:
"A real Christian is an odd number, anyway. He feels supreme love for One whom he has never seen; talks familiarly every day to Someone he cannot see; expects to go to heaven on the virtue of Another; empties himself in order to be full; admits he is wrong so he can be declared right; goes down in order to get up; is strongest when he is weakest; richest when he is poorest and happiest when he feels the worst. He dies so he can live; forsakes in order to have; gives away so he can keep; sees the invisible; hears the inaudible; and knows that which passeth knowledge." (excerpt taken from Kenneth Boa's Conformed to His Image, p. 260)
No matter how skeptical you are, what do you lose by finding out more? A little time, perhaps? A little ridicule, maybe? If it's nothing, you've wasted little. If it's something - or everything - you've gained purpose, identity, love, hope, security, and life itself.
This "hidden in Christ" kind of "tucked in" I spout about cannot allow me to wallow in regret, only step forward knowing that if God could find me, He could certainly find Uncle Kenny. What a way to go - into Arms wide open, cozier than the easy chair. I hope he found that safe place, tucked in to Him.
Resting in Faith,
Karen
Grandpa found him sitting in his easy chair, the television still tuned to his favorite channel, and my kids' most recent homemade works of art posted on his refrigerator. Putting down the plate of still-warm food my mother had sent Grandpa to deliver, he called 9-1-1 and checked his best friend's body for a pulse. There was none.
Let me clarify: Uncle Kenny wasn't really our uncle, he was my father's uncle. That got a little too confusing for us and even more complicated for the kids, so we all just called him what my dad called him: Uncle Kenny. More than an uncle, though, he was my grandfather's first cousin by blood (not hard in a family of seventeen kids!) and best friend for life. A single father of four adult daughters, he wasn't afraid of our family chaos or the occasional childish interruption.
Grandpa and Kenny always reminded me of Grumpy Old Men, only they weren't grumpy. They were energetic, funny, and child-like in their awe of the world. They spent endless hours hunting the high desert for ghost towns, blue rocks (requested by my daughter), and treasures untold. When we went along for the fun, they strapped kids on the backs of their quads and ventured off into the dust. A kid's heaven, for sure, as was the bowl of Jell-O Great-Grandma had made them afterward.
Uncle Kenny celebrated every birthday and holiday with our family, including the religious ones that he did not necessarily ascribe to. Last Easter, he asked my mom why Jesus was so important to the Christians. I was secretly glad he hadn't asked me after I heard how good her answer was.
Then, just a few weeks ago, Grandpa and Uncle Kenny stopped by our house. I brewed coffee and cut brownies, the kind that's thick with frosting. Both the kids and Uncle Kenny ate the frosting first.
Between stories of political woes and travesties, I shook my head and said, "The answer is Jesus, we just need Jesus." Such a cliche answer, in retrospect.
"You think so?" Uncle Kenny asked.
"Yeah," I answered shyly, but gaining momentum. "Real life doesn't start the minute we get to heaven; it starts the minute we know Jesus."
He smiled encouragingly, even nodded around his coffee cup. But I wonder what he really thought. Was I the religious nutcase that kept serving him Jesus-talk with his brownie? Was I a misguided zealot? A weak-minded intolerant conservative?
We ended the conversation with hugs, and off those two went, nagging and teasing each other all the way to the truck. It was only two weeks until my dad's birthday, when the family would all gather around my mother's buffet spread, but Uncle Kenny decided the morning of our get-together to stay home and rest. And he died that afternoon.
If I could have done it again, I would have said it a hundred more ways (to make sure he was fully convinced I was a religious nutcase!). Not because I needed to change his mind, but because God loved him, plain and simple. Why not tell a person this?
So, to all the Uncle Kenny's out there who I have yet to bravely risk embarrassing myself and them, here's what I should have said:
Jesus is the reason I get up in the morning.
Life without Him is hopeless for me.
A walk with Jesus is a walk of faith - there are no perfect proofs or scientific experiments that make it all sensible. In fact, if anything, this Christian life seems the exact opposite of logic. A.W. Tozer says it this way:
"A real Christian is an odd number, anyway. He feels supreme love for One whom he has never seen; talks familiarly every day to Someone he cannot see; expects to go to heaven on the virtue of Another; empties himself in order to be full; admits he is wrong so he can be declared right; goes down in order to get up; is strongest when he is weakest; richest when he is poorest and happiest when he feels the worst. He dies so he can live; forsakes in order to have; gives away so he can keep; sees the invisible; hears the inaudible; and knows that which passeth knowledge." (excerpt taken from Kenneth Boa's Conformed to His Image, p. 260)
No matter how skeptical you are, what do you lose by finding out more? A little time, perhaps? A little ridicule, maybe? If it's nothing, you've wasted little. If it's something - or everything - you've gained purpose, identity, love, hope, security, and life itself.
This "hidden in Christ" kind of "tucked in" I spout about cannot allow me to wallow in regret, only step forward knowing that if God could find me, He could certainly find Uncle Kenny. What a way to go - into Arms wide open, cozier than the easy chair. I hope he found that safe place, tucked in to Him.
Resting in Faith,
Karen
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