Thurs Thirty: You Got Jipped

Purchase Peace of Mind: Save 60% Today

I saw it right there in my Inbox. Talk about your deal of the century. With roadside assistance included! Who knew? Granted it was from Mr. Car Warranty with his tow package, but the concept intrigued me.

Hmmm. Peace of mind on sale. Exactly what is full price? Are there any upcharges? Do I really want a bargain peace of mind, one that’s discounted? We value peace of mind. Yet, we are sometimes far off the mark in how to get it. We look for the elaborate scheme, the self-help model, the paradigm shift, the seven steps, the subscription or the prescription–anything to teach us, train us, coerce us, trick us into keeping our mind at peace. This brand is way overpriced.

Peace of mind is there for the taking, if I’ll just take the step to put it in my buggy. Free. No receipt required. Of course, peace of mind usually requires presence of mind–the presence of mind to live the moment that is happening now, to take advantage of what’s right in front of me, to consciously make the decisions that bring peace–all around me. Those daily heart-choices help me line up with the person I know I was born to be, and help me see beyond myself and store up for the moment beyond this one. Need some examples?

Since I’ve skipped Tuesday Ten for the past few weeks, I decided an upsized Thursday Thirty bonus edition of my list-making penchant was in order–this time featuring the “You got jipped, even at 60% off since you can get it for FREE” Peace of Mind special edition. That’s right. If you lined up to pay 60% off in the peace of mind red tag special, you got schnookered.

I find that just one of these FREE peace of mind boosting actions ups my heart and mind coverage every time. The complimentary tow package just drives the worried dissatisfaction right out of me. In 30+ flavors!

Try one for yourself–FREE! Just be sure you read the fine print.

1. Forgive somebody.

2. Smile when you speak.

3. Cozy up to the One in charge.

4. Sharpen your ax.

5. Give approval.

6. Think before you speak.

7. Hug your child.

8. Say “I love you.”

9. Put your time where your heart is.

10. Put your money where you heart is.

11. Figure out where your heart is.

12. Give yourself completely to what you’re doing at the moment.

13. Stop multi-tasking.

14. Take the winding path with your eyes open.

15. Speak when spoken to.

16. Tuck someone in bed.

17. Send a letter by snail mail. (ok, that one’s not quite free, but cheaper than a Coke)

18. Finish what you started.

19. Give a compliment.

20. Offer a compromise.

21. Stop.

22. Use kind words.

23. Speak softly.

24. Make a promise and keep it.

25. Say “no” to something you don’t enjoy.

26. Clean your room.

27. Laugh at yourself.

28. Say “thank you.”

29. Work hard.

30. Then, rest.

Offer may require everything you have, no credit, absolute lack of control, forgetting the need to be right, losing yourself, giving up, giving in, standing firm, holding out, dropping the ball, or going to the back of the line. Giving comes before getting.

Gift Tag: Sing!

It’s hard to muster up a song sometimes. The tiredness of the day, the busyness of the schedule and the frustration of the combination sometimes just sucks the song right out of me. Then, I hear the simple, sweetly spoken request. “Sing!”

Our nightly bedtime ritual includes a beloved lullaby CD that I made for Little Drummer Boy and Bug from iTunes downloads several years ago. The CD is worn and the sound is crackly from use. The songs are so familiar that any time we hear them on the radio, a chorus of “our bedtime song!” follows in unison. Each night as each boy takes his turn reading with Mommy, then climbing in bed, I cover them with blankets, rub their backs and start the music. Invariably on the weariest nights, the nights when supper was late on the table and baths took longer than expected, the ones when I’ve been the most impatient or the most haggard, I hear it. “Sing!”

It’s hard for an impatient heart to sing a song of peace. It’s hard for a hurried heart to sing a song of rest. It’s hard for a heart screaming with a million and one distractions to sing a quiet song. Still, in this heart of indulgence toward my precious gifts, I try. I sing. “Come to Jesus. Come to Jesus. And live.”

Something happens when I ignore the resistance amid yawns. When I lay aside the fatigue and the irritability and offer the frequently off-key and misregistered melody of “yes” to my little ones, I find that my heart actually opens to believing the lyrics anew, to embracing the words I impart. And in my spirit, I say “yes.” I sing.

Sometimes God allows me a special blessing akin to the one He enjoys from His children. Every now and then my gifts sing along–their minds following and anticipating, but only able to release the last words of each line. Often the only word they sing clearly is “Jesus.” Their tender hearts, unstained by cynicism and self-consciousness, sing out to Him. Ever open, all that they are calls out to all that they know of Him. In that moment, unhidden, it’s His name. In song.

And in that moment, opened by their openness, I find that I sing. Broken down and revealed, in desperate restlessness, pronouncing peace, I sing. To these gifts. To this God of all seasons, of all days. And, all that I can know of my heart calls out to all that I recognize of Him–summarized. In His name.

I sing.

Untitled Hymn by Chris Rice (our personal favorite)

Weak and wounded sinner
Lost and left to die
O, raise your head, for love is passing by
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus and live!

Now your burden’s lifted
And carried far away
And precious blood has washed away the stain, so
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus and live!

And like a newborn baby
Don’t be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk
Sometimes we fall…so
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus and live!

Sometimes the way is lonely
And steep and filled with pain
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus and live!

O, and when the love spills over
And music fills the night
And when you can’t contain your joy inside, then
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus and live!

And with your final heartbeat
Kiss the world goodbye
Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory’s side, and
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus and live!

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)

Tues Ten 082509: Slow Things

I’m exercising a bit of economy today with this post because I’ve just finished the most profound article I think I’ve read in a while. Something I saw on Twitter yesterday prompted me to begin my original Tuesday Ten post as a semi-rant on things I hate reading in 140 characters or less. Actually, they were just things I hate reading, only made more annoying by their dumbed down, misspelled, or speed edited 140-character summaries. The headliner? Trashing your kids or your husband to your 1,637 followers! Holy Badmovimous, Twatman! If you can’t say something nice…

Of course, I was faced with a conundrum because to write the Tuesday Ten post that leaped from my Tweetdeck screen would mean violating one of my own personal social media rules: It may be sarcastic or annoyed. It may be fed up or fatigued. But, in the end, it better be positive. Ix-Nay on the post about Itter-Tway.

Then, I read this article from the August 22 Wall Street Journal by John Freeman (actually found from a link on… Twitter). The poignant sound of Mr. Freeman’s name–Free. Man.– was not lost on me as I read “Not So Fast”, his treatise on the value of slow communication. He certainly seems free from the “Tyranny of Email”, the apparent title of his upcoming book related to the article.

So, for economy’s sake, I decided to write today’s post as a Tuesday Ten and Most Interesting Phrase Paragraph of the Week (MIPOTW) all rolled into one. How very efficient of writer Haley.

Mr. Freeman’s absolutely on-target thoughts about the drawbacks of the hyper-communicative world we’ve created made me want to sit down for a moment. Hopped up on bandwidth with 140 (or so) characters at our disposal and a thousand “Joe Bloes” listening, we’ve become so enamored of the outflux of information that we are less mindful of what we’re really saying–and even less attentive to what really matters. Is that progress?

In an article full of interesting phrases and paragraphs and concepts, Mr. Freeman’s idictment of the internet is that:

“It has encouraged flotillas of unnecessary jabbering, making it difficult to tell signal from noise. It has made it more difficult to read slowly and enjoy it, hastening the already declining rates of literacy. It has made it harder to listen and mean it, to be idle and not fidget.”

His recommendation? Spend more time in the slow lane.

“If the technology is to be used for the betterment of human life, we must reassert that the Internet and its virtual information space is not a world unto itself but a supplement to our existing world…

Given that our days are limited, our hours precious, we have to decide what we want to do, what we want to say, what and who we care about, and how we want to allocate our time to these things within the limits that do not and cannot change. In short, we need to slow down.”

With that in mind, I give you a new and improved, more progressive Tuesday Ten: Ten [wonderfully slower than dial-up] Things I’ll never get from the internet.

1. A spit-kiss from a preschool boy

2. A glistening glass of sweetened, iced tea

3. Crumbs on my shirt from the warm sweet roll I just baked

4. The smell of a library book

5. An early Fall breeze

6. Freshly folded clean clothes

7. Sweaty, dirt-filled giggly faces in need of a wet washcloth

8. Conversation with chocolate sprinkles on top

9. The chance to hold the hand of the one I’m listening to

10. Baby Girl’s first steps accompanied brothers’ cheers.

Monday MeMyBook&Eye: Geek Finale

For my final Bringing Up Geeks post for the MeMyBook&Eye solo book club, I thought I’d highlight a few of the over-arching lessons in parenting (and life) that I’ve gleaned from this inspiring book by Marybeth Hicks. I haven’t specifically commented upon 6 of the 10 geek parenting principles Marybeth outlines: Raising a Late Bloomer, Team Player, True Friend, Homebody, Principled Kid and Faithful Kid. However, I found those chapters  just as timely and challenging as the first 4 “rules” in Marybeth’s practical and common sense approach to parenting in today’s cool-obsessed culture. I hope you’ll go to your local book store or library and form your own opinions about the principles she outlines.

From page 1 of this book, several general themes have stood out to me consistently as very significant, perspective-shifting reminders of the realities of parenting my gifts in society today. While many of the themes reflect beliefs I already had or demonstrate facts I already knew, Marybeth’s observations and advice on how these issues play out in the real day-to-day decisions of 2009 have been invaluable. At the end of this post, I’ll share several specific sections of the book (with page numbers) that I strongly recommend as resources–ones I’ve marked to read again periodically because of their power and practicality. But, first, my list of 8 smart parenting realities I’ve learned from Bringing Up Geeks:

1. Culture cannot be trusted. (As if there were any doubt.) No, culture doesn’t want the best for my child. Culture does not want to educate my child, to keep him healthy, or to help him be the person he was created to be. No, that’s a fallacy perpetuated by culture itself. Culture is not an adequate judge of what is acceptable. For my kids, that would be my job. The cultural machine is made up of people and companies who’s goal is to make money. Bottom line: Culture defines my babies by their demographic markers and their ability to influence spending–end of story.

2. Parenting is longterm. My goals need to be centered in “life,” not in the passing phases of popularity. Children become adults. There’s the ball.

3. Take responsibility. Get a set of standards and stand for them. Parenting my kids is my responsibility. If I abdicate that responsibility to culture, it’s not CNN’s fault, or public school’s or the left wing agenda’s. “We don’t lose authority, we give it away.” (pg. 17)

4. Innocence is worth protecting. Culture’s rushing of my children to know more and do more is motivated by money. Countless research studies show premature exposure to entertainment and activites that are fitting for mature adults increases the danger and risk to children both physically, developmentally and socially. We don’t stop the cycle because we are lazy. Period. I MUST recognize the value of innocence and take the necessary steps to guard it–even if it makes me “that” preschool mom.

5. Standards produce free children and free adults. Culture offers a seductive, but false, freedom centered in a life without boundaries. But children whose status is subject to the whims of the popular crowd, the latest trends and the size of their pocketbooks are chained to just those things. They become adults who are chained to those things raising more children chained to those things. Standards and boundaries provide a safe and secure place for my children to explore the world and become the people they were created to be–FREE of the dictates of culture and popularity.

6. Value true value. Culture establishes a false sense of value that is derived primarily from possessions. I want to base my parenting (and purchasing) decisions on what is truly valuable.

7. Knowledge is parenting power. If I am to make the best decisions and open the most opportunities for my gifts, I have to take the time to evaluate. Going with the cultural flow (even at preschool) is the easy way out, certainly the path of least resistance. When I make the effort to know what is out there, to measure it against my standards, to pause before saying yes, to make an informed decision, my choices have meaning and power.

8. Family trumps friendship. That’s not to say that friendship isn’t important. It is very valuable. But, I don’t want 4-year-old or 6th-grade or even 11th-grade friendships to be the basis of my child’s view of the world. Despite what culture may have us believe, families (not peer groups) are the building blocks of society and the primary means of nurturing and growing productive and principled adults. Family time is vital, and it’s ok to say “no” to protect it.

A few passages of Bringing Up Geeks I’ll be reading again:

1. Rules for Surfing the Net (page 75-76 & 78)

2. Essential Media Literacy concepts from the Center for Media Literacy (page 80-81)

3. Tips for fostering play and hobbies (page 105-109)

4. Guidelines for electronic games (page 109-112)

5. Encouraging Modesty in Dress (page 165-169)

6. Elements of Good Character (page 263-265)

7. Basic “tenets” of “moralistic therapeutic deism” (page 282-283) – yikes!

8. Letter to Katie (page 290-291)

9. Chapter One — just a good reality check!

One final note before I move on to other reading selections: A special thank you to Marybeth Hicks for giving me a copy of her book to review and for her willingness to communicate with me directly rather than through a media rep. It’s been a pleasure!

Stay tuned in the coming weeks as MeMyBook&Eye shifts focus to living by the numbers with 10-10-10 by Suzy Welch!

MIPOTW: Hate

“The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity”

It’s a phrase from a poem called “The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats, and it could easily be my Most Interesting Phrase of the Week. Except, it’s a mere fragment eclipsed by my more aptly acronymed Most Inspiring Post of the Week–MIPOTW nonetheless. It wasn’t inspiring in the warm, fuzzy, chocolate-covered, rainbow sort of way (although, yeah, rainbow is somewhat applicable). It was inspiring in the “please don’t let me be lumped in with the best who lack all conviction” kind of way. Let me join the extraordinary in matching word for word, passion for passion the intensity of the worst.

The post was written by my friend, Polly, author of Lesbian Dad. (Although we probably don’t actually know one another well enough to be more than acquaintances, I’m hedging my bet on friends.) Prompted by the hate-fueled shooting at the Holocaust Memorial Museum this week, the piece chronicles some of the recent hate crimes and acts of domestic terrorism perpetrated by the “extreme right wing” that may or may not have graced the 6 o’clock news. It offered, in particular, a very moving story and comments about the nature of hate — a story ironically set in my own home state where those supposedly of my own faith played an infamous role.

Polly wrote of a visit she and her wife made to Mississippi in 1995 to visit and interview two women (lesbians) who founded a “folk school and retreat center” in the southern part of the state. The story of Wanda and Brenda Hensen and the sheer harassment they endured stopped me in my tracks. Stopped me because I was not reading a history or social studies textbook about the 1950s and 60s. I was reading a testimony not even 15 years old. Sadly, I can read (as Polly did) the same testimonies, the same stories on every news website I encounter. The names are different, some of the issues are different, but the hate is the same.

Polly rendered this account of her visit to Mississippi:

Of that afternoon, two things stay with me most. First: these women were the embodiment of lives lived in absolute, direct contact with everything they believed in, and it was inspirational. Second: Wanda told of an incident in nearby Hattiesburg. They were well-known in the area, and when one particularly vitriolic man recognized her on the sidewalk, he wanted to spew an epithet at her, but was at a loss as to what to call a white lesbian.  ”You– you– you damned faggot!” he told her. “You damned n****r!”  Tough as nails, she wasn’t fazed. But she was bemused by what happened in his mind. And careful to point out that he went to the place where all his hate resided.  It mattered not that she wasn’t a gay man, or that she was white.  His hate, in that moment, felt all the same to him.

I was struck by the profound, but simple notion that hate is all about the hater. The object really doesn’t matter–doesn’t matter in the sense that it’s interchangeable. John Bradford’s phrase, “there but for the grace of God” go I, comes to mind. As LD so movingly reminded me, none of us are immune to the hater’s short view:

Our multiplicity, the utterly inextricable, tight weave of the various parts of our selves ramifies in every direction. We are able-bodied until we are disabled; we are young until we are old; we are free of tragedy and hardship until we are struck with them.

A shift in economic position, a religious conviction, a post written, a person befriended, a left turn into a different state, a marriage or divorce, the simple act of existence–any of these or countless other facts may now or might one day draw the ire of the hater. For surely, a hater seeking something to hate will always find it.

Describing the end of her visit, Polly wrote:

The beloved and I stayed hours later than we planned, talking to the Hensens past sundown.  And as we drove back to our friends in New Orleans that night, in our city-slicker Honda with the out-of-state license plates and the rainbow sticker, we looked at each pair of headlights in the rear view mirror with a keen attentiveness.  Scared, because of stories we’d just heard (particularly of rage at the “element” from outside the area that Camp Sister Spirit had drawn).  But also grateful, frankly, for the lives of ease we were driving back to.

Yes, all lives of ease are easy right up until they come into the headlights of hate. As I wrote to Polly, reading this post partly made me want to phone up and personally apologize to countless folks who’ve been the recipients of fellow “believers” and countrymen gone awry. No, gone awry doesn’t really cover it. I suppose I truly mean those who’ve made me cringe, who I think have misrepresented the Jesus I follow, those who have done wrong in the name of right. But, I must admit that desire at it’s core is self-centered. It seeks to distance myself for the sake of myself, which is probably ok on some level, but, frankly is too small a viewpoint. It’s a viewpoint I’m not sure we can afford in this world of passionate intensity. While it may surpass the lack of conviction of the “best”, it doesn’t reach the extraordinary requirements of matching hate with equal love and a little more love to tip the balance. I’m working on that.

Please read the post in its entirety: “The worst are full of passionate intensity” I’m not doing it justice.