Thursday, July 21, 2016

A day for a boy

January 18, 2016

I wake to the rustle of the person next to me. Upon opening my eyes she is standing there staring, smiling. “Hello,” she says excitedly. I wipe my eyes, climb out of bed, and fumble downstairs, still not quite steady on my feet. My tummy rumbles with hunger, I wonder what’s for breakfast today. It’s taking forever. Why can’t she hurry up? The Lady seems to have her own timetable for things which I cannot understand. She finally come downstairs and works on my breakfast. But first, her coffee. Always coffee. I love tasting it; the sweetness, the bite, the warmth on my tongue and in my tummy. She never lets me have as much as I want.
            We sit and food appears. Today it’s something in a bowl with a spoon. The word “oatmeal” is tossed around by the others. I’m not quite sure about the steaming pile in front of me, but then milk and sugar is added and my tummy is growling at me so I take a spoonful. Mmmm, it’s good. I eat and eat until I feel about to burst. Warm oatmeal followed by cold juice mixes in my stomach. I finish and walk back into the kitchen to wash my hands. The water is cold, that lady never lets the water warm up for washing, says it takes too long.
            I am ushered into a room and told to play. There are toys for me and the others. It starts to get really loud because everyone is playing, but The Big One and The Other Big One are working. They sit at a high table on top of which I cannot see. It’s like a magical table that I’m not allowed to see or understand. It’s frustrating. They do stuff without me all the time. I sit and play and stack and bounce balls and color. The Lady shouts, “Hey stinky!” I laugh. I know what she’s going to try to make me do next. She chases behind me as I run away, laughing heartily. I can’t outrun her so she scoops me up, carrying me into the next room. She changes my diaper, laughing and tickling me. She’s sweet when she wants to be. Why was I mad at her earlier?
            We sit again at the table and food appears. Looks like bread with some goo on it. The words “peanut butter sandwich” are tossed around by the others. I take a bite. Mmmm, it’s good. I think the Big One made this today. The lady doesn’t always do everything. She has her own food sometimes. I wonder why she doesn’t eat the sandwich like me. I’m not really that hungry, but I eat some sandwich, and then go back into the kitchen to clean my hands. The water is warm this time! It’s a miracle.
            The Lady swoops me up again and I know what’s coming next. Oh how I want to stay up and play. Why does this always happen every day? She’s so mean; she never asks me what I think! She must hate me. I know it. It’s so loud now, and that noise is coming from me. Maybe it’ll convince her to change her mind and let me stay downstairs. Nope. Binky. Bed. “Nighty night,” she says. “I love you buddy.” Hmm, this is actually kinda nice, I think. And  fade to black.
            I wake to the warmth near my bottom. Now it’s cold. I’m not really sure what to do next, because usually someone wakes me up. Then the door opens and I see the Other Big One with her smiley face coming to get me. We go downstairs and I find the Lady. She’s standing in the kitchen just like before. It’s like she lives there. “Hello, can I get some food,” I think. I make some noise but she’s not getting the message. She comes down to my eye level, “I think you need some new pants,” she says. I dutifully obey and head to the bathroom and lay down. “Good boy,” she says.
            After the Change, I get a cup from the drawer and bring it to her. If she doesn’t understand what I want now then she’s an idiot. “Gimme food, Woman,” I think. Thank God, she’s going for the cracker box. She pours some in my cup and I sit down. The crunch of the cracker is so satisfying. The Lady is listening to something, and it makes my bum wiggle. Boom, boom, boom; the beat is perfect for spinning. I am ushered out of the kitchen and told again to “Go play.” I want to be in there with her! She’s so mean.
            Oh wait, I think, there’s something sparkly. I walk over to it, and I can’t remember what I was just upset about. It doesn’t matter anymore. The Middle One is sitting with a book, I want it. I take it. Out of nowhere she hauls off and hits me. Why? She’s so mean. The Lady intervenes and I get the book back, The Middle One has to leave. Yes! She’s amazing, that Lady.
            A sound from the door to the outside, it’s the Man! Yaaay! He’s home! He gives me a squeeze and cuddles me. My snack cup spills. He pulls me onto his back and makes noises and runs around. The room spins frantically, like that one time at a park.
            I am set at the kitchen table and food appears in front of me. Tonight it’s rice with some brown stuff. I take a bite. Mmmm, it’s good. The words “chicken curry” are tossed around by the others. Everyone else has some red sauce on it, I want some. The Lady gives me a little and I lick it. Oh my! That’s horrible! Who would ever eat that garbage! Eww! It’s so loud! I hate it! She hands me some water which I gulp. Mmm, that’s better.
            I move to the kitchen and my hands are washed. It’s warm this time. “Go play,” she says. I sit on the couch and shortly she comes over. We lay on the couch together. This is my favorite. It’s so warm and I like hearing her chest beating. I like her. She’s so warm and squishy.
            Uh oh. I can feel something happening. It’s like a compacting, my tummy feels strange. Then, a squishing, a squirming. And then, release. Relief.
I’m whisked upstairs again. The Lady means business this time. No laughing here. She’s working magic that I can’t see, but it feels cleaner in my diaper. Oh, that’s better. She’s nice to do that. I wouldn’t want to. She puts on my warm clothes and we snuggle with a book. I pick out the soft one that makes noises. I like that one. The Man comes in with the Middle One, The Boy, The Older One and the Other Older One. We are all together. I look around at their faces, they all look alike. I like them.

The story is over so The Lady lays me on her shoulder and sings a nice song, then lays me on my pillow. I like this time. Night night Mommy. 

Open Letter

Dear Mark,
About a month ago, I saw you in an airport. You were standing in a cafĂ© waiting for your coffee and breakfast sandwich, as it was about seven in the morning. I heard the barista bellow, “Mark” when your coffee was ready, and I saw you reach forward to get it. I recognized the heavy steel ring on your finger as it grasped the paper cup. You looked unremarkable. I wonder if anyone else recognized you as the “cussing pastor” as I did. The pastor I followed and defended and felt like I “knew” when really you probably didn’t even know my name.
I don’t know if you saw me, or knew who I am, or that I attended your church for twelve years. I don’t know if you recognized me as the person who taught the preschool class your son was in that one time. I don’t know if you knew it was me who wrote that email to you about Genesis 50, the one you personally replied to. That was before the church was so big you had people check your emails for you, I believe.
I just wanted to say, thank you. Thank you for abandoning your church. Thank you for putting money over people, a sin you committed in private that eventually made it’s way public. Thank you for leading your church into the ground. That’s on you.
Thank you for all this, because now I know who are my real friends, my real family. I know what true community is, and it has NOTHING to do with all of us believing or doing the same things. It has NOTHING to do with all of us going to the same church or being in a community group together. It has NOTHING to do with how often or how much I serve someone or be served by someone.
Thank you for these things, because now I know what a healthy church looks like. Now I know what a healthy pastor looks like. Not you. A healthy pastor doesn’t look like how you pastored. I also know that there is no perfect church, but there can be unhealthy, bone-draining churches.
If I had been less “starstruck” (for lack of a better word) that morning in the airport, I would have approached you. I would have expressed how the time spent at your church was the best and worst of my life. That I’m glad all that shit went down a few years ago because it woke me up from the sleepwalking faith that I had.
I don’t want to see you again ever, but if I do, I will tell you these things. I will expect you to respond like a sheep, like you never did anything wrong, like you were framed for those things that ripped apart thousands of lives. You will continue to play the humble “I’m like Jesus” card when you are anything but.

You will be held accountable as a pastor. You preached on that yourself, to impart a holy fear to men who aspired to the clergy. Listen to your past sermons, Mark. God miraculously used your words to turn thousands of hearts to Him. But you tried to get the glory, not Him. And HE will not have any of it.

Monday, December 21, 2015

Apparently I am
Disallowed to
Disagree
I guess it's better to speak
Evil only quietly.
Go away then. I see.
Extend a hand
Reluctantly
Let it only be
An act of
Courageous
Humility.


A
Distorted
Daughter of an
Insensitive mother.
Except when she
Gets retired.
Escape from this
Role of child.
Lay down the line of
Assumptions and
Crossed boundaries.
Halted.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Hurt

So, when your brother-in-law whom you've fed and housed, counselled and prayed with, unfriends and blocks you on Facebook, it hurts. I know it's just Facebook and it's not real life, but it just...hurts. I didn't think it'd bother me as much as it really does. I just don't understand. Unfriending AND blocking? It seems unnecessary. Was what we replied really that horrible? Um, Adam, no it's not okay to put words in our mouths over and over and think that we hate you. We don't. We're sorry you think that. But...unfriending and blocking? Seems a little extreme.

But really, why do I even care? Why do I care what someone thinks of me if I'm doing what God says I should do. I get so anxious when I feel judged...judged by prissy religious people, judged by my friends, judged by my husband.

What's under that? I'm afraid of making mistakes...being perfect will ensure I am never judged for being not-perfect. Why? Why do I want to be perfect?

I was shamed for making a mistake, being wrong, being imperfect. Affection was withheld when I was in "the doghouse." When I tried to apologize it was "accepted" but then I was lectured at about how I shouldn't have done what I did. No shit Sherlock, that's why I'm apologizing. Solution? Always be right, perfect, never make a mistake. Then I won't get reprimanded and shamed. Be right from the beginning.

Makes sense to me.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Boring

My life is boring. Every day is more-or-less the same. I get up, make food, clean, do schoolwork with the kids, rest (sometimes), exercise, clean, cook, put everyone to bed and maybe have some time to myself in the evening. Tonight I am so incredibly thankful for my boring life. Mundane. The same.

I look at my five kids bounding all over my house, laughing and playing. Just about on the verge of fighting, but toeing that line. Five parts of my heart around me all the time. I get annoyed by them. Their constant yelling and me having to play referee. But then, like tonight, I just soak up the beauty of the boringness of my life. Mundane. The same.

Tonight I am so grateful that I have kids to be annoyed by, and messes to clean up. Every bedroom in my house is full with people and their things. No empty beds, no perfectly neat rooms because nobody lives in them. This house is lived in. And that's the most wonderful thing of which I can think.

Because tonight there's someone who has one less child to tuck into bed. Someone out there has one fewer hug to receive. That child went home to Jesus. And I'm selfish, I'm not ready to give my kids back to Jesus.

It'll happen someday. Maybe I'll go first, or my husband. There will be pain and crisis, a symptom of the world being no what it should. But for now, I'm satisfied in my boring, quiet, predictable life; and the little souls for whom I get to care.

Monday, October 19, 2015

Unconditional

One of the main places I have felt the love of Christ is in my book club. It wasn't always like this. This book club has been the source of many of my frustrations and pain in the last four years. This is not to say it was caused by the ladies in the group. It is more likely that the pain I have felt radiating from the group is an echo of past legitimate sin against me. Regardless, book club has been very difficult for me. I have been difficult to befriend in this group. I now see that this is a symptom of something very wrong in me--wrong thinking, a lack of bonding, and lots and lots of sadness, and likely some spiritual oppression.

But these ladies have responded with grace. My behavior in the last year should not warrant any concern from them. I have acted out, thrown a fit, and been a major selfish bitch. But I am not condemned, I am forgiven. I get a new start. They seemingly do not remember the bad time. In my religious mind this makes no sense. I should have been kicked out long ago for being contentious and selfish.

But these ladies have responded with Christ's words, not their own. They have not piled on the shame as I have done with myself. And I see Christ more clearly because of them.

I feel unworthy of any kindness or love. But they, and Christ, still give it endlessly and I'm so grateful.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

To look at a picture of two friends having fun and I wasn't there and NOT feel hurt or jealous is a new feeling. My first reaction was joy for my friends. But then, that prowling lion looking to attack tempted me and started to whisper lies. I know he is a liar, a deceiver, an enemy. Not just for me but for my friends. The enemy wants me to be angry and hurt and bitter. The enemy wants me to give into my feelings and hold resentment against my friend. My friends that always point me to the Advocate, the Redeemer, the Father. The friends that know my struggles and love me enough not to shield the truth of their friendship from me, just as I should not have to shield my other relationships from them. 
You lost this time, Deceiver. And you'll lose again.