Tag Archives: Raising Children

Knocking On Truth

16 Thursday Apr 2009

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“… truth outlives pain, as the soul does life.”
                       — Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

As a young mother, I often listened to stories of injustice told by my children, knowing I was hearing some version of the truth.  Once they were done spilling their guts, I asked about the other side of the story, the one the other mother would hear.  “The truth lies somewhere in the middle,” I’d say, knowing my point was falling on deaf ears.    

 

Speaking truth is important to me.  But at best, I am clumsy in speaking it.  I get tongue-tied.  And while much better at writing than speaking truth, even here, what I birth into the world is maimed rather than whole.  I am at cross purposes right now with a beloved child—I tried to express truth that I could not–and between the speaking and the listening, we could not grasp the truth waiting to be claimed in the middle.  My child gave up in frustration, and for now, the door is closed.  I must take time before knocking again.  And meanwhile, become like a Jehovah’s Witness on the doorstep, as I patiently wait for the door to crack open.       

 

In still thinking about last week’s retreat, I realize Jesus understood better than I this matter of closed doors and the failure to convey difficult-to-grasp truths.  Jesus was always in the uncomfortable middle–as truth always is–while the parties on either side of Jesus changed with the situation.  Sometimes it was his disciples against the needy.  Sometimes it was the Pharisees against the needy.  And on the night of his arrest, Jesus found himself in the middle between the Jewish and Roman authorities and neither seemed as interested in truth as in preserving their way of life.   

 

Jesus went against the grain when he was arrested, by not inviting his disciples to follow him.  Not even the three who had witnessed his transfiguration high and Gethsemane low were invited, though two followed anyway.  Jesus surrendered, asking the soldiers to let his disciples go free.  Keeping the disciples away from the fray would not only protect them but would protect the way of truth that defined Jesus’ life.   And Jesus knew just how hard speaking truth would be as lives hung in jeopardy, as Peter discovered firsthand, when he lied three times about knowing Jesus. 

 

Jesus made it easy for his executioners.   Speaking a few words of truth, he gave the Jewish authorities exactly what they needed to press charges against him.  And when it came to cross-examination by the Roman governor Pilate, Jesus offered little in the way of self-defense.  At least, no truth Pilate could grasp.   

 

“What is truth?” Pilate asked Jesus.  Much to the Jews revulsion, Pilate ends up writing the answer to his question on a wooden sign in three languages–“Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”–which was hung high on the cross above a crucified Jesus.  “What I have written, I have written,”, Pilate says in dismissal as he slams the door on ‘the Jews’ complaints.  Perhaps Pilate found truth a little easier to communicate in writing as well. 

 

Jesus died on the cross in the middle, spilling his blood in the gospel truth.  And three days later, the resurrected Jesus began his wait as the middle person of the Trinity.  Forever at cross purposes, Jesus stands on the doorstep.  He knocks.  He waits.  And if the door opens, truth waits to be seen, to come out of the middle, to be embraced and claimed for all time.  

 

And why not?  There’s no need to knock on wood if you can knock on truth.

Empty Nest

07 Tuesday Apr 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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It’s a rare day at home without plans.  The gorgeous day lies before me with endless possibilities.  What will I do?

 

Whatever it is, the day began on a high note when the phone rang and it was Kate Louise.  Phone calls from my daughter Kate are exceedingly rare as her days and nights are full with new life.  In her first year as a registered nurse, she works for an OB-GYN practice in Norman, and when she’s not doing that, she shares life with her new husband Glen and her new step-children Ryan and Tayler and her own two munchkins, Jackson and Karson. 

 

As I listen to her talk about her busting-to-the-seams life, what with baseball and softball practice and games and gymnastics and devoting Saturdays to caring for her step-daughter’s infant, I am reminded of my own history of career woman by day and Suzy Homemaker-by-night, in those days of young adulthood when anything seemed possible if I only worked hard enough, when I measured fullness of life more by the stuff packed in than the stuff unpacked.

 

As I write this, I realize that even now, life is too full.  Why else would I treasure this rare day of having no plans?  My fullness comes no longer from raising money and children, but raising flowers and God consciousness and maybe helping others to do the same, as I undertake plans toward certification in master gardening and in spiritual direction.

 

What is it with certifications anyway?  I am a certified public accountant, though I no longer practice.  When I did, I found certification did not make accountants better than they were before receiving their certificate.  By the same token, I’ve learned from working the master gardening ‘hope desk’ that certification means very little in the way of practical knowledge.   And I imagine it will be no different in serving as another’s spiritual director.  Maybe certification is merely a sort of good housekeeping seal of intention to practice what cannot lead to perfection.     

 

The practice I most enjoy these days is writing.  It’s one of two daily practices that force me to empty and regularly sort through my everyday life.  Both invite me to tiptoe closer to eternity, where time grows so heavy it stops and where busyness has no meaning.  Maybe if I’m lucky, some of my written words will survive my death, and until then, perhaps the clarity they shed will allow me to live larger than life.    

 

It’s ironic that I most enjoy the practices where certifications are not given.  While certifications have inspired others to listen to my words, and even to pay me for them, the best listening happens without want of certifying, as the words written and prayed just naturally seek the right audience.  And maybe my own audience is the most important of them all, as prayer and writing force me to listen to my own life.   

 

I will leave today empty of plans.  And with this intention written and prayed, already a sense of fullness invades.  I scoot over to make room in my nest for something larger than me.   

Running on Empty

03 Friday Apr 2009

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‘I’m running on empty’ was once how I described my life.  Mid-week through my Ignatius prayers, I no longer believe this was true.  Instead, I was running on the gas of success.

 

Back when the boys were still toddlers, I broke my  life like a wishbone between graudate school and my fast-paced career.  In theory, my family received leftovers; but in reality where it counts, my work ambitions as a senior tax executive absorbed the best of the rest.  I craved success like a crack addict craves their next high.  And because my work additction was knotted up with my shaky self-esteem, I couldn’t seem to break free of it.    

 

My first step toward ‘sobriety’ came when my husband’s career intervened with the first of many overseas trips.  Before leaving town, my husband left me a detailed written schedule of the children’s weekly activities – the soccer practices and games, the Cub Scout activities, etc.  I needed this cheat sheet because I had effectively delegated the family to my husband, in the same way I had delegated work to my staff and outside consultants.   

 

A few days into my new life and role, I began keeping a journal.  Re-reading the entries today made my eyes water as I relived again those days of young family.  The pages witness to the normal everyday life that the kids and I enjoyed:  we spent evenings at home doing puzzles, watching movies, going through home readers and subtraction cards; we ate dinners together, usually fast-food we picked up on the way home from daycare.  We had fallen into a rhythm of family, with both boys falling asleep in my bed and me falling in love with the idea of more time at home.

 

Within two months, I had relinquished my title along with the ambitions and stress in favor of a part-time staff position that allowed me to pick up the kids after school and cook dinner.  My friend Dianne was midwife to my new life – by listening and planting seeds of advice, she offered hope that a more balanced life was possible.  And my husband was there to support me every step of the way — I now laugh that we made this major life choice from an airport pay phone, during my layover between an east coast-west coast business trip.

 

I recognized the importance of this life event while it was happening.  But, until now, I had not recalled that it was also the point when I began writing my life.  I  had spent years chasing after life – pursuing the trappings and the glitter – the big home, the corner office the large salary and never-ending ambition for more.   But in those two weeks while my husband was overseas, I learned life is not somewhere over the rainbow, where you chase your dreams until your running on empty down the yellow brick road.  But rather that life dwells in the everyday.  And it was there where I found subjects worth writing about.  And still do.  Because if you blink instead of write, you’ll lose them forever.