Reflecting on the "F" Word

It's been a particularly emotional couple of weeks for me and that's saying something given that I'm always emotional. I think it's fair to say the "F" word was the source of my emotion overload. Yes, family has a way of affecting us like nothing else can. It can bring out the best in us and the worst. It can be a source of great joy and utter misery. We may relish the laughter of shared memories, and at the same time struggle with the disappointment of unmet expectations. We can take comfort in the power of forgiveness, or live with the bitterness of unresolved issues. Family is a big bundle of crazy that we can't imagine (though sometimes we wish we were) living without.

My family has tapped into my every emotion in the past two weeks. It started with Rob and Ian traveling to Mexico City on a week long church mission trip. I was concerned for their safety, proud of their willingness to serve, and a bit envious that the two of them were spending that special time together. I also was lonely. With communications limited to three brief text messages, for the first time in my marriage I acutely felt Rob's absence.
I discovered I missed my husband. While it sounds terrible, I confess that I'm not someone who pines for my spouse when we're apart. With phone calls and email and Facebook updates, it's hard to feel truly separated. But when Rob wasn't here and I couldn't call him and didn't know how he and Ian were, and there was no opportunity to share and take comfort in the mere the presence of the person with whom I share my life, my heart hurt. I was reminded of how much I love him and how blessed I am. Missing him was good for me.

Two days after Ian and Rob returned home, I left for three days, thereby maintaining the warm fuzzies that came from missing them. I headed to the mecca of Waretown, NJ along Barnegat Bay for a getaway with my parents and sister, brother-in-law and nephew who were home from Colorado for their semiannual visit. Time with my sister Dawn was spent laughing at painful memories of falling off my bike, competing in plank challenges (which I won both times), swatting green head flies on the boat while crabbing, and playing numerous games of Bananagrams (of which I am the champion). Unfortunately, on the first night of our visit, my mom learned that her sister Janet had died, nearly two years to the day that her sister Glenna passed away. My mom was one of five girls in her family. There are only two of them left, and this causes my mom considerable grief and pain.

When Irving Berlin wrote "Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters" he clearly had my mom and my aunts in mind. There existed a bond between those women that I've never seen before and likely never will experience personally. Interestingly, the closeness they shared is is in sharp contrast to the relationships my aunts often had with others, whether it be their husbands or their own children. In fact, in my Aunt Janet's obituary, there was no mention of her oldest son. They stopped talking decades ago, evidence of how easily relationships can be destroyed by an unwillingness to forgive and forget.

Last summer's photo.
We forgot to take one this year.

Irving Berlin did not write a song about my sister and me. While there is no bitterness or underlying root cause for the distance between us (literally and figuratively), I must confess to a level of disappointment with the way things are versus the way I'd like them to be. I would like Dawn to move home (or within reasonable driving distance). I would like Dawn to at least want to move home. I would like her to be sad when it's time to say goodbye. I would like it if we would start telling each other "I love you." While I don't expect to achieve the level of closeness my mom had with her sisters, I know Dawn and I could have more, but I don't know how to get us there.

Dawn's visit home coincided with my church's annual mission trip to western North Carolina. A truly family affair, this trip brings together all ages for a week of work and fellowship that has to be experienced because no description can do it justice. Obviously I did not go on the trip this year because I wanted to spend time with my sister. Abby, however, more than adequately represented the MacShimer family.

Abby on the roofing site with her MPC family.

Since she returned home on Saturday evening, I've lost count of the number of times Abby wished she were back in Banner Elk. For the first time in her life, Abby, who thinks a 30 minute car ride is torture, was sad to see a nine-hour car ride end (she had traveled with friends). Despite the fact that she was leaving for Avalon on Sunday to spend time with three girls from school, Abby actually seemed weepy when she repeated for the umpteenth time that she "didn't want to be home," but wished she could return to NC (which makes me sad, though I'm trying not to take it personally).

Car ride buddies (plus the Hicks girls)

The Sunday church service following Banner Elk is always wonderful. Those who went on the trip wear their matching t-shirts. We watch a slide show of photos from the week. The praise band (which for the first time included Abby on guitar!) plays the same music, and a few individuals on the trip share their experience in place of a traditional sermon. Naturally, I cried during several parts of the service, partly because I was disappointed to have missed being there, and partly because I was overwhelmed with love for my church family. While the church, like our flesh and blood family, has its own issues, the grace and forgiveness that we extend to one another provides a foundation for the strongest relationships I've ever known. And I don't know if it's a "Christian thing" or if we're just lucky, but my MPC brothers and sisters so openly share their love. There's no awkwardness in a hug. There's no discomfort in saying "I love you." What a gift!

As I reflect on the experiences of the past two weeks, I realize how blessed I am to have more than one family who loves me. If you've been separated from a loved one, I pray for reconciliation and healing. The bonds of family should not be so easily broken.

A Case of Righteous Indigestion

Have you ever felt unmoored, adrift, insecure and uncertain? Maybe your bedrock has been shaken as a result of job loss, divorce or the death of a loved one? Unstable ground is a lousy place to stand, and I'd wager a bet that my recent breakouts, sleep issues, and increasing bouts of anger and frustration are being triggered by the cracks in my foundation. Seems like a good time to call on one of my civil engineering professors. They're good with structural issues.

While I wish I could be fixed with a new and improved form of concrete, unfortunately, the problems are in my head and my heart. I'd say my soul is also taking a beating these days, which makes sense given that my church (MPC) is currently the piece of my foundation most in need of bolstering. In the past year, MPC has experienced remarkable upheaval, leaving its members to work through various stages of grief and a range of emotions, combined with an uncomfortable level of change (at least for some of us), and uncertainty about the future. While all of that has played a significant part in the weakening of this pillar in my life, I have come to recognize that my attitude, stubbornness and need to always be right has contributed to the hurt and bitterness I feel. I have a case of what I'm calling "righteous indigestion."

Let me back up a bit to put things in perspective for those of you who don't know the story. A year ago, MPC lost its senior pastor as a result of poor choices made on his part. When it was time for him to go, there was serious debate over how to manage certain aspects of his leaving. And though I had lived most of my life in shades of gray, for me, these matters were black and white. I experienced an unusually clear sense of right and wrong in the decisions that needed to be made. The problem? I wasn't just in the minority in my thinking, I was alone. The only one coming down on the other side of the issue. Uncomfortable? Not really. I guess my conviction provided me with the feistiness I needed to carry on (literally and figuratively). Fortunately, I didn't stand alone for long, and in fact, the minority became the majority.

I have to confess that my experience leading the revolution charge left me with a heady feeling. I liked knowing that others saw me as a pillar of strength in the sands of spinelessness someone who would stand up for what was right, someone who would put words to what others were thinking, someone who would "speak truth." I became drunk on my own power. Okay, that's a little over the top, but you get what I'm saying.

As the year progressed, the divisions within the church slowly faded and we refocused on what made MPC special, including our commitment to mission, ministry to children and youth, and the amazing love we have for one another as the body of Christ. There was no need for an underground opposition movement and hence, no work left for the activist in me. We were chugging along, and just before Christmas our interim pastor came on board. As pastors are prone free to do, he made a number of substantive changes over the past six months, focusing primarily on our worship service. Those changes didn't sit well.

As the weeks went on, I began to feel spiritually empty and increasingly disconnected from the church. And being completely self-absorbed, I assumed that if I was feeling this way, surely everyone else was too. It was time to hoist myself up on my soapbox and prepare to lead the fight! So, last month, I spoke out about my concerns, and lo and behold, the reaction from those in attendance was...crickets. There was no applause for my candor, insight, and willingness to stand up and complain say what needed to be said. In fact, there wasn't widespread agreement with my assessment.  I was, again, in the minority, but this time, I don't foresee the tide turning in my direction. Nor does it need to. If our church members are happy and their spiritual needs are being met, who am I to raise a red flag? Instead, given my level of emotional and spiritual maturity, I have vowed I will not return to worship for the foreseeable future. I recognize that it seems childish, but in all honesty, Sunday morning had become an emotionally draining experience for me, and that's just not what I'm looking for when I come to worship.

Nearly a month after making this little speech, I further distanced myself this week when I left a meeting in anger and frustration when it was more than 30 minutes late in starting. Driving home with a taste of bitterness in my mouth, I thought, "How dare they disrespect me and my valuable time?"

Clearly I slept through those sermons on grace and forgiveness.

Sometimes I suck at this Christian thing.

Two months ago, I thought my church family would be the primary reason for my staying in the area despite wanting to move south in about 10 years. How could I possibly say goodbye? Now, I'm feeling rudderless, disconnected and distant, and I imagine the fault is mostly mine. Still, I can't bring myself to return on Sunday morning. I'm not sure what comes next or where the answer lies, but I do know one thing:

I'm going to need a serious supply of Tums for this miserable case of righteous indigestion.

Fountain of Delight Just $15.99. No Shipping or Handling!

I don't usually go for more than a week without blogging, but given the mood I was in recently, I did you a favor. I wasn't in my usual state of whining, but instead found myself afflicted with a rare case of "I want to start a fight." I felt like Pink in "So What, I'm Still a Rock Star." At least I didn't hit anyone. 

I'm not exactly sure what started my rebellion. There was some element of feeling unappreciated at work and a sense I was being critiqued by family members for my parenting skills. Then there was the inevitable post-invitation regret that results whenever I decide to have a party or host a holiday meal. I experienced a major mood swing when I thought I had sold our timeshare, only to have serious doubts that "Shengli from Canada" was/is going to come through with the check. And then there's the "home work" that cries out to you when spring rolls around and you venture into your yard. Not the least of these assignments is filling in the "gap" left by five "widow maker" trees that were removed between our yard and our neighbors. Even though we love them (our neighbors, not the widow makers), we don't want to have to "watch Pedro in his wife-beater working in the garage," as his wife so eloquently put it. So we'll just throw another couple thousand on top of the $6K (we split) to cut down the trees. And did I mention we need a new kitchen floor and counter tops and a dishwasher? Home ownership is awesome. First world problems, I know.

But I don't want to get into what caused my angry mood because ain't nobody got time for that. And Dad, that's not bad grammar on my part, it's from a video that most people are familiar with. Here's a link. (He called into question my job qualifications based on my use of that expression on Facebook.) 

The good news is that I have found a simple cure for what ails me, and likely what ails you as well. For only $15.99 and no shipping or handling fees, you too can rediscover a long lost sense of contentment, simple joy and satisfaction. And unlike wine, it won't affect your driving or decision making skills! If you order now, I'll throw in a sunny glow for your cheeks and a skip in your step! You may think that's the Easter chocolate talking, but in fact, my fountain of delight was in no way candy, wine or shopping related. Here's the key:

A day off from work for which you have nothing planned. No must-run errands. No appointment to get the car fixed. No power washing the house or planting grass seed. No doctor visits. Just a day off on which you ignore your to-do list. Oh, and this is important-- for maximum enjoyment, the kids should be in school.

One of the few benefits of working for a Christian organization is a holiday known as Easter Monday. Aside from the egg rolling race at the White House, this Monday after Easter (hence the name) doesn't translate into much in the United States, except in the state of North Dakota (?). But, according to timeanddate.com, "Many Christians around the world celebrate Easter Monday as a day of rest. It is a day for many to enjoy the time outdoors in countries such as Australia and Canada. It is known as Dyngus (great name), or Splash Monday, among many Polish communities where children often play water games." There's a Polish joke in there somewhere. 

When I read about this "day of rest," I thought, "What the hell. Let's go for it." So yesterday I slept in and then went out for breakfast with Rob. We happened upon a local spot where we were the only diners under the age of 70. There, we were amused by smart ass senior citizens, providing a glimpse at who we'll be in a very short number of years. The 90-year-old birthday boy, flirting with one of the 70-plus year old girls, told her that she was welcome in the restaurant "even though you're a Republican" (indeed a rarity in Swarthmore), to which she replied, "You can't discriminate against minorities." Birthday boy told us to come back some time when the dancing girls were performing. 

Breakfast was followed by a solid workout at the gym, which I effectively rendered useless with Chik Fil A nuggets and french fries for lunch (and coffee cake and Easter candy snacks later in the day). The best part of lunch was a last minute picnic in the park with Freakin Angels Kim and Cathie and their littlest ones Weston and Gemma. I gave thanks to God not only for the food and friendship, but for the fact that I don't have kids under the age of five anymore. Way too stressful having to actually watch them on the seesaw and the spinning thing and near the creek, etc. Dating, driving, academic pressures, social influences, etc. are a breeze compared to the monkey bars.

Glad I don't have to deal with this stuff anymore

While Easter Monday was indeed delightful, I have to admit that my transformation appropriately began on Good Friday. The church choir sang at the evening service which was a lovely blend of scripture and music and none of the theatrical nonsense we've been seeing lately that brought me to tears. Saturday was a fast-paced mix of three soccer games for Abby, a choir rehearsal for me, the finale of Scandal on the DVR (Olivia's dad is EVIL), and Easter brunch preparations, all followed by some time spent around the fire pit on a perfectly beautiful evening. On Easter Sunday, the choir sang at both the 8:15 and 11 a.m. services and had brunch in between, during which time I got to chat with our director, the wonderfully open, honest and real Lisa - just another in a long line of amazing MPC women who keep me coming to church during this difficult time of pastoral transition (which I have, with great difficulty, refrained from blogging about).

Easter brunch (#2) with my parents and Rob's family, was also very nice, and most importantly, I didn't run out of food. I enjoyed having my new friend Aimee (also from MPC) and her kids (ages 9 and 10) join us for the afternoon, and was so proud of my teenagers for playing tag and soccer and keeping them entertained. In fact, Ian and Abby just may be a major source of my emotional transformation over the past week. Simply put, they've been awesome. Willing to help (even Ian, to some degree), funny, kind, affectionate. I wonder what they want. 

I've gone on long enough, but if you remember anything from this rambling post, remember this: A day off from work, preferably one with sunshine and a to-do list that you ignore for a mere 8 hours, can do wonders for your mental health. And at only $15.99 (for breakfast and lunch), it's a deal that's just too good to pass up.

Of Vitamins and Tutus and Notebook Dividers

You might be kind enough to think that I'm not nearly as a bad a mom as I say I am, but I'm serious when I tell you that I was born without a mothering/nurturing gene. This week offered ample proof, starting with those damn concussions. The fact that I refer to them as "damn concussions" is case in point. I went from being appropriately concerned about the kids and cognizant of the danger of these injuries, to being annoyed. Here's the deal: I become irritable when things inconvenience me, whether it's Congress or my children.

On Tuesday, both Ian and Abby saw concussion specialists at the Rothman Institute. Abby was found to be in relatively good shape. Some balance issues, but hell, I have balance issues every day, and not just from the drinking. She should be cleared to play sports again this week, right after the season ends. Ian's diagnosis was significantly worse than Abby's. From the tests they gave him to eye tracking and dizziness, the kid's a mess. He will be reevaluated this coming week, but personally I'm not seeing any improvement. In fact, I think the symptoms have worsened since the doctor told him how severe the concussion is. Read into that what you will.

The diagnoses did not in themselves inconvenience me. I didn't even go to the appointments; Rob took care of that (he has the nurturing gene). It's the recommended care that's bugging me. Namely, vitamins. Apparently concussion docs have come up with a cocktail of four vitamins that should relieve headaches and promote healing. Of the four, we had one in the medicine cabinet - fish oil capsules. This meant a run to the store to hunt down the other three, in the correct dosages. Have you ever tried to find vitamins on the shelves at a supermarket? There is no logical organization behind their placement. And did I mention neither of my kids can swallow a pill? The only scenario in which this is a good thing is at high school parties where prescription drugs are being traded like baseball cards. The rest of the time, it's a major pain in the ass. While manufacturers are offering increasing numbers of chewables, they aren't available for every vitamin, and those that are available are in such low doses that you'd have to eat a bunch to get the right amount. I think Ian is eating 8 fish oil gummys twice a day. The rest of the pills are being crushed and added to sandwiches and cupcakes and smoothies. It's like a pharmacy in our kitchen with powdery residue on everything. I'm just waiting for the feds to show up. All of this inconveniences me; therefore, rather than being worried sick about my kids' brains, I'm annoyed. I'm also more than a little stressed at the amount of work Ian is missing in school.

So that was Tuesday, and the week went downhill from there. On Wednesday, Abby had to have a red tutu for her devil costume for Halloween. I'm pretty sure I've never seen a picture of the devil wearing a red tutu, but whatever. Running errands after I've come home from work is right up there on my list of most inconvenient and annoying things ever.

While in shopping hell (appropriate, given the devil costume), Ian called to say he needed me to stop at an office supply store on the way home to pick up "professional notebook dividers." It seems that the dividers with the plastic tabs that we all grew up with - and used in the office, for cryin' out loud - are not considered professional. He needs these professional dividers for health class. For the notebook check. Seriously. At this point my head is about to explode, but mercifully God intervenes, arranging for Rob to call while I'm on the phone with Ian. He senses my madness, probably because I told him I was going mad. He offers to take Ian to Staples while I wrap up my expedition with Abby. Crisis averted.

Throw into the vitamin-tutu-notebook dividers-mix a minivan that's three months overdue for an inspection and oil change. Then add a kid who mopes around the house like a dictionary illustration for "pathetic." And there's no relief in sight for this weekend. Rob leaves tomorrow morning for Vegas and will be gone until Tuesday night, and I'll be spending the entirety of Sunday at church for various commitments. And my house is a mess.

But then it happens. It almost always happens. I'm given some much needed perspective. We're having dinner (out) when I check my email and see there has been a flurry of exchanges between the angels. This January is the official opening of the Dr. Ann Bates Memorial Children's Hospital in Ghana, named in honor of our dear friend who lost her battle with cancer a few years ago. Freakin Angel Theresa will be there, putting her new nursing skills to the test on a service trip with others from our church. The email exchange begins with FA Kim G. suggesting that we have a plaque made with this photo (Ann's in the baseball hat, in the center), dedicating it to Ann, and hanging it somewhere in the hospital. Theresa responds that she has already ordered the photo, having had the very same idea. Gotta love those God moments.

Well, I burst into tears at that point. Overwhelmed by the love I feel for the angels in my life. Overwhelmed by the loss of Ann. Overwhelmed by the needs of those in place like Ghana. Overwhelmingly embarrassed by my childish, over-exaggerated complaints about my comfortable, secure and basically awesome everyday life. It occurs to me that, even though it doesn't make for humorous blog posts, perhaps I should practice gratitude and appreciation rather than give in to annoyance and irritation. It took me about 30 seconds to come up with this list of blessings:

• Access to top quality health care to diagnosis my children
• Access to vitamins and medicine and medical treatment
• Life in a community where it's safe to send my daughter out for Halloween dressed as the devil
• Excellent schools that want what's best for my kids, even if that extends to professional notebook dividers
• Being able to afford a car and the maintenance that goes with it
• A church that means enough to me to make it worth spending a whole day there
• Food, and not having to cook it
• The ability to communicate with my friends with the click of a button
• A husband who knows when to step in before I check out

Finally, I leave you with this thought: Whomever creates a chewable/gummy that combines all four concussion-related vitamins, will be a very wealthy man or woman. And I want half for giving you the idea. 

Top 10 Reasons You Should Join Us Next Year

I returned home three days early from my church mission trip to Banner Elk, NC last week. This change in plans did not result from an ailing child, a broken fingernail or a frightening encounter with a galloping horse (though the horse thing did happen). Unfortunately, I was called home by the death of my Aunt Glenna who had suffered from leukemia for the past six months. This is the second of my mom's sisters to pass away this year - my Aunt Faith died on April 30. This loss, my mom's grief, and the need to leave my church family at a time when I needed them most, made for a weepy couple days. My ridiculously bad hair and increasing facial blemishes didn't help either.

But this post is not meant to bring you down; I can point you to some others if that's what you're looking for. No, this post is intended to convince you to join me on next year's Media Presbyterian mission trip (church member or not!). Here are the top 10 reasons (in David Letterman fashion) to mark your calendar for 2014:

10. There is nothing worth watching on television during July and August.

9. Hot, humid, buggy weather in Pennsylvania is replaced by pleasant days and cool, sweatshirt-weather nights in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina.

8. You will see teenagers taking on actual manual labor. You're also likely to meet a teenager who will talk to you. And perhaps hug you when you need to leave early. You'll feel much better about the next generation.

7. Evenings filled with games, devotions, carb loading in the dining hall, and rocking on the porch in the Lodge.

6. This trip provides a great opportunity to practice your southern twang and brush up on your knowledge of country music.

5. Taking vacation days to do work around your own home is sad and depressing. Taking vacation days to work on someone else's home is inspiring and rewarding.

4.  The chances are excellent that someone will actually express appreciation for your work.Try getting that at home!

3. If you're looking for friends, you will make them on this trip.

2. If MPC people are already your friends, there is no better way to spend a week together (a vacation to OBX would cost a great deal more and you wouldn't have that warm fuzzy feeling that comes from helping someone else).

1. In one week, your personal problems will be put in perspective and you'll be reminded that it isn't "all about you."

Need more convincing? Check out this video from our week:

Can we count you in next summer? 

A Bit of Perspective is In Order

I've been in a melancholy mood this week and really wanted to dump all of my issues on you. It makes for good reading (she says facetiously):

• My cleaning lady quit because I was a pain in the ass.
• My hair dryer died a violent death on Monday and I still haven't replaced it.
• I've had several bad hair days in a row.
• Upon noticing my increasingly gray hair, my son announced "wow, you really are old."
• I've caused trouble. Again.
• I have a zit on my forehead that could pass for a third eye.
• The neighbors have erected an ugly wire fence that I have to look at every time I pull in the driveway.
• My so-called friends figured out that I'm turning 44 tomorrow, when all this time I thought I was going to be 42 or 43, tops.

Now that I've put it all out there, the reality is that no one really cares about my issues. We all have our problems. I think what I need is a little bit -- or a big dose -- of perspective. So this weekend I'm going to drive more than nine hours to Banner Elk, NC where I'm going to spend a few hundred bucks for food and lodging and use a week's vacation to immerse myself in a reality that's quite different from my own; one in which cleaning people have no role and a fence is the least of my concerns for my neighbor.

One of the things that makes my church, Media Presbyterian, so special is its commitment to our neighbors -- both around the corner and around the world. Our members have traveled to Chester and Philadelphia and to Ghana and Liberia to make a difference in communities that need a helping hand. Western North Carolina has long been our family summer mission trip with youth and parents working side by side and the little ones taking on their own small projects and learning what it means to share the love of God by serving others. This year, 72 of us are making the long trek to work on two Habitat for Humanity builds, address the needs of of a couple other home owners, and bring a bit of joy to children living in a homeless shelter.

To be honest, I haven't gone on this NC trip in several years. The drive is too long. I didn't want to "waste" the vacation time. It just wasn't convenient. But this year, even before the church was rocked by the resignation of our senior pastor, I felt called to join my church family in Banner Elk. And in light of the painful reality of what has transpired at MPC and the rebuilding that is taking place, I think this mission trip is exactly what we need. Again, it's about perspective. If we return to our foundation of serving others, we will be reminded of why the church exists in the first place. We can take the focus off ourselves and put it where it rightly belongs.

So I'm going to serve next week. And I guarantee that on Day One I'll be asking myself what the hell I was thinking driving down here to work for someone else when I don't even like to do that kind of work for myself. I'll be whining about the heat or a chipped nail (hey, I just stopped biting my nails, so breaking one is going to be a big deal). The lodge beds won't be comfortable and I won't like the food. Ian will get sick and want to go home (the precedent is there). But I guarantee that by Day Three (I'm leaving some wiggle room in there by not promising Day Two) I'll be weepy when I count my blessings. I'll be hugging members of my church family (and even my children, if they let me) and tearfully telling them how much they mean to me. I'll even have gotten over my irritation with how slowly Cathie drove on the trip down.

If you too are struggling with those day-to-day issues that drag us down, consider doing something for someone else. It doesn't have to require a nine hour drive, but it does require your head, heart and hands, which ultimately sets you free, at least temporarily, from your own problems.

Hop On! We're Taking a Tour of Changeland

The Funkapotomus has been away on an extended vacation. I always feel better when he heads out of town (obviously). Unfortunately, the big guy's back and settled in quite nicely, occasionally hugging me so tightly I can barely breath or think.

Whenever the Funkapotomus returns I spend a good deal of time trying to figure out exactly why he's here. Rainy day? Wintertime? Fight with Rob, or the kids, or my parents, or my boss or a friend? My monthly hormonal imbalances? If I answer "no" to all of the above I begin my nearly expert process of self-diagnosis. It's better than self-medicating and considerably less expensive than seeing a professional.

I have come to the conclusion that the Funkapotomus came home at this particular time because he's relishing the significant amount of change happening in my life, practically none of which is great or even good. Allow me to take you on a guided tour of Changeland, featuring the Funkapotomus in a starring role.

For our first stop, let's visit Kim's not-so-new-anymore job. I weathered quite well the initial transition in November. Making the move after eleven years at Judson Press was surprisingly painless. But as you know, my dear colleague/boss Burt passed away in January and that saddened me tremendously. I soldiered on and the dean lifted my spirits by taking a minute to say hello to me in the mornings. But now they've gone and replaced Burt. The new gentleman started a couple weeks ago and by all appearances he's a good guy. He says the right things, does the right things, treats his staff the right way. I think it's the staff part that's causing me to be childish bothering me. I'm not used to being "supervised" by someone ten years younger than me. Actually, I'm not accustomed to being supervised at all. And if I am going to work for someone, I want it to be Burt. I miss him. And it doesn't help that the dean stopped saying hello to me. I guess hellos are reserved for his direct reports.

We're now moving out of Career World toward our second stop -- Parenthood. A considerably more complex site on our tour. Simply put, I'm becoming painfully aware that my children don't really want me involved in their lives anymore. They still need me to drive them places, but that's about it. Heck, Abby can make her own meals, go grocery shopping, and do her laundry, rendering me almost completely obsolete. Being sad about this is terribly ironic given that I spent the first ten five few years of their lives wishing they didn't need me so damn much. It's not that I've had a change of heart and really want to do stuff for my kids, it's more that I want to be needed and loved and then free to decline all demands and requests they make of me. Kinda the way I want to be invited to parties, but don't actually want to go.

Now, let's pay a visit to Friendville. This year I watched as my childrens' relationships evolved and in some cases dissolved. Over the past year I too have seen a number of my friendships change. Some have become stronger and more fulfilling, while others have faded or been strained by forces left unspoken. Never an easy thing, no matter how old you are.

And speaking of age, like it or not, we have to take a moment for Grown Up Stuff. My parents, my friends' parents, and my aunts and uncles are all getting older (as if the rest of us are standing still). This means we're increasingly dealing with loss. My Aunt Faify passed last month. My friend Amy's father died in June. And my Aunt Glenna only has a short time left.as she battles leukemia. In the years ahead loss is going to become way too familiar. I know it's inevitable, but it still weighs on me. I'm not in the slightest bit prepared to lose my parents.

Let's make Media Presbyterian Church the fifth and final stop on our tour. Formerly a place of comfort, fellowship and strength, my church has become a source of division, stress and disappointment. For those of you who aren't experiencing hell's arrival in your place of worship, let me tell you it sucks. Our senior pastor resigned after it was discovered he had been (and is still) in a relationship with a former coworker while she was employed by the church. (And no, it's not our awesome former children's director, Cara.) His behavior is in direct violation of the Presbyterian Church's Book of Order. And yes, I've only shared the Reader's Digest condensed version with you, partly because it's not proper to air what is actually years worth of dirty laundry, but mostly because I don't want to be sued for libel. Let's just say I feel like Dorothy, seeing the great and powerful Oz behind the curtain. It's been heartbreaking and emotionally and physically exhausting, and I've been bitterly disappointed not only in my pastor but in those whose responsibility it is (as church elders) to make important decisions related to this difficult situation. Even though I'm certain we'll survive this turbulent time, a strong, loving church -- your place of refuge -- is last place you want to see change.

This concludes our tour of Changeland.  I hope you've enjoyed the whine. Please watch the tram car and carefully exit through the gift shop. Come back soon!

Finding Faith Despite My Failings

On Sunday my son Ian was confirmed in our church, Media Presbyterian. This special day was the culmination of about seven months of classes, which he did not attend willingly. Because I failed to make Sunday school a required part of our week - a "given" - as kids, Ian and Abby both gradually fell away from the church. For Abby, the inconsistency in her attendance resulted in feelings of being behind in her learning (not a state she's comfortable in). For Ian, not being there regularly meant he never formed the close relationships that many of the other kids share. Fortunately, Abby has found youth group to be a place to grow in her faith. Ian's faith, however, has been a strictly personal journey, one taken alone instead of with the church family, the same church family that has literally changed my life. Because getting Ian to church was always a battle, last year I made it a point to regularly remind him that confirmation class was not up for discussion. He would go, not just because it was an important part of his spiritual growth, but because as a church elder, usher and involved member, I'd look like an even worse mom if my son did not get confirmed. A lousy reason, but an honest one.

So Ian went. And while the fellowship aspect of the experience did not greatly improve, Ian did grow significantly in his understanding of the Christian faith. More importantly, he actually enjoyed learning, and in the end, he was one of five confirmands who willingly read his faith statement in front of the congregation on Sunday. More on that later.

When Rob and I arrived at church yesterday, I immediately had the sense that I'd blown it. The pews were packed with family and friends who turned out to support and applaud these young people. We didn't even have Abby with us because we allowed her to choose between her brother's confirmation and a soccer game. A no-brainer in her book. I had invited my parents who were unable to attend, and that was it. I had no gift for Ian and no grand party. (He suggested we should have sent invitations to a post-party with instructions to "treat this like a Bar Mitvah."). I couldn't even convince him to let his Dad and me take him out for a nice lunch. For someone who claims to be a person of faith and a committed member of MPC, I had definitely dropped the ball on what was my son's biggest day in the life of the church. And the more I think about it, the more I realize I dropped the ball when it comes to my children's faith in general.

Ian and John

In addition to failing to make Sundays at church a family tradition, I rarely talk faith with Ian and Abby. I'll share it with my Freakin' Angels. I'll talk with Rob. I'll even write the occasional blog post about it, but the two most important people I should be sharing it with are being overlooked. I guess it should have come as no surprise when Ian stood in front of the church to read his faith statement and gave most of the credit to our youth director (and confirmation class teacher) John Chaffee. I think Rob and I were recognized for dragging, um, I mean bringing him to church. Even Pastor Bill and the children's choir director got more props than mom and dad. I know, he's a 15-year-old boy and they tend to forget their parents exist, but as he spoke and I reflected on those 15 years, I had to admit that I don't deserve the credit for bringing him to where he is now, at least where faith is concerned. I'm thankful to John for helping Ian to grow.

If you're wondering about Ian's paper presentation, I'm happy to say he did a great job with regard to his composure, delivery and eye contact. (He gets his public speaking chops from his mom.) As for the paper itself, it was classic Ian.

Honest: "I don't know where I'm headed with this faith journey or how I'm going to get there."

Humorous: "Despite appearances to the contrary, I actually enjoyed the time I've spent at church over the years." 

Brief (to John, before Sunday): "That's all I want to say. Can I stop at two pages?"

It's obvious that despite our lack of pomp and circumstance, confirmation meant something to Ian. After the service, he asked Pastor Bill if he can be a church elder now (the youngest elder ever, I'm sure). Bill offered him the pastorate instead, and I think Ian can handle it.

What Would Ann Do?

On November 30, 2012, it will be a year since my friend Ann lost her battle with cancer. To celebrate the extraordinary woman she was and to recognize her life-long commitment to helping others, my church, Media Presbyterian, coordinated with Ann's family to establish Ann's Love Builds. Donations to Ann's Love Builds will be used to build The Dr. Ann Bates Memorial Hospital in Ghana.

But Ann's love is not something we only want to share with a country 5,000 miles away. Ann's love needs to be expressed much closer to home as well, and so on Saturday, more than 200 friends, family members, and others whose lives she touched, gathered together to make a difference in the Philadelphia area. We worked with Urban Promise in Camden, assembled bicycles to donate to City Team in Chester for their Christmas Giving Project, and cooked and delivered hot meals to families in Long Beach Island whose lives were turned upside down by Sandy. At other sites, groups were ripping up moldy carpeting and laying new flooring in a school computer lab, constructing playground equipment, and demolishing a home that needed to be rebuilt from the studs up. And my group, more than 20 of us, fixed lights in classrooms and painted the outside of an elementary school in northeast Philly.

And the night before this day of service, I experienced my usual pre-service/mission work second thoughts:

Why do I sign up for these things? I don't want to get up early on a Saturday. I have a million things to do around my own home. 

Because this day was all about Ann, my whining and grumbling were less pronounced than they have been in the past, but I must confess to them nonetheless. And while I'm in confession mode (I am now working for the Catholics, after all), I also admit that part of my attitude problem could be traced back to that controversial commentary I recently shared on Facebook titled "Four More Years of Decline." While I definitely don't want to "go there" again (I am averse to confrontation), the article's disdain for the "entitlement age," had stuck with me. It is without question my biggest concern about many of Obama's policies (crap, I went there). And so I approached this day of service with a major societal issue and personal past service experiences lingering in the back of my mind.

Here's the thing. Give me a home with elderly residents, the disabled, or a single mom trying to make ends meet in order to care for her children. Take me to an organization that cares for kids in need or victims of domestic abuse. Or find me a school that's understaffed and neglected and I'll do whatever you ask. But please don't ask me to clean up a yard or fix a fence or paint a room while a strapping young man sits and watches me work. And don't ask me to pick up needles and bottles in an empty lot next to a community center where the staff complains about having to come in on a Saturday to "supervise" me. I guess what I'm trying to say is don't ask me to help someone who won't help him or herself.

At the elementary school where we worked in northeast Philly, the only maintenance guy caring for this school of 1,700 kids (seriously, one guy) was there with a smile to assist us in any way possible. And the principal was present for the day, too. And she even went to get donuts when she heard someone who looks a lot like me shall remain nameless was whining about wanting donuts. And there were about a dozen kids and one mom who showed up to help as well.  The day was wonderful and we accomplished a great deal, and it was a wonderful tribute to Ann.

And speaking of Ann, she never would have reconsidered her commitment to participate in a day of service. Would have never been hung up on my issues with society. Never would have asked whether someone was deserving. Because Ann was one of the best people I've known. Dedicated to caring for others, no matter their station in life. Ann understood what it means to be the hands and feet of Christ. To "love your neighbor as yourself." And she recognized that "even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve."

May I learn from her example. 

Hope & Abby with fingernails painted. Literally.

The cutest and most enthusiastic helper you've ever seen!

So, um, about my faith...

Once in a while my blog posts make some wee mention of my faith. I rarely write about it outright for fear of losing readers. Yep I'm one of those Christians. Unfortunately, I'm not in the minority. Sharing our faith is a struggle for many of us. It's pretty sad; I wouldn't hesitate to tell a friend about a great new bar or a sale at Talbot's, but talking about Christianity or my church? Well, um...

Here's the thing though. My faith and my church family mean more to me than a great new hangout or sale at my favorite clothing store. Seriously! I think when there's something this special in your life and it's available to anyone, it's worth sharing. While being a Christian comes with no guarantees of a lifetime of happiness and prosperity (don't listen to televangelists who preach otherwise), the good reasons for believing are pretty substantial:

• When bad things happen to good people, I can take comfort and find peace in God's love, trusting our ultimate reward lies in heaven
• When I learn and acknowledge that life isn't all about me, the world becomes a richer place, full of opportunities for me to try to make a difference in the world, not just my world
• Right and wrong are no longer gray areas (though that doesn't necessarily make it easier to do the right thing)
• Believing God is our Father, viewing others as my brothers and sisters, helps me to leave prejudice and hatred behind
• My natural instinct to judge, condemn, and hold a grudge against those who wrong me, is relieved by knowing that that is simply not my place
• When life's burdens seem too much to bear, I know  there is someone waiting to carry them me for me

And then there is the most remarkable joy to be found in being a member of a true community of faith. Like all families, no church community is immune from our human failings, but there's is something unspeakably powerful about worshipping together, working side by side, supporting one another through life's trials, and celebrating life's blessings. If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you know that the so-called Freakin' Angels, my sisters in Christ at Media Presbyterian Church (and beyond!) are as important to me as my immediate family. Though different, of course, the love I have for these women is every bit as powerful and life-changing as the love I feel for my parents, sister, children, and husband. I simply can't imagine life without them. The gift of these friendships is one I wish I could bestow on everyone I know and love.

While I don't know that she has found her own Freakin' Angels yet, I am thrilled to say that my mom is enjoying becoming part of a community of faith. After years without a church family, she visited a local church many months ago and fell in love with what she found there. In fact, she loves it so much, she declined to visit me and my church for Easter Sunday because she wanted to experience the holiest of days in her new place of worship instead. To hear her speak with unbridled joy about her experiences there makes my heart full.

May your heart be equally filled with joy this Easter weekend!

Kicking and Screaming and Nearer My God to Thee

We didn't have many traditions in our family when I was a kid. There was nothing particularly unique about our holiday celebrations. We didn't have a special way of celebrating birthdays. No stories were told around the campfire (probably because we didn't go camping). My parents didn't sweat it when I chose to skip college and grad school graduation ceremonies, or when I decided to write my own wedding vows, or when I opted to keep my family name instead of taking Rob's. I guess I'm just not a traditional kind of girl.

There is, however, one Shimer tradition that has carried over to my family:

The Sunday pre-church meltdown. 

When I was a kid, there was something about trying to get all four of us to church that resulted in rather unChristian-like behavior. Our church was about a half-hour away and my parents were big into punctuality. This meant we were always rushing around at the last minute, becoming stressed out and irritable in the process. By the time we got in the car no one was speaking. If we were lucky, our iciness toward each other slowly thawed during Sunday school and the church service. It was an experience you knew would repeat itself each and every Sunday. The result was that going to church was preferable only to going to the dentist.

The church that Rob, the kids, and I attend is about eight minutes away and I'm the only one who cares about punctuality. The three of them are always taking their good old time and I become stressed out and irritable waiting for them. We've I've been known to spiral downward into yelling, threatening, demanding, and bribing, while Rob prefers quietly seething or being the funny guy to break the tension. As for the kids, they react with whining, pleading, pouting, and sulking. By the time we get in the car, no one is speaking and you know the experience will repeat itself next Sunday. You see the similarities here?

Well, in an effort to break with the Sunday pre-church meltdown tradition, I have made the unquestionably most likely wrong decision to no longer beg bribe cajole require my children to go to Sunday school or church. Despite being an elder and a former Sunday school teacher, and although I know it looks bad to others, I just can't handle the fight that's involved. It's not so much a case of "picking my battles," as it is about the state of mind I find myself in after the battle. As you know or can probably guess, I'm an open book with my emotions and I don't need to bring that scary face to church.

This past Sunday was a case-in-point. Abby decided at the very last minute (I literally was already in the car) that she would come to church with us. She was wearing the clothes she slept in and I've seen rat's nests that looked better than her hair. My anger (which we already know is at maximum capacity these days) did not subside through the entire service. I was so frustrated with her I told her she shouldn't go up for communion looking the way she did. I know, I know. God would not approve of my behavior. He was perfectly happy seeing Abby in church regardless of how she looked.

I am really at a loss as to how to get my children to church, a place I love dearly, without going through the Sunday morning ordeal. I'm already preparing myself for next year when Ian has confirmation class. I've told him he's going whether he likes it or not, but that will in no way keep him from giving me grief about it each and every Sunday. I realize I can deny my children the things they most enjoy unless they accompany me, but that seems like a great way to ensure that they despise the mere thought of church.

I can't be the first church-going mom to deal with this, so I'm open to eager for desperately seeking your advice. What's worked for you?