Cereal Killer

I nearly had a meltdown in Target last night.

All because of this:

I was buying rice cereal so that soon the little babushka can start eating solids. My baby was born like 15 minutes ago! How can he possibly be big enough to start eating anything that did come directly from my person??

Shit. I'm THAT mom. The lunatic who can't let go and ends up teary-eyed in embarrassingly public places. Today the grocery store, tomorrow the kindergarten parking lot. 

Children grow up. That's kind of what's supposed to happen. Babies come out all purple and gross and filled with unlimited potential.  Little by little they learn and develop and, with God's grace, become all they are meant to be. 

So why all the crazy?

Because, ya know, I made that kid. Me. With my self. I've got the stretch marks and out of control belly jiggling to prove it. And after all that hard work and that waaaaaay harder work of getting him out, I helped him grow big and healthy with more me (sometimes we call it milk). Me!

You know what that box of rice is? Not me! 

weep.

It's just the first tiny step in a long slow descent into abandonment. Or, as my husband so helpfully pointed out, "Pretty soon he'll be getting married and leaving us forever." Thanks sweetie! That will help the hysterical overreaction. 

I know, I know, more food means more sleeping through the night and that is definitely a good thing. And I really love how each day he has more personality. He makes clam noises with his mouth and then starts busting up laughing his deep baby belly laughs. He can even see me now and hold onto my fingers

Yes, growing up is a very good thing.

Sort of. 

Just not in the baby food aisle. 

Beer for Jesus

A while ago, one of my co-workers asked if I had heard about the Big Thing that had just happened. I forget exactly what it was, maybe a shooting or something large on fire, or Colorado being underwater, whatever it was – I hadn’t heard a thing. Slightly embarrassed by other people now knowing that I live in a cave, I make it a point to scan the headlines of an internet news site at least once per working day. 

If something Big happens during the weekend, please call me.

And so it was that I stumbled across an article entitled, “Why Craft Beer Won’t Lure Millennials Back to Church.”

I drank this blueberry wheat ale for Jesus

Blink.

Blink.

Hold onto to your hats – this is about to get sarcastic.

Really? I mean really? I felt like I was looking at an entire piece devoted to the idea that “Putting on Underwear Before Pants is a Good Idea.” Do we need a whole article on why this is a stupid idea?

Apparently we do. It seems a whole bunch of hipster churches are trying to pander to the coveted 25-40 demographic by serving craft beers during their services. Weirdly enough, that approach isn’t raking in the coverts as expected. Huh.

Who could possibly have predicted that?

Several years ago, I was a member of a church undergoing a change in leadership. The new pastor pronounced that he KNEW what Young People Wanted. Oh? And what is it that you know I want?

A live internet feed of his sermons. Apparently that’s what I was craving.

I’m sure you will be shocked to learn that nearly every single young person (including me) left that church within a month.

Craft beer. Fancy technology. Slick worship sets. These are all just the latest in a long line of gimmicks desperate to attract a generation that is slipping ever further away from the Church.

Just stop. Please.

If you really super have to know why none of that is going to work, I – a young person (well, ish) – will tell you. The secular world already offers all of it, in a much nicer package, without sermons of any kind. When the Church barfs out a low budget imitation, it looks pretty lame. Suddenly, the Bride of Christ is a poser with its underwear on over its pants.

“Be imitators of Christ therefore…” I mean, Jesus!

No really, I mean Jesus. Remember that guy? Remember how he hung out with all the cool rich 20 somethings?

No? You do not remember that?

God Incarnate spent a whole lot of time chilling with thieves, whores and outcasts. His target demographic was the failure pile. The Kingdom of Heaven comes alive and comes to earth when adulterers, homosexuals, greedy thieving con men and drunks encounter the Living Spirit of the Most High God. Jesus preached Good News to the poor and the unwanted.

Who are we aiming our gospel at?

What if the Church stopped trying to be a sexy hangout and started trying to be a sanctuary? What if, instead of lattes and microbrews, we offered quality affordable daycare for working moms? What if we didn’t upgrade the sound system and instead sponsored a team fighting human trafficking in Asia? What if we stopped shouting about gay marriage and started screaming about the child slaves who grow our chocolate?

What if we had a little bit of faith in the inherent attractiveness of restoration in a hopeless, corrupt world?

Imagine a Church that went hard after the rejects, the bullied, the people with nothing to offer and made them family. Imagine a Church that got serious about repairing the earth – healing broken systems, broken relationships, broken homes, even broken ecosystems. Cool huh? Wouldn’t you want to be a part of that?

Maybe a millennial would too…

Well This is Awkward

Do not anticipate trouble, or worry about what may never happen.

Keep in the sunlight. - Benjamin Franklin

Back in the day, before I had all these kids…you know, that magical time when I frivolously wasted all my free time on peace and quiet (and sleep!)…I felt incredibly awkward around young children.

Um hi, I would think, you are small and strange, and you might bite. Yeaaaah. Please stay over there.

Is this a pretty stupid attitude to hold towards the young of my species? Probably.

Now that I am a parent, however, I am exactly as awkward around other people’s children.

What? That’s not even fair!

Sometimes when my baby is sleeping, I stare at his beautiful face and even as I fall more madly in love with him (and both his chins), I am seized with anxiety that I won’t know how to be his mother as he grows. What if all our future interactions are a bumbling shambles of maternal ineptitude? Oh my god, he’s going to get big! I have to baby-proof this entire child-murdering house RIGHT NOW. We’re all going to diiiiiiiie.

I really am trying to climb down off the CrazyTrain.

How about I get through this day and not borrow trouble from tomorrow? Also, no matter how it may later feel in hindsight, babies don’t actually turn into 5 years olds overnight.

I know all this on an intellectual level – just like I know that I will be spending every day with this baby so it’s not like he’ll be a stranger to me. And I’m totally not awkward around him now. I’ve learned what he likes and what he needs and I’m sure I will continue down that path of discovery blah blah blah. The knowing doesn’t stop the panic.

Maybe that’s why everyone keeps telling me to “Treasure Every Moment” (that’s not why – they say that because they have completely forgotten what it’s like to have a newborn). At least when I’m evaluating the moment to see if I will actually be treasuring it or not* I am not freaking the crap out about the future.

If you need me, I’ll be over here, taking deep breaths and trying to stay in the sunlight.

 

He sleeps so peacefully

*Kissing his irresistible fat cheeks? Yes! Wiping poop off his arms – his freaking ARMS people!! – in Denver International Airport? I’m thinking NO on that one.

A Mile Haiku

beautiful Denver

land of aspens and chapped lips

the West calls my name

If We Faint Not

Pretty soon our entire family is heading out west for my sister’s wedding. And even though she isn’t throwing a super formal kind of wedding, it’s not a t-shirt sort of affair either – so Gabriel needed some clothes with buttons. My husband and I left the baby to snooze for an hour in Juli’s arms and headed out with Gabriel to our favorite second-hand store.

On the way, the conversation somehow veered onto the topic of food. Eli asked how the kids ate back in Nicaragua. “Pretty simply,” Gabriel replied but added, slightly defensively, “We ate delicious things too.”

“Of course.” Eli said gently, “But how often?”

“Maybe once a week.”

And it hit me – he was talking about meat. On a good week, they ate meat once! What? No! That means every other day they were wielding rice and beans like a sword and shield to beat back hunger.

Rice and beans.

                           Beans and rice.

                                                    Every damn day.

                                                                                  Or starve.

Sometimes, in the midst of the grinding daily routine that is slowly pulverizing me back into dust, I forget about mercy. I forget the why behind all of this extra laundry and grocery shopping. And I realize that I am such an asshat.

So even as I am pretending like that’s a totally normal thing to hear and trying to discretely scrape my jaw off the be-doughnuted floor of my husband’s car, I am thankful for the reminder. It seems like Doing Good should feel good. Maybe it will later – I’m not giving up on future warm fuzzies! But really, serving people involves, well, people. And human beings are needy as hell. So instead of feeling fulfilling and uplifting, it feels a whole lot more like the next person who calls my name while another person is currently talking to me and jeezy creezy can you not see there is a crying baby in my lap?! is getting punched in the face. I mean right in the chupabanano.

Uh what was I talking about? That’s right, doing good.

“Let us not become weary in doing good,” Saint Paul wrote to the Galatians. Well there’s a handy clue right there; doing good is exhausting. “For at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” I also appreciate the other versions that say “if we faint not.”

You know what happens at harvest time? You get to eat! Maybe that’s not exactly what Paul meant but I see no reason to stop taking Paul wildly out of context now.

Maybe Doing Good doesn’t feel good but it’s still worth the doing. Before, my kids didn’t eat very well; now they do. Before, my kids didn’t have nice clothes; now they can go to this wedding without shame. So I don’t get to spend all my time making my baby giggle or hanging out with my awesome husband. So I have to re-learn how to subtract fractions and find the area of some random shape. In a short amount of time, things are already changing for the better and I have faith that these great kids will continue to blossom in the light of opportunity.

So long as I don’t pass out.