One of the great gifts of grandparenting is watching your children rear children. The old Biblical proverb of the sins of the fathers (not mothers, thank you) being visited upon the heads of succeeding generations comes alive before your eyes as you watch a grandson act out the very same way his mother did at his age. The gene pool is as strong as straight Clorox bleach sometimes.
As a child of my generation the rules for children were fairly simple and unequivocal. Children addressed all adults with the titles of Mr., Mrs., or Miz (Miss) before their names. When answering an adult’s question, or if making a response to an adult, ma’am and sir were spoken as a sign of respect. There were no exceptions to this rule. We were allowed great freedom to roam by today’s standards but held to a stricter code of behavior than most of today’s children.
We were protected from the knowledge of the Tree of Life with parents speaking in hushed tones away from children’s ears about the painful, the sordid, the evil that comes into all our lives as grownups. Globalization had not been invented and children did not see images of war and starvation in living color on the television in the living room. Sex was not a commodity to be marketed to young girls in music videos and clothing but a subject of much heated discussion in the seventh and eight grades. Those who knew or thought they knew the “facts of life” were all too happy to share this knowledge with those poor souls who were still out to lunch. I was still out to lunch until I turned thirty. Innocence was a virtue in those days.
In the latest Christian Century, Sheena Iyengar reports on a survey of 600 people ranging in belief systems from fundamentalists to liberals. Her findings were not what you might expect. It turned out that the folks most likely to suffer from depression and pessimism were Unitarians and atheists. Those who lived with rules seemed to be empowered by them, have more hope and optimism than their more liberal counterparts. Any mother or father from my generation could have told her that. Children who grow up with clear boundaries and discipline are almost always the ones who navigate life successfully. The trick is not in having rules and regulations. The trick is to create a clear consistent system that reflects your family’s values and then living by that system.
And therein lies the rub... living daily what we say we believe. Whether we are raising children or raising ourselves, we often say one thing and do another. Paul knew that dilemma all too well. What we ought to do, want to do, should do, we don’t do. And, what we oughtn’t to do, don’t want to do, shouldn’t do, we do. Rules are reminders of ways to be our better selves. Children (and their parents and grandparents) need these road signs to help us remember how to behave. Be ye kind. Love God and your neighbor as yourself. Brush your teeth everyday. Eat lots of vegetables. Love one another as I have loved you. Wait your turn. Tell the truth. Respect your elders. (Now that I am an elder I really like this one.)
Oh, God, I am not so good at living what I say I believe. Help me this day to remember the Golden Rule and do unto others as I would have them do unto me. And if I make it through this day, Lord, would you help me tomorrow, too, please? Peggy
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Chicken...everybody's favorite white meat!
Farming is not for the fainthearted... It has been a rough two weeks for the chickens and Michael. Seven chickens from the brood have been consumed by various predators during a short amount of time. This is the first time we have had difficulty with chickens being killed consistently. Some days there would be one chicken missing during the day and then one taken at night. Poor Michael has struggled with the loss of his girls. Farewell to Marshmallow, Dy, Nam, Ic (named the Dynamic Trio by our grandson Matthew), the Rhode Island Red, Egypt, and the Dominecker. It has been a sad and sorrowful time.
It seems there might be several different predators so Michael is beefing up the lines of defense. For the hawks he has covered the chicken yard with bright orange baling twine that loops the loop over and under the fence creating a circus tent top. This keeps the hawks from swooping down and grabbing a hen. The last time a hawk grabbed one she was so heavy all he could eat was the breast meat so Michael had to bury what was left. The fox has been stymied by closing the chickens up at night. Did you know foxes can climb a fence? But the great mystery was what could get into the coop, kill and eat a chicken leaving only a few feathers and get out? Our neighbor Gary tells stories from chicken farming days when he was growing up on his parents farm about owls coming into the chicken barn and decimating the flock. Chickens would be so terrified of the owl that they would stack themselves on top of each other suffocating the ones on the bottom of the pile. The vent at the top of the walls will be covered with screen this weekend and in the meantime we are leaving the lights turned on in the coop at night. Owls are nocturnal so we are hoping the light will prevent him from shopping at this particular supermarket again. Sometimes Mother Nature is not nice to chicken farmers... or to chickens.
Life, on and off the farm, can be painful and sad as well as frustrating and overwhelming at times. It seems to come at us so steadily with problems to solve and losses that appear to be unending. We have a hard time looking up to see if there is any silver lining to the clouds that surround us. And joys can be just as difficult to live with... new babies and hormonal changes and lack of sleep and loss of old self image can take its toll on a new mother. A new job interview leads to a time of waiting and wondering and dreaming and fear of not getting the job. The changes that come with retirement are fraught with gain and loss...changes that are both welcomed and feared. Where is the protective orange circus tent top for our lives? Who leaves the light on at night for us? Who tends the fences that hold chaos at bay?
One of my favorite passages of scripture is found in John 14, the funeral passages. Truth be told, those words could be my daily prayer. As a worrier par excellence, an anticipator of disasters yet to come, a child of parents who always planned for the worst and were surprised by the best, I need to not grow deaf to the sound of these words. “ Let not your heart be troubled. You believe in God, believe also in me... Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives, do I give unto you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”
Dear God, when I run to and fro piling on top of others like me who are running to and fro, stop me in my tracks. Show me the untroubled way, the way of peace. Keep my eyes and my heart centered on you, O Lord, so I might live each moment as an offering of gratitude for all I have been given. Turn on my night light of hope, love joy and peace so my soul can awaken to meet you in the morning sunrise. Amen.
It seems there might be several different predators so Michael is beefing up the lines of defense. For the hawks he has covered the chicken yard with bright orange baling twine that loops the loop over and under the fence creating a circus tent top. This keeps the hawks from swooping down and grabbing a hen. The last time a hawk grabbed one she was so heavy all he could eat was the breast meat so Michael had to bury what was left. The fox has been stymied by closing the chickens up at night. Did you know foxes can climb a fence? But the great mystery was what could get into the coop, kill and eat a chicken leaving only a few feathers and get out? Our neighbor Gary tells stories from chicken farming days when he was growing up on his parents farm about owls coming into the chicken barn and decimating the flock. Chickens would be so terrified of the owl that they would stack themselves on top of each other suffocating the ones on the bottom of the pile. The vent at the top of the walls will be covered with screen this weekend and in the meantime we are leaving the lights turned on in the coop at night. Owls are nocturnal so we are hoping the light will prevent him from shopping at this particular supermarket again. Sometimes Mother Nature is not nice to chicken farmers... or to chickens.
Life, on and off the farm, can be painful and sad as well as frustrating and overwhelming at times. It seems to come at us so steadily with problems to solve and losses that appear to be unending. We have a hard time looking up to see if there is any silver lining to the clouds that surround us. And joys can be just as difficult to live with... new babies and hormonal changes and lack of sleep and loss of old self image can take its toll on a new mother. A new job interview leads to a time of waiting and wondering and dreaming and fear of not getting the job. The changes that come with retirement are fraught with gain and loss...changes that are both welcomed and feared. Where is the protective orange circus tent top for our lives? Who leaves the light on at night for us? Who tends the fences that hold chaos at bay?
One of my favorite passages of scripture is found in John 14, the funeral passages. Truth be told, those words could be my daily prayer. As a worrier par excellence, an anticipator of disasters yet to come, a child of parents who always planned for the worst and were surprised by the best, I need to not grow deaf to the sound of these words. “ Let not your heart be troubled. You believe in God, believe also in me... Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives, do I give unto you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”
Dear God, when I run to and fro piling on top of others like me who are running to and fro, stop me in my tracks. Show me the untroubled way, the way of peace. Keep my eyes and my heart centered on you, O Lord, so I might live each moment as an offering of gratitude for all I have been given. Turn on my night light of hope, love joy and peace so my soul can awaken to meet you in the morning sunrise. Amen.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Mother's Day...
As we passed the peace in worship Sunday morning, I looked over and saw my Mother being embraced by an African American Grandmother, silver heads together, dark and light skin, Sunday best dresses, and I wept. Two old mothers, worlds apart in life experiences, one in the Body of Christ...
Once upon a time I belonged to a church that didn’t celebrate Mother’s Day. Many reasons were given. It was a cultural holiday not a religious one... so what? Christians have been appropriating and transforming other’s holidays for generations. We didn’t want to cause pain for those who had abusive mothers, absent mothers or were unable to be mothers. We didn’t want to use gender specific nouns and pronouns in worship either male or female because using mother (or father) as an analogy for God would make somebody mad. I was always a little sad on Mother’s Day when it passed by without much attention being paid in worship.
Sunday I went to church with Michael and my mother. We sat in the congregation, saw roses and orchids pinned on in remembrance of mothers and grandmothers. We heard the prayers of the people as they stood to voice words of honor, praise and concern. One young African American woman stood to thank her aunt (in the congregation) and her grandmother for being her mothers when her mother was unable to mother her. She gave God praise for her mother growing and changing and for the steadfast love of her other mothers. Another woman requested prayer for a woman she met in the doctor’s office who had lost all three of her children to death this past year. An aging Viet Nam vet gave thanks for his wife who mothered their three daughters while he served in the military. Prayers were offered for the pastor who was home in Georgia with her family for their first Mother’s Day without their mother.
Such a powerful word...mother... it evokes an emotional response, a deep down in your belly feeling that will stay with us all our lives. Perhaps that is one of the reasons we should re-examine our use of mother-father language for God. Too many of the words we use for God these days... Holy One, Three-in-One, Source of all Being... may connect us to the awe and mystery of God but we have no gut connection, no skin face for God in those words. When my child calls me weeping over the loss of a baby, I do not pray to the Source of all Being. I call on God as Father or Mother, one who understands the anguish of a parent. My grandchildren are learning to pray surrounded by the faces of God in other mothers and fathers in their church congregations.
So this Mother’s Day I celebrate the faith of the mothers (and fathers) who have been my birth parents as a Christian. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson who led our youth group, Mrs. Tyre who led the Sword Drill team, Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Morris who included me in the music program of the church, Brother Kannon who lived the Golden Rule, Walter and Mary Lynn who taught me how to think about my faith, Celeste who shared her creative spirit with joy, Grady whose laughter was infectious and most precious in church, John Claypool who blessed me out of worship every Sunday with words that ring in my heart still... faces and names that stretch out through the days of my life reminding me that God first and foremost wants to be in relationship with me. Because of the gifts I have been given by these skin face representatives of God, I want to be a faith mother for others, sharing my peculiar (I hear the laughter) gifts with others. May it be so, Lord Jesus.
Once upon a time I belonged to a church that didn’t celebrate Mother’s Day. Many reasons were given. It was a cultural holiday not a religious one... so what? Christians have been appropriating and transforming other’s holidays for generations. We didn’t want to cause pain for those who had abusive mothers, absent mothers or were unable to be mothers. We didn’t want to use gender specific nouns and pronouns in worship either male or female because using mother (or father) as an analogy for God would make somebody mad. I was always a little sad on Mother’s Day when it passed by without much attention being paid in worship.
Sunday I went to church with Michael and my mother. We sat in the congregation, saw roses and orchids pinned on in remembrance of mothers and grandmothers. We heard the prayers of the people as they stood to voice words of honor, praise and concern. One young African American woman stood to thank her aunt (in the congregation) and her grandmother for being her mothers when her mother was unable to mother her. She gave God praise for her mother growing and changing and for the steadfast love of her other mothers. Another woman requested prayer for a woman she met in the doctor’s office who had lost all three of her children to death this past year. An aging Viet Nam vet gave thanks for his wife who mothered their three daughters while he served in the military. Prayers were offered for the pastor who was home in Georgia with her family for their first Mother’s Day without their mother.
Such a powerful word...mother... it evokes an emotional response, a deep down in your belly feeling that will stay with us all our lives. Perhaps that is one of the reasons we should re-examine our use of mother-father language for God. Too many of the words we use for God these days... Holy One, Three-in-One, Source of all Being... may connect us to the awe and mystery of God but we have no gut connection, no skin face for God in those words. When my child calls me weeping over the loss of a baby, I do not pray to the Source of all Being. I call on God as Father or Mother, one who understands the anguish of a parent. My grandchildren are learning to pray surrounded by the faces of God in other mothers and fathers in their church congregations.
So this Mother’s Day I celebrate the faith of the mothers (and fathers) who have been my birth parents as a Christian. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson who led our youth group, Mrs. Tyre who led the Sword Drill team, Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Morris who included me in the music program of the church, Brother Kannon who lived the Golden Rule, Walter and Mary Lynn who taught me how to think about my faith, Celeste who shared her creative spirit with joy, Grady whose laughter was infectious and most precious in church, John Claypool who blessed me out of worship every Sunday with words that ring in my heart still... faces and names that stretch out through the days of my life reminding me that God first and foremost wants to be in relationship with me. Because of the gifts I have been given by these skin face representatives of God, I want to be a faith mother for others, sharing my peculiar (I hear the laughter) gifts with others. May it be so, Lord Jesus.
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