Growing Older But Not Up

 In the song, "Growing Older, But Not Up," Jimmy Buffet sings about the idea of growing older but still having a sense of fun and play by not fully growing up. He is experiencing the realities of growing older - pain, creaking joints, brittle bones, etc. - but he is determined to live to the fullest.  He proudly proclaims, "I'd rather die while I'm living than live while I'm dead."

I am a 50 year old woman who likes to watch action movies, go to the park, golf or putt-putt, and spend time on the beach. I play video games with my son and go out for fun on date night. I laugh at life and at myself ... often.

But I also spend a lot of time paying bills, cleaning house, working for my professional advancement, grading papers, writing my next book, and taking care of "grown-up" things. They take up too much time, but I actually took some advice growing up to find something I love to do and figure out a way to get paid for it. I do love my job.

I have joints that creak and more than one story of a bone breaking without much drama involved. I feel my age some days more than others. There are times I crackle and pop more than a breakfast cereal. It is all part of growing older.

But being a "grown-up" can be rough at times. There are days I just want to sleep until noon and pull the covers up to make the world go away. There are days when I want to slap on the skis and go up the chairlift to take on a black diamond run again. There are days that I want someone else to be the grown up so that I can go play.

And there are days when I wish I could go back and be a 20 year old taking on the world all over again with new possibilities. (And there are definitely a few things my older self would tell my younger self NOT to do the second time around).

However, when I stop and look at my family I am amazed. I sit and watch my 14 year old son - who is annoying, amazing, compassionate, grumpy, messy, intelligent, creative, loving, and talented - and I cannot imagine my life without him. My immediate and extended family makes me a better person and adds joy to my life daily. I can't imagine not having them in my life.

I think back on the amazing years of classroom experience I had in Texas teaching History, Government, and Geography to sophomores and seniors and I would not pass that up. What fabulous memories I have of those days creating a game called Wheel of Feudalism for my students and playing Trivia with Historic facts and figures. How would I teach seminary students today the way I do without those early experiments with engaging learning?

I reminisce about helping my sister raise her two daughters while she was going back to school. I would not trade that time with Jordyn and Jonna for anything in the world. They are brave, bold and independent young women. And I can see glimpses of me in both of them and that makes me proud. How would I trade that in for being young again?

I remember the many lives I touched and was touched by in ministry as a United Methodist pastor in Kansas and New Jersey and I would not change a thing. I remember the 11pm Bible Studies at Kansas State and the Campus Ministry and Youth trips to Tennessee and Chicago.  I remember the hospital visits, a wedding when the drapes caught on fire, and the many baptisms I was privileged to be part of. I went to countless lock-ins and had more bad pizza than I care to remember. (A big reason I rarely eat it now.)

So I am growing older. And I am growing up. I don't want to miss out on the amazing things that have happened and that are yet to happen. I want to live fully into my old age. I want to remember all of these great experiences and have even more with my family, in the classroom, and with my writing/scholarship.

But I'm still gonna play. I'm going to take off on a Wednesday afternoon and go see an action movie. I'm going to go play putt-putt with the family, I am going to go to the beach and be lazy or maybe float for hours on the waves. I am going to go to Beer-B-Q events with my Lutheran friends even though I do not drink.

I am going to throw the frisbee and tickle my almost grown son. I am going to run off to see a musical in the city when I can. I am going to play video games with my kid and go on walks through the woods. And I am going to sleep-in on occasion and pull the covers up to make the world go away.

But only for a little while. Because my life is too amazing and too rich to miss anything - past, present or future.

I'm growing older, but not up to the point I forget to have fun.

So I share a favorite prayer -- "In Christ's name we play."

Go have fun. Enjoy the day.

Be a kid again - just don't wish your life away.

Go live it.

When Will It End?

Today I awoke like everyone else to hear about another school shooting.  This one was in Chardon, Ohio where one student died and four others were shot by a classmate who opened fire in the school cafeteria.  It has been an all too common thread in our society – mass shootings at school, in church, at home, and in the workplace.  Mass shootings taking place to supposedly right some wrong – perceived or real – are happening far too often.

On Tuesday, April 20, 1999, at Columbine High School in Columbine, Colorado, 12 students and one teacher were killed by two of their classmates.  Another 21 students were injured.  Watching the chaos was disturbing and haunting.  Today brought back memories of that day in 1999.

It was a horror to watch then and many talked about ways to combat the violent responses by teens who are outcasts, from broken homes, depressed, bullied, into violent gaming, etc.  Yet here we stand again in the midst of another mass shooting.  We don’t yet know all the details but early reports suggest this young man was angry, bullied, and an outcast.  Whatever his reasons for shooting his fellow classmates – it was not the answer.

The obvious questions will continue to be asked – where did he get the gun?  Was it a legal purchase?  Was it an unsecured gun?  What had happened in his life to bring him to this point?  Where was his family?  What role could teachers and counselors in the school have played in preventing this horror?  What could other students have done to reach out to this young man?  What made him target those particular students?

But there are no easy or fast answers.  

Right now I pray for the family of the student killed, for those who were injured and their families, for the alleged shooter and his family, for those students who escaped injury, for the community of Chardon, for the teachers and staff of the school, for the parents who worried about their children, and for God presence in all of this.

I wish I could snap my fingers and end bullying.  I wish there was not a way these troubled and bullied people could get their hands on firearms.  I wish these situations would become a tragic memory of the past never to occur again.  I wish bullying would never end forever.  I wish violence was not seen as an answer to slights and pain.  I wish all gun violence would end.  I wish for peace in the midst of this chaos and pain. 

Until then – we pray for all of those involved and for our hurting world.  We pray for a faith that sets us free from violence and pain.  We pray.  Lord, in your mercy.

Getting out of the Helicopter

I have heard of some pretty serious hovering parents – often called Helicopter Parents – in my life and I try not to be the same way.  I protect my kid as best I can but I have to let him lead his own life.  I cannot hover over him and/or force him to make the decisions I want him to make.  I understand that sometimes he will make good decisions.  And sometimes he won’t.  All I can do is teach him the best lessons I can and guide him as I am able/or as he needs me.  But that type of parenting seems to be at odds with some others I know.

I happened upon a TLC show recently called “Toddlers and Tiaras” that scared the living daylights out of me.  These parents – mainly Moms – are so enmeshed in their kids’ lives and successes that they have little identity outside of their children’s.  They dress them as adults, slap on absurd amounts of makeup, sprinkle them with glitter, and teach them to dance in sexy (often inappropriate – in my opinion) ways to win child beauty pageants.  The show made me very uncomfortable.  I watched half of one episode and was almost ill by the end.

One of the interesting things about the show is that they depict these parents in each episode without narration and without really making any judgment as it airs.  However, one glance at their website and you see sections entitled “10 Most Controversial Parents” and “Oh No They Didn’t.”  It is clear the show is intended to show the absurdity of these parents’ decisions but at the same time they are also putting on display the huge industry that is child beauty pageants and all of the companies, professionals and coaches that are behind the scenes.

While I understand the need to be nonjudgmental to get folks to be on their show – I had a tough time watching it at all.  As I mentioned already – I barely got through half of one episode.  I found that I could not watch it without almost yelling at the TV – “are you kidding me?” and “Mom, get a life!”  There are even moments on these episodes when the children show how much they are disinterested in the pageants and how angry they are with their hovering, pushy parents. 

Granted, I am making a judgment on this show after a limited viewing but it did not take me long to have my fill of these helicopter parents (I must admit, however, that I perused some clips on their website while preparing to write this blog entry).  I know that is judgmental – but I could not help it as I watched the show.  Putting a cone bra on a two year old is more than I can take.  Making a deal with a three year old to keep her fake nails on all day by promising her a pink gun is more than I can comprehend.

And as I was watching this show – I realized that there are certainly times when I helicopter over my own son.  But I have never had him take part in something he had no interest in, wear make-up/what I wanted him to wear to show off, or dance on stage to win cash and prizes – thank God.  And I hope beyond hope that I never find my own self-worth essentially caught up in him and I hope that I never push him into a position where he is uncomfortable (as many of the kids and Dads were on the show). 

The truth is -- there are times that I wonder what he is doing and I want to know the details of his decisions.  But I have to resist.  I trust him.  I raised him well and want him to be his own person.  If I want him to be himself he has to make his own decisions, make his own mistakes, and make his own way on his life journey. 

So even though there are times I will want to hover – I resign as a hovering parent.  I am stepping out of the helicopter.  

Cleaning House Makes Me Happy!?

I am admitting something on this blog.  It is something that I often don’t admit publicly but most people who know me will not be surprised by the news.   I inherited it from my parents and I have even passed it on to my son in some small ways (though maybe not as much as I wish I had).  It is hard to hide and even harder to explain sometimes but I will tell you anyway.  I have OCD (or CDO with the letters in alphabetical order as they should be).   OCD is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  It is defined in my life as needing everything to be in order, wanting every place in my life at home and at work über organized, and being personally and systematically ordered in the things I do.  My sock drawer is organized by color, I have files for everything and know where they are, and my digital calendar is color coded for different types of events for each person in the family.  Sometimes it drives my family crazy.  And truth be told – sometimes it makes me a bit frazzled as it affects others.  But it is my life.

It also made me annoyed at times when I was younger and living with my OCD parents.  I would take my tea glass into the living room to watch TV or something.  Later I might go into the other room for a minute and when I returned my glass was in the dishwasher.  My Dad would threaten to leave us if we were not in the car when he was ready to go – but I do not remember if he ever really left us.  It was not always a lot of fun but they taught me to keep things in order, that on time meant being there five minutes early, and to make sure I got things done on time.  I am grateful in a way since there are a lot of things about my OCD that are very helpful in my life.  And my OCD is not debilitating – like it is for so many who deal with the condition on a daily basis.  I pray for those afflicted in ways that keep them from accomplishing all they could in their lives and for those who have overcome OCD to live full and productive lives.

But for me it is still a persistent way of life.  I get up and do thing in the same way day in and day out.  My house has to be clean and organized or it makes me cringe – and living with others who do not have OCD means I do cringe on occasion.  In academia it is a bit odd to have an organized office, but my desk has nothing out on it unless I am currently using it.  Some of my colleagues are well known for piles of books and papers in their offices to the point that no one can even visit and find a pace to sit.   I know it’s a bit cliché, but some of my professor friends make it real on a daily basis – and I love them for it (even if we cannot have a meeting in their office).

But the need for order sometimes causes conflict.  My 12 year old son and I have very different ideas about what a clean room looks like.  He thinks as long as his piles are not falling over it’s ok.  He thinks as long as the clothes are near the hamper it’s alright.  He thinks a messy desk is the sign of an imaginative mind.  He thinks the fact that all of this drives me crazy is reason enough to keep it the same.  I guess that is more a part of being 12 than it is a reaction to my OCD but it is more than likely a bit of both.

The debate in my house is about whether my needs should supersede his.  The debate is one that comes up often.  Part of me wants to teach my son the same things my parents taught me – about order and being responsible.  But part of me wants him to be his own person and create his own style.  Right now – unfortunately the OCD side of me wins more than the other side. 

What does it mean to pass something on to the next generation?   I hope it means passing on the good things.  So what I want to pass on to my son is not just flashes of my OCD.  I want to pass on compassion, love of others, faithful living, joy of life, good humor, enjoyment of reading, love of learning, care for the earth, and kindness to all.  If my son gets this from me I will be one proud and happy Mom.  I will also be happy if his room is clean but I’ll take what I can get.  

Home Sweet Home!

I just returned from a 10 day vacation with my family.  It was amazing, fun and restful.  (I actually shared some of my trip in earlier posts.)  We spent time with friends in Ohio then spent some adult time in Chicago.  It was a blessing and a treat.  We drove 1840 miles and visited 5 states.   I know some people would consider being in a car with their family for 1840 miles in 10 days to be a nightmare – but we had a blast.  Part of the reason it was fun was that we are a family that enjoys spending time together.  We like each other (most days).  So it was great to be away with the people I love.  We talked, sang, played games, and just took our time being together.

But by the time we were heading home – I was very ready to be home.  I wanted to sleep in my own bed, sit in my own chair, control the remote to the TV, and have my own space.  I wanted to be home.  We have only lived in Philadelphia for a year but it is home for us now.  It is where our family makes its life, worships and plays together, goes to school, and it is where our stuff is.

I grew up as a preacher’s kid – a PK- who moved around all through her childhood.  From birth to High School I lived in 6 places.  Since graduating and going out on my own – I have lived in 5 states and in a number of apartments and houses (I tried to count but I couldn’t come up with a number).   My Mom, a United Methodist preacher’s wife, used to say, “Home is where the Bishop sends us!”  When we would move my folks would have our rooms set up by the end of the first day and we would be completely moved in within 48 hours.  My own family does it in 72 hours but we try.  That is because we know that the place where we live is our home when we make it our home.

Home ought to be a place full of memories, people we love, places we feel comfortable, and feelings of acceptance.  Home ought to be where we find our true selves and can be who we are meant to be.  Home ought to be where we find sanctuary from the outside world.  But for many that is not what home looks or feels like.  For many home is a place where they are ridiculed, made fun of, physically or sexually abused, psychologically battered and more.  For many home is a scary place and for those situations I pray for relief and safety.

I know that I was very lucky.  My home was a place where we were nurtured, praised and loved.  We were allowed to explore our true selves and we were affirmed in that search for self (even though there were certainly times when I clashed with my folks on my journey).  My parents helped me grow up spiritually and emotionally.  My parents guided me through a time in my youth when I was pretty sick.  I had epilepsy and some learning disabilities from a traumatic birth.  My parents were told that I would never graduate from High School but they said – “nope, that’s not happening to our kid.”  So my Mom spent hours helping me learn how to learn – and I graduated from High School, from college, have two Masters degrees, and have a PhD (most with honors).  All because in my home – my parents wanted the best for me and would not take no for an answer.  It was an amazing gift and for me it changed my life.  It was my home – a place where I was cared for and helped to succeed.

I know not everyone has had a great experience of home – but I did.  And for that I am extremely grateful.  I am grateful for a Mom who spent hours helping me overcome my learning issues.  I am grateful for a Dad who loved me and helped me grow in my faith and self-confidence.  I am grateful for my sisters who made my life journey very interesting. 

And I am grateful for my own family and our recent vacation.  New memories were made, new sights seen, and new bonds were formed.  My home is a sweet place – because I am loved there.  And I am working as hard as I can to create the kind of home I grew up in.  I’m home – wherever that is— as long as I am with my family.

Family Road Trip Time

One line I never thought I would hear in my own car:  “Mom, turn your music down!”   This line was from my pre-teen son yesterday.  We were driving west on the turnpike through Pennsylvania for our family vacation (heading to Ohio and Chicago) and Shelby decided our music was interfering with him listening to his own music.  The adults were listening to soundtracks from Broadway (Mamma Mia, Hairspray, and Rent this trip).  He was evidently not impressed with our music choice or the volume of our singing along with the tunes.  He was also not amused by our car seat dancing.

I remember going on trips with my family growing up where we would take turns picking the radio station and take turns riding the hump – having to take the middle seat.  We read or played car games – like keeping track of states we saw license plates from or playing “I spy.”  We had some good times in the car but we also – my two sisters and I – had plenty of disagreements.  “Don’t touch me!”  “Move your foot!”  “Get off my stuff!”  These were statements heard many times in our family car.  We never killed each other and somehow survived as friends.  So that was a good thing.

I travel with my own family now and we have done car games and sung songs for years.  Now we have technologically advanced traveling.  On this trip we had 3 cell phones, 3 laptops, 1 GPS, 2 Kindles, 1 set of headphones, 2 video cameras, 2 power adapters for car lighter plugs, 2 iPods and enough power cables/cords to string up lights at Christmas.  We also had the unique thrill of trying out the 3G hotspot my phone offers.  So my son was on Facebook as we travelled down the highway.  When we started getting tired we looked up hotels, made a few calls, and got a deal on a room.  It was quite fun.  It’s a whole new world for travel.

But we also spent time just talking.  We talked about past trips, we talked about future vacations, we talked about politics, and we talked about our lives.  It was some dedicated family time in a confined space.  And for that I am grateful.  We are only on day 3 of our vacation and we have more to go on this trip.  Getting away with my family is a privilege.  And I am grateful for the opportunity.  We will have a great time, eat too much, spend some quality time together, try not to spend too much money, make some new memories, and probably get a bit tired of each other, too.  But it will be fun.  We will continue to grow as a family and learn more about each other.  And that is never a bad thing.

Family is Messy!

I got a call from my niece this morning to tell me something I posted on Facebook meant something other than what I understood it to mean.   It was something I did not know – but she sure did.  And she was calling to rescue me from my stunning cultural ignorance.  The funny thing is that her parents and my parents were all in the room for this call – and they took great delight that I said something I did not understand.  I could hear the chuckles and guffaws through the phone.  (Hint: it was something sexual that I inadvertently copied from a friend without knowing the full meaning).  The funniest part was the laughter of all of them as my niece schooled me.  It was a hoot.  My 70+ year old parents were laughing that I did not know something like this.  And I am sitting here half way across the country wondering – how the heck did they know?  It just struck me as ironic.  I laughed about it for a long while.

Family can be hysterical – and it has been as a hoot in the midst of drama many times in my life.  It can be a gift – and has been so many times in my life when my family came to my rescue or celebrated with me a great victory.  It can be messy – and it has been when my family and I have not been on the same page about who I am and who they thought I was.  It can be enlightening – and it has been as a light in the darkness at times in my life.  Family can also be hard to define – and it has been with both my family of origin and with my family of choice but I love all of them.

We are all born within a biological family and sometimes those family connections can be very painful.  I know some folks who continue to struggle with issues from their family of origin.  I am pained by their suffering.  I pray for their healing.  I also know folks – like myself – who have had a pretty wonderful experience of family.  I am not saying we have always had it easy – I have two sisters with whom I have had arguments with over the years.  I have parents who have not always agreed with my decisions and I have not always been happy with theirs either.  And I have not always been pleased with how my family reacted to things happening in my life.  A Norman Rockwell Family - we ain't!!

But guess what – they have been there for me.  I have been amazingly blessed by the Creator with family of origin and family of choice.  They have been as supportive as I could realistically hope for.  They have had my back.  They have loved me anyway (a favorite expression of my Mom and Dad).  They are my family and I will defend them to the bitter end.  They would do the same thing for me – at the drop of a hat.  And that has made all the difference. 

Yes – family is messy no matter how you define it.  My prayer for all is that they find family – either by birth or by choice that they can love and who will love them back. 

It will be messy – I promise.  But I would rather have a messy family than none at all.  Thanks for the journey, family.  I love you all!

Growing Up With my Kid!

Today I walked my 12 year old son, Shelby, to the gate for his first solo flight.  He is off to Arlington, Texas to spend the week with my sister and brother-in-law (and my parents for part of the week).  He is so excited about the time with them and about heading off on his own.  I, on the other hand, am feeling a bit sad.  Not sad because he is going off on an adventure and I will miss him.  I am a little bit sad to see how grown up he is and how quickly he has become a young man.  It seems like only yesterday that we were walking out of the orphanage in Yekaterinburg, Russia with a 9 month old adoptee.  But today he is a creative, intelligent, funny, compassionate, and talented young man.  I am so proud of him and of WHO he is becoming.  It is not always easy.  Sometimes being a pre-teen is rough – and so is being the parent of a pre-teen.  He is going through changes all the time and I am just trying to keep up.

So being sad is just about me.   I am much more encouraged by who he is.  He is a justice fighter.  He speaks up naturally when an injustice occurs.  He protects the underdog and cheers for everyone equally.  He is absolutely baffled that some people are homophobic or racist.  He sees people as equals and cannot understand those who don’t as well.  He wants to do a march on Washington, watches C-SPAN, and debates the debt ceiling with wisdom beyond his age.  He also cracks jokes that only a mother would laugh at, can text faster than a human ought to be able to text, drives me crazy with his antics, blows things up to scare me to death, and has a mess of a room.  Shelby is a typical 12 year old.  One minute he is a young man – the next he is still a bit of a little boy.  But more and more – he is a young man with opinions and interests all his own – apart from me.

I know when he becomes frustrating and emotional that it is his age and the changes he is going through. He is just like every other pre-teen. I know he loves me and would never do anything to intentionally hurt me.  But sometimes being a pre-teen mom is tough.  I have to remember that nothing he says or does is personal.  And that’s hard.

So I promise to grow up with him.  I promise to guide him.  I promise to try not to take things personally. I promise to set limits and sometimes make him mad.  I promise to try to overlook his messy room and not press my OCD on him too much. I promise to encourage him and laugh at his jokes.  I promise to ground him if he comes in late.  I promise not to pry into his personal life … and I promise I will pry if I have to.  I promise to love him anyway.  That’s what being a parent is all about.