Whiny Thanks and All ...

I have just finished, I hope, one of the busiest periods of my professional career.  And I am exhausted. I have finished my first book, been on the curriculum revision committee at the seminary where I teach, created a brand new course and taught it this semester, had a lot going on in my church and personal life, presented at the meeting of my professional guild, and have taken on too many writing obligations than I should have. So I am beat.

But I am also so amazingly aware of how blessed I am. I have a family I love, a job I adore, students who inspire me, writing jobs that challenge and engage my mind, and I love to teach new and old courses alike. So I am blessed.

I watch friends and even family members struggling without jobs or suffering in jobs they do not enjoy or are not fed by. I watch colleagues struggling with job searches and reduced teaching loads. So I am thankful.

I have not blogged in a while because my writing was focused on my book. I have not felt good about it and have complained because I missed it terribly. But I hear friends and colleagues struggling to get what they want to say on paper and I am aware again how lucky I am to have these projects and contracts to write. So I am appreciative.

Many times, however, when I am busy and tired - I whine. Many times when I over schedule - I whine. Seldom do I stop - and just sit in gratitude and bask in the blessing.

So this past month I took on the Gratitude Challenge on Facebook. I wrote every day of the month of November about things I was grateful for. Some were silly ... like being thankful for ice-cream. Some were situationally based ... like being grateful for a fantastic sermon preached in class by one of my students.  Some were family focused ... like being grateful for the heritage passed on to me from previous generations and the chance to pass them on to my son.

Some were about vocational and personal happiness ... like being grateful for a job I love and the terrific house that is part of my compensation and the chance to live in our wonderful community. And some were deeply personal ... like being thankful for the safety of my son when some friends of my niece were in a terrible auto accident. And some were intensely spiritual ... like being grateful for being part of my faith community in its inclusive, progressive, challenging, incarnational, and prophetic reality.

I am writing this after Thanksgiving week and at the end of the Gratitude Challenge on Facebook - a natural time to stop and give thanks. And I am immensely thankful for all of these things, people, situations, communities, etc. But today I also want to say thanks for keeping me busy, for making me crazy with deadlines, for my family and community, and for obligations that bless me and my vocation.

I may still whine and complain when I allow too much on my plate, but even in those times I want to stop and say thank you. I am grateful for my life - and all that is part of this fantastic existence that God has blessed me with.

Thank you, God for my life - in the craziness and in the calm.

Thank you, God for my family - in their lovely absurdity and in their caring.

Thank you, God for my faith - in the times of doubt and in the moments of certainty.

Thank you, God for my job - in the crush of papers and in the moments of grace.

Thank you, God for my church - in the challenges and in the growth.

Thank you, God for my parents - in their aging issues and in their spry youthful joy.

Thank you, God for my writing - in the moments it rocks and in the ones when it sucks.

Thank you, God for your presence - in all times and in all places.

Thank you, God, again, for my life - in the blessings and in the pain.

Thank you, God.

Far Away Me: Caring for Parents at a Distance

I am a Tweener – I was born in 1962 so I am not a true Baby Boomer (according to some lists) and I am on the edge of the Baby Buster (Generation X) years.  I have some lifestyle similarities with both groups but definitely claim the Gen X (more Buster than Boomerang) label more than the Boomers.

However, one thing I have in common with the Boomer generation is the fact that as Americans age, this generation is spending almost as many years caring for parents as they are raising children.  This is not a new phenomenon in our country and raises many issues for both parents and their adult children - this group is often called The Sandwich Generation.

More and more Boomers and Busters - and those in between, like me – are caring for aging parents.  And many of us are doing that from a distance.  Estimates say that as many as 7 million Americans are caring for parents from a distance.  That is a lot of caregiving going on by proxy or by phone/internet/Skype/friends/etc. or by occasional visits.  This does not mean our parents are incapable of caring for themselves – it is quite the contrary in my case.  My parents are very young 75+ year olds.  And they are pretty healthy.

But as they age, there are more and more health issues that they are facing now and will be facing in the future.  Several surgeries and illnesses over the past few years for both of them have been tough on all of us.  And my sisters and myself all live at a minimum of 5+ hours and at a maximum of almost 3,000 miles away.  What this means is that they are going through some health situations without their children physically present.  They handle it well.  However, their children struggle with it at times.

I am constantly amazed at how painful it is to not be in the room with them while they are waiting for a surgery to end or for the results of tests to be delivered.  The last few months my dad has been having health issues and talking to them by phone has been so helpful.  But there have also been times when I just break down and cry because I am not there holding his hand or hugging my mom.  My sisters feel the same way, but we cannot get there for every situation.  And that is the rub.  Because in all likelihood it will get worse – not better.

Because I know this state of care will progress.  The National Institute on Aging says “Caregiving, no matter where the caregiver lives, is often long-lasting and ever-expanding. For the long-distance caregiver, what may start out as an occasional social phone call to share family news can eventually turn into regular phone calls about managing household bills, getting medical information, and arranging for grocery deliveries. What begins as a monthly trip to check on Mom or Dad may become a larger project to move him or her to a new home or nursing facility closer to where you live.”[1]   I know I am a ways off from this, but I want to be ready.  I want my sisters to be ready.  And I want my parents to have all of the independence they need for as long as possible and only to help as needed. 

But I have a lot of friends, colleagues, family, and acquaintances who are dealing with long-distance caregiving right now.  I can name ten persons dealing with this situation just sitting here as I type.  And some of them are just exhausted - physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Some advice for them from the National Institute on Aging:

“Although you may not feel as physically exhausted and drained as the primary, hands-on caregiver, you may still be worried and anxious. And you might feel guilty about almost everything—about not being closer, not doing enough, not having enough time with your parent, and perhaps even feeling jealous of those who do. Many long-distance caregivers also find that worry about being able to afford to take time off from work, being away from family, or the cost of travel increases these frustrations. Remember that you are doing the best you can given the circumstances and that you can only do what you can do. It may help to know that these are feelings shared by many other long-distance caregivers—you are not alone in this.”[2]

My parents are amazing.  I love them and want to be there for them as they need me.  And I want to support my sisters, friends, and other family members as they care for their own parents.  Caring for others from a distance is an act of faith – faith in your relationships, faith in your family, faith in your connections, faith in your God to see you all through the journey.

Caring from afar is an amazing gift as well – because it means I have my parents to keep caring for.

---

[1] http://www.nia.nih.gov/sites/default/files/SoFarAway.pdf

[2] Ibid, 38.

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.  

Yikes … There’s a Teenager in my House

Tomorrow my son, Shelby, will turn 13.  When we brought him home from a small orphanage in Yekaterinburg, Russia 12 years ago, we never could have dreamed of the young man he would and has become – especially since he cried almost the entire way on the airplane from Moscow to Zurich to Atlanta to Kansas City.  We weren’t sure if this was a bad omen or not.  But we were just grateful to be bringing this amazing baby home to America.

Then he was a 9 month old with sparkling blue-grey eyes and curly blonde hair.  He was loved by the caregivers in his orphanage and was tagged as “extraordinarily healthy” by the Embassy Doctor in Moscow.  His passport picture looks like a wise and seasoned person of more years than his 9 months could possibly have experienced.  He was a compassionate toddler who rubbed the TV when he saw someone crying and begged us to stop their pain.  He was an active little guy who climbed anything like a monkey and asked more “Why?” questions than anyone could possibly answer. 

Now he is a mature and compassionate advocate for ending gun violence and watches C-SPAN for enjoyment.  He is a super soccer player and an electronics genius.  He is a great student and a loyal friend.  I have seen him stand up to bullies on his bus route and call racists on their inappropriate jokes.  He is funny, creative, and often silly beyond words.  He can still ask more questions than anyone could possibly answer but now they are sometimes even harder to answer – but not always.

Being 13 is a big thing.  It means being a teenager and making more decisions for himself.  It means his hormones will continue to change and there will be ups and downs in our relationship as he ages – but I am so proud of who he is and who he is going to be.  It means his interests are changing and his relationships with others are more complex.  Having a teenager in the house will be tough at times – but being a Mother is such a blessing.  He is a good kid and that won’t change just because the magic number 13 passes tomorrow.

So tonight I give thanks for his birth mother who chose to give him a better live by giving him up.  I give thanks for the caregivers who cared for him in the orphanage.  I give thanks to the agency reps, interpreters and drivers who helped us through the adoption process.  I give thanks for the members of my family who supported the adoption.  I give thanks to his coaches, teachers, and pastors who helped make him the young man he is today.  I give thanks to the many people who have been part of this journey.

And I thank God for him and for the opportunity to be his mother.  What a blessing.

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.  

Lessons from 9/11

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was at home in Kansas City, Kansas awaiting the time to leave the house for a doctor’s appointment.  I was watching the Today show when they went live to a camera showing the World Trade Center Towers after what they thought was “an incident involving a small plane that had hit the North Tower.”  I was watching live with countless millions as a second plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center buildings and then watched in stunned silence as it became clear that this was more than a small plane accident.  I stayed home for several hours watching the coverage.  I was shocked and amazed at the depth and breadth of the destruction as the towers fell two hours after the initial incidents.  At the time, I did not know that a friend from Kansas City was at a meeting in the South Tower and that she had perished. I did not know the firefighters and police officers running into the buildings to help others but was stunned by their bravery.  I did know people who lived in New York and was nervous about their safety.   It was a rough morning for all.  Then we learned about the additional attack on the Pentagon and the crash of United Airlines Flight 93 in Shanksville, PA.   I was terrified and I was unsure how far the attacks would spread.  Many in our country and around the world felt the same way.

The news was devastating.  How had this happened?  Who had done it?  Why had they killed so many?  Where was this event taking our country?  These and many other questions hit me all at once and stayed with me for some time.  Like others – I did not have answers.

In the days and weeks to come, we would learn that Al-Qaeda, an extremist group of Muslims, had perpetrated the attacks and that nearly 3,000 people had perished – Christians, Jews, Muslims, Atheists, Americans, Israelis, Canadians, Brits, Indians, transit cops, firefighters, police officers, office workers, restaurant employees, investment bankers, secretaries, lesbians, gay men, married people, singles, and others representing 372 foreign countries.

The effects of the attacks of 9/11 are still being felt in the US and beyond.  The health of many who survived the attacks and those who worked in rescue and recovery efforts has been greatly affected as well.  Lower Manhattan will never be the same, neither will the US.  The people who lost loved ones on the planes, at the Pentagon, and in the attacks on NYC will continue to deal with their loss their entire lives.  There are children who are growing up without their parent and young people are getting married without their Father or Mother to be there with them.  Spouses are living without their beloved partners.  There are families who have never recovered from the loss of the bread winner in their home.  The lives lost in wars against Al-Qaeda cannot be replaced and their sacrifice must be honored, but the war on terrorism continues to go on without much evidence of it ending any time soon (despite the death of Osama bin Laden).  The cost of these efforts on our economy is immeasurable. 

So what have we learned?  Many still believe that all Muslims are evil and that Islam is a violent religion because of the extremists who led the attacks.  Many still believe in conspiracy theories that the US might have even been part of the attacks in some way.  Many continue to distrust anyone who looks “other” than themselves when boarding planes.  Many continue to have their lives affected by the hate that marred that terrible day.

But this year – the 10^th anniversary of the attacks – I believe it is time to think differently.  It is time to finally turn the page on hate.  It is time to stop believing the worst about others based on their religion or other differences (real or perceived).  It is time to celebrate our shared human experience.  Others have unfortunately shared our experience in the last 10 years – with terrorist and hate attacks in Mumbai, Norway, the UK, South America, many countries in Africa, Indonesia, and too many others.  We are not alone in our grief and indignation. 

But we can be united in our love for one another, our acceptance of our differences, our calls for justice, our desire for peace, our honoring of our heroes, and our belief in the human spirit.  On this 10^th Anniversary of 9/11 – I choose peace, love and acceptance – all tempered with a cry for justice in all things.

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 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!