Like many moms throughout this day, someone will ask me “What’s for supper?” approximately 85 times. It is a burning question fueled not by hunger. Usually this question emerges from the corner of the brain assigned to “Annoying and Impertinent Questions to Ask a Parent All Day Long.”
“What’s for supper?”
“I’m bored, what can I do?”
“Do I have to?”
“Mom, can you [fill in the blank with something he or she can do but wants you to do instead] for me?”
Today when someone asks me “What’s for supper?” I’m going to play dumb.
“Who is Supper? Is he a new friend? Do you need to bring him something? What? A cookie? A Gatorade? What? Supper is not a new friend? Is Supper your new teacher? Do you need to get her an apple? No? You look angry. Did you rename the dog Supper? And we need to get something for the dog? That’s a lame name, you know. Why would you name the dog Supper? Anyway, I need to go start making supper.”
Men are from Mars and women are from Venus, John Gray proposed many years ago. Or to paraphrase a woman I volunteered with a couple of weeks ago at baseball concessions, “Women have many things on their minds, men have just one.”
Hehehe.
Yesterday I was on a Zoom call with pastors from around the country. It was our first gathering in a cohort through Luther Seminary We discussed chapters from our first book, Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership, a book that happens to align well with the times, although I suspect it was chosen before March.
In a break-out group of about 7 people, 4 of us were women. We shared openly what has been tough on our souls these past 4 1/2 months. Consistent with what I am hearing from other women, the pandemic is leaving women wondering how much we can actually work our paid jobs and at the same time live our vocations as moms and partners.
For me that means, can I be emotionally present with my kids as they process the changes and grieve the losses through the year ahead, and at the same time lead a large congregation through the same soul work? Can I be fully me, fully present, fully awake to the joys and sorrows both at home and in my call? Do I have the capacity to be mom, partner and pastor all at once in this season of uncertainty?
For now, yes. And it was affirming to hear yesterday from my colleagues who are female that they, too, are overwhelmed by the same pressure. I was in good company.
For me on Venus, I will be very gentle on myself regarding what I can actually do. I’m going to cook good food at home, take walks, mine for conversation with my kids and spouse, and be available and prayerful in my work. I expect to do more listening than anything else. I expect to get frustrated, cry, and enjoy a brown ale to ease the pain. I also expect to lean on my partner, my friends, and my family in a way I maybe never have before, knowing it takes more than a village to be well through a pandemic. Not one of us has done this before. It is a wilderness. And wilderness is full of the presence and light of God, on any and every planet.
Life as a spouse and a parent is like a chess match in which each choice moves you a square. You say yes to something that stretches you too thin and you move in the dangerous path of a bishop. You say no to what would be good for your workplace but not your family and you get closer to the opposing queen.
You say yes to cooking healthy food instead of eating from the freezer section and you move in the right direction. You say no to spending time with a friend and a knight bulldozes you from around the corner.
I know very little about chess. My son taught me a few years ago and quickly grew bored defeating his mother. I do, however, know something about saying yes and saying no.
Last weekend, I very intentionally said yes to most of the items on my daughter’s agenda, which Fancy Nancy taught her is fancy for “schedule”. This is very normal for some moms but not so normal for me. It’s important to me to play with my kids, and also important to me that they learn how to be bored and entertain themselves so I can get a few things knocked off my list each day.
I said yes to changing Barbie clothes, yes to taking a walk, yes to reading a story, yes to playing Unicorn Uno. And so, I said no to updating our finances, no to reading a grown-up book, no to cleaning up the kitchen, and no to pruning the perennials that are safe for me to prune.
These no’s and yes’s are not easy for me. It is not possible to say yes to everything. A mom cannot say yes to exercising, cooking healthy, playing with kids all the time, working a paid job, and maintaining a healthy marriage. Ada Calhoun points out in “Why We Can’t Sleep” that a long time ago, a mom and wife was responsible for only a few of those things. Now, we often put so much pressure on ourselves to say yes to everything and no to our own well-being.
And so it is the weekend, (the week’s end), when we might say yes to a little more downtime and no to some of the chores that can certainly wait. And I think I just moved a square, (a single square), in the right direction.
At the start of the season of Epiphany in January, our congregation distributed words on small wooden stars. (Epiphany begins with the story of Magi who followed a star that revealed the Messiah.) The “star words” spiritual practice invites individuals to engage with a word. Prayerfully holding onto this word month after month, something new might be revealed to you about life with the Messiah.
My word was “consideration”. And I did not like it one bit.
Many months before Epiphany, a handful of colleagues began encouraging me to consider the call to serve as bishop of our synod. Such a call had not entered my mind before their nudging, so I went to work considering, also known as discerning. My inner sense of call arrived at the same place each time I considered. This is not a season of my life to live such a call. With the travel and on-call demands, I would miss my boys’ high school years and my daughter’s formative preteen and early teenage years. And I would miss my husband. I would miss the work of writing a book and serving as a pastor at a congregation I love with a colleague for whom I am grateful.
But consideration is not a one and done deal. Not long after I finished considering, someone else would nudge and I would go back to considering, again arriving at the same place. Yesterday when the assembly cast its first ballot and I was second on the list, all hell broke loose in my heart. I looked to God with utter confusion. Hadn’t we looked at the map of my life enough by now? After a whole year wasn’t that enough consideration? “What the heck, God,” I gawked, feeling perhaps betrayed after all the time God and I had spent in consideration. And then I cried. And then my husband and my dear, dear friends texted and called and my colleague prayed with me and in the 30 minutes I had to withdraw my name from that list, I arrived at the same place, once again. And God and I are friends again.
Consideration. It is hefty word that requires setting aside all preconceived notions, all prior decisions, all assumptions, in order to consider that God may indeed have something to say. The Magi had to consider following a star in the sky to reveal to them the new Messiah, and the Messiah was not who they thought it would be. Any preconceived notions they may have had did not apply to the tiny king.
Like the number of stars that occupy the night sky, life is overwhelmed with an abundance of decisions. A few of them are gut-wrenching hard and demand you to define who and what is most important in your life in that moment. I suspect the kind of consideration that involves career choices tends to be more intense for women, as we weigh the expectations and needs of our marriage, kids, parents, and who will buy the groceries and take kids to school whenever we are considering our future work.
If we distribute “star words” again in Epiphany, I am going to be very careful in considering my selection. And like the Magi, I will be surprised by whatever God reveals.
July is the month that scurries by. Distracted by the surprising warmth of June, we hardly notice how quickly 31 days have passed until August is all, “Hey you! Time to stop doing fun outdoor stuff! Go sit inside until May.”
So…have you taken a vacation yet, if you normally do in the summer? A few days or a few weeks at a different pace and in another place? You need one. The pandemic lingers heavy over you, promising to rearrange the months ahead. Now is the time, if you have not done so already, to go on a vacation.
It is possible. Even if it means getting in your car with your lunch and driving to a city park 200 miles away and then turning around again, that counts. Vacations are important. They disrupt the rhythm enough to make you appreciate the rhythm.
My family and I pulled our camper to Lake Metigoshe State Park and hung out for a few days with friends and family. It is a beautiful place. We wore masks the few times we were close to people, washed our hands a lot, ate mostly our own food cooked in the camper, walked in the woods, and most importantly we left our phones off much of the time.
Like you, our fall is going to be something we have never seen before. We are bracing ourselves for the unknown way our kids will go to school and we will go to work. The unknown is exhausting, so go on a mini-vacation, a full-vacation, or a long lunch where the scenery is different!
Take a deep breath while you are there. Breathe in the fresh promise of life, and trust that God will give you enough of whatever you need when you get back.
Moms with cars drive kids. Day after day, sometimes past my bedtime and once in a while when I’d like to be sleeping longer.
Yesterday my son felt a little badly about all the time I’d spent driving him around that day. Really, he did much of the driving while I took my proper place in the passenger seat beside the permit-driver.
I assured him the time sitting next to him in the car is some of my favorite time. “You’re stuck hanging out with me!” I did not say out loud, hoping he wouldn’t realize we were actually hanging out.
Wise voices long ago warned me not to look disparagingly at the hours and hours driving kids each week. It is sacred time, particularly when there is one kid and one grown-up in the car.
Windshield time is time to ask little questions and dream big dreams. Time to process the tiny moments and peek into the huge future. When my family moved from the Twin Cities to Dickinson, my husband and I both missed our 30-45 minute commutes. We spent the time processing our workdays before arriving home. It was sacred time to think and wonder.
In our very short commutes with kids (which are not short enough when there is a fighting mob of kids in the car!) it is time to hang out. Time to wonder, “How did that go?”, “What’s next?”, “What do you need?”. Mostly, it is uninterrupted time to listen. Time to assure a kid he or she is loved just as he or she is, now and always.
I come from a long line of fiercely independent women. It never occurred to me growing up that a boy could do something I couldn’t (aside from standing up to pee). I have no memory of someone in our family suggesting boys are smarter or stronger than girls. I learned to be independent watching the generations of women ahead of me as they went to college, raised kids, and worked in their communities.
Independence was inherited, which at some point, (possibly like all inheritances), can become a rather complicated companion.
If the independent one marries, for example, the heir of Independence must evaluate how to be both independent and somewhat dependent at the same time. This is how partnerships work. They are a fluid mix of dependence and independence, with each partner taking turns being the leader.
It would have been advantageous to have a conversation with my inheritance early on in my marriage. Something like this:
Me: There you are again, inherited Independence. I’m glad you tell me I can do stuff all on my own, but…
Independence: But what? I’m sure you can come up with the words all on your own.
Me: It’s just. Well, I don’t understand how to be both independent and dependent at the same time, and it seems kind of important.
Independence: I suppose that’s true. What are you going to do, since you can do it!
Me: (sigh) So, let’s say I need my handsome husband to help me get the dog to the vet. Then what?
Independent: You just do it yourself. You’re Independent!
Me: Okay, well, what if I’m sick or something? Or just super tired? Then can I ask for help?
Independence: (snorts)
Me: The thing is, I wonder if this is going to be lonely, this whole independent-not-dependent thing. If I just do all the stuff, is that really a partnership?
Independence: I don’t speak your language right now. All the women before you did it.
Me: This is all so confusing.
[19 years later]
Me: This is all so confusing.
(Confusion personified, er, pug-sonified)
See what I mean?
In a time in the life of the world when so many women before me, both in my own family and in the history of women, have shown fierce independence, it is complicated for this woman to know when to ask for help. And on some occasions when I leaned on independence and not my own spouse, did I miss out? Independence, as important as it is, can be a lonely companion compared to partnership.
These thoughts roll through my brain each Independence Day, wondering how much Independence becomes a sort of god.
In my daily life, how much do I teach my sons and daughter a mixture of independence and dependence? Do they know the value of dependently bearing one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2)? Do they know we are created to be dependent upon one another more than we are made to be fiercely independent? That was God’s dream after all, entrusting us to one another’s care, perfectly imperfectly and fiercely loved by the God on whom we eternally depend.
(In the fashion of “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie”)
Photo Credit: Mick Haupt
If you bring a kid to Walmart, you will surely pay more money.
Pushing a cart and trying not to run over your own child or someone else’s…
Your sweet child will wonder about multi-vitamins for her and her brothers,
And you will remember you need more Vitamin D…
You will purchase toothpaste, because it is so nice to have extra toothpaste.
And then you will notice the cute pink toothbrushes and need one of those, too…
In the shampoo aisle, oh the shampoo aisle, which holds promise after promise of full hair,
You will keep on walking because you know your hair is not so full and that is just okay…
Your child will beg to walk by the toy aisle, but you won’t,
So then you will need to go down the arts and crafts aisle…
She will choose a few projects, some involving paint, none involving glitter,
And next you will go straight to the cleaning aisle…
In the cleaning aisle, you will find a whole lot of nothing.
More nothing. Stupid Pandemic.
More nothing.
Then you will say a silent prayer that God will protect your home from the paint that surely will spill in the absence of 409 and Magic Erasers…
Your child will remind you that you can never have enough cereal, peanut butter or English Muffins.
You will remind yourself that you can never have enough coffee…
At that point, you are exhausted, so you head to the self-check out, yearning for the coffee that will be made from the beans in your cart very soon…
You will pay the bill, walk out the door, and load the goods into your vehicle.
You will drive away and remember three things you forgot while you were at Walmart, even though your receipt had plenty of items and the number at the bottom is very big…
You will begin to plan your next trip to Walmart in your head, and wonder whether your kid will come with you. She will…
And you will bring a kid to Walmart, where you will surely pay more money.
Let’s be honest. The country in which we live is quite…what? Unsettled? Angry? Confused? Thank goodness we all seem to have enough toilet paper! That’s one worry that no longer grips us.
What is going on? A pandemic not everyone believes is a pandemic. A vicious murder not everyone believes was a vicious murder. A president who teargassed peaceful protesters in order to hold up a Bible in front of a church for the camera.
What?
How do I explain to my kids what is going on when I’m not even sure? I am overwhelmed by the hatred, violence and anger, along with the certainty that only by leaning one way or the other, all the way, can someone be right.
And so I offer one response: curiosity.
Perhaps I don’t need to teach my kids in this moment as much as I need them to teach me. No one is better at curiosity than children. In the earliest years, a child’s world can only be understood through “how come” questions. “How come it is bedtime?” “How come birds fly and I don’t?” “How come vegetables don’t taste like cookies?” It is only when we have a few more candles on our birthday cake that we extinguish “how come” and replace it with the dark and lonely words: “I know”.
Nothing stops progress faster than an unequivocal “I know”. When “I know” a thing, curiosity withers away and there is no reason to wonder why poverty settles in every crack of particular neighborhoods. Or why girls who are brown-skinned more often grow up without a father. Or why moms of white boys don’t have to worry when our sons go for a run. “How come?” because “I don’t know.”
How come it is easier to teach our kids “I know” this or that instead of joining them in the land of curiosity. I want to live there forever. Then, maybe my kids will, too.
“What are you watching?” asked my daughter, as I stood in our kitchen staring at my phone.
In a moment, I had to decide how to explain racism and riots to an 8-year old. Or, I could turn off my phone and let the moment go. Isn’t that so much easier? To believe whatever is happening on a screen is far away and someone else has to live with it?
I was watching Pastor Ingrid C. A. Rasumussen on Facebook walk through the neighborhood of Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in South Minneapolis. Touring littered streets, she explained the true identity of the damaged buildings that exposed generations of anger. Like vapor, smoke rose up here and there, like injustice that rises up here and there and here and there.
“I am watching a pastor show us a neighborhood where there was a riot.”
“Did they wreck things?” she demanded to know. “Someone is going to owe a lot of money! Why did they do that?”
“His name,” I slowly began, “was George Floyd. And he was murdered by a police officer, and many people are angry about it.”
With my husband, we tried to explain there are police whose job is to keep people safe, and there are people who are black and there is an ugly history we can’t seem to shake off.
In the end, dear daughter, this world is not yet as it should be. People who happen to be black are not as safe as people who happen to be white. Last week was one of many moments the vapor of injustice rose up in a city we know well and love very much.
There is no perfect dialogue to explain George Floyd’s murder to an 8-year old. It would be perfectly easy to believe his story need not be tied up with our story. But I want my kids to know some hurts in the world are not easy to explain, and those hurts are our hurts, too.
Lisa Lewton 