In the spirit of returning to the simple, I spent a week at home.
The usual fall weekend family getaway to Minneapolis or Rapid City or Sherwood was set aside for a staycation. I cleaned a few closets, baked bread, read books, remembered how to exercise, and took extra walks. I made an impressive Bloody Mary bar for my husband and discovered “The Good Place” on Netflix.
It was a very good time.
I also took my oldest kiddo to the DMV where they let him loose with a license.
It was mostly a good time.
When none of that was going on, I rested. Have you stopped to notice you require copious amounts of rest these days? Sit still for a moment and notice the compounding worries and questions that are now part of your daily life in Covid-19 times. Never before did those worries occupy your mind. Now, they do. Judging by the number of cases in our country, those loitering worries are not going away soon.
And yet, those worries do not define you nor do they get to take over your life. You are beloved child of God, free from the greatest worries about your forgiveness and salvation, and free to receive Christ’s love and utterly free to give it to your neighbor.
Channel your inner Marie Kondo and part ways with a worry. Name one worry and dare yourself to let it go. Bid that worry farewell and let God worry about it instead of you. God is remarkably good, always good, at shouldering your worries. Then do a profoundly simple thing you need so much of right now: Rest.
On Mondays (this pastor’s Sabbath) I like to hang out in the kitchen and prepare snacks and treats to intercept my kids’ reach for store-bought granola bars and Cheez-its.
They have eaten enough peanut butter protein bites to last a few lifetimes. Rice Krispie Bars with peanut butter are a new favorite. Of course, if the cookie jar is empty the chocolate chips cry out to become cookies. “Help!” they yell. “The chips are down!”
Last week I discovered the world’s most delicious pumpkin bread recipe, complete with a sugar sauce that might be the death of me.
On Mondays I also dream of grown-up food. Most recently, I feel inspired by Tamar Adler’s book, “The Everlasting Meal”. Her cooking is very grown-up, yet also simple and dreamy and good for you. She has made me so hungry for eggs and vegetables.
I’m also inspired by my friend’s Instagram posts @realdakotakitchen. She makes real food for a family with real kids who are slightly but not too grown-up.
Food is among my favorite conversation topics and making it is a favorite thing to do. For me, being thoughtful and strategic about food is a way I care for and connect with my family. It is easy to overlook food’s magnetic power, and easy to get bored with the few things I can actually make well.
99% of us need an abundance of inspiration in the kitchen. The other 1% are the inspirers who make my Mondays, and hopefully yours, even better.
There are days when being a mom feels like wizardry.
It is slightly magical what a wizard can do in a meager amount of time in the morning. Mom the Wizard notices she can finish a load of laundry and get supper cooking in the crock pot before anyone opens their eyes from beneath their covers.
Not only that, but the Wizard can plow through several work emails, order the groceries, and finish last night’s dishes. Of course, the coffee has been made and a cup or two consumed and the Wizard has also scheduled a few of her kids’ doctor appointments.
Then someone rolls out of bed and the Wizard realizes it’s still only morning! Wow, it is amazing to be a wizard.
But soon, the Wizard’s magic spells become a hindrance. The Wizard’s apprentices expect the Wizard to empty the dishwasher when it isn’t exactly the Wizard’s chore. But the Wizard’s apprentices are left spellbound, so the Wizard begins to open the dishwasher door and dry off the tops of the glasses that never get dry, when she stops.
“Wait,” it occurs to the Wizard. “Someone else can unload the dishwasher.”
The “Hallelujah Chorus” can be heard, just barely, coming from nowhere.
This has the Wizard thinking. “Someone else can probably do most of the laundry. And wash the dishes. And get supper going.”
The Wizard realizes that even with a book of magic spells, raising kids in a global pandemic is intense, demanding, and emotional.
It is as though someone has cast a magic spell on her, the Wizard. She fully knows not all things are for her to do. Wizards work best in good company, and even wizards are only magical when they give their magic away.
This season of the year, I’m often excited about a weekend getaway with my husband. School is underway, kids are between fall sports, and we have lovely parents who make getaways possible.
Actually, even one night of getting away counts as a weekend getaway. We like to stay downtown for one sleep in the big city (Bismarck) and do our own restaurant/pub crawl, snacking here and there and sampling what the taps have to offer.
Like you, I’ve placed “what I usually do” up against “what really needs to happen during COVID-19” a million times now. My husband and I know we can live without this tradition and pick it up again another year.
However.
Even though we arrived at that decision together, I still find myself pondering other ways to get away as a family. Could we stay in a cabin at a state park? One night at a hotel with masks and bleach wipes in hand? VRBO?
But alas, those venues might be lovely, but would it be worth the money when there are few things we would be comfortable going out and doing? And three Lewtons in a VRBO or hotel room for a couple of days would not equal relaxing, I assure you.
Argh.
It seems likely these are the terms under which my family will live in Western N.D., where case numbers remain stubbornly high. I simply need to suck it up and come to terms with these terms.
As I do that, I hope someone writes the following books while I’m not pub crawling or staying somewhere someone else makes the bed:
“A Survivor’s Guide to a Super Fun Home for Teenagers Stuck There When ‘All My Friends are Eating at Applebees'”
“A Tale of the Elastic Pants and the Family Whose Fun is the Coffee Shop Drive-Thru”
“The Alluring Trinity of Netflix, Prime and Disney+”
“Life Without 409”
Until the books are written, I’ll live the story. And we will wait together for this “intermission” to lead to the next chapters.
If you were to skim through job descriptions and happen upon the one that demands every ounce of your energy, the full capacity of your heart and then some, and a skillset that ranges from first aid to nutrition to anger management to activity director, you would be reading about the work of a parent.
Of course, there is no job description in the same way there is no manual. And so, one way through the humbling privilege of parenting is prayer.
This morning, I caught myself praying the wrong way. (I usually say there is no wrong way to pray, but just as there are actually stupid questions, there is actually a wrong way to pray.)
I prayed my kiddo would be a certain way and do certain things that would make my life a whole lot easier.
Oops, I realized. That’s not exactly how a parent’s prayer works. At some point in a parent’s life, we are forced to admit we actually have little control over the outcome of our child’s life. The sooner we come to this revelation, the better we are for it. We can shower a human with unconditional love and challenge them to be better, but only the emerging adult in your midst directs the path. It sucks, I know, you pour your heart out only to let it be broken again and again.
A parent’s prayer, then, is best centered on the parent. God, I pray, what do I need in order to parent this child of God so he or she can be his or own person? Do I need more patience? Or more hobbies so I stop worrying so much?
My spiritual director lately broke the news that when we worry about someone else too much, we tend to keep that person stuck where they are. Worrying too much is not a good solution for either the worrier or the target of those worries.
I’m not saying to give up, or not to care deeply about the people whom God as entrusted to you. But instead of praying for our kids to be a certain way, we can pray for God to shape and change us, the parents who most of the time can only hope we are doing the right thing. And in that prayer, ask for forgiveness. Parenting is like living in a laboratory and we sometimes mix the wrong stuff together. God can help with that.
Dear God, you thought I could be a parent? What were you thinking? Okay, then you’d better go to work on me. Give me wisdom to know when to step in and when to step back. Give me a deep, deep breath when I get judgey or when I do that thing with my eyes that tips toward shaming. Thanks, God, for hanging in with these kids now and in all their days to come, and for not expecting to me to be the perfect parent. I like that a lot. Amen.
The Scripture text I’ll preach on this weekend is about a golden calf (not a fancy plate of veal). In a nutshell, the people who followed God were getting tired of waiting for God to do what they wanted (get them to the Promised Land). In their impatience, they constructed their own god and asked that god to do what they wanted.
To make this fancy-pants god, everyone took off their gold rings and earrings and the man in charge melted them. Somehow it came out of the fire shaped like a calf. (All of this is reminiscent of previous ways God’s people tried to do it all themselves without God’s help.)
The idea of worshipping a calf-shaped hunk of gold is preposterous. Why would they expect a shiny and ridiculous version of God to accomplish what only God can do?
Well…that’s where I begin to wonder. Does this strike a chord with you, the idea of getting impatient and then just doing it yourself? That’s where God’s people began to fumble. It was their impatience that bested them.
I am bubbling over with impatience these days. Impatient for worries about the coronavirus to fall away. Impatient for my kids to go hang out with people and not be stuck in our house so dang much. Impatient for my husband’s and my work to stop filling the margins of our lives quite so much. Impatience.
And in my impatience, I am aware now I just might be looking to the wrong, ridiculous things to get through this season. I’m doing too much and forgetting to be gentle on myself. (I bet you are, too). I’m taking shallow breaths and moving too fast from one thing to the next. (I bet you are, too). I feel guilty about not getting to all the people who need spiritual care instead of relying on the Holy Spirit to be there first. (Spiritual leaders, I bet you are, too.)
That shiny golden calf looks like the copious ways I’m trying to do this myself, instead of patiently waiting for God to show me what to do. Show me, God, perhaps I can wait for a moment.
For six months, I have done everything within my meager human power to avoid spreading or contracting COVID-19.
I stayed home when I wanted to travel.
I have worn a mask in all public places, even among people not wearing a mask who look at me with disdain.
I have told my own kids “no” to so many things they would like to do: sleepovers, gatherings with friends, eating out at restaurants, staying in hotels, visits with grandparents when numbers are high, looking disdainfully at people not wearing masks.
Our congregation has courageously said “no” to large in-person gatherings, “yes” to wearing masks, and “no” to putting staff at risk as much as possible even as our county has encouraged large in-person gatherings and watched the numbers soar.
Apparently, according to (not the scientists) my country’s own president, contracting COVID-19 is as good as a regular exercise regime. It will make you feel 20 years younger.
As he encourages people to contract what has killed more than 200,000 just in the territory he is responsible for, the very disease that has overcrowded nearly every hospital in my state (including my city); as he refuses to listen to science and gives more “ammunition” to those who have looked at me disdainfully for six months, who also get most of their facts from Facebook memes, I will say “no”.
No, President Trump, I will not hope for COVID-19, nor will I put others at risk (not a stranger nor a family member). No, President Trump, I will not hope to continue to overcrowd the ER and send people from our county to a hospital out of state because there is no nearer bed.
No, I will not listen to a billionaire, but I will listen to my own doctor. I will listen to the deeply concerned medical professionals I know, and to scientists who are not posting nonsense on Facebook.
There are other avenues to take to look 20 years younger. (Exercise, for example.)
But more importantly, the call to Christian faith sets aside such superfluous values. We wonder how the “no’s” and “yes’s” of today impact the marginalized now and in the next 20, 200, and 2000 years. We wonder about the impoverished neighborhoods that have buried the most dead these long six months. About the impact this pandemic will have on the cost of healthcare and whether that will widen the socioeconomic gap between people who are white and people who are not.
In the end, our Christian work may not align with the work of some of our highest political leaders. In some of the toughest of times in the history of the world, the Christian work had to contradict aspirations of the highest political leaders. And it wasn’t until long after that the veil was lifted and that became clear.
Many of the “no’s” and “yes’s” of these days are tough. They bravest “no” and “yes” we might say in these times will be for the common good. Not individuals’ good, not my own comfort, not my own self-righteousness, not my own pride.
COVID-19 is not the new exercise regime. No. No. No.
As though the mom-guilt I already experience isn’t enough, a global pandemic is a guilt game-changer.
Ordinarily, I feel guilty about working too much or too little; spending too little time with my kids or smothering them; screen time surveillance for my kids; whether I am taking enough time for our marriage, for myself, for our friends; why I can’t “find time” to exercise.
These days, I also worry about being present for my elementary-aged kiddo on at-home school days, getting her outside, and screen time surveillance is an entirely redefined conundrum!
If you are a parent dealing with an extra helping of guilt, I offer you these words…
*Be gentle on yourself. We have never done this before. Take a deep breath and then another.
*Kids are the most amazing and resilient creatures. While you need to do your best, you need not take the place of Jesus for them. Remind yourself and your kids that God’s mercy makes us enough for this wild work.
*Read a book, take a walk, or stare at the stars. There is enough beauty and wonder to assure you these months are a tiny blip in your life.
*Jesus doesn’t love what you do as much as Jesus loves who you are, beloved child of God.
This is a new week. And there is plenty of new mercy just for you.
When I was the young daughter of my dad long ago, we could not leave the city of Minot without driving through a car lot or two. Minot was the big city where we went for doctor appointments, regional basketball tournaments, and car parts (my dad ran a gas station). And Minot offered a half dozen car lots for my dad to drive through.
Up and down the rows of cars we went, slowing to a stop so my dad could get out from the driver’s seat and I would roll my eyes and wonder when it would ever end. More rows of cars. More car lots. More slowing to a stop. More opening the door even in the dead of winter to peak inside the windows.
And shortly after those days did end, I had a daughter who loves to walk through the car lots not too many blocks from our home. Up and down the rows of cars we walk. Slowing to a stop so she can peak in the windows and act appalled at the price tag. Today, she said to a very expensive and very shiny SUV, “Now that’s just stupid.”
So here I am again. More rows of cars. More car lots. Because my one dad and my one daughter are two of my very favorite people in the entire world.
If you are not aware this is Jim from “Vicar of Dibley”, then woe is you. Unless your life is absolutely overflowing with laughter and lightheartedness (that is, if you have no idea what is going on in the world), you may need to subscribe to Britbox on Amazon Prime this weekend and get to know Jim and his eccentric priest, Geraldine Granger, the Vicar in the village of Dibley.
It will only take a few hours of your life to make you forget there is anything weird going on in the world. If ever you needed to hang out in the delightful village of Dibley, now is the time.
Jim has a unique way of speaking, repeating “No, no, no, no” only to finally reach the word “yes”. I feel Jim bubble up inside me these days through the otherwise normal questions my kids ask.
“Can we have a sleepover?”
“Can we go out for supper at a real restaurant where someone else cleans up?”
“Can we go somewhere for the weekend?”
“No, no, no…” I say, again and again. Not yet. Someday. Maybe soon? I don’t really know. Want to play Four Square? Should we go pick up donuts?
There will come a day when my kids ask one of those questions and I will respond naturally, “No, no, no, no…yes!” It will occur to me that we are free to move about and they will have sleepovers and we will go out to a restaurant and travel somewhere for the weekend and it will be amazing!
Until then, go to Dibley this weekend and laugh until you cry. And if you wonder whether the weirdness of these days will last forever, you can be sure the answer is no, no, no, NO.
Lisa Lewton 