Face Time

Gym class, circa 1988.  There were huge blue mats on the floor. I don't remember why, but I remember the scene like it was yesterday. We were standing in line waiting our turn to do...well, something involving mats, I guess.

The boy in front of me, whose name I do remember but will not share so as not to publicly shame him 27 years later, turned around and stared at me with his eyes squinted in scrutiny. Then he said five words that have never left me.

"What's wrong with your face?"

It was a sentence I had wondered occasionally when I looked in the mirror. But after all, I was only in 4th grade. I didn't look in the mirror all that often yet. Just as now, fashion wasn't exactly my gift. I wore boys jeans and fought my mom when she suggested I wear something cute to church on Sundays. I got dressed in the morning, probably attempted to curl my bangs so they would stand straight up (because you have to fit in SOMEHOW) and then left for school.

But yes, there were times I had wondered- why is my face so red? Why doesn't my skin look like the other girls'? Why? It hadn't bothered me much, likely because I didn't really think about the fact that other people might notice it and, more brutally, judge it.

Until gym class.

After gym class, I assumed everyone noticed it and my lifelong struggle with my skin started. A struggle I think I have only ever admitted to my mom. And more recently, to my husband. Probably my college roommates had some kind of clue, too. We were kind of all into each other's business.

Of course, one's skin doesn't usually improve with age, so the self-conscious thoughts that began to fester when I was 9 began to increase when teenage acne joined the game. When sunburns and sweaty, red faces from sporting events, when scars from injuries entered the picture, it certainly didn't get better. I am ashamed to say it was on my mind way more than I am comfortable admitting.

"I'm a Christian," I would think, "I shouldn't care about this, I should be content, I should think about spiritual things, for goodness sake," was a mantra that I repeated over and over and over. For years. But no amount of repetition or prayer or wishing the thoughts away, no new skin regimen or vitamins did anything. It stayed on my mind.

The bottom line? I was embarrassed...ok, let's be honest, I AM embarrassed to leave the house without makeup on. Without something that covers over the dark spots and the scars and red skin that I've had since I was a child. I don't necessarily need all the other stuff- the mascara and lipstick and perfect hair- but sometimes, on my worst days, I even put foundation on to go to the gym. The gym, people. Where it's going to melt off my face anyway because, let's face it, I am not one of those women who daintily glistens when she works out. I sweat, people.

A few months ago a former colleague began selling a new skin regimen. I clicked on her pictures out of curiosity. Another promise, another failure, right? And really, I NEED to stop caring about this. I'm 36. I should get over it.

But hope began to simmer a little. What if this stuff really does work? What if those before and after pictures are authentic and unfiltered? What if I could stop hating my skin, stop being embarassed, stop thinking about it all the time? What if?

I sat on that thought for a number of months. Trying to talk myself out of caring. Again. Trying to pray for contentment. Again. Trying to look in the mirror less so I wouldn't notice my red, dry, old-looking skin.

At some point, though, in the midst of trying so hard not to care, so hard to redirect my thoughts, so hard to push away the guilt when I failed, something occurred to me.

What if it's alright to care about this?

What if it is not wrong to want this to change a little? That maybe part of the healing in this would be doing something to make it healthier and maybe it's not wrong to want it to look nicer, healed, the way it should look at my age. Maybe it wasn't nonspiritual of me to care. Maybe it was actually spiritual to want to be healed physically in a way that would contribute helpfully to my lifelong battle to truly see myself as God sees me.

So, I am taking a risk here. I am going to post my "before" shot - makeup free. It's awful. I look tired (which, let's be honest) I am. I look weathered and splotchy. I look worn and older than my years. Maybe all moms of toddlers look a little haggard, I don't know. I surely do.

January 2015 @ 36 Years Old

My hope is this, though. That in taking a risk and posting this, even if this regimen doesn't help, even if my skin doesn't change, being more open about this secret struggle will, like I have learned so painfully during the years of blogging, expose me in a way that helps move me towards healing.

Do I also really hope the skin regimen helps? Heck yeah.

But I also hope that saying the words out loud and giving this struggle a chance to change will begin to do a good work long before I would notice significant aesthetic results, anyway.

Lonely Guy Checks In

It's funny what being embarrassingly honest can get you these days.

And by "funny," I mean "awesome."

Just last week I posted about being lonely, about how this phase of life, of being a stay-at-home parent, of rising each day and knowing that my primary companion for the day is more likely to pee on me than give me a good conversation, is a lonely place. And it was easy before I posted it to feel like that loneliness was something I was suffering, well, alone. That all the other parents out there were happily trucking along with some dear companions, sipping coffee and laughing at their children's tantrums together.

Myriads of responses later, however, the truth became apparent. This is a tough and lonely gig, people. For those of us, particularly, who may have had a job or career we loved or who never imagined staying at home past maternity leave, this may be the hardest and most isolating experience of our lives so far. (Let's leave middle school out of the reckoning for that title, shall we?)

Within minutes of posting, I saw other parents admit to being in the same place. Not only feeling lonely, but yearning for deep friendship, for the type of friendship that is comfortable, that requires no preparation beforehand. No personal grooming or domestic tidying. No kid in the perfect and sweet mood. And the funny thing is- I think we often think other people need us to put on that show that happens at the beginning of friendships. The small talk, the clean house, the perfect snacks and the deodorant. But really? I think very few of us actually care about that stuff, particuarly if not worrying about it makes it much easier for real relationship, honest interaction and easy camaraderie to be found.

So why do we make it so hard on ourselves? Why do we think we need to play a certain game here that, if we're honest, is just too exhausting to play?

I don't know the answer to that, but I do know that my week turned out very differently than I had imagined it would when I pressed the "publish" button on that post. Lovely texts and sweet messages and encouraging verses and invitations to hang out poured forth. I had a wonderful dinner with a newer friend and a fantastic night going deeper with some women I've known for a year now but still don't know as well as I'd like. I had a morning with two newer friends from church where our kids played long enough for us to actually say more than one sentence in a row a few times. I felt surrounded on Sunday by wonderful community as we baptized our sweet little man. Miracles do happen, friends.

Did I have that "person" come magically out of the blue? Of course not. That takes work, it takes patience, it takes putting myself out there- work I am trying to do. I did strike up two conversations with strangers at the library and the Y and get far enough to exchange names. I did laugh with new friends. I did feel like something could possibly change.

Bottom line, I hoped.

Hope is a pretty powerful thing.

Nate's tantrums didn't stop at the end of the week. It didn't get any easier on that front. But the thought of those texts, those calls, those invitations...well, it made the tantrums a little easier to bear. And the laughter I experienced at night with those new friends? Well, laughter is powerful, too. And its remnants can last long enough to get me through some of those tough mornings that follow.

So to those of you who joined in the conversation in honest and painful solidarity, I feel your pain and pray for hopeful moments for you this week even as I hope for more of my own. To those who texted or called or just made it clear that I can text or call you if I need to, thank you for reaching out to "lonely guy." To those with whom I laughed and talked, thank you for giving me what I needed to make it through the week feeling like I wasn't alone in this. To those I overlooked because of my own shyness or pain or isolation, I apologize and pray that my eyes would be clearer this coming week and that I would remember strongly that most of us really do yearn for something real and good and deep and are waiting for someone to extend the invitation.

Friends, let's be people this week who see those around us, who long to extend God's love and our friendship to them and who are open to what kind of laughter and magic might happen as a result.

I Am Lonely Guy

Our church has been going through a series about truly seeing what's around us. Opening our eyes, calming our schedules and being willing to really look. During this time, two men have been performing a skit called "Lonely Guy." Each week these two guys meet again onstage- really, crash into each other- and have an awkward interaction. They are both wearing sandwich boards- one that says "busy" and one that says "lonely." Predictably, the busy guy fumbles with his phone, mumbles something half-hearted in response to being reminded again that the lonely guy works at his grocery store and then goes on his way with the lonely guy staring after him. It all resolves when God intervenes and the busy guy truly SEES the lonely guy and they start to interact.

The first few weeks I laughed at this skit. I resonated with the busy guy- chasing my toddler around, too tired and frustrated to really see any opportunities around me and the men had done a good job keeping the feel of the skit light and humorous, even with its deeper message.

The final week, though? Something shifted. And I saw in the lonely guy the reality of my own life.

Just this morning I took my son to something called Wiggle Room. Held in our community center, it's a place for parents to bring their young kids to get out of the cold, let them play with different toys (and presumably, different friends) and just run around and get the cabin fever out. N and I have been trying to come every week since it started and have invited friends to come along. We had a few show up the first week but since then we've been on our own. Like we are most days.

Today I followed my son around and watched a lot of parents talking to each other. Mostly moms, a few dads and an occasional grandma. Their kids swirled around them, mostly playing well enough for them to have conversations with the semi-regular need to intervene in some kind of sharing debacle. I smiled at these groups of people. I tried to strike up some conversations with strangers. And it didn't really work. No one really talked back. I just felt alone.

As I leaned against the wall watching my ginormous toddler step on a kid to get to a toy, I felt alone.

As I chased him around, trying to keep him from knocking down other kids painstakingly built towers, I felt alone.

As I gazed longingly at people who clearly felt known and comfortable with the people around them, I felt alone.

I am lonely guy.

Bringing home a newborn baby in the midst of the coldest winter in recent years combined with hating to drive in snow, switching churches just before he came home and being a first-time SAHM was a tough combination last year. And when I reached the summer, desperate for human interaction, I realized that I had been dangerously sad. Tired. Alone. Dealing with post-adoption blues. Frustrated that this huge life-changing event on which we had waited for 5 years took place far away from our family and close friends. I spent the summer soaking in the amazing weather, trying to get closer to people I had met, hanging out with neighbors, treasuring time with my oldest during his vacation time. And I was determined that when winter came again, I would have a person.

You know who I mean.

THAT friend. The one you can call up last minute and who knows that all you need is company and coffee. Your house doesn't have to be clean and you don't need healthy snacks in your fridge. You don't have to have showered, which would be particularly helpful during this stage when my toddler thinks my shower time equals an opportunity for him to attempt to dive head first into the tub and crack his head open. The one who won't care if your kid throws his 5th tantrum of the afternoon because she loves him, too, and knows you are doing what you can to keep calm and make it through the toddler phase alive.  That friend.

As fall flew into the busyness of the Christmas season, I felt full. I was seeing friends sometimes, N and I were managing to get out of the house when the kids weren't sick and the joy of the holidays and visiting family loomed. I didn't really notice that I still didn't have that person.

But now? In the throes of deepest winter? I've got some friends. I really do. Lovely people. Friendly, inviting, welcoming. Most of them, like me, are pretty overwhelmed by the chaos of just getting their toddler from one end of the day to the next. And I enjoy my time with them. I do. I wish we knew each other better.

But I don't have that person. The one that makes life just feel easier. The one who knows me. Who knows that staying home is the hardest thing I've ever done. Who knows that sleep deprivation turns me into a maniacal human. Who knows that crying makes me uncomfortable and that I can't eat sugar. And BOY did I want to eat me some cookies after Wiggle Room today.

So, while I am going to continue to keep my eyes open and look for opportunities to SEE and love on people and try to get to know some of the people I already know better, I am also going to pray that someone, maybe "busy guy", will be keeping his eyes open for me, too. And that when I try to strike up that random and somewhat painful conversation at the next Wiggle Room, someone will see me, too.

And maybe, just maybe, by next winter I will not be lonely guy.

Diversifying Our Movie Shelf

We all grow up with our favorite movies- the ones that we remember bringing us comfort or teaching us some important lesson for the first time or the ones that we watched over and over at sleepovers with our best friends, memorizing every line and spontaneous dance number. (Yes, I grew up in the 80's.)

As we grow, maybe our tastes diversify a little in genre - we watch movies with more daring ratings, maybe we have friends with different backgrounds who introduce us to movies we've never seen. I think, though, with the way that Hollywood is, we need to be pretty intentional if we want to expose ourselves and our kids to movies with racially diverse casts, movies that do not have a white savior theme, movies that may tell us a different story of what life was and is really like in America.

As my oldest son is finally at the age to watch movies with deeper themes and questions, I recently polled friends on Facebook asking for help, which turned into a list I am excited to dive into. I also did some searches of my own to try to find some movies to add.

I broke the list into two main categories- General Movies and Historically Based Movies. These are all movies that someone deems appropriate for children and I've included their ratings, if they have one as well as their descriptions as found on IMDB or Amazon. I have not seen them all yet so please have grace if something is NOT actually a great movie to include. I'll continue to update the post as I see them if anything needs to be omitted.

Without further ado, here is what I have come up with. So far. It is by no means exhaustive. If you see a glaring omission, I would LOVE to hear from you in the comments section and will gladly and gratefully amend the post to reflect any missed movies.

Enjoy!

Children’s Movies with Diverse Casts

GENERAL MOVIES

Animated

UNRATED

Spirited Away (and all the Miyazaki movies) - ANIME - A wondrous fantasy about a young girl, Chihiro, trapped in a strange new world of spirits. When her parents undergo a mysterious transformation, she must call upon the courage she never knew she had to free herself and return her family to the outside world.

Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron - Join Spirit, a wild young mustang, as he sets out on an action-packed quest against impossible odds to regain his freedom and save his homeland. In his courageous and thrilling journey across the majestic wilderness of the American frontier, Spirit forms a remarkable friendship with a young Lakota brave, outwits a relentless squadron of soldiers, and falls for a beautiful paint mare named Rain.

G RATED

The Emperor’s New Groove – G - Emperor Kuzco is turned into a llama by his ex-administrator Yzma, and must now regain his throne with the help of Pacha, the gentle llama herder.

My Neighbor Totoro – G - Follow the adventures of Satsuki and her four-year-old sister Mei when they move into a new home in the countryside. To their delight, they discover that their new neighbor is a mysterious forest spirit called Totoro -- who can be seen only through the eyes of a child. Totoro introduces them to extraordinary characters -- including a cat that doubles as a bus! -- and takes them on an incredible journey.

Brother Bear- G- When a young Inuit hunter needlessly kills a bear, he is magically changed into a bear himself as punishment with a talkative cub being his only guide to changing back

Princess and the Frog – G - A waitress, desperate to fulfill her dreams as a restaurant owner, is set on a journey to turn a frog prince back into a human being, but she has to face the same problem after she kisses him.

Mulan – G - To save her father from death in the army, a young maiden secretly goes in his place and becomes one of China's greatest heroines in the process.

PG RATED

Lilo & Stitch – PG - A Hawaiian girl adopts an unusual pet who is actually a notorious extra-terrestrial fugitive from the law.

Big Hero 6 –PG -  The special bond that develops between plus-sized inflatable robot Baymax, and prodigy Hiro Hamada, who team up with a group of friends to form a band of high-tech heroes.

Non-Animated

UNRATED

Polly – TV Movie- An musical adaptation of the book "Pollyanna" set in the 1950's in which an orphan tries to use gladness to unite the people in a small southern town

Cinderella (Disney Rogers and Hammerstein Version) – TV  Movie- Updated version of the classic Rodgers and Hammerstein musical of the classic fairy-tale, with an all-star, multi-racial cast.

The Tap Dance Kid – TV Show- Eight year old wants to be a tap dancer like his uncle.

The Way Home – (Korean w/ subtitles) – Seven-year-old Sang-woo is left with his grandmother in a remote village while his mother looks for work. Through his grandmother’s boundless patience and devotion, he learns to embrace empathy, humility and the importance of family.

Coyote Waits- TV Movie- Two tribal cops uncover a plot involving a lost fortune, an historical artifact and a mythical Coyote on a Navajo reservation.

G-RATED

The Wiz – G - An adaption of "The Wizard of Oz" that tries to capture the essence of the African American experience.

PG-RATED

Spy Kids – PG – The children of secret-agent parents must save them from danger.

Like Mike – PG – When a hoops-loving fourteen year old with a dream to play in the NBA finds a mysterious pair of old sneakers, he makes the leap from playground hijinks to superstardom.

My Lucky Elephant –PG- Shot on location in the jungles of Thailand, this action adventure focuses on an orphan boy and his relationship with an abandoned elephant named Lucky. Together they overcome one adversity after another to survive, ultimately succeeding when Lucky charms everyone and becomes the star painter at an Elephant's Art Academy.

The Watsons Go to Birmingham –PG - The film chronicles the ordinary interactions and everyday routines of the Watsons, an African American family living in Flint, Michigan, and how they are drastically changed after they go to visit Grandma in Alabama in the summer of 1963.

Annie (new version) –PG -  A foster kid who lives with her mean foster mom sees her life change when business tycoon and New York mayoral candidate Will Stacks makes a thinly-veiled campaign move and takes her in.

Akeelah and the Bee – PG - A young girl from South Los Angeles tries to make it to the National Spelling Bee.

Karate Kid (new version) – PG - Work causes a single mother to move to China with her young son; in his new home, the boy embraces kung fu, taught to him by a master.

Space Jam – PG - Michael Jordan agrees to help the Looney Toons play a basketball game vs. alien slavers to determine their freedom.

Journey 2: The Mysterious Island – PG - Sean Anderson partners with his mom's husband on a mission to find his grandfather, who is thought to be missing on a mythical island.

Daddy Day Care – PG - Two men get laid off and have to become stay-at-home dads when they can't find jobs. This inspires them to open their own day-care center.

Corrina, Corrina – PG – When Manny Singer’s wife dies, his young daughter Molly becomes mute and withdrawn. To help cope with looking after Molly, he hires sassy housekeeper Corrina Washington, who coaxes Molly out of her shell and shows father and daughter a whole new way of life. 

Sister Act 2 – PG – Deloris Van Cartier is again asked to don the nun’s habit to help a run-down Catholic school, presided over by Mother Superior. And if trying to reach out to a class full of uninterested students wasn’t bad enough, the sisters discover that the school is due to be closed by the unscrupulous local authority chief, Mr. Crisp.

Linsanity – PG - The life story of basketball sensation, Jeremy Lin.

PG-13 MOVIES

Dr. Doolittle –  PG-13 - A Doctor finds out that he can understand what animals are saying. And the animals find out that he understands.

Whale Rider – PG-13 - A small Maori village faces a crisis when the heir to the leadership of the Ngati Konohi dies at birth and is survived only by his twin sister, Pai. Although disregarded by her grandfather and shunned by the village people, twelve-year-old Pai remains certain of her calling and trains herself in the ways and customs of her people. With remarkable grace, Pai finds the strength to challenge her family and embraces a thousand years of tradition in order to fulfill her destiny.

Smoke Signals- PG-13 – Young Indian man Thomas is a nerd in his reservation, wearing oversize glasses and telling everyone stories no one wants to hear. His parents died in a fire in 1976 and Thomas was saved by Arnold. Arnold soon left his family and his tough son Victor and Victor hasn’t seen his father for 10 years. When Victor hears Arnold has died, Thomas offers him funding for the trip to get Arnold’s remains but only if Thomas will also go with him. Thomas and Victor hit the road.

Remember the Titans - PG-13 - The true story of a newly appointed African-American coach and his high school team on their first season as a racially integrated unit.

Historically Based Movies

Ruby Bridges –  TV Movie – The true story of Ruby Bridges, an African-American girl who, in 1960 at age 6, helped integrate the all-white schools of New Orleans.

Selma Lord Selma – TV Movie- In 1965 Alabama, an 11 year old girl is touched by a speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. and becomes a debout follower. But her resolution is tested when she joins others in the famed march from Selma to Montgomery.

Our Friend Martin – TV Movie – This is the story of a black teenager named Miles who has to go on a class field trip to the museum of learning what Martin Luther King, Jr. did for humanity, he thinks that he’d rather play baseball. But the trip turns into an exciting adventure when he and his best friend, Randy, who is white, are sent back in time, meeting Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at several points during his life.

Heroes of Freedom: Stories of Harriet Tubman and Rosa Parks – Educational Video – summary unavailable

Race to Freedom: The Underground Railroad – TV Movie-  A number of slaves risk their lives to escape their masters with their only help coming from the famous secret slave escape network.

March On and More Stories About African American History – INCLUDES 4 SHOWS –

MARCH ON!: THE DAY MY BROTHER MARTIN CHANGED THE WORLD (Written by Dr. Christine King Farris, illustrated by London Ladd, narrated by Lynn Whitfield) Martin Luther King Jr. s sister travels back to 1963 to present a personal, stirring account of the remarkable day when Dr. King delivered his I HAVE A DREAM Speech.

MARTIN S BIG WORDS (Written by Doreen Rappaport, illustrated by Bryan Collier, narrated by Michael Clarke Duncan) Using quotes from some of his beloved speeches, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. comes to life in this profound and important biography about beliefs and dreams and following one s heart.

ROSA (Written and narrated by Nikki Giovanni, illustrated by Bryan Collier) On December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks boarded a Montgomery, Alabama city bus and refused to give up her seat to a white man, an act that ignited a revolution and changed history.

HENRY S FREEDOM BOX: A TRUE STORY FROM THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD (Written by Ellen Levine, illustrated by Kadir Nelson, narrated by Jerry Dixon) The powerful true story of a young slave who mails himself to freedom.

Eyes on the Prize- NR -  Eyes on the Prize tells the definitive story of the civil rights era from the point of view of the ordinary men and women whose extraordinary actions launched a movement that changed the fabric of American life, and embodied a struggle whose reverberations continue to be felt today. Winner of numerous awards, Eyes on the Prize is the most critically acclaimed documentary on civil rights in America.

4 Little Girls – Documentary - A documentary of the notorious racial terrorist bombing of an African American church during the Civil Rights Movement.

Harriet Tubman : Inspiring Animated Heroes – True story of Harriet Tubman’s involvement in the underground railroad, helping to free 300 slaves.

The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman –PG -  Story of a black woman in the South who was born into slavery in the 1850s and lives to become a part of the civil rights movement in the 1960s.

Having Our Say: The Delaney Sisters First One Hundred Years – TV Movie- Tells the story of Sadie and Bessie Delany, two African-American sisters who both lived past the age of 100.

Betty and Coretta - TV Movie- The widows of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X and how they carry on as single mothers after the assassination of their husbands.

The Rosa Parks Story – TV Movie- The story of the civil rights heroine whose refusal to obey racial bus segregation was just one of her acts in her fight for justice.

Polly Comin’ Home – TV Movie - Broadway style songs are used to tell this interesting story of an ingenious orphan who gets involved in matchmaking and striving for inter-racial understanding in 1956 Alabama.

Geronimo: An American Legend – PG-13 –The story of the apache chief and his armed resistance to the US Government’s subjugation of his people.

If We Don't Teach It

This past week my son had a friend over to play for a few hours. Most of their time was spent as usual...legos, playing in the snow, lots of giggling. After one particularly long stretch out in the cold, they came inside and settled at my table for some hot chocolate.

And then.

Then, this seven-year-old, this guest in my house, looked straight at me and told me a racist joke about a Chinese person and started laughing. My son looked at me- I think he knew something wasn't right about it but he wasn't sure what exactly was going on. I was speechless. What do you say to a young child who has just said something like this?

So, I engaged him in a discussion. I asked him where he'd learned the joke. He made it up. I asked him why he thought it was funny. He said "it just is" and told me the punch line again and started laughing. I asked him whether he thought it was kind to say things that make fun of people. He shrugged me off and said it was no big deal and that he was just trying to be funny.

No big deal? Really?

Now, I could have let this go, right? After all, he's just a kid. There was no Chinese person in the room that might be offended, right? No one would know he ever said it except for me and my son. Thi kid is not even my kid so it's maybe not really my place, anyway. Probably his "intent" was not to be malicious. You hear a lot about intent regarding racism, especially from us white people. Well, if he didn't INTEND for it to be mean, what's the big deal, right? Can't we just take things less seriously and laugh?

Ah. No, actually. Just because he didn't intend to be rude doesn't mean that he wasn't. Intent does not cover over all manner of sins. Just because there was nobody there to be offended or hurt does not mean that the offense should be left alone.

And here's the deal. MY son was watching and listening. MY son wanted to see what a person is supposed to do in this situation. And you know what? Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I subscribe to that school of parenting that says that when a kid is at your home, he abides by your rules. And in our house? Kind words are the rule. Non-racist jokes are the rule. And honesty in confrontation is the rule.

Let me backpedal a minute here. I do not think this child's parents taught him this joke. I doubt they walk around telling racist jokes in his presence. I don't know if he's told them this joke or not and how they reacted. I am not trying to make a statement about their parenting because I know our kids sometimes say crazy things we probably never hear about. But I do think that if I stay silent just because this is a kid and I might hurt his feelings, I am not only teaching my own child that silence is an acceptable avenue when presented with injustice but I am also missing a chance to say something that maybe this child hasn't yet heard. After all, us white people aren't exactly known for educating our kids about racism from a young age.

So I tried to be gentle and keep my frustration in check. I explained why the joke wasn't acceptable and why I felt he shouldn't tell it anymore. Again, he shrugged it off. I made it clear that it would be completely unacceptable in our home and that if he continued to speak that way he would no longer be welcome here. He understood that particular point and promised not to tell it again. Hot chocolate finished, they moved on to play.

And friends?

I am not kidding you, not 20 minutes later, that same child looked me square in the eye and made a sexist comment. Some of you who know me well know that at this point this kid was likely in danger of a full out rant. Seriously?

Yet again I engaged him. Yet again he shrugged it off. Yet again I made it clear that anyone who is going to speak about girls that way in my home will not be invited back. My son's big eyes followed both these confrontations. He took it all in.

Now, I don't know if this kid will come over again. To be honest, I wouldn't really mind if he was no longer in the social mix.(There's a deeper story there unrelated to this most recent interaction.)

But the bigger issue to me is this - how has this happened? How has a young boy of seven already learned to make racist jokes? To make comments that disparage girls and their interests? To ALREADY not care if someone is offended by the jokes. How? Where did he learn it? Why hasn't he unlearned it? Does his family talk about racism or sexism or injustice?

I don't know.

But I do know this.

Our kids are going to get an education about these issues somewhere. They are going to hear things we don't want them to hear. Sometimes they are going to say things we don't want them to say. But they are never too young to begin to understand the power of their words. That old "sticks and stones" crap? I think we've all learned that that saying only existed to help us pretend that someone's words can't hurt when in reality we know that some of the most painful memories we carry are those linked to words. And if I choose silence in the face of these things, I am teaching my children that silence is acceptable. That shrugging it off or laughing it off is the right thing to do. That not causing trouble is the kind route.

I don't want them to learn those things.

I want them to know that they can choose kindness and honesty and truth. And that when someone, anyone, says something offensive, they have the right to speak up. To defend themselves, to defend the target of the joke (whether or not he or she is present), to challenge the teller to think about his or her words. To encourage that person to choose kindness and goodness. And if I don't know exactly what to say in every situation that comes up? Well, then what a great chance to continue my own education. To listen well and read good books and articles and grow myself and still do my best to stand for truth in those moments. To apologize when I fail and get it wrong.

If we as adults don't place ourselves in a place of humility to continue to learn and then teach these things to the children with whom we come in contact, clearly and often, through directives and examples, our kids will likely learn that popularity and humor are more important than character and truth and justice.

May it not be so.

Poems and Rainbows

It's difficult at this point to remember the years upon years of bedtime prayers issued by my oldest son in humble petition of a baby brother and sister. The questions he would ask about why his friends had them and he didn't. The conversations about why he wanted one and how much he looked forward to what it would be like to be a big brother. The practice of those skills on the children of dear friends of ours. The yearning, really, to love someone in that special way only siblings can. Before he even became a brother, he knew that role meant something.

One year into that reality, this kid has gone through a big transition. An only child for seven years with only memories of one home, we uprooted him from that home, school, church and friends, moved him across the country and gave him a baby brother all in the space of 7 months. And those long-awaited dreams of playing with his brother and teaching him soccer and legos, well, those dreams were still deferred to the reality of a little person who really just laid around and cried. A lot.

We, of course, have the obligatory joys and memorable pictures. Older brother holding younger brother for the first time, feeding him, letting him sleep in his lap, reading him books, pushing him on the swing or stroller, holding his hand while he learned to walk.

But the real fun? It's just beginning.

These two are finally becoming friends. The younger one reserves the majority of his hugs for his brother during the day. He likes to ride on his back like a horse. He likes to imitate every single thing his older brother does. Already. If his brother is at the table, the meal goes better. In the car? Smoother ride. And my 8-year-old, who I worried would be bored until his brother was much older, returns the adoration. Asks for hugs. Loves to be the first one in the room when he's getting up from his nap, loves to chase him around the house and help him down the slide and teach him his sign language.

We see how they feel about each other in these sweet daily interactions.

But just yesterday, we saw even more clearly what is going on in my eight-year-old's heart when his teacher sent a poem home from school. Apparently the kids had been asked to write a poem about something they love during creative writing time. The teacher was so overcome with the sweetness of what he wrote that she made a copy and sent it home.

Seriously.

There it is. And in case you are having trouble making out that final line? "There is some magic flowing through us". I gotta admit, I don't totally know what that line means, but it's pretty dang sweet.

We worried so much about what it would be like for him to want something so badly and not be sure if the reality would live up to the hype. We worried about his transition from only child. We worried about those months when his brother kept us up all night and we had less energy and patience for him. And now that we are out of that first year tunnel that involves mostly survival, we are so grateful to see what God has done in his heart towards this little guy, towards this brother for whom he longed and waited and prayed.

This mama's heart is melting today. I know their relationship won't always be poems and rainbows. I know the first time the little one wrecks a lego creation we will have a serious issue on hand. Or when he won't leave my older son and his friends alone on a playdate. But right now? Right now I am taking a moment to be thankful for the ways that our family has changed, for the ways my older son has grown in his capacity to love and for the reality that my younger son is growing up with a brother who loves "everything about him."

Choosing to Remember

The first Sunday of Advent turned out much the way I thought it would. Wonderful time at church with our community, a hurried lunch and cooking soup for our evening out and then a fantastic time making wreaths. My son made a new friend his age, I had a great time chatting with some recently made friends, the food was delicious and the celebration meaningful.

Then I hit Monday morning. I opened my computer while it was still dark and sipped my coffee while I read that morning devotional. I thought about the challenge issued to our community on Sunday morning- a challenge to breathe in Hope and breathe out Fear. And to try to do it constantly this week. I thought about all the articles on Ferguson I have open in my browser, all the pain I've been reading about and thinking about, the protests, the mess, the anger, the injustice. I thought about how my life right now is not in a tangible period of waiting or suffering. And I wondered how to truly dig into Advent when things feel good and right. Why should I invite the idea of suffering into my mornings when all is well?

My pastor never urged us to breathe out suffering, incidentally. None of the devotionals or articles encouraging us to step back from the harried season and think are encouraging us to avoid suffering.

I spent 6 advents waiting. 5 of those advents I felt significant suffering- the loss of Amara, the continual defeat of infertility, the loneliness of living in a place with few friends. But the bottom line was suffering and waiting were real to me. They were tangible. The act of digging in to the deep part of Advent was not actually that difficult. It was the hope and joy of Christmas that seemed elusive. 

During this season when joy feels present, when hope is easy for me, I have to remember that for a lot of people, the opposite is true. They are where I was last year, quite possibly walking in much worse places than I myself have treaded. To avoid this, to run from suffering, to only choose to remember the Light, is to forget what Advent truly means. It is to deny that there is real hurt, real pain being experienced by my fellow man. And that during Advent (and really during the rest of the year), part of the following of Christ means entering into the darkness of the world around me, empathizing, listening, grieving and, yes, still hoping. 

One of my favorite advent posts I have read this season came shortly after the Ferguson decision. Christina Cleveland writes:

"We do the Light a disservice when we underestimate the darkness... Advent is an invitation to plunge into the deep, dark waters of our worst world, knowing that when we re-surface for air we will encounter the hopeful, hovering Spirit of God. For when we dive into the depths of our worst world, we reach a critical point at which our chocolate and pageants no longer satiate our longing for hope – and we are liberated by this realization. Indeed, the light of true hope is found in the midst of darkness." 

So while it would be easy for me to find satisfaction in the chocolate and pageants and Christmas "spirit" that swirl loudly around me, the harder work of keeping my eyes open, of staying awake to the quieter pain is worth it. Even reading back through my own feelings in past years and remembering the sadness, the yearning, the pain, the never-ending wait is powerful. While I didn't enjoy those emotions at the time, I choose to remind myself. I choose not to skip straight to the joy. I choose to remember. 

Matt Jenson, in his post in the Biola Advent Project writes that "in Advent, not only do we anticipate remembering; we also remember to anticipate, to yearn for the day when Christ comes again."

Indeed, we are waiting and hoping in a Christ we know has already come. And at the same time, we anticipate another coming, another fulfillment, an end to the darkness. An end to injustice and fear and pain and miscarriage and unfulfilled longings. 

The hardest thing for me is to know the suffering and the darkness and not fear it. To know that while I am in a period of fulfilled longings right now, I do not know what pain lies ahead. To train myself to breathe in hope in the mornings and breathe out the fear of the unknown. To continue to learn how to wait on the Lord and the day of His coming, one day at a time, even when my earthly waiting is temporarily stilled and joyfully fulfilled. 

That is the work of advent for me this year. The choice to remember, the choice to see, to feel the darkness in the world even as I rejoice in the beauty of the gifts I've been given. And the choice to continue in hope, to invite the Light to shine into a broken, hurting, yearning world.