rachel un·plugged

Lent: The Bread and the Wine

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 06 Mar 2015 23:04:00 +0000

My husband loves the taste of communion wine. I don't know what it is that sets it apart for him. I don't taste the difference at all. To me, red wine is red wine. When I ask him what he likes about it, he's not able to put his finger on it. "There's just something about it. It's the best stuff I've tasted." he says.

If we're drinking wine, it's usually a special occasion: a birthday, a anniversary, a long overdue visit with loved ones, a holiday - Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Whenever there's a bottle of wine to be uncorked, he always asks, "Is it Blood of Christ wine? I love Blood of Christ wine!"

There's usually someone at the table who hasn't heard the question before. So what follows is my husband explaining his strange exclamation, and an interesting conversation about ritual, faith, and religion. Most times, the "churchy" talk is brief. But there's always more to share with each other as we continue our meal - new jobs, parenting struggles, fun hobbies, politics, aging parents, and remember when's.

When our bellies are full, our bodies fatigued, and our guests have left, we always say, "That was a good night. We should do more of that." What we are certain of is that whoever we are and wherever we come from, we have been pulled close and joined together on this journey.

There's no pastor and no Words of Institution. For me, it's still communion.

Lent: Shepherds and Sheep

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 06 Mar 2015 23:03:00 +0000

That one student who always sits in the back. We all know him. Maybe one of us is him. Or her. He is all spitballs and inappropriate jokes. He never does the work. We call him lazy. Or even stupid. And, please, oh please, do not put us in a group project with him.

How often does the teacher ask him to stay after class? We know what's coming. A lecture. A list of consequences. Disappointment. Well, we think we know.

What does she say to him? Keep reading. Ask questions. I'm here when you need help. I know you can do it. You have a lot of potential. Keep trying. I've seen some your work. I know it's hard. You can do it. Keep at it. You have good insight. Write more. Don't give up. I'm not giving up on you.

I am not giving up on you.

Lent: Transformation

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 06 Mar 2015 23:03:00 +0000

Quiet laughter. Bright-eyed wonder. Absorbing. Filling. Endless curiosity. Innocent mischief. Gentle. Kind. Caring. Uninhibited. Hugs. Kisses. Hide and seek. Tag. Bike rides. Catch. Tickle fights. Belly laughs. Bare feet in the grass. In the sand. In the icy water. In the warm water. Bubbles. Giggles. Soft cuddles. Goodnight Moon. I love you's. Contentment. Peace.

A look. A glare. A frown. A word. Many words. Misunderstanding. Misunderstood. Harsh. Angry. Hurt words. Hurting words. Isolating. Ignorant words. Fearful words. Tears. Pain. Confusion. Frustration. Blame. Guilt. Sorrow. Grief. Cruel. Bitter. Hard. Mistrustful. Scared. Scarred. Hardened.

The Word. Love.

Healed. Redeemed. Renewed. Forgiven. Forgiving. Freed. Accepted. Grafted. Adopted. Loved. Restored. Softened. Kinder. Gentler. Peaceful. Pleasure. Joy.

Transformed.

Lent: Goldfish Crackers on the Pews

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 06 Mar 2015 23:02:00 +0000

I love the times when kids are the focus of worship, especially baptism days. They remind me of the promises we made for our little person and my own place in God's family. I also enjoy the unexpected moments of laughter that come from innocent hearts and minds. On those days with more children in the pews, I find myself relaxed and open to hearing God.

I would love to see children leading. A lot of young kids are good readers and would do well with a short reading or prayer. Representation matters to everyone, and it's especially important in the family of God.

Just as for us, music that is familiar to kids would encourage and uplift them. I suspect that most of us adults wouldn't mind hearing those songs either.

More family Sundays would be great. It gives us a chance to worship together. And what better way to do it than as one big, I-need-to-go-potty-now, why-is-the-pastor-wearing-a-dress, is-it-over-yet, fidgety church family?

Also, yes to stories! I noticed more than a few wide eyes focused on Pastor Mike as he told us a story today. And when we went home, I was asked, "We need to talk about if it was true, right?"

They get it. We just need to give them the space and a chance for them to see.

Lent: Angels

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 06 Mar 2015 23:01:00 +0000

That time when...

I was three. There was a substitute driver for my ride home. And suddenly there I was...left behind. Slowly the school emptied. The sky darkened to night. Soon, I was alone with the man hired to watch the place - a stranger. I was confused and curious, but not at all frightened. I sat on his "this chair is too big" and waited. Then, somehow, I was back home.

I was six and home alone with my grandmother. "I'm not feeling well," she said. "Please bring your little chair and sit next to me while I take a nap." And so I sat. "She's OK," my parents said when they returned home. But I knew from the hushed conversations about doctors and medications and plenty of "what nows?" that it must have been serious.

I was in the delivery room just having given birth. Without warning my world went dark. My hearing, though, was sharp. Every machine to which I was attached beeped rapidly and blared warning sounds. Panic set in. I heard rushing feet and quick movements around me. "I don't want to leave my baby without a mother!" And just as quickly as it left, my sight returned. And the monitors and I slowly returned to a peaceful state.

I was a new mom going to the grocery store. I juggled baby, diaper bag, purse, keys, and shopping list. I placed my little one in a cart and turned away to get everything else in order. Immediately, a command: Turn around! Now! There stood a young man with greedy eyes locked on my precious child. And when I turned, he smiled and walked away.

Were there angels? Was it the voice of God? Was it just a good, honorable man and competent medical staff? Was it intuition?

As one of my professors used to say, "Yes."

They are all divine.

Lent: Wilderness Time

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 23:17:00 +0000

At once the Spirit sent him out into the wilderness, and he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan. He was with the wild animals, and angels attended him. (Mark 1:12-13 NIV)

I hear little of this Jesus who was tempted. This is the son of man. I really like this Jesus. I get this Jesus. And I like to think He gets me.

This story comes around just once a year. The rest of the time, it seems, it's all Son of God stories.

Miraculous birth.

"I was in my Father's house."

Water into wine.

Walking on water.

"Turn the other cheek."

"Blessed are the meek."

Feeding 5000.

Raising he dead.

Healing the leper.

Making the blind to see and the lame to walk.

Casting away demons.

Lamb of God.

Spotless.

Blameless.

Defeating death.

Redeeming.

I love this Jesus too.

But, most of the time, I hold on to the wilderness story. And it's especially true now when I am in my own wilderness time. When it feels like I am constantly being tested, feeling alone, and struggling with a gnawing hunger for something more, this Jesus who was tempted is the one I call out to.

Lent: Encountering Jesus

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 23:16:00 +0000

Jesus wept.

It was his seeing Mary that did it, I think. They're so much alike, you know. Both caring so much, leading with the heart. He's always had a soft spot for her. Oh, he loves us all, you understand. And we - Mary, Lazarus, and I - adore him, of course.

When our brother got sick - when we saw there was nothing we could do - we sent for him. But he did not come in time. I wonder if even he fully realized what that choice meant for us...and him.

It's one thing to heal strangers - the outcast lepers, the man whose friends lowered him through the roof, the woman with the blood issue. But it's another thing when it's the death of someone you know and love.

We spent so much time together. Listening to him. Learning from him. Sharing meals with him. He was more than our teacher, you see. He was our friend, our brother.

Naturally, we were heartbroken when Lazarus died. If only he had come when we called! Mary was inconsolable, of course. And I think that's when it struck him - our grief and his own.

But that did not stop him from doing what he came to do. He returned our brother to us. Oh, yes, I was disappointed when he didn't come when we first called for him. Did I doubt when he promised to bring Lazarus back? No, never, not a moment of doubt.

After all, he loves us doesn't he? And he's always kept his promises.

I wonder what he's going to do next?

Lent: Sacred Space

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 23:15:00 +0000

A chapel on campus from way back when. A candle's flickering red glow in the corner. A sliver of moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows. The cross and altar are merely shadows. All the usual sounds of college night life are muted. Quiet and still.

It quiets my soul. It stills my mind. It soothes my spirit.

The constant communal life is draining - shared living spaces, noisy cafeteria, crowded classrooms, study groups, the steady hum of a busy library. There is no "free" time and this introvert is weary.

Here, I can simply be. I don't fear being alone. I remember Jesus often went away alone. I don't fear being in a dark, shadowy space. I remember Jesus went to that ultimate dark, shadowy place. I embrace it whole-heartedly.

Here, I can let go of the worries that keep my mind racing and my heart uneasy: the harsh, thoughtless words said in irritation; the lack of cash for a night out with friends; the embarrassing grade on a test in spite of reading, studying, and an all-nighter; the guy friend to whom I've said no gently several times and now I'm the mean girl for being more assertive and on the receiving end of don't-you-know what-a-great-guy-he-is-do-you-think-you're-too-good-for-him rants from his friends; that research paper in which I've barely made a dent.

Each breath is a prayer. I inhale deeply. Fresh air. On each exhale, I let go. The noise. The chaos. The crowd. Each worry. Each mistake. Removed.

I am renewed.

I still go and it still gives me peace.

Lent: That Story

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 23:15:00 +0000

In the beginning, it was all good.

Daytime and night. Good!

The Earth and the infinite space around her. Good!

The Pacific, the Indian, and the Atlantic. The Mediterranean and the Caribbean. Madagascar, the Americas, Australia, and Asia. Good!

Orange trees, mango trees, watermelons, carrots, tomatoes, roses, jasmine, tulips, and Gerbera daisies. Good!

Sun, moon, stars. Good!

Salmon, blue whales, and clown fish. Bluejays, robins, peacocks, penguins, and bald eagles.

Good!

Tigers, wolves, zebras, geckos, boa constrictors, cows, sheep, chipmunks, and even spiders. Good!

Man and woman. Good!

"...it was so good, so very good!" (The Message)

Then, this:

I love you and I made all this for you! Enjoy it all...except that. Do not touch that.

(Seriously?! You know they can't hold out, right?)

Did He really tell you not to touch that?

Yes!

He didn't mean it, you know. He just doesn't want you to be happy.

(No, don't listen to that!)

Really? Well...it does look amazing. It's beautiful. I bet it's delicious!

A little taste won't hurt. Just do it!

I'm in!

(You're going to regret it.)

Mmm...perfect! Hey, Adam, you gotta try this!

Isn't that the...

Yes. Try it!

But,...

Well, that other guy said...

OK!

(Oh, c'mon!)

I'm irritated. We had a good thing going. Everything we could want and a beautiful place in which to enjoy it all. Just us, God, and all the good things.

At the same time, I'm convicted. I am all three - the serpent, Eve, and Adam. I am not trusting, second-guessing, disobeying, tempting, making excuses, passing the buck, and wrecking perfectly good amazing gifts.

But, the gifts keep coming in spite of me - the ordinary, the beautiful, and the divine.

Grace, redemption, and forgiveness.

Lent: Dear 21-year-old

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 23:14:00 +0000

Dear young one,

And, oh, so young! No doubt you have been through much. You've loved and lost friends. You've grieved at the unexpected passing away of family members. You know the heartbreak of young love and knowing men - boys, really - who were also too young for all the ups and downs of relationships. Though it may not seem like it, in 20 years you will long for the simplicity of 21.

You've just graduated from a very good university. You're both excited and uncertain. There are endless possibilities ahead and it's hard to see past the next few months. And it's nearly impossible to imagine you in 20 years.

So what can I give you? These words from Luke 1:30 - Do not be afraid. Do. Not. Be. Afraid. You've heard it so many times. It isn't just for Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds.

It is for you.

Put them in your heart. Keep them there. Hold them tight. Do not let go. Do not be afraid.

Do not be afraid to speak up to the friend who speaks words of bigoted anti-blackness. It will be good for your soul. Your words might change a life even after the time for that friendship has passed. It is the right thing to do.

Do not be afraid to step in when you see people - strangers to you - hurting each other. Your heart will beat wildly and loudly when a young man lays his hands on his girlfriend. You know it's the right thing to do. God is with you.

Do not be afraid to say what is in your heart. I love you. I'm sorry. It hurts. Stop. Yes! No. I need this. The ones who love you - and there are plenty - will listen.

Do not be afraid to go get you want. That job. That vacation. That friendship. That more-than-friendship. Even the little things like that gorgeous red lipstick. Enjoy what God and this life have to offer. You will win some and lose some. It's all good. You will be all right. And, don't let anyone tell you that red is too bright, too sexy, or that it just isn't a good color for you. You are bright, sexy, and good. Wear it.

Do not be afraid to love yourself. All of you. Your heart and skin both of which scar easily. The hair which you can't seem to manage. The lips and eyes of which you're critical. The body in which you feel awkward. This body will carry, birth, and nourish new life. This body will will be loved and adored. This body will be looked at with disdain. But it will also be envied. And trust me, sister, this body gets better with age. You also get wiser. You also get smarter. You get better. Love yourself.

Do not be afraid when things don't go well. You will make mistakes. You will hurt people. People will hurt you. The church will let you down. You will disappoint those you love. More loves will be lost. Do not be afraid. God has you and He will NOT let you go.

Do. Not. Be. Afraid.

Lent: Lord, We Pray

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 23:13:00 +0000

Innocent

Now I lay me down to sleep...

God bless mommy and daddy.

Obedient

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Our Father, who art in heaven...

Enthusiastic

Oh, the Lord is good to me...

Complaining

Oh my God, she is so mean!

Selfish

Can you please help me do well on this test?

Earnest

Help me make the right choice. I want to do what's right in your eyes.

Desperate

Where are you?!

Stay with me.

Pleading

Forgive me!

Silent

The Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words to express.

Grateful

Thank God!

Laughter,

Tears,

With each breath.

Amen.

Lent: Stealth - Prayers for Strangers

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Sat, 21 Feb 2015 01:33:00 +0000

I've just left a store having purchased a new wallet. As I approach a busy intersection, I see a man who looks like he's in his late 60's or early 70's holding a cardboard sign. The image is all too familiar. He's unkempt, limping, and pacing the corner. As the cars ahead of me move, I inch closer to where he stands. Now I can see that he's probably younger than he looks. I'm also able to read his sign.

"I've built more than 200 homes. I now live in a van because of multiple surgeries. Can you please help?"

My mind races. Mostly with excuses.

I need to get to the school. I've only got 10 minutes before the bell rings.
What could I possibly do? I'm not sure what he needs.
I only have a couple of dollars.
What if this is a scam?

There is no thought of this verse I claim to love:

He has showed you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8, RSV)

With this prompt, I am challenged not only to pray for this builder of homes - and my hardened heart - but also to return to this corner tomorrow and help.
-----

Holy and Just God,
Thank you for your abundant love, grace, and provision. You have placed me in a rich world with more than I could ever want. Help me remember those who are in need. Help me to see you in them. Help me to cease judgment and move away from fear. Most of all, help me to stop and do something.

Heavenly Father,
Forgive my callousness and inaction. I ask that my path crosses that of your child again. Please be present in our conversation. Give us the right words so we can communicate clearly and I can help him with what he needs.

Healer of our every ill,
I lift up this carpenter to you. Be the balm that soothes his body, mind, and soul. Give him the physical, emotional, and spiritual strength needed for each day. Give him hope. Please make a path for him toward a permanent home. Please lead him to resources that will help him with his medical issues. Keep him safe from the elements and from those who might wish to do him harm.

In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen.

Lent: Renewal

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Sat, 21 Feb 2015 00:27:00 +0000

I feel a small hand on my arm and a light kiss on my cheek. "Good morning!" A soft voice. And then, a loud, excited one jarring me fully out of sleep. "Arentcha gonna wake up?! We gotta go to church!" Well, how can I say no to that? I stretch under the covers, bracing for the cold, and I rise. The rest of the morning is a blur of movements: breakfast, washing up, teeth, hair, clothes, a snack for the drive.

There is also a LOT of talking. Not from me; I am not a morning person.

"I need money for the offering!"
"Let's have waffles!"
"Can I watch TV?"
"I'm not buckled up!"

"Are you gonna take the highway or the back roads?"

"Why aren't you answering?!"

Through the drive, there is a constant stream of questions, suggestions, and singing from the back seat. We pull into the big church on the corner and I let out a long breath. I'm still trying to catch up to the morning.

We walk up the stairs and through the doors. We are now quiet. We recognize the holiness of this space. We know it's special.

In spite of being in this wilderness time, I come here. I don't always understand it all and I have too many questions. Then I see the cross and the font.

And they are more than enough to remind me of whose child I am.
-----

Almost every Sunday and Wednesday we spend time with my parents - after worship on Sundays and before the evening programs on Wednesdays. It's a new ritual and I'm blessed by it. As a child, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, and it's a privilege to offer the same to the next generation. The hugs, kisses, games, and conversations over meals are priceless.

Most days, these visits include just my parents. Other times, we are surprised by other family members - my aunts and uncles, cousins, their children. My mother cooks, we eat, we linger around the table. The children play. The rest of us talk. We talk a lot. About everything. Sometimes all at once.

What was the sermon about today?
What's your latest project about?
I had an interesting conversation with someone from Camp Unity this evening.
We should plan a family trip to New York this summer!
What's this Bible study about?
Hey, did he test into the highly capable program?
Who's hosting the barbecue this July?

It's chaotic and fun and perfect. This is our family and each of us knows we belong here. There are at least a handful of people who have a story for each of our important life events, including baptisms. We don't always share these stories, but I know that the promises that were made at each of our baptisms have been kept and will be kept.

Every time we gather around the table, every time we pray, sing, laugh, and cry together, I am reminded of whose child I am.

Lent: Dust

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 20 Feb 2015 23:15:00 +0000

noun \ˈdəst\
: fine dry powder that builds up inside buildings on surfaces that have not recently been cleaned
Synonyms: garbage, junk, refuse, rubbish, waste
(Source: www.merriam-webster.com)

It's everywhere. In the corners, under the beds, in every room. It's especially visible on our wood floors. Less so on the rugs and carpeting. There, it clings to the fibers, works its way it and settles down. It's harder to see than on the smooth, bright hardwoods. It makes cleaning even more of a chore as vacuuming and sweeping are my least favorites.

But, I start hesitantly and slowly a rhythm begins to build. With the help of Pandora's Motown station in the background, I dust the tables, chairs, and sofas. Next, I begin sweeping from the corners, along the baseboards, and to the middle of the floor. I continue moving from room to room, switching from broom to vacuum. As I near the end, I realize I'm less tired and more gratified at the progress. It looks good and it feels good - a clean house.
-----

I've been in Lent for a long time now: before the season of waiting; before the birth of our savior; before the revelation of our King to visitors from the east; before His transfiguration, before Ash Wednesday.

This arid, desolate, and bleak wilderness with the devil and all his temptations - I know it too well. I've spent lonely, impatient, frustrating months here. I've been confused, angry, and hurt. I've doubted, questioned, and been tempted.

But today, there is a promise: From dust you came and to dust you shall return. Before I fully understood it, I heard those words as final and harsh. And, it's true. One day, I will literally be dust.

But today, it is a promise. My God has come to clean house. He will sweep away all the refuse, the rubbish, and the waste that I have tried to vain to remove. The dusty, unclean parts of my life that have remained through the years, He will return to the place where they belong.

And that place is not in me.

Ruthless

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Fri, 02 Aug 2013 02:52:00 +0000

That's exactly what I was a couple of days ago. I attacked with passion. Determined. Focused. Ruthless.

No, not a person. My closet.

I had accumulated too much. I was holding on to clothing with hopes of "someday." Someday, I'll go back to work. Someday, I'll fit into that dress again. Someday, that blouse will be back in style.

I followed the rule that encourages you to discard anything you haven't used in over a year. Now my closet is half empty. Half! Even after the laundry is done and everything is put back in place, it will still be sparse. And I am totally good with that.

Here's how I did it:

I found my motivation. Giving away clothes that someone might be able to use helps them and makes me feel good. Also, less clutter = less to maintain. I can live with that.
I set a goal and a deadline. I picked a random box from the garage and set a time frame in which to fill it (as long as it took the kiddo to finish breakfast). A small job in a short amount of time. Easy!
I pulled out everything I hadn't worn in over year. I didn't just look at it, but touched it, held it, and laid it on the bed. Getting up close with what I had sorted out made me realize that even if I returned to work or got invited to a fancy fundraising event tomorrow, nothing I pulled out would actually work.

Lots of empty hangers and plenty of space

I called consignment stores to see what they would take. It turns out that they have some strict guidelines about what they would take, what condition the clothes had to be in, how and when I could deliver them, how long they would keep the clothes,... I didn't have that kind of time and my goal is to simplify. My second option was to make a donation.
I made sure nothing was dirty and everything was in good condition so someone else would buy and wear it.
I folded, boxed, and made a delivery to Goodwill.

Done!

It was a cleansing experience - literally and figuratively. Next up: bookshelf.

A Sight for Sore Eyes

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Mon, 22 Jul 2013 23:41:00 +0000

One of the things I've chosen to do with some of the time I used to spend on social media is to catch up on my reading.

It's been great!

Hubby had airline miles that were about to expire so he was given the option to buy magazine subscriptions rather than a flight. We now have a steady stream of new reading material from Real Simple, Time, Fortune, Fast Company, Conde Nast Traveler, and Sunset.

As a result, I've dogeared many pages on things to see and do in San Francisco, read a book excerpt about the exodus away from the suburbs and back into urban living, and reactions to the verdict in the Zimmerman trial. After all that, there's still more to read!

My other source of reading material comes from social media itself. I use an app called Pocket which lets you save links to articles so you can read them later.

I haven't been able to keep up with the speed at which we receive information which means that I've got a lot of catching up to do. Most of the articles, like this one about the hacker who helped bring the Steubenville case to light, come from Twitter posts. And, this blog post about Isaiah and Trayvon Martin, in a blog titled, "Justice in the City: Thinking about Judaism and Social Justice".

I'm thankful for the exposure to new perspectives and behind-the-stories stories. I'm even more appreciative for the time to actually enjoy them!

A Fast

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Sun, 21 Jul 2013 23:32:00 +0000

I'm taking a fast from social media. The endless stream of memes, the bickering over headlines, the celebrity gossip. It's all too much. I've taken it all in without a thought to what taking it all in means to me.

It's a overload on my system, so I've decided to take break.

30 days away from Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Linkedin, and Foursquare. As I make the list above, I realize how much I'm consumed by this thing called social media. Each of them is supposed to provide me with a particular service. But, the longer I use them, I become consumed rather than remaining the consumer.

Two of my most valuable commodities - my time and my energy - are wasted on this. Meanwhile, stacks of books and magazines that I want to read pile up beside my bed. Lists of things that I want to make and do with the kiddo remain pinned to the fridge. New places and adventures are still part of my fiction rather than my biography.

So, what am I doing blogging about it rather than fully experiencing it? Mostly, it's to note the changes, if any. Next, it's to encourage others. Finally, it's to stay accountable. I've told unknown readers (few as they are) about my plan and now I need to stick with it.

I hope this 30 day fast will lead to some other changes in the way I use social media and what I do with my time. I'm just starting (day four) and only time will tell.

For more on unplugging, check out Fast Company's article, ""#Unplug: Baratunde Thurston Left the Internet for 25 Days, and You Should, Too".

In the Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Wed, 15 Aug 2012 02:14:00 +0000

"Is somebody ticklish?" That's usually hubby's question for the kiddo, but right now, the roles are reversed. He asks the question the same way his father does - with the same intonation of mischief and the promise of a lot of fun.

"Ohhhh, you want a tickle fight?!"

"Yes!"

This is followed by squeals, high-pitched screams, giggles, and pleas for mercy. "Please, Dada, please! No, no, no, no, nooooo! OK, OK, OK, do it again, tickle me!"

In the pauses, silly sounds and made-up songs. "Wooga, wooga, wooga." "Shoobie doobie doobie, shoop, shoop, shoop!"

Other pauses are out of concern. "Are you OK? Did you hit your head very hard?" "I'm OK. I'm OK."

The wrestling and tickling die down. A story starts. "Do you know what I used to do when I was a little boy in Sri Lanka?" And time to talk. "You know, when you go to Montessori school,..." Then, a question about his soon-to-be cousin. "You mean, Silas?"More quiet. I wonder what thoughts fill this silent space. But it's over just as quickly as it started. "Let's build something, Dada. I'll get my tools!"

No words now. Just the noises of plastic hammer, screwdriver, saw against each other.

This is their hour together. And my time to do with as I wish.

Soon, I'll be back "on": bath time, stories, prayers, bed, dishes, counters, floor, garbage.

But right now, we're all staying in the moment.

This post is a part of

First Day

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 04:30:00 +0000

As the kiddo approaches his very first day of school, I'm flooded with memories of my own school experiences. Dad asked me, "Do you remember your first day?" I sure do! Well, as much as my three-year-old brain saw and held, anyway.

I remember my mother's sari: a flowing blend of light blues and greens. Now that I've seen the Caribbean Sea, I can say that it looked like the blue of its shallow water.

I remember standing outside the classroom: a small room, the outside walls painted yellow.

I remember the sounds coming from inside the room: a combined chorus of small children, wailing, sad and confused. If I had the voice that I have now, I probably would have said, "You want me to go in there? Where all those children are obviously being tortured?!"

Mom added another detail. "I remember that you hugged the teacher's legs as soon as you saw her and wouldn't let go." An appropriate response, don't you think? If you can't beat them, join them.

I also remember my first American school experience: being tested to see if I was academically and socially ready to join kids older than my 10-year-old self in the 6th grade (yes, if you're wondering); standing up to answer a question from my teacher, Mr.Wood, and being told, "We don't do that here!"; using the wrong markings while scoring classmates quiz paper (because it's done the other way around in India) and she being completely confused as to how she got so many wrong answers; making friends with a couple of other girls and starting a secret club; shopping for interesting American school supplies, like Trapper Keepers and PeeChee folders (one of which I still have).

I don't know what pictures of his first day the kiddo will keep as memories. I hope they're good - the reassuring faces of his teachers, the smiles of his classmates, the white furry school rabbit that he'll get to feed and pet.

But I what I do know is that no matter what he remembers, every day is going to be filled with stories of exciting new experiences and discoveries. I can't wait to hear them!

Early Bird

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 19:44:00 +0000

I've hit the snooze button three times already but it's still too early for this night owl. The room is dark and quiet except for the slow, heavy, steady breathing next to me. Peaceful and deep.

I'm in the kiddo's bed. He woke up last night calling for me to stay with him. As usual, I obliged. I resist the urge to pull him close, to squeeze, to shower that sweet face with kisses.

Instead, I roll out gently, prop pillows all around him, and click the bed rail back into place. He's too used to my warmth. I've allowed it, of course. No guilt. Just happy to indulge before it's all gone too fast.

I shuffle out and see a sliver of light filtering through the slightly open office door. Hubby's up but I walk past, selfishly wanting more of the morning quiet to myself.

I move slowly to the kitchen, put the kettle on for tea, open the blinds. It's another clear, bright, blue morning, and I'm ready to enjoy the cool breeze before the heat rolls in. I brew the tea and with hot cup in hand, I settle in a chair on the patio. I'm glad for the tea because the chill is more than I expected.

The air smells clean, crisp, and green. Fresh.

It is a still morning. I sit for just a few minutes and soon I hear the sounds of our little town waking up. The flutter of wings, the music of our small wind chimes, the distant shouts of neighbor calling to neighbor, the low grumble of a freight train, the hum of traffic on the highway, a car starting and revving engines. Rhythmic and routine.

Hubby emerges from the office and is shocked that I'm not just awake, but also up. I shush him back into the kitchen. I need a few more minutes.

I spend those minutes listening to his sounds: water running, dishes rattling, the tap-tap-tap of knife against board.

I'm ready now, and as I enter our home, I'm thankful for hubby who packs his own lunch, the warmth of the house (which in a few hours will also keep us cool), for the extravagance of silence, and the gift of being able to stay home and enjoy the kiddo who will soon shatter the quiet and fill this space with his own sounds.

This post is a writing exercise created by the blogger at Just Write - The Extraordinary Ordinary. Check her out!

Time Flies

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 05:25:00 +0000

Spring and summer have flown by and in a couple of weeks we are back to school. Well, in our case, starting school. It's hard to believe that in just a few weeks the kiddo will experience his first day of school. Three years have sped by! Now we join the tradition of school shopping (clothes, lunch box, lunch bag) and fall schedules (orientation, parent work days, parent-teacher conferences).

Weren't our parents doing all this for us not too long ago?! Like I said, time flies.

We are thankful for so many great preschool options and the wonderful opportunities we can give our child through education. We are blessed!

This has been especially true of the last few months. Here's what has happened:

loan: done, finito, PAID!
hubby earning his MBA
a wonderful celebratory vacation in the sand and sun

job continuity with a great boss and colleagues
finding a good Montessori preschool
visits from family
a fun-filled vacation to visit family in the Northwest so the kiddo and his cousins could enjoy time together, and the anticipation of another cousin who will soon join in the ruckus
more simplifying by donating and selling, which has created a huge sense of freedom

As we celebrate all these wonderful things, we are getting ready for all of what comes next:

paying down student loans
kiddo's adjustment to school - new schedule, new teachers, new friends, new expectations
next phase of hubby's job which is a certification that requires a lot of study time and is to be completed in the next four weeks
a visit from my folks during which we will be celebrating my mom's birthday and my parents' 40th wedding anniversary!

We look forward to it all with joy, faith, and thankfulness that all our daily needs are met and that we are deeply loved.

Good Afternoon

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 08:17:00 +0000

Between work and school, hubby is often locked away in the office running reports, writing papers, or studying for tests. Although he makes every effort to do so, there are plenty of days when he's home but not able to spend quality time with us.

It's difficult for all three of us but hardest on the kiddo. One of the most heart-wrenching images I have is of him knocking on the office door pleading, "Dada, can you please come out? I want to play wit you." (He has a tough time making the "th" sound.)

This evening was the first in a long time where hubby's been home from work or school while the day is still light. The kiddo was on the phone with my parents when he heard the garage door open so they were able share in the excitement.

"Dada's home, Tata! Dada's home, Ammachi! I'm going to play wit him. He's my favorite. Hi, Dada! Welcome back!"

"Hi, buddy! I missed you! Can I get a hug? Oh, that's the best. I love your hugs!"

"You want to play wit me?"

"Yes! Let's go!"

This was followed by helping Dada bring his things in from the car, playing ball in the house, playing ball outside, a very long bike ride, opening a Valentine's day present from a friend, playing cars, making caves with blankets, tickle fights, and lots of laughter. And definitely lots of love.

Priceless.

A Simple Home

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 19:24:00 +0000

For a while now I've been looking for a blog that can help me with taking practical steps to simplify our lives. There are a lot of resources for organizing your home and greening your life, but I was looking for something simpler - something that didn't require that I buy more storage boxes or closet organizers (though I have a fondness for both).

I'm excited to say that I found what I was looking for while browsing Pinterest (a strange place to be for someone who wants to free herself from "stuff" but more on that later). I was looking for ideas on organizing the kiddo's clothes when I came across a website called Small Notebook.

Coincidentally, the blogger's name is also Rachel and what she says about her family is that they want a simpler life "free of distractions, so we can focus on what's really important." Bingo! As I continued reading, I found many parallels: the desire to nurture relationships, make smart financial decisions, find peace in the busy times, learn to appreciate what we have. These are the exactly the types of life changes hubby and I have been talking about and are working toward! For example, here is a link to a post about spending that is so in line with how we feel: 3 Great Ways to Spend More Money.

We're starting this process a bit later than Rachel Meeks and her family so I'm looking forward to learning much and being encouraged by someone who has more miles on this journey.

Buried Treasures

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 20:43:00 +0000

Back in Portland, we lived in a wonderful 1940's house which I just loved. I love the curved ceilings, the picture rails, the wood floors, the molding - all crafted with detail and care that's hard to come by in newer homes. It was a larger home with three full levels, and even before the kiddo was born we managed to fill every room from basement to top floor, including the garage.

When hubby got the job here in California, we had just a few days over a month to find a place, pack, and move. We managed to sell, give away, or toss a lot of things we no longer needed or couldn't use. But over four years we had accumulated quite a lot. That accumulation resulted in boxes stacked along the edges of the garage in our newer, smaller home.

With less space in which to keep all our things, they've remained packed up for the two years we've lived here. Busy with a toddler, school, and work, we've procrastinated the sorting and tossing that looms over us.

However, in keeping with the idea of making small steps, I've decided to tackle one box a day. If I get through more than one box, well, even better. It's most likely that most of what I find will be sold or donated, but I'm looking forward to finding little treasures that I've missed.

Quiet Time

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 16:00:00 +0000

In my last post, I said that it was easier to let go than to admit I was holding on to something. I guess it's a bit like being a hoarder who can't see the mess. It takes work to step back from the usual way of doing and seeing life in order to gain fresh perspective.

A few months ago, I started a morning routine just to get some "me" time: a cup of tea or hot chocolate, calming music, a devotional book, and a view of the clear sky and birds in the back yard.

Not being a morning person, my first attempts at this consisted of just sitting with a warm cup and staring out the window. But slowly, daily, my efforts morphed into something more meaningful. In those quiet moments I was able to pray about and listen for answers to the worries and concerns that didn't have a place in the usual hectic day.

It doesn't make sense that just 30 minutes out of all my waking hours should make a difference. But it does. I am able to leave what I cannot take care of my own to the One who can. And that allows me to take care of who and what I can in the way they deserve - with my full attention.