Guy is a kind and generous father to three precious little girls. He lost his wife, and the girls lost their mother, quite suddenly over a year ago. Guy’s writing on the subjects of loss and faith and trust are beautiful and honest. My post is in a series of guest posts that he put together with the theme of open letters to girls. It’s been my honor to be able to share some of my own thoughts. My piece is titled “Gold, Not Glitter.”

See you there!

I’ve never observed Lent before, but I’m looking forward to the experience. I’ll try to write about more of our details later, but my most basic goal is to explore this idea of the rhythms of fasting and feasting. Seay reminds us that as Americans most of us are only familiar with the feast. That’s certainly true for me and my children.

I don’t harbor any illusions of turning our house into a little monastery or forcing my kids to eat bread and water at every meal. But I do think they are capable of more than our consumer culture asks of them. I don’t mind asking my four to eat toast instead of Pop-Tarts for a few weeks. It also won’t hurt any of us to realize that most people around the world don’t have a thousand different options for supper – they eat the same thing day after day. We’re going to give that one a try.

Monday – Saturday might be a little boring, and we’ll miss desserts, but on Sundays – each one a small Easter leading up to the big day – we’ll feast. Maybe the feasting will be a little sweeter because we’ll actually understand fasting.

It was only at the last minute, just before they began to load up in the car, that Jesse asked, “We’ve got the right day, don’t we?”

Because, I’m okay with this only as long as everyone else is participating!

He’s 10. Macy, on the other hand, is still delightfully 4. I read once that the reason 4 year-olds can be so exhausting is because they have no dimmer switches. Whatever they do, they do in full – full volume, full emotion, full energy, etc. If they are mad, they are furious. If they are happy, they are exultant. It’s work, but it’s fun.

So a couple of weeks ago Macy came upstairs dressed like this: as, in her words, “a Super Princess Ninja.” Helmet, cape, sequined belt, velour dress, and leopard print ballet flats. It was quite an ensemble, but I knew I didn’t want to say no if she asked to wear the get-up to evening church services. I surprised her a bit when I said, “Sure!”

My sister Serenity has often touted the benefits of letting your kids express their creativity and imagination through dress-up, even or especially in public places. I totally agree with her. 10 (or it’s equivalent) comes so quickly – kids are suddenly aware of the rest of the world and begin to shut down their instincts in exchange for conformation to the crowd. (Yes, it was Wacky Sock day, don’t worry about that. See how grown-up you’ve become?!)

So that Sunday night Macy danced in the aisle nearby my seat, as she usually does. And she colored in her coloring book during the preaching, as she usually does. But she did it all in the bold costume of a SuperPrincessNinja.

The best part of the night was not how dressing up affected Macy but how her costume seemed to affect everyone who saw her. Other kids hardly even noticed, of course, because who wouldn’t want to wear a cape whenever possible?! Once adults recognized she was in costume, almost everyone at least smiled. Sometimes they nodded knowingly. Some laughed or bent down to ask her questions about her adventures. It seems that the general public is compelled to seek wisdom from those with clear wardrobe intentionality. For some people, and I know this is probably a writer’s stretch, I could have sworn they looked longingly, even a tiny bit mournfully, over a freedom or attitude they didn’t posses.

So I guess on this Wacky Sock Day I’m just wondering how you are letting out your inner SuperPrincessNinja. Because it won’t just be good for you, it’s going to be good for everyone around you, too. We need permission to dream, to act, and to enjoy the process of living. You might give someone that permission today just by making a brave wardrobe choice. I hope you do!

Answer this: If you were as brave as my 4 year-old, what would you wear today?

For many reasons, the difficulty level of this dance seems to increase when you parent a child with special needs. It isn’t technically harder, of course, but it is different. In our case, we’re constantly second guessing ourselves when it comes to parenting Claire. Most of you know her story. She has mild cerebral palsy and she’s so good at adapting that too often we forget she isn’t a typical middle child.

Other times, it is only too clear with Claire that we’re not dealing with a child facing the usual problems and obstacles. This is especially true whenever she has an evaluation or milestone, and it was one of those weeks.

First, I stood at the rehab clinic and talked with her physical therapist while we watched Claire walk up and down the hallway. She has hemiplegic CP which means most of her weakness/tightness is on one side, her left. Since our bodies are meant to work symmetrically, this causes many physical problems for Claire. We talked stretching and muscle-building and Botox and exercise. It’s always tempting in those conversations to feel like I haven’t been doing enough or to despair that we’ll never “fix” the problems.

“What was her diagnosis? She had a stroke as a baby?”

“No, she had brain bleeds as a preemie. Grade 3 on one side and Grade 4 [the worst possible] on the other.”

Our therapist threw her hands up in the air, “Oh, my gosh! What are we stressing out about?! What she’s doing is amazing.”

And it’s true. Years ago at a visit to one of her specialists, we overheard the parents in the chairs nearby working together to fill our the paperwork that asks about the patient’s history. It turned out their daughter was just a bit younger than Claire, born at the same gestation [25 weeks] and with many of the same complications. The difference was, our daughter was toddling back and forth to the magazine rack bringing us things to read and their daughter was staring off into space strapped into an electric wheelchair equipped with a ventilator that kept the little girl breathing.

That could have been our reality. Instead, we’re “tweaking” her walking/running gaits and reminding her to use her left hand to help with daily tasks even though it would rather just hang tight at her side. We’re trying to figure out how to help her catch and throw a softball and how to spin in time with her classmates in the school musical. Remembering where we could be helps me relax about where we are.

Then it was also IEP week, which meant I met with the special education coordinator to discuss Claire’s recent evaluations and how they will impact her educational plan. I’ve been bothered by her IQ score, frustrated that it didn’t match with what I saw in her mind and in her academic achievements, so I had requested that she be retested. I just knew the new score was going to prove that I was right.

I was wrong. The new score was actually a little lower than the first one. I fought my disappointment as we continued working through the results. Some of it is so heartbreaking, like the fact that my nine year-old tests with the physical abilities of a four year-old. That explains a lot of her frustration. And imagine the body of a four year-old doing the school work of a third grader.

But some of it was encouraging. There is still no sign of a learning disability. This is determined by matching her abilities – what she is capable of doing – against her performance – what she is actually doing. In a child with a learning disability it is determined that their academic performance does not match up with their abilities. In these cases teachers try to determine what kinds of things are standing in the way and help the child to overcome them (for example, reading test questions and allowing the student to speak his or her answer instead of writing it down). Claire has never tested with learning disability because it has been determined that even though her academic performance has been below average, she is working at the top of her abilities.

When I first learned that, it was not reassuring. I didn’t want failure to be the top of her abilities. But this time her testing showed some different results. In every academic area except for one (math), Claire performed as “average.” Which means that the only area where she is working at her ability level (which is below average for her age group) is in math. In every other area she is working ABOVE her ability level. And this test was administered by an external specialist using a test not related to Claire’s own schoolwork. So it isn’t that she is just getting special treatment at school or anything. She is literally performing beyond what she is technically capable of.

So what is that? The opposite of a learning disability?

I don’t know, but I do know it is a great way of describing Claire. It also reminds me of why the parenting dance with her is so complicated. Just when I think she isn’t able to handle the routines, she does a flying leap across the floor in perfect pace with the other dancers. Yet then when I push her to finish a math review worksheet on her own, I find her still working an hour later and remember that subtraction – for some crazy reason – is harder for her to process than multiplication. The steps are out of sequence, we’re learning as we go, and the music doesn’t always match the costume.

But we’re dancing. And we’re having fun learning. And no one else really knows what any of it is supposed to look like anyway. I think I’ll remember that and just call it art. I might not be able to explain it or replicate it or teach anyone else how to do it, but good art doesn’t have to do any of that. Art just is, and we enjoy it and learn from it and let it make us better people in ways we don’t even understand. Just like parenting.

This was my Christmas vacation read, and I loved it. It helped that I had heard Cron speak at STORY in September. I literally had his voice in my head, so picking up his gentle spirit in the tone of his writing was easy. I had also experienced his gift as a true minister of Jesus. At STORY he closed his session by reciting a prayer over us that nearly took our breath away. I felt like I was reading the story of a friend, even though I had only briefly met him in a church lobby in Chicago in the fall.

Though my life may have few similarities with the one Cron describes, he still held me close to his experience through his beautiful writing. I felt his heart and emotions in so many of the scenes. I’m pretty sure just from reading the engaging narrative of his First Communion I was baptized as a Catholic!

“And then I fell into God.”

After I read these words, I was done. Finished. They so perfectly sum up the way I have experienced God throughout my life. It didn’t matter if the vehicle was old-fashioned or pentecostal or just plain weird. I know this feeling. I recognize this language. I’ve fallen into God myself. Somehow Cron does this again and again in this memoir.

I’ll admit some resistance to being this sucked into the language of a memoir. Cron discloses his approach in the introduction. It’s typical memoir-speak. The author may or may not have exaggerated certain events or descriptions in an attempt to help the reader feel the emotional weight of the actual event. I dont’ have a problem with this. I do it in my own conversations. Many times I’ve caught myself embellishing the story just a bit, just enough to make sure you REALLY understand the significance. I get it.

Still, I did catch myself wondering WHEN he was exaggerating. Did he add the tears on his face during that First Communion? Or maybe the priest’s knowing look? Was it his friend’s embrace when he finally admitted to a drinking problem? Maybe the photos of his father playing golf with Richard Nixon? I thought about this off and on until I realized it didn’t matter to me. I wanted to feel the emotional weight just as he felt it, even if he had to use a bit of artistic license to get me there.

I do hope the conversation with Miss Annie at the barbeque is exactly as written, though, because I want to tattoo those words on my arm (or on everyone else’s foreheads) so I don’t forget:

“Love always stoops.”

Read it. Live it.

Please, Rev. Cron, please tell me that’s really what she said! Because like the rest of the book, that just felt so real and true.

Wait, don’t tell me. I like just believing it.

This particular excerpt closes with this explanation: “I put into words what Charlotte Brontë put into actions.”

Here are her words (after she makes the bold and probably not-quite-true point that men who take up writing are easily replaced in their day jobs by another man just as qualified):

But no other can take up the quiet, regular duties of the daughter, the wife, or the mother, as well as she whom God has appointed to fill that particular place: a woman’s principal work in life is hardly left to her own choice; nor can she drop the domestic charges devolving on her as an individual for the exercise of the most splendid talents that were ever bestowed. And yet she must not shrink from the extra responsibility implied by the very fact of her possessing such talents. She must not hide her gift in a napkin; it was meant for the use and service of others. In an humble and faithful spirit must she labour to do what is not impossible, or God would not have set her to do it.

I know it isn’t modern-age politically correct, but most women I know (even the modern ones) can identify with this description and its encouragement. There is a unique pull, especially on mothers and wives, between our irreplaceable role in our homes and families and our belief that we are capable of offering other things to the world as well.

It’s a tension we all feel. Most of us, when we’re honest, never feel like we get it perfectly right, but that’s the nature of tension. That’s how it feels to love the many roles you play in life and still wonder if, since you are trying to play all of them at once, you play any of them well enough to win an Oscar.

I think you do. And you will. You must “labour to do what is not impossible” – emphasis ours!

Until I finish something.

I have a list. A checklist that needs to be completed by a certain (soon upcoming) date. I don’t have tons of extra hours in my day. The only reasonable place to cut out the time I need is by carving into my “down time” – my “Downton time,” actually. The time I use to watch TV.

This will not be forever. I am not a gladiator. I WILL reward myself with a Downton binge once my checklist is complete. But until it is, I’m denying myself in an attempt to get something finished.

I’m watching other things: basketball, a sitcom not to be name on the grounds that I might incriminate myself, and the remainder of the football season. I’m not CRAZY; I’m just trying to dangle a particular carrot in front of my procrastinating self in an attempt to keep my proverbial rear in gear.

Think it will work? I hope so!

Ever given up something you wanted in the short-term for the sake of something you wanted in the long-term?

UPDATE 1/20/2012: Checklist complete. Downton Abbey this weekend!