She Laughs at the Days

Thanksgiving in the Slum

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Sometimes I'm just really happy that this is the family I got when I married Aaron.

This was in my inbox last week from my MIL.

Hi all,

It's November again and I think you know what that means: turkey, stuffing, green beans, pumpkin pies, dirty dishes, sore feet, and a long walk down the dirt road.

You and anyone you might want to bring along are all invited.

RSVP by November 22 - the Sunday before - so I can buy and thaw enough turkey and strategically attempt to seat squeeze everyone into the same room to sup together.

WHAT TO BRING - As always, I'll do the turkeys, stuffing, gravy, and mashed potatoes and drinking water. The rest is up to y'all. To ensure a really grand feast, family groups should mastermind both a side dish and a dessert. The rest of you, all I can say is don't come empty handed.

HOW TO PREPARE - We've all heard and some of us have seen, that even if we have to check under the couch cushions for gas money, we are still better off than the rest of the world. We have MUCH to be thankful for. This year we are taking the opportunity to spread our thanks to the other side of the world.

There is a family I know who live in one of the slums of Visak in India. One of their daughters has been blessed to live and study at Grace Life kid's hostels. Her name is Usha and she is a beautiful teenage lover of Jesus. The last time I was there, her family asked if I would come to their home and walk through the slum to their relative's home to pray for their nephew who lay paralyzed from the chest down from falling off a 3rd story roof. I did and I hope I never forget the honor it was being invited into such a situation.

Usha's parents and young siblings are literal, glowing lights in the darkness of the demonic and Hindu slum they live in. Their hut seems to shine at the end of a long, dark tunnel, but it's some kind of spiritual optical illusion. The path, under the open sky and a few overhanging branches is in full light of day, while their hut is so dark they have to guide me in. A filtered light falls from the smoke hole in the back room they've designated as the 'kitchen'. Their beds are a piece of dirty fabric on the concrete slab they are so happy to have under part of their plank and metal sheeting home. A fan hangs from the ceiling of the little room where everyone sleeps. It's wires threaten to strangle me. The blade hits my head even though I'm already stooping. But this family sparkles with joy.

Usha's little sister was born prematurely and suffers from seizures and is "different". Her mother hip holds her 4 year old frame and asks me to pray for her, but before I can open my mouth, the little girl reaches out and touches my chest and then my head, while looking steadily, lovingly into my eyes, and speaks words that might be Hindi or Telegu or some construction of her own and I receive the purest, straight from Jesus, blessing ever. Not because it was sweet having a little kid 'bless' me, but because it was the purest, straight from Jesus, blessing ever. She did it to me twice and I was nearly undone by the deep joy that filled me. And then there was outright laughing when I asked what her name was and they said it was Blessy.

It is very easy to see the Kingdom of God in this slum. The Light is life radiating out of and around this family. The path that leads to their little home is a gauntlet of dark, heavy, empty eyed families spilling out of their huts. There is no light in the eyes that stare back at me. Not even a glimmer.

Jesus said it is more blessed to give than receive. I want us to thank Him for that dynamic this Thanksgiving and get in on that blessing by collecting our extras for Usha's family as they love and follow Jesus in this visibly dark and demonic place. I want them to know that the family of God is proud of them and 'with' them and willing to share what they have with them. I'm not asking for a lot, just the extras that can be collected during this month leading up to Thanksgiving. The pennies and dimes you see on the street. The change you find under the cushions. The coins that fill up the little compartments in your dash, on your dresser, in the bottom of your purse. Bring it on Thanksgiving and I will send it to Kell Frandsen of Grace Life Ministries to deliver to Usha's family.

To be honest. I haven't got very much spare change at all this month. Several weeks without paying work tends to do that to a family. Sometimes I like to think I'm exempt from these things because of all the work and sacrifice we already do to help people. But the truth is that I still have way more, that I don't really need, when I'm honest with myself. I can afford to give something.

For people who live on less than a dollar a day even $5 is a huge gift.

I've set up a donate button for Usha's family. It occurred to me that some of you might like the chance to pitch in your pocket change as well. So I asked her if I could post her letter here. I have learned to see an opportunity to give as a gift in itself, that I need to give to people. Some of you taught me that, when you wrote to thank me for giving you a chance to help in a meaningful way when we started The Charis Project. So here you go.

One Thousand Gifts-Week 38

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 05:19:00 +0000

A quiet night at home, just me and my little girl.

Silly buns with friends.

Watching Little lay out the cards for a game of memory. The level of concentration is astounding.

My kids all singing together, "Twinkle twinkle little star".

Laughter from the bathroom where they're supposed to be brushing their teeth.

Little money for groceries. But there are free guava everywhere around here. They use the trees for landscaping. The Girl loves to pick them and bring them home to eat.

Quiet children, heads bent in concentration, diligently working on their writing assignments.

Man humming a tune as he sorts laundry.

I let Little walk to visit a friend this week by herself while I watched across the courtyard until she reached the door safe. She looked behind her at least three times as she crossed, to make sure I was still watching, before waving goodbye at the door.

Those little hard and sweet fall apples that smell amazing.

Walking all together, no agenda, just walking all together outside. And climbing a bunch of stuff too.

Hugs from my Boy that he doesn't break.

Lavender flowers in my tea.

That concentration.

My lovely SIL.

Dinner with friends. Good food, good wine, good conversation.

Little-'Mommy, you cute!'

Bouncing

Long talks with the man I love.

The gratitude community is here.

7 quick takes

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 21:52:00 +0000

1. This is the latest video by my friends Levi and Jesse from Drawn from Water.

Drawn From Water, Adopt from Drawn From Water on Vimeo.

I want to adopt one of these babies so bad. If I could figure out how to pay for the whole thing I would. In a heartbeat.

2. I walk very early in the morning around what is essentially a little treed courtyard beside my apartment. I go in circles, that way I can hear if one of the kids wakes up and needs me while I am walking.

Given the hour, I hear my neighbor's alarm clocks when they start to go off as I pass by. This has raised a question.

How on earth is it humanly possible for some people to let their alarm keep going, for 5-10-15 minutes without shutting it off? Does anyone really sleep that soundly? And even if a grown up could manage it, who are these children who aren't woken up by that sound?

My mind is completely boggled.

3. I was due this month. The realization has crept up on me. I have crying fits all over again. This is all I'm going to write about it because I would prefer not to write long mournful posts on the subject. Though I think it's partly to blame for yesterday's sad mournful post about the Girl. November might be sad. You have been warned.

4. I'm almost finished with a children's book I'm writing. I love, love, love it. I also love that my SIL is illustrating it. It is an attempt to show small girls that real beauty comes from the heart, in a way that will engage even very small brains. We have plans for a series. You can be sure to hear more about that as time goes by.

5. I have mice. I caught a glimpse of one on Friday, sneaking along my kitchen floor. My first thought was, "That must be an exceptionally large spider over there that I saw it moving from over here... oh crap that is gray and furry, it's disappearing behind the trash can, find it, get it out NOW!!!" Then I dumped an almost sleeping Little on the couch while I went on a rampage behind the trash can. But of course, it was no where to be found.

I figure the colder weather drove it indoors. Though it's not cold enough that my patio door next to my kitchen where it came in was closed mid afternoon. Pest control arrives tomorrow. In one week it has managed to poop all over the cupboard under my sink, on all my clean towels of course, gnaw a hole in the base board next to the dishwasher, and wreak havoc on my sanity.

I want it gone! But I don't want it poisoned, because I have visions of it creeping somewhere completely inaccessible before it dies and smelling the rotting carcass for months on end. And I don't like glue traps because I don't want to find a mouse, dead, alive, or half dead in one of those. I will ask the pest control people if they come back to check the traps, in which case, I'll just do my best to pretend I don't know about them.

6. Sorry, this one is about mice too. I worked in a greenhouse one winter of my college days. They left poison out to control the mouse problem so every so often we would find dead mice between the rows. The mice we found were all deer mice, which are known carriers of the hantavirus. There was a protocol for disposing of the corpses that involved putting on mask and gloves, disposing of mouse, disposing of mask, and finally tossing the gloves so as to not get sick. I was the one to deal with every dead mouse found on my shift. My co workers were too squeamish. Lest you think that any of my previous comments on the subject are indicative of general ladylike delicacy. I am rarely ladylike. I, alas, do not faint either, except once, from blood loss in childbirth, which was in itself not very ladylike at all. Womanly, but not ladylike.

7.
I just found out that there is an entire free Charlotte Mason Curriculum at Ambleside Online, using mostly books that are available for free download as well. How cool. Especially for someone who wants to home school but worries about the cost. If you don't know about Charlotte Mason they tell you about her teaching philosophy as well. Hers was the idea that young minds should be stimulated, with real literature, the outdoors, discussion, etc. There's a whole lot more to it than that and you can find it if you're interested.

HT to Notable Blogger

As always, thanks Jen@Conversion Diary for hosting these.

Confessions

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 08:05:00 +0000

"Mama. Mama. Mama," she calls, "Just one more thing."

My hand hovers on the doorknob, poised for escape. On the other side of that door is sweet relief that I made it through another day, quiet, and time to myself, time to get things done. I am almost free, but no.

I sigh, turn back toward her. "What is it sweetie?" I ask, trying to keep the irritation from leaking through.

"Mama? When all your work is done can you come in and lay down next to me? And if I'm awake can you rub my back and sing me a song. But if I'm NOT awake can you still give me a hug and lay down next to me for a little while?"

Every night it's the same question. Usually I cut her off mid sentence, so great is my desire to escape. "Yes, I'll lay down next to you, but you'll probably be asleep by then and won't know it," I hedge. "Goodnight, I love you, go to sleep."

I slip out quickly, hoping to cut off any more talk. I'm done. I'm tired. Bedtime exhausts me and I long for it to end.

Some nights I completely forget to go back into that room before dragging myself into bed several hours later. More than I would like to admit. Some nights I lay down, remember, and get up again to go in and hug her, though she never wakes, so I'll know I kept my promise to her.

I don't go back in before she's asleep if I can avoid it. She takes longer to sleep if I'm in with her, and talks and talks until my mind blanks out entirely and I fall asleep before she does. I can't afford naps like that. They have me up far too late at night, doing work that should have been done earlier. Little still takes so long to get to sleep and I feel I have nothing left for the Girl who has finally learned to fall asleep on her own.

Yet every night she falls asleep, happily hoping that I will come in and spend some extra time with her, sing to her, and rub her back.

I'm aware, as I choose not to most nights, that one day I'll wish I had. One day I will regret not taking the opportunity, every night, to spend some more time with my little girl. She will be all grown up and gone and I will wish I could hold her again and spend more time. I even think to myself that if she were to suddenly die tomorrow, the one thing I would regret the most is not going in before she sleeps and laying down with her and singing to her one last time.

I know this is important, and yet, at the end of the day, it feels impossible. Or I just don't want to. Or both. I feel her question like a weight, another burden added to my already full load. Or perhaps it is my own selfishness that burdens me so, I never can tell.

There are so many choices like this that we parents are confronted with. Pay the bills or read a story? Make a healthy nutritious dinner or play together outside and eat something convenient? Lay down with my little girl, or do work that keeps 35 other children I've never met, and hopefully many more, from starving to death or being sold in the street while mine safely rests in her bed on the other side of the wall.

Sometimes the choices we have to make tear our hearts apart. We can never be present as much as we would like. We will always wonder if in the moments when we are, it is enough? Or at least, I will, every night when I hear, "Just one more thing mama, just one more thing," and then shut the door.

the mouths of babes

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 17:04:00 +0000

She loves princesses. She obsesses about hair and curls and pretty necklaces. Yes, already, at almost 6. I have not encouraged this trend, it's just who she is. She loves to plan things, and sweeps us all along with her schemes and imagining.

A few nights ago we were praying together, as we do every night before bed. After prayer time was over I hurried through the songs and the hugs as fast as I could, because I wanted to get her prayer written down before I forgot it. This is what she prayed.

I pray that you would give Chala and the kids lots of money for food, and that the people who are selling the food would give them change so they can buy more stuff. And I pray that the pigs would not get sick and die so they can sell them for more money. (They are raising pigs for market, but lots of pigs in their area have been dying of sickness.) And I pray that they would not get malaria.

Please make it so that in Burma they aren't killing people anymore and so that the Burmas (sic) don't want to kill the tribes anymore so that when they are driving around they won't be killed. Please make it safe for the tribes, Amen.

What could be left to add but a hearty Amen?

In the end we are all God's children, our understanding always childish compared to His. Yet he invites us still to sit with Him "in heavenly places" Eph. 2:6 and participate with his work/be His presence on this earth.

Do any of us truly understand this?

Yet still we pray. Hopefully with at least as much confidence and trust in His response as a 5 year old girl, who believes she is a princess because her father is a King.

One Thousand Gifts-Week 38

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 19:01:00 +0000

The Girl and Little working together to "make me pretty" by brushing my hair, putting in clips, and putting on all of my necklaces at once.

The starlit sky framed by palm fronds.

Little-Do you want to pway dis game wif me mama?

The Boy's when he smiles.

The Girl laughing while telling me about the dream she just woke up from and thought was real.

Boys swinging swords, practicing to be heroes.

A relaxing, post church beach adventure with friends and family. Perfect temperature, warm, but not hot.

The way waves catch and reflect sunlight in a ceaseless dance of light.

Caves etched in sandstone by waves and tides, inverted trenches with rippling walls as smooth as glass.

I forgot how much fun a game of catch with a frisbee can be.

The Girl singing a new song in the backseat of the car, joyfully off key.

Thousands of tiny, perfect shells smaller than a fingertip.

The love of a husband.

Watching the faces of kids who have seen too much, too young, light up as they have fun.

Remembering that God doesn't abandon us when we make mistakes, and he's not surprised by them either.

(This week I started an experiment. I have such a twitter habit anyway, I started noting gifts in my twitter feed with the hashtag #onethousandgifts. I found I'm catching more things this way, recording them before they slip away. I like the idea of using twitter as place to also give thanks for what He has done, and to join together in doing it. If you want to join just tweet what you're thankful for and add the hashtag at the end.)

You can find the rest of the gratitude community here.

Questions Without Simple Answers

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 06:46:00 +0000

This past week, including tonight, I have seen or heard at least 10 small children crying as they stand outside my apartment. They are fixed in place, staring upward at the window above my front door. The one belonging to my upstairs neighbors. They look like they're going to pee their pants they're so scared and yet they can't look away, and they cry in that panicked sort of way that small children do when their frightened.

This is what they are looking at.

To be fair, I have heard a lot of older kids yelling, "Hey, that's really cool!"

But I don't think it makes up for all the scared little kids.

This is what I hate about Halloween. Most of the year we have a choice about what our children are exposed to, and what we expose ourselves to. But from Sept. 1 to the end of October, we have shoved into our faces, every where we go, images of death and terror. More importantly, our children who have no filters and categories yet for this kind of thing, have it shoved in their faces too.

I don't understand trick or treating because of this either. I understand the fun of dressing up and asking for candy. I don't understand why people think it's fun to scare small children with their decorations and costumes, and I don't understand why parents would take their smallest children to those scary places in return for a handful of junk. I've never actually been trick or treating, so I don't know. Maybe something happens where you learn to conquer your fear? I suspect there are better, healthier ways to teach our children that.

But even if you don't take them trick or treating to scary places, in October a simple walk to the playground can become a terrifying experience for a child, as evidenced by all those I have seen standing outside staring and crying.

I used to object because of the fear that it originated from. If you believe the spirits of the dead can come out and harass you on this night then you darken your home to make it unattractive, dress yourself as a ghost to blend in with all of the real ones and take to the streets of your village to avoid being home when they try to enter. You give money and food away to those who come threatening menace if you don't. You carve a turnip to look like a human skull and place a candle in it to trick the spirits who require human sacrifice into thinking it's already been done.

These are grisly things, and evil. But I could forget about that, since that's not what it's about these days, or so they say. Now it's about the kids, and the candy, and meeting your neighbors. Except when it's not. Fear, and frightening people is still very much the point, however much it's supposed to be the kind that you can laugh off. It's on those grounds that I still object. It's still a night of mischief, it still celebrates fear and death. And it still rubs your face in it in an inescapable way.

What to do with my objection still remains a bit of a puzzle.

There are those who respond to the day by avoiding it altogether, and hide in the back of the house with their lights out.

In response to them is the group who believe that being neighborly and joining in is more important and loving. I think they have a point, but I want to ask them what it is they do on the other 364 days of the year. It's not like you can't cross the street, knock on the door and say, "I made an extra dozen cookies today, would you like some?" on any given Wednesday afternoon.

That's the idea that I find the most compelling. Instead of joining in on a gimme or else night, if we want to care about our neighbors, we can voluntarily give out of love on a consistent basis. Why not invite our neighbors into our homes for a non-scary time of fun?

I like what our church did this year. They held a costume party. Scary costumes were discouraged. There was a climbing wall, bouncers, music, an all you can eat taco stand, and tons of games with prizes for the kids to play. In a way it's silly. Because it's another form of hiding. Everyone go and congregate together and have fun and avoid all those other people who are indulging in the scare factor. But it's also an alternate place to invite people to go, especially for those who aren't sure about opening up their own homes yet.

I have a friend at church who started a non-profit in downtown San Diego that helps refugee families get on their feet once they arrive. They give away furniture, clothes, and toys. They open their doors to let the kids come in and play while their parents find items they need to start life over again. She brought about 50 of those children, and some parents to our church party tonight. Kids from Somalia, Bhutan, and Burma. They had so much fun. There was not a person who could keep from smiling as they shrieked, ran, climbed, ate, won all the games, and paraded their makeshift costumes around.

Would that inviting people in could always be that rewarding.

As you can tell, I'm trying to discover how to take my objection to something that isn't likely to change just because I object to it and turn it into an action, or series of actions, that subverts the dark intent of Halloween. I'm just not sure yet what that is.

7 quick takes

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 05:39:00 +0000

It's been a while since I did one of these. But I read so many interesting things this week I figured here would be a good place to share them with you.

1. Against School by John Gatto is a scathing look at the historical roots and intentions of public schools and why they fail to help our children to reach their full potential. It's not just for home schoolers though. He speaks also to parents whose children are in public school about what they can do as well.

Here's a bit to catch your interest.

By the time I finally retired in 1991, 1 had more than enough reason to think of our schools-with their long-term, cell-block-style, forced confinement of both students and teachers-as virtual factories of childishness. Yet I honestly could not see why they had to be that way. My own experience had revealed to me what many other teachers must learn along the way, too, yet keep to themselves for fear of reprisal: if we wanted to we could easily and inexpensively jettison the old, stupid structures and help kids take an education rather than merely receive a schooling. We could encourage the best qualities of youthfulness-curiosity, adventure, resilience, the capacity for surprising insight simply by being more flexible about time, texts, and tests, by introducing kids to truly competent adults, and by giving each student what autonomy he or she needs in order to take a risk every now and then.

thanks Leila for the link.

2. How did I manage to go 30 years, most of them with long hair, and not know how to make "Milk Maid" braids like this? I've tried before, and done something harder that looked less pretty.

3. This little video called What is Poverty? made me cry.

thanks Ann Voskamp for the link.

4. This article about the actual effectiveness of the Gardasil Vaccine that supposedly prevents cervical cancer terrified me. 44 girls have died after getting the shot, and the stats show it has no positive impact on preventing the disease. Gardasil Researcher Drops a Bombshell

5. I have a bit of an internet crush on Veronica Mitchell. I'm enjoying her new blog The Slow Food Experiment almost as much as I enjoyed her older one. And I HAVE to read the exchanges on twitter between her and Beck because they are usually entertaining, for me. I have a closet love for the same type of wit. Yet I feel like that person who tries to jump in on your conversation at a party, isn't very funny, and you smile politely but really wish they would leave you alone. Either that or an internet stalker. But I'm convinced that if we ever met in real life she would like me, and I would like her. She could see that I'm not nearly as pompous in person as I seem to inadvertently become on the internet.

6. We watched the U2 on YouTube concert live on Sunday night. Aaron's brother was somewhere in the crowd in the inner circle right around the stage. I guess they had a bunch of people from organizations that combat human trafficking on stage there, including an acquaintance of ours, the director of Eleho. We couldn't see any of them on the feed though.

Is it just me, or does Bono have absolutely no idea of what to do with himself on stage? He just seems so... awkward. And funny. If a guy who wasn't Bono got up on stage to sing and did the same stuff we'd all laugh at him. Honestly, it was boring to watch, and listen to. I like their old stuff better.

On that note, I was thinking, as I loaded the dishwasher and cleaned the kitchen while watching a giant crowd of people with actual leisure and disposable cash for such things as rock'n'roll concerts, that I am getting old. I'm not there yet, but I'm well on the way. I think it was the juxtaposition of such domestic chores with all the excitement of the concert fans. I'm not sure I ever got excited about stuff like that, but now I know I definitely prefer a quiet night at home with my family to all the hype of a big event. I mean, just imagine getting out of the parking lot after the concert. See? Like I said.

7. I am reading The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down right now. It's the fascinating account of the cultural clash between the immigrant Hmong community in Merced CA and the western doctors over the care of a little girl with epilepsy. (Hmong is the name of one of the hills tribes in South East Asia. They've migrated from China into Laos, Thailand, Burma, etc over many years.) One of the things that it does very well is make apparent how vast the difference can be between the way two different groups of people view the same event. It's well written and easy to read and also a bit mind expanding.
It's particularly interesting to me because most of the children in the Charis Home are Hmong.

7 Quick Takes hosted @ Conversion Diary

Diverting myself with paint

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 19:09:00 +0000

I was inspired by The Nester last week to start yet another project. Well, that and the white paint was already out because the Girl was painting her swan puzzle.

We got a lot of interesting furniture and collectibles, when Aaron's uncle Gordon died. (OK mostly collectibles. Have you seen our apartment? It's super tiny considering the 5 people residing here. But we did finally get some things to sit on thanks to him.) He had a house full of stuff. We know several are quite valuable. But then there are all of those items that you just can't tell if they are valuable antiques, or something he just liked at a thrift store, or both.

But as Madam Nester says, "If you don't love it, why is it in your house?" Or something like that. I think it was her. I could be imagining that part.

Our apartment is pretty dark; red on the walls, dark wood tones in much of the furniture, green and brown paisley rug, red couch and chair, and saddest of all, brown fake wood veneer on all of the cabinets. I really want to lighten it up a bit. So I started with an end table. I may have defaced a valuable antique, but I figured that since there were signs of pet teeth on one corner and the finish was all scuffed I wasn't likely to make it worse.

It's a cute table though.

I was certain I had wrecked it when I got the first coat of white on. It was way too bright, didn't go well with the tile, and it worried me. So then I added some maple brown paint to my white, and some yellow, and tried again. The off white worked much better, but it wasn't until I started to sand it to give it a distressed finish, or prepare it for a completely different color if I needed to redo it, that I really fell in love with it.

You can see all of the little carved details now. And the little corner where I keep it, next to the dark red sofa, and the fake wood cabinet looks a little brighter now.

Of course, then I put the gigantic stacks of books that Aaron is currently reading or referring to back on top of it so you can hardly see it at all. But since that's it's job, in order to keep his desk a bit more clear I'll have to move the stacks to show it off if you come by and visit me. I tried that trick of turning all the bindings toward the wall so the different colors didn't show, but I noticed this morning that he's turned them all around again. It's like he doesn't even care about having an attractively arranged end table. Oh. Right.

Also I cleaned off the desk. Inspiring heights of home design I know. You should be jealous. That's mostly books under the desk too. And in our storage closet... that's right, more books. We haven't the room for anymore book shelves. And we can't get rid of them. We need them for blowing our noses. What? You thought we actually read or something. Pshaw! Who has time for that?

Thankful for a dead battery?

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 01:00:00 +0000

A week ago Aaron and the Boy were supposed to go to Mexico for the day. Aaron was meeting with an orphanage director there to consult about the self sustaining model we're working on for Thailand, and a bunch of Korean pastors were going too. (It's a really well run orphanage. They were there to learn how to set one up in N. Korea.) He decided to take the Boy along.

They woke up early, got ready to go, said goodbye and walked out the door. Fifteen minutes later they walked back in. Our not very new truck wouldn't start. While fiddling around trying to figure out the problem Aaron found a loose wire and connected it again. But the truck still wouldn't start. He called AAA, I called his parent's house. I know that they routinely head in our direction on Tuesday. His sister agreed to drive by and give him a boost, and lend him her car if necessary so he could make his meeting.

The car started, so the boys left, and lovely Fair Haven (Her blogging name. You should go and look at some of her paintings.) decided to drive the girls and I around on our get ready for the Boy's party errands.

While we were getting ready to leave Aaron called from the road to say, "I wonder how long I've been driving on only 5 cylinders."

It turns out that that the car we thought was almost dead, couldn't accelerate up hills, and had the engine light on all the time isn't as dead as we thought. That loose wire was the problem and now it's running fine.

We had to replace the battery this weekend because it was very weak, but our car is running well for the first time in months. AND we got to spend the morning with Kallee and get things done.

I never thought I could be thankful for a dead battery. Just goes to show that it is possible to give thanks in all things I suppose.

Photo by ChrisGoldNY and used under a Creative Commons license.

Conversation with my MIL

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 20:46:00 +0000

Sunday.

her: I read your blog last night, it was really very sweet. You do sound like the perfect mother on there though.

me: laughter. Yeah I have wonderful thoughts on motherhood on occasion. The execution on the other hand... not so perfect.

(Let's just say we both know better.)

her: Yes, they're lovely thoughts. But still, it was really sweet.

Lest you get the wrong idea about me, or something, from what I write here.

1000 Gifts-Week 37

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 21:44:00 +0000

Foggy nights that smell like the Canadian Rockies.

All of the family that pitched in to throw the Boy a great party.

His face when he saw his new Star Wars shirt.

Work this week after a 3 week dry spell.

Good friends.

The way Aaron can always make me laugh.

Crisp fall mornings mixed with the scent of woodsmoke.

Birds at the feeder.

A sister in law who will drive me around on all of my birthday party errands.

A second hand chair for $5 at the first thrift store I went to after saying, "I need to buy a $5 chair somewhere to replace this broken desk chair."

Unexpected beauty.

Little putting on her "pitty dwess to dance" when I am playing Moonlight Sonata.

Watching Aaron and Hannah working together on her homework and laughing at calculus questions.

Stifled giggles with someone who shares my sense of humor.

Boy-I should be more responsible now that I am 8.

Watching the Boy build all of his new presents and talk nonstop about them.

Love.

The gratitude community is here.

8 years old!!!!

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:12:00 +0000

We both look like children in this photo.

Eight just seems so old. Only two years away from being a tween. Gah! How did this happen so quickly. I feel like I'm running out of time to get it right before you become a man, leave home, and all my spurts and mistakes and missteps are forever cemented into your image of what your mother is like; what your home and family are like. I'm not a perfect mother yet! Rather than sitting around waiting for me to become one and raise you properly your legs keep getting longer, your brain keeps getting smarter, and you take step after step away from me and into a life of your own choosing.

Sigh. All is right with the world. I will recover from the shock of having an 8 year old soon enough.

bittersweet

I love you.

The last 8 years with you have been full of joy. It is so much fun to watch you learn things. You read, all. the. time. If ever I wonder where you could have wandered off to I'm certain to find you, sprawled out somewhere with your nose bent to a page. You call out to me the more interesting bits of the National Geographic magazine as you are reading. It makes me happy to see you much you enjoy learning about things. You aren't in the least bit self conscious when you talk about these discoveries. You are filled with the simple enjoyment of discovering something new and interesting.

Perhaps my favorite thing is how you swell up and are so pleased when you receive some well deserved praise. Also the way you thank me for telling you that you did a good job.

You are the biggest help to me. You know how to play well with your sisters, to keep them entertained when I am busy. You are getting to be very good at your jobs now, and they are real jobs that help me out a lot. I can't imagine our family without you as the big brother. You do such a good job at it.

I like listening to you make up songs while you are playing. Your dad and I laugh together when we overhear you singing a theme from a Mozart symphony, or Star Wars, at the top of your lungs. You are naturally musical, and you seem to be completely unconscious of your gift. You don't know how much of a contrast it is to other kids you know that you are always on pitch and can carry a tune so well. I like singing with you in the mornings.

There is sweet eagerness to your approach to all of the things you pursue that blesses me to see. (With the possible exception of cleaning the bathroom and picking up your lego every day.) I love that even though most of our gifts to you today are badly needed clothes you will be delighted with every single one. When I asked you what you wanted for your birthday this year your answer was, "I want a Star Wars birthday, at Beema's house, with chicken noodle soup and angel food cake. And I want ewoks in canoes made out of carrots and celery again like last year."

I was wanting to know what to buy you for a present. But you don't usually think in those terms.

I hope you never grow too old to be sincere and earnest about life and the people around you. I hope you continue to be childlike, even as you become less childish, that the spontaneous wonder that charms me so will stay with all your life.

Tonight I will make chicken noodle soup again, as I have for the last three years, and hope this angel food cake from scratch idea works out. I can't wait to see your face when you see all the decorations we're planning to put up while you're at Seaworld with Beema. I hope you have a really great time. And I hope that this year goes a little more slowly than last year did, so I can have more time with you.

Love,
your mama

Come Away

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:01:00 +0000

There is this thing I try every so often with my kids. When I can see that they are on the verge of fighting with each other, or when they are in the middle of fighting, I call one of them to come to me. Rather than give them something to stop, I want to give them something to do. I want them to come to me. I want to give them a hug, talk it over, cuddle. I want to have a moment together that diffuses the conflict going on around them.

It usually doesn't work. They are too engaged in their anger, invested in winning this meaningless fight, to want to come and be with me for a moment. Which saddens me. I then have to discipline where I would rather comfort and guide.

Sometimes it also puts me in mind of all of those passages in the Old Testament where God is saying, over and over, "Come back to me. Didn't I raise you? Didn't I nurse you? Didn't I stay by your side and walk you through the wilderness? Didn't I save you time and time again? Yet you persist in this selfish, foolish behavior. You don't take care of the poor, or each other, and you are running off after everything else that you think will make you happy. Even though it's stupid. What am I going to do with you?"

Other times it makes me think of all the times it seems God is saying the same thing to me. When I am weary and worried and upset over things he says, "Come away. Come and spend a little time with me."

But I don't. I stay where I am. Worrying about the dirty floors and the ways that I am failing.

Slowly I'm learning, one day at a time, to let it all go, to walk away and spend a little time in the loving arms of my father. To be restored.

Maybe someday my children will learn the same.

Built by Love

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 08:27:00 +0000

Our family has changed a bit in the past month or two. I've not written of it before. I wasn't sure I ever would. It's not the easiest thing in the world to explain.

We have a new daughter. She's 19 years old. We have adopted her. Not legally of course, she's technically an adult. But she's a part of our family now in as permanent and real a way as if we had.

To explain I've got to back up just a bit. You see, this isn't the first time this has occurred in our family. I talk about Aaron's brother Sean, in Thailand, every so often. But he isn't technically even related to the rest of the family. Aaron's mom adopted him when he too was past the age of majority. I won't tell all of the story here. Suffice to say his childhood was one of abandonment and changing homes. He thought his sister was his mom for several years, and he reached adulthood without ever really experiencing the love of a mother.

Psalm 68 describes God like this,

A father to the fatherless, defender of widows... He sets the lonely into families.

We watched as God did exactly that with Sean, tying us all together with cords of love, and making him a brother, and a son. When he married his wife in a little Karen village in northern Thailand it was my mother in law who went to be there as his mother. Our family was his family at that wedding, the only family who loved him enough to make the journey to share in his joy. My MIL just returned this week from another trip to Thailand to be grandma to their daughter while they adjusted to a second baby in the house. She made the trip for both of their children just as faithfully as she has for me when my babies were born. She does it because whether or not she birthed him, or the law made him hers, Sean is her son, and she is his mother, and that's all there is too it. It is love that does this, and love doesn't need documents or blood ties to join us to each other.

A few months ago Hannah* came up to me in church, obviously distraught and asked if we could go somewhere and talk. I had been almost a year since we first met outside the Sunday School classroom. She was a freshman. Her North Dakota accent drew me to talk to her. It sounded so familiar, and yet so odd in the midst of all these southern Californians. We invited her to dinner a few times and got to know her a little. It's not unlike what we do with everyone else we meet and like.

We went to the enclosed coffee area out back. She told me about her week, and it was terrible. I won't recount it here. My heart ached for this girl in front of me, for the pain she was in. I wanted to comfort her and protect her, like I would my girls. So I took her hands in mine and wept, and prayed for her like she was my own.

When I told Aaron later that day his reaction was the same. He just wanted to hold her, and comfort her, like he would Little, or the Girl.

We decided together that we would be there for her if she would have us. We would walk through the next several painful weeks alongside her, and help as we were able.

When she next came over for dinner, a few days later, Aaron said, "I don't know if you understand this. This is something that makes sense to us. As far as we're concerned, if you want to be, you are part of our family now."

She responded, "Um, I'm not really sure I know what you mean by that."

So Aaron explained. "Family is there for you if you need them. If you have no place to go, you can come here. If you need help you can call us. If you have a good day and want someone to share it with we're here for you. If you need to cry, we're here. We are here for you, no matter what. You get to be part of us, and we're part of you. It means you're not alone."

As he spoke she started sobbing. When the crying subsided she said, quietly, "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

Since then we have been investing time getting to know each other. It's like how it might feel if you lost a child several years ago, and there they are in your life again. The bond is there, but you don't really know them yet. You're hungry for shared history.

We avoided defining the relationship for a while, letting the word family cover it all.

Then one Sunday, the day I was in nursery taking care of babies, Hannah found Aaron and cried on his shoulder for an hour or so. Her biological father is a broken, fearful, hurting old man. It drives him to be mean, spiteful, and pathologically co-dependent. Hannah has chosen to try to maintain a relationship with him, instead of walking away for good. That weekend while she was with him, at a Casino he dragged her to, in front of his friends, and then at his house where she was cleaning, cooking and taking care of him he spewed hateful angry bitter words all over her the entire time.

When I found them after service her eyes were red rimmed and sad. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Have you been crying?"

"Oh, Aaron has been helping me," she answered. "We've been talking about my other dad."

With that sentence she defined this new relationship and what it means to her. In the next few weeks we accepted her definition emotionally as well as mentally.

That is the story of how Hannah became part of our family.

A friend at church asked a few weeks later who Hannah was. How did we know her? "We met here," I told her, "she teaches the kids in Sunday School."

"Oh," she said, "I thought maybe she was a family member or something. You guys have such a big family."

"Well she is family, now." I responded. "We've sort of adopted her."

She laughed in understanding, having known us all for a while. "Yeah, you guys are good at that."

*not her real name

Love Thursday hosted here.
*************
For those of you wondering, we're not trying to replace Hannah's biological parents. How this works is still really confusing for us, and we're trying to figure it out. She maintains a relationship with them. We are building a relationship with her mom. They see her more than we do. But there are things that they, in their brokenness have never been able to give to her. It's not that they don't love. I don't believe. It's because they are unable. We believe that we have been given the privilege of filling in those gaps, of loving in the ways she has yet to experience love. She has felt since she was 11 that she had no parents, that they only wanted her around to take care of them. This is probably not entirely true. But it has caused her to be unable to believe that anyone would ever really want her, just for who she is. We hope and pray that time with us will change all that.

One Thousand Gifts-Week 36

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 05:11:00 +0000

Little smiling as she moves in her sleep.

Three little girls walking abreast down the sidewalks. Each pushing her baby doll in a toy stroller.

The Boy nonchalantly performing a series of jumps on his scooter.

The Girl racing behind him, attempting the same.

Little tell stories like this, "Wemembah when we go Sea Wowd? We see dawphins and dey spwash us. Wemembah dat, Mommy? Wemembah?"

My kids all singing the same hymn, with many wild personalized variations, while playing with toys.

The Boy-Yes mommy, I would be happy to do that. Was that good mom, that I said it like that? Because I wanted to be helpful and obey fast.

Aaron calling me to tell me about something he's really excited about.

The Girl, while looking at a book of mazes-Oh, this one looks challenging.
(We all exchange meaningful glances over her five year old head so she won't notice us laughing at how adorable it is to hear her use such words so unselfconsciously.)

The impromptu girl band that sprang up at Beema's house last Friday thanks to a Coldplay song, and Hannah's presence to translate the piano score into a bass line for Ana. It was a lot of fun to play together.

The gratitude community is here.

The Doll Family is Sick

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 15:45:00 +0000

this post brought to you by Little.

So glad only the dolls are sick right now.

Conversations

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 06:07:00 +0000

Boy: No I'm not 7, I'm 18.

Girl: [immediately] That means you're old enough to get married. (Imagine dreamy tones as she says this. She has been to too many weddings this summer.)

Boy: Wait. Mommy? How old do you have to be to get married?

*****************

Little: The baby mwiyah come to owa house tonight. Me wuv her. Me can touch her.

Girl: Mommy, do you want to have another baby?

Me: Yes.

Girl: Oh. Can you do it tomorrow then?

1000 Gifts-Week 35

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 18:28:00 +0000

Early morning smiles from my kids when they just get out of bed.
That sometimes, just being yourself can bless and encourage someone.
Cuddling up on the couch to read books together.
The Girl washing a pear for Little.
The obvious delight on Little's face when she says good morning to the Girl.
The Girl's sleep crumples hair standing on end.
Conversations with Aaron after a successful day.
Quiet time! When they are actually quiet.
Crickets chirping outside my window as I fall asleep.
Clouds and cool breezes.
Not enough dirty laundry for a full load.
A doll house on loan from a friend that has the girl's enthralled.
Sun showers and rainbows.
Long walks together when we're not in a hurry.
Picnics at the park.
Banana loaf.
Sisters in law who are fun to be with.
Paint, in rich, warm cheerful colors.
My kids tucked into bed in the Sukkah at Beema's house, trying to find stars.

The gratitude community is here.

1000 Gifts-Week 34

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 17:30:00 +0000

Usually on these days I write a list of gifts small and large over the past week. Sometimes paragraphs tell the story best. This is one of those weeks.

I take the smallest of steps toward God. Make time to pray. His response, so all out of proportion to my furtive stumbling blows me away. Yet again I remember how good, how generous he is.

I wake up at 6:30 am to the quiet beep of the alarm, on the days when Aaron doesn't have to work early and kisses me awake on his way out the door. I prefer the second way. Sometime in the night Little crept into my bed and now lays snuggled beside me.

As quietly as possible I sneak out of bed and don workout clothes before making my way into the living room. I cherish this quiet dark silence. I don't want little needy voices disturbing me yet.

I light candles on the piano and kneel at the bench, not because I am very pious, but to remind my sleepy body to stay awake. This is my early morning meeting with God, and it is very good. My hand in his, we talk about the people he has given me to love, and the places where I have influence, and I ask again for his will to be done, for him to walk with me through this day.

Sleepy heads tumble out of bed as I finish praying and snuggle in for kisses and hugs in the candlelight, one for each of them, for a few moments before the rest of the day begins.

After morning chores and breakfast we gather together at the bench once more. The Lord's Prayer for us a rabbinical mnemonic, teaching us how to pray. (Matthew 6:9-15) Squirmy bodies kneel and try to be still as we walk through it together. This is our meeting place.

To whom do we pray?

Our Father,

where?

in heaven.

What is He like?

Holy is your name.

What does that mean, holy? Complete, perfect, whole.

Hand in hand once more we ask the maker of the universe, who tells us to call him Father

your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

For once the hearts and minds of men come into His kingdom His will shall be done.

We are specific. We pray for our neighborhood, our home, for Burma, for the villages in Thailand. I tell them to listen, perhaps He has something special he wants to do today through their prayers.

Give us today our daily bread.

We ask for work to do. We ask for people who will give to the children's home. We ask for blessing on the people who have been generous to us and those we love.

Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.

It is a moment of confession, for all of us. A daily soul searching. It isn't optional, this choice to forgive. It is one of the inescapable elements of Jesus teaching in this passage. You may not expect to receive forgiveness from God if you will not extend it to others.

So we ask forgiveness , and we choose to forgive. God meets us here, in these moments. He greets our halting, imperfect baby steps with a flood of grace that never ceases to amaze me. I watch my children transformed by a process so simple, yet pointing to truths so rich they will spend their lives trying to understand them. They run up to me in the middle of the day now after a fight with a friend. "Mommy, I want to forgive her, may I go and tell her I forgive her?"

In the process their anger and passions rule them less and less. They are being changed.

We memorized Galations 5:22-26 this month.

22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,
23 gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.
24 Now those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.
25 If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.
26 Let us not become boastful, challenging one another, envying one another.

The first verse is easy enough for children to understand. If your heart were a garden what kind of plants would grow in it? If the spirit of God is in your heart you can tell because you will find these things there. But how do I explain verse 24 to a 5 year old and a 7 year old?

So we talk about how we were once God's, but believed the evil one and gave ourselves to him. How he owned us. How all of the Bible is the story of our Father in Heaven trying to get his kids back. How he came himself, as one of us, to walk with us and to give himself in exchange for us. How he then defeated the evil one in a way no one expected, could ever have imagined, by that sacrifice. How he won back the earth that we gave away along with ourselves, and all of us.

We talk about their naughty part, what it wants. Does it ever want good? We talk about how we can put our naughty parts every day up on that cross, where Jesus won us back, and not let it own us or be in charge of us anymore, with the help of his spirit in us.

I am tempted every day to skip through these parts. There is reading and writing and history to teach. There is a schedule to keep. This takes so much time. Yet I am reminded every day that I am not just teaching children to read and write. I am shepherding souls with eternal potential into the relationship they will have with the the maker of all. I am giving them the space to learn how to walk with him on their own. This is the real work I am doing, the rest is simply details.

Lead us not into temptation,

Help us to stop ourselves at the beginning, at the moment we first step toward doing wrong. The first moment our naughty part speaks out. Guard us from taking that step, or the next one. Help us not tempt each other to sin by the way we treat each other.

but deliver us from evil.

Protect us, protect our families, protect our brothers and sisters the world over. For them the real meaning of deliver, to save us out of evil, is literally what they need. There are 2000 Karen and Kachin children in Burma with a mysterious and severe illness. Trapped in a place where the government refuses to provide health services, and will not allow international organizations to go in and help, who knows what will happen to them? We pray that they will be saved out of evil.

For yours is the kingdom,

We pray to him because this kingdom of life and light is his.

and the power,

We pray to him because He has the power to answer.

and the glory forever and ever. Amen

We pray to him because he is eternal and worthy of praise and it is from him that all the earth wishes to hear, "Well done."

This is the story I have been living for the past several weeks since we started school again, and thus to pray. Why we don't do this all year is something I cannot answer. I have no good answer for that.

I hesitate to write this, fearful it will sound boastful. That is the opposite of what I intend. Here is the story of God's grace, to meet with me, and with my children, to pour out his love and presence on our lives, far greater than we will ever deserve. It is the story of making space to meet with Him, and being overwhelmed by the fact the He is present when we do. It is an encouragement to take the very first step, stop to meet, and see where he will take you; to remember that he is the good God, and he calls us his children. His goodness is the source of all other gifts we pause to give thanks for.

The gratitude community is here.

Writer's Block?

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 21:12:00 +0000

There are so many things going in my head this month. I'm learning and thinking through some new things and I'm longing to write about them. But I seem unable to pull it all together in a way that is communicable yet. Two attempts already this week have gone by way of the delete button. (The mucus in my sinus cavities may have something to do with that. That is communicable I'm sure.)

There are stories entangled with these thoughts that are not going to appear here because they are confidential. Which may be the other difficulty. Until I can extract the kernels from the stories that I must not tell there isn't much to say.

Then there is the very real and constant conundrum of voice. What kind of blog is this anyway? It's my blog and so it in many ways reflects me, my personality. I am the type of person to be having a deeply intense discussion on the practical aspects of the charismatic ministry of the church one second, or the nature of the divine, and the next laugh myself silly at an episode of South Park, which isn't always funny but sometimes is brilliant, or one of The Bloggess's advice columns, which bring me to tears almost every time I read them. (DO NOT click on that link dad. You will be way more offended by it than the bra post.)

In between those are all of the other things that I think, do, pray and live.

We are, none of us, one dimensional. Is it possible, I wonder, to present here a balanced image of myself? I could write an all devotional spiritual blog, and another on cute things my kids say and their bodily functions, another on my thoughts on marriage, another on justice an poverty, etc. They would each only be a fragment of all that I am.

I am trying to live authentically, both online and off. Yet I find myself pausing before I type certain things, on either end of the spectrum. In my search for balance I tend to stay near the middle, knowing that I may inadvertently offend by either extreme. I don't know if this is the right thing to do or not. It will probably keep being the thing that I do for now.

I do know this. If nothing else the act of telling my story here has in itself altered the story I tell. Or at least the way I tell it. That's another story for another day as well. But I am confident that my life is better because of that shift. So I know I won't be quitting the struggle to continue telling it anytime soon.

Instead of an actual post today you get a post about posting. Sorry about that. It's as much as I can manage to squeeze out right now.

Not for people who are offended by underwear, or vomit.

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 04:27:00 +0000

It has come to my attention of late that the bras I bought a year ago are no longer doing the job for which they were fashioned. That job being to prevent my breasts from doing what nature intended, hang around my belly button.

When I commented on this fact to Aaron he informed me that he had observed the same. If your husband notices the stretched out sags in your dormant bras you can be sure that it is time to get a new one. I said, "I have been waiting for a good time to spend the $30 on a new one but it hasn't come."

"There will never be a good time," he responded, "just go and get one."

To motivate myself I threw the no longer useful items away. What would I wear instead? Why, an old demi-bra from my lingerie shower before our wedding that is two cup sizes too small and itches. But it does hold them up (Why, you ask, do I still have such an item? Well, the straps adjust to halter, and once or twice it has been useful under a dress for an hour or two, however uncomfortable.)

Sunday, I stayed home from church with all of the kids who were once again coughing and snotty, and occasionally vomiting when they coughed really hard. I hoped that when Aaron got home I could walk over to Target/Frederick's and purchase myself a new bra without the cheerful accompaniment of my offspring. (That didn't go so well the last time I tried it.)

The flushed success of his little sister was still ringing in his ears from yesterday, when she returned home with her very first pink bag declaring, "I love Victoria's Secret, and I'm a C cup now. These bras were 2 for $30." He decided I must also go to Victoria's Secret and buy a bra. It was sound reasoning. I could get, theoretically, 2 of a better quality item for the same price as one nearby.

So conveniently forgetting that I have yet to actually buy a Victoria's Secret bra, because they don't fit right, and that the children were being kept home from church for a reason, we all piled into the car and went to the mall.

We haven't been to the mall in more than 2 years.

That was foreshadowing.

The 2 for $32 dollar bras were lovely. And only go up to a D cup. I am sadly at least a DD. They did not fit. I tried to walk out of the store but a sales clerk stopped me at the front and directed me to the far back, where they have other, more expensive bras in my size that aren't padded. She doesn't walk with me to help me find them. She just points.

I waste at least 15 minutes pawing my way through high tech satin to find one lonely 34DD at the back. Whatever happened to arranging things according to size in a lingerie store anyway? Or customer service?

But, it's a demi bra. And I spill out of the top. Victoria's Secret does not go up to an E cup, so I ask the first employee who asks how I'm doing for directions to Nordstrom's. I never did find Nordstrom's, but I did find Aaron and the kids at Playland outside of Sears.

The Girl coughed into his shirt and ended up vomiting as well. It's not much. (foreshadowing) He managed to clean it up with a wet wipe from a nearby mom. The Girl is playing happily. I go into Sears to look there.

There is not a single sales person on the floor and after several minutes of fruitless searching I determine that there are no bras in my size either. I now remember why I hate bra shopping so much.

So I consult with Aaron once again. Do we go home or try Macy's next?

He and the children accompany me to the intimate apparel section of Macy's, where he encourages me to find an employee and get them to find me a bra in my size. Then he found one for me. The kids want to go back to Playland so he retreats with them while I continue the search.

The store employee usually works in the children's section. "Oh my God," she says, when I tell her what size I'm looking for. But she's willing to join the search.

We grab another person who looks as though she belongs in that section, but it's her first day at work, so she doesn't know either. Between the 3 of us we find one bra in the right size. I try it on.

I don't think even my grandma would wear this. (See above photo.) The straps are too close to the neck, there is puckering at the top of the very full coverage tops. In fact, I might as well just buy a sport bra and call it a day.

I leave it hanging forlornly in the dressing room and make my way back to my family.

What I see first is Little playing on a slide, and wonder where everyone else is. Around a column Aaron is sitting on a bench holding the girl between his legs, and then I see it.

Vomit is everywhere. On his arm, his shirt, his pants, her hand, the bench, the floor, everywhere. It is bad. They are frozen, like a moment in a bad tableau, unable to move or the vomit will spread.

The Boy has been sent to summon me from the store, but he went up the wrong escalator and missed me. My first task is to find my son. It is only a little way, but it's too far. I run back to the store and he is waiting at the fitting rooms looking for me.

With him safely retrieved I rush back to Playland, where Aaron and the Girl remain frozen, marinating, waiting for help.

I then run the other way to the far back end of Sears to the bathroom. They start to turn the lights out in the store as I disappear into the dark recesses. The kids start saying, "Isn't mommy in there, why are they turning out the lights?"

Aaron doesn't say, "Yes she is, the mall is eating her."

But I think it may be.

When I return we wipe as well as can be done. Aaron removes his vomit stiffened shirt and makes a half-hearted swipe at the crotch of his pants with the paper towels. I wipe as much as I can from the bench and floor with the remainder and we make a break for the exit.

The lights continue to go out around us. But we escape in time and are soon in the sweet warm air of the parking lot. Sounds of the freeway hum all around us.

Anyone want all the rhinestones I'm going to have to cut off the bra I buy at Frederick's of Hollywood tomorrow?

to find life

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 06:22:00 +0000

Recently I was having a conversation about a mutual acquaintance who has just achieved a wonderful milestone, one they worked hard for.

This person has also been more unhappy than happy for quite some time and the person I was talking to wondered if this achievement would finally do it, would finally give this person some sense of peace or accomplishment that would change their life for the better.

I don't think it will. I'm not sure that meeting goals and finding success will ever be able to meet the truly deep needs that we all have, to feel loved, accepted, and worthwhile.

Some people believe pushing and working for what they want, often at great cost, is being grown up, mature, and the right thing to do. Find yourself, follow your happiness, these are catch phrases for the attempts our society makes to find happiness. Often the work and the things they obtain are good things.

I believe that the method is flawed.

The sign of a true grown up, a truly successful person, is someone who can put aside their own desires for the sake of someone or something more important than themselves. It requires sacrifice of a different kind, the willingness to be selfless, to embrace humility, to lay our lives down.

Happiness is not a thing to be grasped and wrestled into submission, it slips through the fingers of a selfishly closed fist, but often surprises by resting at length in an outstretched hand.

Never a Dull Moment

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 19:19:00 +0000

Do not for a second imagine that just because I am not posting that all is quiet and peaceful here at casa Carrien. Quite the contrary. It has been an eventful week of the kind that taking care of people will draw you into if you truly mean it when you say, "I'm here for you if you need me, just let me know."

It has involved middle of the night knocks on the door, waiting for the police to show up, watching many children while their mom gets important things done, holding someone while she cries for a very long time over a situation that will not change; you know, all the normal stuff that happens in a week.

I will not be telling those stories. They aren't mine to tell. But I can assure you that it is mentally and emotionally draining to be walking through them with the people we have been given to love. I can also assure you that it is very worth it. Aaron and I are of a mind that it is a privilege to be called upon in this way, to be allowed to give help where we already love.

Also there was the start of school, and a return to early busy mornings and time set aside just for the learning conversation we continue to engage in.

I can tell you that after a week of this kind of thing it took all I had to keep it together on Sunday taking care of babies in the nursery at church. (A job I rarely do.) Because keeping 5 babies who want their mommies, all on the verge of tears, distracted and somewhat calm for an hour and a half just so their moms could enjoy sitting quietly for a change was just frustrating, frustrating work. Especially when I've already used up most of my emotional and mental reserves. I particularly don't like nursery because I never left my kids there until they were old enough to enjoy it without crying and it bothers me that other parents do.

But, those moms may have had a worse week than mine and needed the break. I don't know. So I smiled, and colored, and sang silly songs with actions and doled out goldfish crackers to children plaintively calling, "Mama?" while their lower lips quivered ominously.

On the way to church Little vomited all over herself in the car. It was church so a friend with a change of clothes the right size was easy to locate and borrow from. She stayed with Aaron while I was in nursery to keep her from infecting anyone else. It was to late to just stay home.

Yesterday she seemed better; no fever, and she played all day, with the two girls I was watching, who also had low grade fevers. After school there were 7 kids in and out of my house. Then, the Boy's friend puked all over the sidewalk out front.

Today Little woke me up a bit early by vomiting green bile all over me and my pillow. It's not looking good. I'm holding my breath for another round of illness to sweep through our family, yet again.

It's eventful, and the events I can describe. What eludes words is the deep joy that runs under, through, and around a week like this and remains even when I'm bone tired and wonder how much longer before I get a break, and the contentment that attends the sleepy realization at the end of long days that I am doing my best, and it is enough.

One Thousand Gifts-Week 33

shelaughsatthedays@gmail.com (Carrien) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 22:39:00 +0000

The discipline of stopping to notice and say thank-you for every little gift that is bestowed may be the most life changing of all that I have yet endeavored. Will you join me?

I walk past the front door again while exercising and there, lit only by the gray light flooding through the door and the candles on the piano is Little, beaming, as the Girl wraps her arms around her while putting on her sweater.
The Boy's satisfaction with a job well done.
The Girl deciding to forgive one of her little friends, and running over to her house to tell her so.
Little- "Mmmm, it taste dewicious!"
The unabashed pleasure the Boy takes in being told he has done well.
Candlelit silence in the morning.
Walks at sunrise.
The Boy sneaking his hand into mine as we are walking.
My kids swimming with their dad.
Well thought of words that feed mind and soul alike.
The questions my children ask.
"This is my Father's world. Oh let me ne'er forget that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet."

The gratitude community is here.