As part of our religious beliefs, we adhere to the practice of laying on hands for blessings when people are sick or in need of extra divine help. Hands are placed on the recipient's head and a blessing is pronounced. This has not gone unnoticed by our daughters, who began asking for blessings when they were very small.
Our youngest daughter Mercie has big problems with chronic constipation, poor thing. If I don't zealously moniter her fruit juice intake (making sure she gets at least double what the other girls drink), she winds up straining and crying and laboring hard to move anything through down there.
The whole family knows all the signs--Mercie goes into her tell-tale pooping position, her face gets red, her whole body goes tense and she starts shaking, and heart-wrenching wails and crocodile tears appear. It seems to help a little when Mom or Dad hold her, so we try to rub her back and snuggle her till the moment (or the "movement") passes.
Mercie is in such obvious distress that her older sisters come running. They pat her and say, "It's okay, Mercie?" "You pooping, Mercie?" and other sisterly comments. One day Grace was patting Mercie and was obviously becoming quite worried about her. She snuggled her head in right next to Mercie's screaming head, put an arm around her, and began praying that Mercie would be able to poop and "have no more hurting in her bum-bum." Of course we thought it was adorable. Mercie promptly pooped, we thanked and praised Gracie, and a new protocol was established for Mercie's pooping problem.
I should have seen what was coming.
Yesterday the familiar signs began. I gathered Mercie in my arms and started singing in her ear. Grace and Mia gathered on either side of her. Mercie is already learning that her family will support and help her in EVERYTHING--even bowel movements.
Grace's eyes lit up with a flash of three-year old brilliance. " I give her a blessing, Mom!" She put her hands on Mercie's butt, where Mia promptly added her chubby little hands for added benefit. Over Mercie's crying Grace loudly gave her a blessing:
"Dear Heavenly Father, please help Mercie feel better. Please help her poop. Her bum-bum is hurting, poor little baby bug. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."
Okay, it's kind of silly and cute. But I'm glad that when Mercie is in a "tight spot" (I promise--no more dumb pooping puns), her sisters are gathered around, going through it with her. And I'm even happy to see them joining their fledgling religious beliefs with profound childlike practicality--after all, if the problem is in your bum-bum, why on earth would you lay hands on your head? And I am oh so glad that my girls are learning already that they can take ANY problem to the Lord, and He will help with anything, even Baby Bug's pooping problems.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
FIghting for Jesus
Tonight we were listening to a song about Jesus as we took our new van through the car wash. I told the girls that Jesus would come back to earth again and we would see Him and be so happy, and He would hold all the children and bless them and hug them.
From her carseat Grace drew this big old scowl on her face and loudly informed me that she "don't like Jesus" and "she don't want to see Him."
Playing good girl to Gracie's *bad*, Mia promptly reassured me very earnestly that "Mia DO like Jesus, Mom."
That started a pint-size debate in the backseat that ended with Grace trying to slap Mia and Mia bashing Grace over the head with her fists.
Ah--the violence that has been done in the name of Jesus over the centuries--and it's now continuing in my car....
From her carseat Grace drew this big old scowl on her face and loudly informed me that she "don't like Jesus" and "she don't want to see Him."
Playing good girl to Gracie's *bad*, Mia promptly reassured me very earnestly that "Mia DO like Jesus, Mom."
That started a pint-size debate in the backseat that ended with Grace trying to slap Mia and Mia bashing Grace over the head with her fists.
Ah--the violence that has been done in the name of Jesus over the centuries--and it's now continuing in my car....
Thursday, April 13, 2006
The Trenches of Mommyhood: An Apology
When I had to title this blog, I mentally sorted through titles with enough over-analysis to do any Type-A personality proud. I knew that dealing with the daily realities of family life would be the overwhelming focus of my posts. "life in the trenches" seems like an accurate summation of my life most days.
Yet the phrase also suggests direct conflict and aggression--a war or battle with high stakes. After all, those in the trenches are the foot soldiers, the trenches are generally the places with the highest casualties in any battle. Trench warfare denotes brutal realities of war--bugs, disease, death, hunger, physical discomfort, and ever-present danger. If I'm in the trenches of motherhood, who and what am I fighting? Although there are times that it feels like every interaction with a two-year old is a battle worthy of any WWII vet, I really don't have an adversarial relationship with my kids.
It didn't seem to apply, yet I couldn't get the phrase out of my mind. Then I realized that I am perfectly justified in using it because I am very much in a war here, and the stakes could not be higher. Along with millions of other parents, I am a foot soldier, and the danger is real and ever-present, and no matter how uncomfortable the battles might be at times, I'm in this for the long haul.
I'm at war with everyone and everything that sees my children as potential sexual objects. Internet predators, child molesters, even hypersexed advertising that tries to entice my babies to grow up faster than they should--it's an all out war and I'll do whatever I can to protect my kids.
I'm at war with anyone who would keep my child back and prevent her from reaching her full potential. While politicians, teacher's unions, pundits, and administrators argue over who should control our children's education and how it should best be achieved and measured, I fight for my kids' right to learn. And not just the right to learn, but I fight to give them education, too. Reading at bedtime, counting peas on a plate, sorting colors in laundry, discussing where butterflies come from--this is a rather enjoyable aspect of foot-soldiering.
I'm at war with aggressive assaults on family time. While there are many worthwhile things in the world that clearly have value to many, I know when all is said and done what is accomplished within our home is the most important achievement in the world. There isn't a whole lot I can do for widespread global suffering and inequity, but I can raise conscientious, thoughtful, engaged citizens who will continue to make a difference in their own worlds. Accomplishing this goal, however, takes time. Time together as a family, not engaged in individual pursuits, not in front of the TV. Like the most zealous sentry in high-stakes battles, I guard my family's time.
I'm at war with those who believe my children are worth less because of external labels. We're a multiracial family, and our children have a variety of stories to tell about how they arrived here. They each have unique challenges and marvelous strengths. It amazes me how many people want to pigeonhole them because of their own prejudices and stupid thinking. I'm at war against racism, sexism, bigotry, and prejudice in any form. Hopefully the world my children inherit will be a more tolerant, more aware one.
I'm at war with confused values that give my kids distorted views of moral reality. I often hear the phrase "family values," and I'm not sure what the heck that means. To me, morality is very simple. Love other people. Forgive them. Serve them. Honor God. Do good things. That is the essence of what I want to instill in my children. Yet all too often *values* becomes a confused label that applies more to political rhetoric or denominational debate.
I'm at war with a super-materialistic culture that leads families into extreme debt and extreme unhappiness. The emphasis on having and getting "things" hurts parents and children both. I'm counterattacking within my domain by striving for simplicity and focusing on what brings TRUE joy in life.
This list could probably go on and on. The enemy is out there. Yep, it's really a war. Welcome to life in the trenches.
Yet the phrase also suggests direct conflict and aggression--a war or battle with high stakes. After all, those in the trenches are the foot soldiers, the trenches are generally the places with the highest casualties in any battle. Trench warfare denotes brutal realities of war--bugs, disease, death, hunger, physical discomfort, and ever-present danger. If I'm in the trenches of motherhood, who and what am I fighting? Although there are times that it feels like every interaction with a two-year old is a battle worthy of any WWII vet, I really don't have an adversarial relationship with my kids.
It didn't seem to apply, yet I couldn't get the phrase out of my mind. Then I realized that I am perfectly justified in using it because I am very much in a war here, and the stakes could not be higher. Along with millions of other parents, I am a foot soldier, and the danger is real and ever-present, and no matter how uncomfortable the battles might be at times, I'm in this for the long haul.
I'm at war with everyone and everything that sees my children as potential sexual objects. Internet predators, child molesters, even hypersexed advertising that tries to entice my babies to grow up faster than they should--it's an all out war and I'll do whatever I can to protect my kids.
I'm at war with anyone who would keep my child back and prevent her from reaching her full potential. While politicians, teacher's unions, pundits, and administrators argue over who should control our children's education and how it should best be achieved and measured, I fight for my kids' right to learn. And not just the right to learn, but I fight to give them education, too. Reading at bedtime, counting peas on a plate, sorting colors in laundry, discussing where butterflies come from--this is a rather enjoyable aspect of foot-soldiering.
I'm at war with aggressive assaults on family time. While there are many worthwhile things in the world that clearly have value to many, I know when all is said and done what is accomplished within our home is the most important achievement in the world. There isn't a whole lot I can do for widespread global suffering and inequity, but I can raise conscientious, thoughtful, engaged citizens who will continue to make a difference in their own worlds. Accomplishing this goal, however, takes time. Time together as a family, not engaged in individual pursuits, not in front of the TV. Like the most zealous sentry in high-stakes battles, I guard my family's time.
I'm at war with those who believe my children are worth less because of external labels. We're a multiracial family, and our children have a variety of stories to tell about how they arrived here. They each have unique challenges and marvelous strengths. It amazes me how many people want to pigeonhole them because of their own prejudices and stupid thinking. I'm at war against racism, sexism, bigotry, and prejudice in any form. Hopefully the world my children inherit will be a more tolerant, more aware one.
I'm at war with confused values that give my kids distorted views of moral reality. I often hear the phrase "family values," and I'm not sure what the heck that means. To me, morality is very simple. Love other people. Forgive them. Serve them. Honor God. Do good things. That is the essence of what I want to instill in my children. Yet all too often *values* becomes a confused label that applies more to political rhetoric or denominational debate.
I'm at war with a super-materialistic culture that leads families into extreme debt and extreme unhappiness. The emphasis on having and getting "things" hurts parents and children both. I'm counterattacking within my domain by striving for simplicity and focusing on what brings TRUE joy in life.
This list could probably go on and on. The enemy is out there. Yep, it's really a war. Welcome to life in the trenches.
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