Pen and Ink

Psalm 20, 21/23, 27 [morning/evening]
1 Kings 17:17-24
John 4:46-54
3 John 1-15

[Note: Read the passages from 1 Kings and John together...beautiful symmetry]

3 John 13-14 reads, "I have much more to say to you, but I don't want to write it with pen and ink. For I hope to see you soon, and then we will talk face to face."

I'm terrible about getting together with friends. I have a suspicion that many of my friends think I can be a little bit of a flake. And while this sometimes happens to married people, I've always been like this. Given the opportunity to stay at home with a book or a project or meet up with a friend for coffee, I'll most likely choose the book every time. I'm a homebody. A little bit of a loner.

But this week, I've scheduled (see how warm and fuzzy my language is?) two get togethers with friends. A dear girlfriend is arriving in just a few minutes for a long-talked about coffee, and I'm finally following through with a six month old invitation tomorrow. But I don't feel like an anti-social person on any normal day. There's facebook, email, the sometimes hundreds of people I see every week, phone calls, casual encounters with family or friends at church. But there's something about the way John ends his third and final letter that makes me pause.

There are some things that can only be understood face to face. Pen and ink have their limitations.

What I did on my first day of Summer Vacation...

Today, on our first day of summer vacation, Luke and I played, rediscovered one another, and my time felt so free I could simply watch him. I must say he amazed me. Not that he's some super-toddler, but I find myself analyzing his personality. What does his reaction to the toppling of his blocks say about how he may handle disappointment? How does he wait so patiently for me to pit cherries when I know he's famished? Will his joy over acts of service carry into the future?

I learned so much from watching him today in two separate, but connected situations. First--while we were playing outside, he began a game of truck relocation; what made the game interesting is that he used the same method of relocation for each truck in the cycle. If he pushed one, he pushed them all, if he dragged one, he dragged each. It wasn't so much the routine in his work (play), it was how he got there. He fell into a pattern and then stuck with it. Determination, perseverance, and carefulness marked his actions. I know I can't say that for myself. From tiny ages (close to his), I will only accept perfection on a first try and refuse to try again if that's not achieved. He handled his mistakes and challenges with a grace I'm still learning to accept.

Later, we began a specialized swim lesson called Infant Swimming Resources (ISR). They aim to teach children to survive in the water to prevent drowning. After witnessing three screaming children struggle through the ten minute lesson, I was nervous. I wanted to encourage Luke, but I knew he'd sense the fear in a fake smile if he protested to that degree. But--he didn't. He giggled, choked on water, laughed, splashed, and did exactly what they asked him to do, but he also navigated through moments of fear, disappointments, and insecurity.

There's something to be said to this idea: "we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts..." (from Romans 5)

St. Patrick's Day 2009

Last night we took Luke to Main St. in Rock Hill for the St. Patrick's Day celebration. We need to do more stuff like this; just the other day I saw a couple who surfs on TV who were visiting South Korea (to surf) with their six month old baby. Envy isn't even the word--walking across swinging bridges next to mountains and temples and scenery so green it almost looks like a backdrop? I want that. Or do I...I'm a drill sergeant when it comes to naps and food (just for Luke...I eat all sorts of terrible things) and I'm sure they have to be a bit more laid back than me. And help--I bet they have help; surely the baby doesn't wait on the beach by himself as the catch the next wave. But I digress...

Luke loves music; it was my second favorite piece about watching him last night. The violin and guitar duo captivated him, and he danced, and clapped, and yelled in delight. He has a penchant for bluegrass, country, acoustic, and any live music. He's particular--loves Willy Nelson, but not such a fan of the Dixie Chicks. We discovered all of this one evening when he watched Neal Young enraptured on the couch, but handed the remote to Cory and whined when John Mellencamp began to play. Cory and I both love music (even if our tastes are different), and now I see that this can be a place for all of us to spend time together with something we love individually and collectively.

But that was only my second favorite part from last night. The highlight of the evening came when Cory ran into a friend of his dad's. They talked--about horseshoes, about his dad, about Luke--and this, this was the highlight of the night. Cory's dad died a week to the day after our wedding. He never met Luke. I see Luke's Poppa in him--when he plants everything he can find, when he sleeps, when he runs to the door to check on a suspicious noise. And here was a man who could look at Luke and possibly see that too.

A great St. Patrick's Day.

"...do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them." Deuteronomy 4:9b

The concept of "working mom" has been overdone. Discussed for too long, assigned too many buzz words ("mom guilt"), and entangled in conspiracy theories (recently heard a story about how working moms unknowingly assist formula companies because breastfeeding is unfairly limited in the work place). While we can discuss a myriad of issues, I know the difficulty I face in making large decisions like going away for the weekend or in committing to small things like coffee with a friend finds it's root in my desire to make up for the time I lose with my son while I work.

For instance, today's a snow day. I can finally catch up on laundry, possibly wash the kitchen floor, and vacuum the house. But I feel as if I should organize Luke's play for the day, stay by his side and pretend to be a mom who doesn't work. Yet, I don't know what that looks like. This is a new sort of pressure I'm feeling.