Drummer Boy ~ Jen

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This post originally ran on Christmas Eve last year on another blog. We bring it back because we love this song and the message it has for parents. 

The Little Drummer Boy” is my favorite Christmas song. It makes me cry every year, this song about two little poor boys and their gifts. One, with his drum; One, with His endless capacity for love and acceptance. I saw this quote from Leo Buscaglia on a California Baptist University billboard the other day: “Your talents are a gift from God. What you do with them is your gift to Him.” Amen.

Here’s the thing about gifts, though: we don’t always get what we want. And when it comes to gifts from the Big Guy, if your heart and soul are not paying close attention, you may not know a gift for what it is.

In my years as a teacher, I saw this again and again. Not from my 16 year old students. Teenagers have a special and innate ability to dream BIG. Why not? They are at the beginning of their journeys; the highway is long and uncharted in front of them. It is a time of life when the possibilities truly are endless.

But their parents.

I sat in my share of parent meetings. I cannot count how many times I heard  some variation on this theme: “Look at him. He doesn’t care about anything. He’s throwing away his future! He’ll never get into college! He’s going to grow up to be nothing.”

Wow, right? Except, in parent speak, what that really means is this: “Look at my beautiful child. I am terrified that he is growing up. He doesn’t understand that I want the very best for him. I love him so much and I cannot bear for him to struggle. I want the best for him.”

You can’t teach a child for 180 days not get to know him. Not on the same level as a parent, but teachers know your kids in ways you don’t. And I would think, Don’t you know what I know? He looks like a hot mess, but have you seen how he draws? Have you heard him play his guitar? Have you read his poetry? Seen him ride his bike? Do you know he can fix my computer? With a paperclip????

A child who has a passion for something, even if that passion interferes with their grades and their college future, is not going to be nothing. The child who draws anime on standardized test forms, who stays out late playing in his band, who breaks his leg trying to skate down the staircase, who skips school to go surfing—that child is a Drummer Boy.

I have known tons of Drummer Boys and Girls. They can be kind of angry. Or they can be really quiet, which is not normal for high school students. Or they grow their hair down to hide their faces. Or they are “that kid” in class who seems like the agent of the devil. I tried to see beyond the front. All that obnoxious noise hiding an artist, a poet, a dancer. I tried to see their gift, to have them play their music, whatever it was, for me.

But like the boy in the song, Drummer Boys and Girls approach their own gift tentatively. It’s all they have to give, and they aren’t sure it’s good enough. It’s the thing that makes them happiest in the world, and for that very reason, they aren’t sure they can trust it. They are surrounded by us, too many grown-ups who hate their jobs, their choices, their lives. These kids, they’re scared that’s what being a grown-up means. They’re scared that their heroes, the ones who do what they love and love doing it, were just lucky. These Drummer Boys worry they won’t ever be that lucky.

They think they have to fall in line. They know that when their mamas tell them that they “can be anything you want, sweetie”, there’s a giant, silent asterisk. Except that thing they really want to be. And society, all of us, are just as guilty. We show them, or we allow the message to be that success equals money.

Some of you are Drummer Boys from way back. You know what I’m talking about: that moment you gave up your dream to fall in line with someone else’s definition of happy, wealthy, successful.

My Drummer Boy wants to be a chef. He has said this since he was two. We bought him a play kitchen and caught some flak for it. But he has never wavered. He watches the Food Network. He cooks Sunday meals with my husband. He’s serious about this.

Once I told him he could be a chef after he went to college. My husband said “College is not going to help him be a chef”. I rolled that idea around in my head for a minute. I envisioned my son living in a dive studio apartment while he earns his chops as a line cook in NYC. I saw myself as the mom whose son did not go to college, after three generations of college graduates. I’ll admit it. I cringed.

Then I got my feet under me. I tell him he can be anything he wants, and I stifle the asterisk. I take the “But” and lock it up in the basement of my mother’s heart and forget about it. We will scrape up the money to send him to cooking school (only the best, of course; which costs the same as Stanford, who knew?). I will save the laundry dollars and quarters and send them off to help pay his rent. In Paris, hopefully.

We will do it because of what happens at the end of the song. The Baby smiled at the Drummer Boy. If my son has a gift and passion for cooking, it did not come from me. It truly is a gift from God. And in this house, we don’t second guess God.

I know we dream big for our kids. We tell our teenagers “No!” when what we mean is “Be safe, be wonderful, be happy”. But if you have a Drummer Boy or Girl at home right now, I want you to think of who else was in that manger that night. Mary. The ultimate example of being guided by God’s hand. If she could say yes and trust the Greatest Plan of all, if she could take it and hold it in her heart, then so can we.

Advent is a time when Christians eagerly await the birth of the Son of God. He was the fulfillment of a promise between God and His people. If you have a Drummer Boy or Girl in your home and your heart, put your fears away. Take a good hard look at the drum your child is playing. Listen to the music. Think of all the Drummer Boys and Girls who have changed the history of the world with their music. Think how brave that Drummer Boy was to stand there in the light of God and make the Baby smile.

Maybe your Drummer Boy or Girl will change the world too.

But first you have to let them play.

Let It Ride ~ Jen

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I was raised to believe that everything is a game. You’re either winning, or you’re losing. There was nothing wrong with the philosophy in itself—my parents wanted us to do our best.

The problem is that I am a natural born meateater. I have a hard time turning it off. So I suck at losing. Or being wrong, which in my head for so long was the same thing.

Because I don’t like being wrong, or losing, I made sure that I knew what I was talking about. Shea will tell you that I am not often wrong. And that he owes me $110 million for all the times he’s said “I bet you a million dollars I’m right” and lost. Even Gabriel is in to me for about $30 million.

Lately I have really been thinking about this need to win. I read some books by a man who says—among other brilliant things—that our cultural obsession with winning in this country traps us in a very basic existence.  Specifically, that we can never be the Christians Christ calls us to be if we are constantly ordering ourselves as above or below everyone in our lives.

We only need to orient ourselves in terms of one thing, really. Our relationship with God.

In percolating on this, I realized I need a whole new perspective. I had no idea how many times in a day I order myself in the hierarchy. I do it so naturally, it’s almost unconscious. Just yesterday, I had this conversation in my head: “I’m wearing yoga pants to pick up the kids. Again. I wore yoga pants to pick up the kids Tuesday. If I wear them today, what will the other moms think? But so-and-so wears yoga pants every day, and the same ones, I’m pretty sure. I’m not as bad as that.”

And do you know as I was typing that, I thought in my head “Well, at least I just thought it. So-and-So would have said it out loud to everyone and asked if that made her a bad mom. I’m not like that.”

Well.

Natural born meateater. It’s going to take a minute to replace the motherboard.

My goal this month is to let it ride. To shake it off. To be quiet and watch. To not need to be the one who knows or does or handles it. To not keep score. To not always try to hold the high ground, where I just find myself alone and under siege anyway. To let Shea win some of his money back.

I am going to try out the idea that I don’t have to have a say. I don’t have to have a point of view. I don’t have to have an explanation or an answer. I don’t have to take every person’s idea in and sort it immediately into a pile of “brilliant”, “stupid”, “ridiculous”, “intriguing” or “foolish”. I can just let it be, since it usually has nothing to do with me, and trust that God is doing His work.

Folks who know me really well know that I will need a lot of support to make this happen. A lot of prayerful support. Maybe even a miracle. I’d be grateful if you could remember me in your thoughts.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Threats of Sexual Violence Should Not Be a Marketing Strategy ~ Jen

Grace

We don’t usually post on the weekends. But this is a huge issue for both of us. We prayed over it and felt directed to write this and publish it today. 

There’s a shocking and crass commercial from the “non-partisan” but funded by the Koch brothers group Generation Opportunity, aimed at discouraging young adults from signing up for insurance under the Affordable Care Act.

It shows a young woman getting her first pap smear under “Obamacare”. While she is in the stirrups, the doctor leaves. A giant Uncle Sam rises from the corner and steps between her legs as the door slowly and ominously closes.

Yep, it’s a rape commercial.

I am not going to address this from a political perspective, because that’s been done. I want to speak to it as a Christian woman. Not the least because most of the employees listed on the website over at Generation Opportunity attended Christian colleges.

I’m going to assume that we all know our Bible, and that I don’t have to quote scripture here to make my points.

Our bodies, made in God’s image, are sacred space. If we are Christians, then that is the end of the story for us. It is never ok to exploit this sacred space, or make sport of violence against it. It is bad enough that sexual violence is so prevalent in our nation. But to use the threat of sexual violence as a tool of fear—to support a falsehood, by the way—is surely sin.

The commercial is clever, with its lilting circus music, designed to take the edge off. But darkness is often packaged in clever and distracting ways. And that’s what this commercial is—darkness. Generation Opportunity, and its sponsors, Americans For Freedom, are hosting darkness.

No matter how you feel about the Affordable Care Act, this cannot be acceptable to you. Not if we hope to have a loving, respectful kingdom of God here on earth. God-loving folk are the care-takers of this kingdom. We have a responsibility to protect it and its law, which is love.

The bible tells us “Let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding” (Romans 14:19). There is a way to have this argument, respectfully and peacefully. There is a way to bring light to the questions, instead of darkness. There is a way to reach an uplifting solution that respects the sacred space of everyone, as Jesus calls us to do.

But if we insist on treating universal health care as a game, with winners and losers, then let’s remember: women’s bodies are not the playing field; sexual violence is not the tool; win at all cost is not the goal.

There is only one rule: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13: 34-35).

I am including the link to the commercial here, with reservations. I don’t want to promote it, but I want you to know that it’s out there. If you have been a victim of sexual violence, you may want to skip it.

I am also providing the link to the Contact Page at Generation Opportunity, in case you feel so moved to let them know how you feel.

The Commercial: www.youtube.com

Contact Generation Opportunity: http://generationopportunity.org

Receiving Mode ~ Jen

Grace

Shea and I have a big decision to make. For three weeks we have been talking it around and around, with no success. Finally, at 11 pm the other night, when we had covered all the options and their pros and cons for the third time without coming to any kind of clarity, I told him that I couldn’t go in circles anymore.

“I know” he said. “We have to pray.”

I took a moment to bask in the warmth of that.

But then I reminded him it took me a year to hear the answer about having another baby. And that was all my fault. I wasn’t in receiving mode. I was praying, but not listening. I let all my own thoughts and worries fill my head and heart and drown out everything else. Finally, I got bored of myself, and stopped. And into that quiet space came my answer.

“So we have to go into receiving mode” I told him. “We can’t talk about it. We can’t think about it. Not chew on it. Not worry about it. Trust that the answer will come.”

Shea thought for a moment and then said “I like that analogy. Just wait for God to throw the bomb.”

I stared at him. What?

Then I started to laugh.

Because when I think receiving mode, I see this in my head:

Is Anyone Out There

And when he thinks receiving mode, he sees this in his head:

San Francisco Herald
San Francisco Herald

I know that God will meet us where we are, but I hope he has a spaceship. Because it’s roughly 75,000,000 miles from Venus to Mars.

God Blessed the Seventh Day ~ Jen

We put this in the living room, along with the S, which is our family initial. We are proud to be children of God.

The Catholic Church is celebrating the Year of Faith. So I signed up for a daily dose of catechism. This one popped up a few weeks ago.

If Sunday is disregarded or abolished, only workdays are left in the week. Man, who was created for joy, degenerates into a workhorse and a mindless consumer. We must learn on earth how to celebrate properly, or else we will not know what to do in heaven. Heaven is an endless Sunday.

It’s referring to the Third (or Fourth, if you are a Protestant) Commandment. The biblical text is as follows:

Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.
Six days you shall labor, and do all your work;
but the seventh day is a sabbath to the LORD your God;
in it you shall not do any work, you, or your son,
or your daughter, your manservant,
or your maidservant or your cattle,
or the sojourner who is within your gates;
for in six days the LORD made heaven and earth,
the sea, and all that is in them,
and rested the seventh day;
therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and hallowed it.

The verse from Exodus references Genesis and the creation story:

And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation.

Oh man, I have so many thoughts on how this is (not) working in my life. The last two weeks since this posted I have been chewing on it, with a side of my mom’s recent comment that we’re a pretty busy family, and my months long obsession with finding the exact right trailer for my family, which ate up a fair amount of weekends.

On Sundays, we go to church. We’re home by 10:30. And then it’s play time. Or shop time. Or clean the house because folks are coming for dinner time. It is rarely ever rest time.

And am I joy-full on Sundays? As I’m playing or shopping or cleaning and cooking, am I mindful of God and His day?

Sometimes, like when we head straight down to the beach after Mass, and have a lovely day playing in God’s ocean. On those days there is always a time when I utter a prayer of thanksgiving for the weather and the sun and the salty sea water.

Sometimes, like last Sunday, when I sit next to my dad and watch my kids play with their grandma in the pool. On those days I am filled with the joy of loving family and memory-making.

And sometimes, when I have managed to get every single chore done by Saturday so that Shea can lay on the couch and watch his Bills in peace and quiet while I write or read or watch a movie with the kids, I am joyfully grateful for the rest.

But those Sabbaths happen far too infrequently. Too many Sundays are spent at the mall, where I can score $100 worth of clothes for $60. I feel victory and satisfaction, but not joy. And I am certainly not mindful of God while I am bargain hunting.

Then I realized this: every car we have bought as a couple has been purchased on a Sunday, which means we have haggled and hassled and played good cop-bad cop on the Sabbath.  I’m trying to screw you before you can screw me mode is neither joyful nor restful, and it’s impossible at those times to be mindful of anyone but your own self.

So the truth is, too many of our Sabbaths have been rushed and crammed and cranky and mindless.

My spirit is itchy, which  means we are out of Alignment and need a change.

I want to be better at honoring this Commandment. What can we do in our family to both honor the Commandment and instill in our kids the wonderful knowledge that God, in His wisdom and love, has commanded us to rest and be joyful.

I want Heaven to be an endless day on the beach at Coronado. Not endless hours of haggling with a used car salesman.

So if you’ve got thoughts, I’ve got ears. How do you keep and bless this day in your homes?