Treasure Box

To me, they are rocks. They get in the way when I vacuum and hurt really bad when I step on them.

To Alice, they are treasures; diamonds, crystals, precious gems. She spends countless hours lining them up and sorting them by color. She carefully places them in front of various Barbies, Zhu Zhu pets and Build-A-Bears as the ultimate tea party favor. They are kept in a delicately carved wooden box her Daddy gave her. She loves them very much.

To the self-important lap swimmer, they are “old people” who take up two extra lanes for water aerobics. Evidently, this inconveniences him in the last five minutes of Master Swim Team practice. In a loud, rude tone, he voices his complaints and sends degrading, mocking glances their way. This very much upsets me.

To me, they are precious gems. I watch as they swim to the side and turn towards me, waiting for instruction. Lined up around the edge of the pool, they resemble Alice’s collection of treasures. Each one beautiful, unique, invaluable. I love them very much.

My anger towards Grumpy Master Swimmer turns to pity. His misconceptions of these lovely people keep him from ever knowing the treasures that they are. They are grandparents, retired teachers, world travelers and cancer survivors. They have made a support system among themselves, and they love and protect each other. I pray one day, when Grumpy Swimmer has aged and can no longer compete with the younger crowd, when he is retired and getting up to attend water aerobics is a highlight of his day, that he will be respected and treasured by others who are more understanding and patient.

We all have our own spaces where we keep our precious gems. Thankfully, God holds every one of us in His treasure box (even Grumpy Swimmer).

God, Where Are You?

Faith tells me there is a God. But I need sensorial proof. I want to see, hear and feel Him. (I suppose it’s okay if I don’t smell Him – but anyway). I’ve read several books lately that describe spiritual revelations; visions, out of body experiences, bright, pulsing lights heating up the spine creating a roadway to divinity. The authors were able to reach a heightened awareness of God by practicing yoga in Ashrams, taking long walks through beautiful foreign cities, visiting museums and ancient cathedrals and meditating for hours. These well-written stories have propelled me on my own spiritual journey of finding inner peace and hopefully bringing me eye to eye with God.

Unfortunately, being a mom of two young children with limited time and resources, for now there will be no trips to India, visits to Chartres Cathedral or all-day meditations sitting criss-cross applesauce on a mountain top. My journey is contained to JJ’s yoga class at the Y, early morning jogs around Lost Creek and short bursts of meditation wherever I manage to find myself alone. But I’m determined to see God as the authors did, so these avenues, however menial, will have to do.

I begin my quest for oneness with God by taking a yoga class. With intense focus on breathing, stretching, mind/body awareness and balance, I was sure to have a revelation. It starts out well. My body is strong, and the quiet music and soft lighting allow my mind to settle into a calm state. That is, until I catch a glimpse of my butt in the mirror. The extremely awkward Bound Warrior pose reveals my hiney at a very unattractive angle.

Strike One.

I try to rid my psyche of this self-defeating negative body image and resume my Pranayama breathing. However, this is hard to do when you are trying NOT to inhale toxic fumes drifting over from your gaseous neighbor.

Strike Two.

We finally reach the relaxation portion of class. The instructor tells us to lie on our sides and get nice and comfy. In a soothing voice, she advises us that whenever we feel stressed or anxious, we should get into this very position until we reach a relaxed state.

Strike Three, and I’m out!

I manage to stay quiet, but my entire body shakes and tears fill my eyes from holding in the laughter. Seriously? I picture my husband coming home from work finding me in the fetal position on the kitchen floor, dinner half cooked and the kids running circles around me. “But this is what my yoga instructor told me to do!”

God, where are you?

My next attempt at making a connection with divinity was early one Saturday morning. I woke up before anyone in the house, the sun just beginning to makes its appearance. Normally, I would try to go back to sleep, but this time I decided to take advantage of the quietness. I lay in the Corpse pose (they really need to rename this), flat on my back, palms facing up. Concentrating on my breathing, I try to clear my mind. From what I understand, pushing aside superficial thoughts, worries, guilt, etc, will open up the recesses of your mind allowing God to reveal Himself and speak to you. So when things like “we need pull ups and milk,” “would navy blue walls be too dark in the hallway?” and “if I don’t clean the bonus room today, I may possibly lose one of the kids in there,” pop into my head, I push them out. But they keep coming back! One after the other. I begin to think that it is impossible to NOT think. I keep trying, however, until finally I realize I have sung the theme song to The Beverly Hillbillies in its entirety, TWICE. I give up!

God, where are you?

Clinging to the hope that this meditation thing could work, I realize there may be something to how you do it; sitting somewhere peaceful in the lotus position. I grab a blanket from the closet and head to the back porch. It overlooks the water and is abundant in birds, squirrels, ducks and other wildlife, certainly very peaceful. Pushing the couch and table out of the way, I sit on the blanket facing the serene landscape. With Ford taking a nap and Alice glued to the latest episode of “Good Luck, Charlie,” I hope to have ample time to calm my mind and open my soul to the eyes of God.

Perched on my sit bones, trying not to slouch, breathing deeply. Inhale… exhale… inhale…

Whack, whack, whack – it’s like a slap on the forehead as the A/C unit winds itself up prompting me to worry about it breaking down, AGAIN.

I shake it off. Inhale… exhale… inhale…

Creeeeeek, the porch door opens. “Mama, why are you sitting on a Christmas blanket?”

“I just thought it’d be fun.”

“Oh. Can I have a popsicle?”

“Sure.”

I try to squash the guilt I feel over letting her have even more sugar and get back to breathing. But it isn’t working. I could add a mantra to my meditation. However, I’m not sure what time Cliff will be back from riding his bike. If he finds me sitting on a fleece Christmas blanket in July on the floor in front of perfectly good furniture saying “Ommmm,” I am certain he will speed dial the nice men in white coats to come get me.

So I try breathing again. Inhale… exhale… inhale…

And there goes the creeking door again. I don’t even open my eyes, trying to ignore the patter of tiny feet moving toward me.

“Mama?” He’s so close to my face I can smell his nap breath, musty and sweet at the same time. I exhale a sigh of resignation and open my eyes.

God, where are you?

Sticky baby boy hands on his knees, peanut butter smeared on his cheek, the perpetual bruise on his forehead, peering in anticipation at me with those beautiful cornflower blue eyes.

I smile.

Oh, there you are!

Friends Don't Let Friends Shop With Kids

My super generous friend, Amy, took care of my children yesterday so I could grocery shop alone. It was wonderful!

I thought the older they got the easier shopping trips would be, but I was wrong. My two highly energetic kids seem to think Wal-Mart is their personal amusement park. I’ve learned to navigate the aisles to avoid the toy department. The problem is not them asking to buy everything. “Do you have any money?” puts a halt to that… most of the time. But once there, balls will be bounced, bikes will be ridden and every button of anything that talks will be pushed until the entire department sounds like a creepy Poltergeist meets Toy Story movie.

Even if we manage to stay clear of the toy department, my children are still able to find their own fun. Any island of merchandise becomes the center of a race track. If they can sit, stand or climb on it, they will. The wide frozen food aisle is used for practicing cartwheels, dance moves and sliding like a rock star, air guitars playing wildly.

One day I noticed a mom blissfully pushing her cart while her four children walked dutifully beside her. The calm, obedient children watched my out-of-control rug rats with wide eyes as if they had encountered a freaky, misplaced mini-circus. How did she get them to walk beside her like well-trained golden retrievers? Does she drug them, threaten to beat them, bribe them with candy? I wanted to ask her, but Ford was hiding in one of the ten circular clothes racks, and I had to watch for movement so I could grab him before some pedophile did.

Yesterday, I didn’t have to chase anyone through the meat department and was actually able to think about what I needed. Walking through the pet aisle, I spotted a variety of leashes. Hmmm.

 Thank you, Amy, that was FABULOUS. :0)

In God's Time

I loved “Little House on the Prairie” as a kid. I daydreamed about traveling back in time to visit Laura, Mary, Ma and Pa. I’d bring with me modern-day items that would rock their world. They would think my Cabbage Patch Doll was amazingly lifelike, putting their little corn-silk dolls to shame. I would dazzle them with my flashlight. “We could dance to Pa’s fiddle in the barn at night without the lantern setting the hay on fire!” Forget Pa’s fiddle. Wait till they hear The Charlie Daniels Band on my Walkman.

After careful consideration, I decided it would be a bad idea to bring a TV. It would be too much for them. How could they begin to comprehend seeing someone live on a tiny square screen thousands of miles away? They haven’t even figured out how to get water a hundred yards up hill into the house without buckets yet. I’d have to take it slow and possibly hold back a few things lest they declare me a witch and burn me at the stake.

And, my, how things have changed since I was a kid! What would they think about our technological advances today? I remember the telephone episode where Mrs. Oleson was the switchboard operator. This new-fangled contraption, along with Mrs. Oleson’s love for gossiping, caused all kinds of strife, including the near break-up of a marriage. What kind of effect would Twitter have on these people? Albert would regret tweeting about the 15 fish he caught in the swimming hole when the entire town showed up with their cane poles. Nope, it wouldn’t be wise to jump too far ahead of the times. There are just some things these people aren’t ready for.

This brings me to the question: What things are my great grandchildren going to have access to and knowledge about that would be too much for me to understand? The Ingles never dreamed of talking with Mary in Mankato at the Blind School from Walnut Grove. Seeing her on Skype would be unimaginable. It makes my brain hurt to think what communication will be like a hundred years from now.

One day it dawned on me as I was driving (Can you see Nellie loose behind the wheel of a convertible Miata? Watch out, Willie!), that this same concept is true in my spiritual journey. There is so much about God, the Bible and prayer that I cannot seem to wrap my tiny, unimaginative brain around.

Up to this point, I have been ashamed to admit that I have a hard time completely understanding what I have been taught about God and the Bible. Some of the stories seem too farfetched for me to believe. Really, someone could build a boat that held that many animals and none of them ate each other over a forty-day period? I’m fairly certain that the stomach acids of a great fish would completely destroy a person after three days. And Moses parting an entire body of water with a little rod is hard for me to picture. (I know, lightning is going to strike me down for questioning the validity of these stories, but I have to be honest here.)

Prayer is a concept I most likely will never grasp. How does God hear all of our prayers, especially when a majority of mine are silent ones? Is it like in Bruce Almighty with the post-it notes? Morgan Freeman never did reveal how he answered all those pleas to win the lottery. And the whole free-will versus God-has-everything-planned-out-before-we-are-born thing goes beyond my comprehension.

I suppose just as Nels Oleson was not ready to learn how to utilize Facebook to market his mercantile business (“Like us, and you could win a free tiller!”), I’m not quite ready to understand exactly how God works.

And that’s where Faith comes in. Thank God (literally) for that little seed planted so long ago in my heart that has kept my beliefs strong all these years, even when my head is in total chaos. I will continue to search for answers and pray as I always have. That is the only way I will grow spiritually. But I can relax, knowing that the answers are out there, and I will one day receive them all… in God’s time.

You and 23 Others Like This

I’m a Woo Hoo Girl! In the middle of an aerobics class, I get wound up and can’t help but shout “Woo Hoo!” I was talking to a girl at the Y, and she said how much she liked so-and-so’s class because she was calm and didn’t talk too much or hoot and holler. I told her she might not want to take my class, then. “Oh, are you a Woo Hoo Girl?” Yes, yes I am.

I’m a people pleaser. The “like” button is my friend. When I see that someone “like”d what I said, it makes me happy! One of my blog posts got 23 “like”s. Woo Hoo!! I suppose this could be a good trait to have, but it has also been debilitating. I’m so concerned whether people like me or not that I’ve altered my personality at times. Whenever I post something, a status update, a blog post or even a comment to someone else’s post, I get anxious. I have turned my thoughts into words and put myself out there. What if I offend someone? What if they think I’m stupid? What if they don’t like me?

One day in high school, I was riding in the car with my mother. Evidently, I was having some concerns about someone who didn’t like me. “You know, there are people who don’t like your grandfather.” What??? That’s absurd! Everyone likes Papaw! He was former Mayor of Athens, a war veteran, radio personality, newspaper columnist and current McMinn County Trustee, to just name a few of his positions in the community. When we’d go out to dinner it would take forever to get out of the restaurant. Papaw would know everyone and take the time to stop and talk to them. Seriously, how could anyone not like him?

Chuck Redfern was a devout Christian, committed Republican and avid UT fan. He didn’t hesitate to share his ideas and positions. No person on earth could have these convictions and not be opposed by someone. So what is the alternative? Back away from what you stand for so you don’t offend anyone? For my grandfather? Not a chance. He wouldn’t have been the person he was if he was concerned about pleasing everyone.

So, while I get a little nervous and hope no one skips my class due to my overzealous personality, I will not change who I am. So, if you like me, great! If not, well, there’s always so-and-so’s class.

I am who I am. And to that I shout, Woo Hoo!!!!

Lights Out

8:45 – Lights Out.

Everyone begins to wander around the house, and we all end up on the back porch. I sit down, and Alice crawls in my lap. Cliff and Ford stand watching the light show the storm is putting on. I think how nice it is that we are all out here together as a family. The night air is cool and the absence of electronic noise is peaceful.

One big, deep, satisfying breath, and the lights are back on.

8:48 – The kids rush back in to watch “Charlie Shakes It Up,” Cliff flips the Miami/Dallas game on, and me, well, those scrabble games are not going to play themselves.

It was nice while it lasted.

What If They Make Fun of Me?

It has begun. My daughter is only seven and already asking, “What if they make fun of me?” Understandably, I want to provide her with the armor she needs to protect her ever-developing ego. As much as Alice loves being on stage in front of large groups of people, I am certain there will be plenty of embarrassing situations ahead (as I type this, she is “singing” in the playroom… yep, she’s gonna get teased.)

So, I polled my wise friends on Facebook. “What are some books, quotes, etc. for building up my daughter’s sense of self, increasing her defenses against potential attacks on her character?”

Victoria said, “Be pretty when you can, witty if you must, but gracious if it kills you.” And “Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes.”

Mary told her daughter, Karen, “Some children just do not feel good about themselves and have to say mean things to others.”

Debra quoted one of my favorite versus, Philippians 4:13 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Mendy is a fan of the great Dr. Suess, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”

Sue offered to send her son, Luke, to take care of anyone who was mean to Alice. Thanks Sue!

Krista advises her daughter, Keira, “Be friends with those who uplift you and make you feel good about yourself. If they don’t, they are not worth your time.” (Krista, I bet she gets it better than you think she does, even as young as she is.)

I also will be checking out some suggested books soon: Queen Bees and Wannabees, American Girl books, specifically The Care and Keeping of You and The Feelings Book and the Chrissa American Girl movie. Dr. Seuss’s Oh, The Places You’ll Go was the one book mentioned that we do have. We’ll be digging that one out.

Great advice from some very wise women. But will all this be enough for her?

A month or so ago, I was teaching a Boot Camp class. Let me just say, jumping jacks and a mother-of-two’s bladder do NOT mix! That’s right, I peed my pants. I tried to be subtle and take a look. No puddle (thank God!) but there was a big dark circle in the crotch of my hot pink running shorts. I stood there with my legs crossed in front of a large group of adults still doing jumping jacks and tried not to cry… It was not awkward at all… I thought about running away and never coming back, or I could just make a joke about it and get it over with… But maybe they hadn’t noticed yet (haha, yeah, right!) Instead, I sent them upstairs to the track to run a few laps, and then sprinted to the front desk. “Lynn, help!” What was she supposed to do? Dig out some replacement shorts from Lost and Found? Ewww. She tried to find something to wrap around my waist, but no luck. She reassured me it wasn’t too bad (good friends know when to lie), and I had no choice but to go back and face the music. As the group streamed down the stairs and back into the gym I had only moments to gather myself… “What if they make fun of me?” Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, a door opened, releasing a treasure trove of wisdom that had been carefully collected over the years. Words of advice and encouragement from some very important people in my life were right there for me in my time of need.

“In the grand scheme of things, this is really no big deal.”

“They are more worried about themselves than what’s going on with you.”

“Laugh about it. Don’t take yourself too seriously.”

“Toughen up. You have a job to do. Get it done!”

“You’re not alone. That’s happened to me, too.”

“You are a great instructor! It will all be okay!”

It was like having Mama, Daddy, Missi, Papaw, Angi and all the people who have ever loved me pick me up and get me through a potentially ego-damaging moment. With my “support team” by my side, I made it through the class. And no one made fun of my incontinence (at least not to my face). Now I know the next time I teach class I will be wearing the armor of supportive love and advice… along with a pair of dark-colored shorts.

Evidently, the careful guidance I received growing up from so many different people; parents, grandparents, my sister, coaches, teachers, and friends, was enough for me. I have to trust it will be enough for Alice.