to my oldest, on the eve of his first day of school

Hey, kiddo, Mama here. 

I know, I know, this is silly.  You’re going off to elementary school, not off to college. You’d roll your eyes at me if you were old enough to, but bear with me.  Someday, if you have kids of your own, you’ll understand. 
We’ve been gearing up for this day for a long time now, it seems.  You were so excited tonight that you couldn’t stop talking about it, about the friends you will make and the things you’ll learn. You’ve gone back to bed twice now, though a glance down the hall seems to suggest that sleep has finally come.
Five years ago, when I only knew your face from my dreams, I would lie in bed and feel you moving under my hands and dream about our future. The things you would do, would see, the person you would become.
Tomorrow is exciting for me, too, buddy, but a little bittersweet, as well.  Tomorrow marks the day where my dreams for you begin to be superseded by your dreams for yourself.  Astronaut, fireman, plumber, they change every day, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be.  Watching you grow into and out of those dreams is a constant source of wonder and amusement for me, and I love hearing what’s next in your plans.
I’ll let you in on a little secret, though. Doctor or policeman or carpenter or priest, whatever you grow up to be I will be proud of you, if you find something that makes you happy, that makes you proud, that keeps that beautiful smile on your face. 
I hope that the love you have for learning, your curiousity about the world and your eagerness to embrace it, and the people around you, never wanes. I hope that the public education system I am so committed to supporting doesn’t fail us both, that we find a way to challenge the system so that all of us are the better for it.
Your joy, your humor, your curiousity, your faith, your warmth, your goodness, the way you ask questions every different way to drive me crazy -  all of those things that make you who you are - are tremendous gifts, and I hope you never have cause to want to hide any of them.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of a truly amazing journey, Bean.  Whatever happens, know that I will always be your number one cheerleader, and your biggest fan.  May your dreams be as limitless as your imagination, and may as many of them as possible come true.
Happy first day of school, kiddo.  Love you, to the ends of the universe and back.

I've been thinking a lot about Lent. About what I might do this year to mark this period, about ways in which I could use the time to grow. See, I've always rolled my eyes and grumbled every year during conversations about what people are giving up. Chocolate, soda - to me these are more tools for teaching children about sacrifice than they are things that adults should struggle with for forty days.

I don't mean to disparage the act. I just think about what Jesus went through in that time and wonder what it is we can be called to do that in any way could come close to touching that experience.

That said, I came to some conclusions about how we will be observing Lent in our household. I want to be more purposeful about the choices we make, what we consume and how we consume it. From the food we eat to the lifestyle we lead, we will look for ways to live more simply, and to think more deeply about the type of people we are called to be.

That means making time for more prayer, and more focused prayer at that. Reorienting our priorities around those things that really and truly are the most important. Letting go of those indulgences that ultimately do more harm than good.

I'm not exactly sure how that will look, on the other side of this season, but as I enter into this time of quiet and think about what waits at its conclusion, I can't help but think that whatever sacrifices are made, whatever penance paid, the rewards will be plenty.

Thanks be to God.

I’ve been thinking this morning about all the clichés surrounding looking at the world from a kid’s point of view, and real and powerful messages that we sometimes don’t take the time to hear that come from our kids. I’ve certainly learned more about who I am and what I believe since my sons came into my life. Or, maybe that’s not quite right, but I’ve been forced to examine what I believe in a more concrete way since their arrivals.

Certainly, I can point to my pregnancy with the elder of the two as the point at which the rubber met the road in terms of my faith journey, and faith won. God won. I will never forget sitting out on the front stoop of that apartment in Madison and finally admitting that I didn’t have all the answers, that I couldn’t solve every problem on my own. That I needed help. I offered that up, in what was a profoundly humbling moment, and put my life in someone else’s hands in a way I’d never done before, and my life changed.

I am not blessed with an easy faith. But the challenges that come through exploration of my beliefs have been a blessing. I’ve read a lot, I’ve asked questions, but no one have been better partners in the discovery than those two little boys. Sitting in church and watching the youngest, all of eight months old, watch with rapt attention as the cross moves from the back of the church to the front, is a powerful part of my Sunday mornings. Yes, I know, infant, shiny things, but there’s a reason it’s called faith after all, right?

And then there’s the four year old, going on forty, sometimes, who asks me all the big questions. The ones that always trip me up and give me pause and make me sweat, just a little, as I try to come up with an answer that will satisfy both of us.

It’s impossible not to hear or see news coming out of Haiti right now, and while we were listening to NPR on the way in to work and school this morning, he asked me why God would allow all those people to hurt, to die.

I told him that God doesn’t cause the hurt, that God isn’t responsible for when or how people die. That instead, God is there to help us through the pain, to offer us comfort and support and to bring us home when our lives are over. That when things are the hardest, he helps us find a way out. He was satisfied with this response, humming a little as he went back to looking at his book. Me, on the other hand? I looked skyward at that and sighed, imagined somewhere someone was probably watching and chuckling.

I don’t have all the answers, but I have faith. Thanks for the reminder.