Because my heart is elsewhere...

Hello all...

Lest you spend your precious summer moments checking in on my little page here...haha!  I decided a couple of months ago that I would "officially" stop writing here.  For this season, the stories I want to listen to and tell are best heard, spoken and lived in my family, neighborhood, and work place.  With precious little time to spare (and no babies or cross-country road trips on the horizon!), I've decided I only have energy and time to pour my heart out there.  Give me a holler over email, fb, or phone though, and by all means stop by if you find yourself in southern Cal :).  Thanks for reading and your support and encouragement over the years I've deposited my thoughts here...

Love,
Joanna

God with us?

She had beautiful eyes, as blue as the sky on a perfectly clear winter day.  I bet her husband swooned over them many a time.  Her hair had just a trace of blond left among the yellow.  Her skin was incredibly dented, wrinkled, worn.  She was frustrated, feisty, tired out, 80-something years old.

She was looking for the free tax preparation, which this April happens is apparently housed on the 5th floor of the science building at the university where I teach.  After she interrupted the class across the hall, she found me in office hours and started looking for tax help.  Yesterday, during my one hour a week of solitude, it was not a very welcome interruption.

I happened to have a few quiet minutes with no students around.  Something in me clicked, and paused.  It was surreal.  Supernatural?  I listened, and noticed.  Her eyes, her skin, her labored breathing, her complaints about doctors and blood pressure medicine and coughs.  And I found myself wondering, what if this very woman was the Jesus I believe in?  Jesus on the Chemistry floor during my office hours.  Would I think her more beautiful, more important, worth taking time to listen to, talk to, and would I leave a chair out for her?  For a few minutes, she became a glimpse of my humble God, and  I stopped to make time for her.

What if I had that thought 5 minutes earlier?  Would that book salesman I just talked to seem more of a valuable person than a salesman to be annoyed with?

Driving across town on my way home then, walking around the elementary school, greeting moms and grandmas, scooping up my own dirty-faced little boys.  I glimpsed people in a way that I never have before.  Not with long hair, or strange clothes, or worn, or small, or beautiful, but each the tiniest facet in a crazy glimpse of an unfathomable God.  

I need you...

It's easy to wish that we could be there for each other more often, lived closer, were the best friend that got the call. At least for me...

But by definition "best" sort of implies one top dog, and if we were all each others best friends, well, it just wouldn't work out. Growing a little older, sending Christmas cards to the trail of states we've left behind, I'm appreciating more and more the tapestry of people that make my life happen, that make my life happy. I need each and every one of you, and I hope you'll stick around for a good many years.

I need you so that I have friends to stay with when I visit Fargo. Or Lincoln. Or Grand Rapids.

I need you to cheer me up when you smile and say a kind word as I parade my family around the grocery store.

I need you to talk about not going to church, so that years later I have a companion when I'm going to church less.

I need you to go out for drinks in the backyard or downtown suburbia, even if we just met, so we feel less lonely.

I need you to hold a family sing-a-long every year so that when I move back to town, I'm enveloped with a sense of my own family belonging to a larger one.

I need you to pick my daughter up from school so that I can go to work.

I need you to send me a birthday card every single year.

I need you to need me.

I need you to be an old friend so that whenever we meet up again, I don't have to explain my entire family history.

I need you to compete against in a friendly game. It's not everyone's cup of tea, you know!

I need you to be dependably by my side every single day.

I need you to have issues. So I know that my screaming child or depressed day or mistake are normal. And we can lift each other up with understanding when need be.

I need you to give me a big hug.

I need you to chat with while walking up or down the hill to school every day.

Now that I've started, this list could really go on for a very long time. So if I've missed you in these first few thoughts, don't even start to think that I don't need you.

Because I absolutely do.

Physically impossible

He was 70 or 80-something, slouched in the passenger seat in front of the car and staring straight ahead. He was there when I slowly mobilized my three younger kids into the grocery store yesterday, and still there when we rolled through the parking lot twenty minutes later, four gallons of milk and three loaves of bread heavier. How could you leave him in the car for so long?

And then I realized - maybe it's physically impossible for her to take him in, yet also impossible to leave him home alone. Maybe it was walking through the grocery store teeming with the over 70 set, many in pairs, many barely able to walk, that made me think twice. Maybe its my current almost-physically-impossible state of taking 1.5 year old twins out that helped compassion flicker.

Without a stroller, I literally can't go safely go anywhere with them, and they're almost more than I can hold all at once. If I want to shop for any more than will fit under the stroller (read: most any grocery trip or Target trip), it involves a delicate (BUMBLING!) push-stroller-pull-cart thing. Never mind extra-curricular outings like the park, zoo, museum, library, public restroom. They're all either a major project or major physical impossibility or safety hazard. Poor me.

But what if the person in my care was an elderly spouse, who couldn't be pushed in a stroller, even if I had the strength? Or a special needs kid far over the age of 1, whom I might barely push-pull around and but would also feel like such a spectacle? Especially if my kid decided to have a meltdown mid-trip. Or just a chronically sick parent or child? You can't leave them home alone. So how would I buy milk, go for a walk, buy clothes, go do almost anything we call "fun"? For these caretakers, it is pretty much physically impossible. (And their caring goes on for years.) I don't know, I never thought about it before.

God, give me a heart to see, love, and help those who have the difficult task of taking care of others.

Patience

As we settle slowly into our newest version of life, I'm being reminded in bits and pieces how long it takes to be at home. For instance, there is no such thing as FIND A GREAT FRIEND NOW! It will take many chats at school, visits to the playground, dinners with church families, conversations over the bushes with the neighbors before we have any great friends. I came across this little story as I was reading last night, and it really helped put things into perspective for me.

It's from Stones for Schools by Greg Mortenson (sequel to Three Cups of Tea), about a man building schools in rural Pakistan and Afghanistan.

"In Chunda, a conservative rural village in Baltistan, it took eight years for us to convince the local mullah, an immensely cautious and pious man, to permit a single girl to attend school. Today, however, more than three hundred girls study in Chunda--and we take great pride in the fact that they do so with the full support of the very same mullah who once stood in their way. His change of heart affirms the notion that good relationships often demand titanic patience... As any wise village elder will tell you, anything truly important is worth doing very, very slowly."

Eight years?! Three hundred girls, with the mullah on board?! Very, very slowly? (I don't do much of anything that slowly.) Wow.

Good relationships are incredibly important to me. Being in a new place reminds me of that. I want them with new friends here, I want them with my old friends, I want them with my extended family, I want them with my husband and kids. Am I willing to wait? This man Greg was, and the outcome for an entire village and its girls is amazing to me.

This story made me realize that I don't really take the "eight year plan" or the "1000 cups of tea" plan when I think about good relationships. I hope for and expect GREAT BIG MOMENTS, deep and meaningful talks, laughs, tears. I feel disappointed and discouraged, like the relationship isn't going anywhere when those big moments (nearly always) fail to happen. But that's a totally warped perspective.

In reality, every bit of conversation, every sip of shared hot chocolate, every step walked together adds a layer to what can be a good relationship. Love is patient, I'm reminded. Patience is a perspective too, I think, often improved with age.

If good relationships are really important to me, then I guess I might as well demonstrate that by going about them very, very slowly. Love in action will simply be a thousand or million small moments shared with those around me.

Time for tea, kids!

I'm curious what you've learned about patience - have you experienced a relationship or event that you are so glad you worked at and waited for? How long have you been investing in time with someone? Will you inspire me?!

the girl who cried "help!"

This is the story of the girl who cried "help!". Unlike the boy who cried "wolf!", you must understand that this girl wouldn't cry help unless she desperately meant it. She was normally the-little-girl-who-could, who could almost do it all. Cook it, teach it, run it, carry it. (In fact, she thought she could so much, that she sometimes did too much!)

But once in a while, life conspired against her. It was a horrible thing and yet the most wonderful thing all at once.

Her mother died. She moved thousands of miles from her family. She had a miscarriage. She moved, and moved again, and moved again. She got a job in a new city and needed a babysitter. She got pregnant with twins while on a shoestring budget, and no family lived right in town.

Now you must understand, this girl was not only fairly capable, but she also preferred to be a little quiet and keep to herself. But when you need HELP, you are no longer capable and keeping to yourself is no longer an option. And so she cried "help!"

Here is where it gets wonderful. A friend flew to stay for a week when mom died (they've been friends even more since), and a boy that helped her talk through it in later years became her best friend and husband.

An acquaintance called her right away after the miscarriage, and she still feels safe talking to her many years later.

Each time she moved away from somewhere, (and especially as she accumlated more stuff!), she finally met the neighbors. The ones that she'd said "hi" to for years but never "help" suddenly became willing movers and finally shared meals both then and years later.

In desperate need of one day of babysitting while she went to work at a new job, a friend of a friend (a stranger!) was willing to help. That help turned into hours upon hours spent together, kindnesses traded, and two little girls growing up best friends from age one to age six together. Countless other babysitters (strangers, colleagues, playground moms) became reliable friends.

And so with babies soon to arrive, she knew she had no choice but again to cry "help!" It was time to finally have that conversation with a neighbor, a mom known only in passing, familiar friends that she just didn't usually need help from. She cried "help!", and they finally exchanged phone numbers, watched her children, had something to talk about, or became even dearer friends or family than they already were as they expanded their care for her.

And so events that may have seemed overwhelming or even horrible turned into life's greatest blessings for this girl. She got over her "I-can-do-it"-ness, and her quietness. She started conversations and asked for and accepted lots of help.

And in turn she discovered new, wider, and deeper friendships everywhere she turned.

The end. Until the next crisis pushes her out of her shell even further and she again cries "help!".

Have you asked for help from someone lately? Or offered?

Spiritual solidarity - or not

My sister (hi Danielle!) just spent the last couple of weeks with us - since we've lived at least 2000 miles apart for 10 of the last 11 years, it is a rare treat to spend that much time together. My kids love her imagination and craziness. She and John get along great, whether it's commiserating as I go to bed early or playing bruising games of raquetball.


And of course, as sisters, she and I share so much in common - love of being in the kitchen, playing cards, being active outside, etc. etc. There are a few things we differ on, like the appeal of her beet salad and taste in movies/documentaries/books. Big deal though. One topic that came up a few times though raises some discord between us - spiritual stuff.

I have my beliefs about God, after life, values. She has hers. We're each seeking and pursuing truth, and feel the friction as we discuss it with each other. It's not fun, it's not comfortable for either of us. I think that we both long for some sort of sisterly solidarity in what we believe.

As I think about it, I think that most of us have that longing to agree with each other on spiritual matters. Maybe it's selfish as much as anything, a longing to be validated that I'm right about what I am believing or doing. Solidarity is community of feelings, purposes, responsibilities, interests. Belonging to community beats the alternative, discord (lack of agreement; conflict, dispute, friction).

Spiritual solidarity takes many forms. At one extreme, maybe it explains why people buy into cults, where there is so much agreement, even on details, that things get out of whack. Or what about the denominations or sects that each religion has, the ones we (fiercely?) align ourselves with? On the other end of the spectrum, maybe we seek solidarity in a non-sectarian practice or belief system, or non-denominational churches, or unitarian beliefs. Then we all agree that "non" is the best and rally around that. In one form or another, to one degree or another, it seems we're all seeking that spiritual solidarity - including in our families!

Maybe our search for the comforts of solidarity is a mis-prioritized search. I return to the words of Jesus that I've read lately, because he's the starting point of my own faith. "Let the dead bury their dead, you follow me." "What is it to you if he lives until I return, you follow me." "Seek first the kingdom of God."

Before I'm seeking the comforts of a spiritual community that agrees with me or I agree with, am I seeking and following God?

(That's me, out on a limb alone.) P.S.- Love you Danielle, thanks for visiting!

Overlooked kids

I've read a couple of places this week about miracle babies, or tiny ones fighting for their lives. I'm amazed at the fight that these little ones and their families put up for life, and especially the support that sprouts up around them.

Without taking anything away from the little ones, my thoughts turn as I look around me at dozens of kids every day. I look at my own two girls. I think about the thousands in my city, probably over 2 billion on our globe. What about them? They were formed perfectly, and have moms and dads (and others) who have poured care into them from day one - are the lives of those kids and the love of their parents deserving of more support and celebration than we're giving them???

For me, the obvious answer is a resounding YES. Instead of coming alongside a frazzled mom who is yelling at her kids, I sometimes think - "how could she talk to them like that?" She chose life for them. She takes them to the doctor. She puts food on the table for them. I know how challenging those little things can be for me. Of course they are for her too.

Our schools, and even our church Sunday school classes have a chronic shortage of volunteers. There is always room for new foster parents. For court-appointed special advocates for children of abuse - I see those on billboards around town every week. And that doesn't even scratch the surface of needs of children around the world. Giving my time to fill in those holes - even just a little locally - is a sacrifice. I'm only sometimes willing to make it.

In focusing on the lives that are not yet or are just hanging on, are we overlooking the treasure of children who already are?

If I can jump on the bandwagon to pray for or sponsor a baby or child far, far away, can I celebrate and encourage each child (including my own), and each all-important parent or caregiver that crosses my path this week?

Huh....

Bittersweet.

I've moved a lot in my short adult life - Champaign for three years, Bloomington for a year, Madison for two years, Gainesville for two years, and now Champaign for four whole years. I'm reminded this week why that is sweet and yet bitter.

As I walked through the grocery store on Monday, I ran into a couple of girls who I've met over my years here, and we caught up, oohed and ahhed over how big the kids are. I recognize the clerks, I know the brands, I know where to find my favorite foods. Seeing people I know around town is a wonderful side effect of being kind of permanent. It takes a while, but it's oh so sweet!

Yesterday, I heard that one of our neighbors is terminally ill. She's got a little dog that the girls love to pet, and a driveway that they love to run and bike on too. Two years ago, she was the picture of glamour, hardly looking a day over 70 (80-something in fact). We've lived in our current place for two years now, and we've gotten to know the neighbors in our tiny cul-de-sac. Many (most) of them are over 80 years old. Getting to know them has really been great, a whole demographic I rarely interact with otherwise. But almost all of them have gone from fairly healthy to struggling with major health issues since we moved in. Even though I know that they are older, and it's how life goes, it still hurts a little bit of my heart to see them going downhill so quickly.

Only when you stick around somewhere for a while do you find friends and become a part of the community. But only when you stick around do you lose friends and feel their pain.

Permanence is bittersweet.

A family AND a village

"It takes a village to raise a child." African proverb, title of Hillary Clinton's book, 1996

I was in Abby's classroom (kindergarten) again yesterday - I continue to be amazed at the community that exists at the school, at all the caring people that make the place "go", at all the children whose lives are touched there for at least six hours every day. During my last twenty minutes there, one little boy sat next to me, leaning, sprawling, and wiggling as close as he could get. He was in "time out", a place where he had landed because he was clamoring for attention. That I could provide him with just a bit of that one-on-one attention for a few minutes made my day - and got me thinking again.

I'm going to start with stereotypes - which are not usually perfect but at least provide a point of reference and some truth. When raising children, it seems to me that many Christians believe that their family (or at most, church family) is the only safe place for their young kids (0-10+ yrs?) to be. To that end, they may choose Christian schools, church sports leagues, after-school church clubs, Christian books, Christian cartoons, home school, church-based service, only Christian friends. I think of ripples of uproar among Christian adults that I knew when Hillary Clinton wrote "It takes a village" in 1996. The thinking went, "Our children are up to us, God forbid that the government should start raising them." But I think that they missed the point completely.

I do believe that our families (Christian or not) lay the foundation for our kids' lives. But what I glimpse in the actions above is that some Christians don't really want to be a part of the "village" (or you could say, the neighborhood). They don't really want to be served by secular schools or sports or clubs. Let me try hard to distill my thoughts here. I acknowledge that they are kind of one-sided, but that's what I've got for now.

• If I expect the village to raise my children, I may neglect to work hard at teaching values and character at home.
  

• If I expect the village to raise my children, I may blame others when my children don't turn out as planned.
  

• But, if I overvalue the family (and church), I am essentially devaluing the community I live in. The teachers, coaches, club leaders, mentors - they are not good enough for me and my kids. Invite them to Jesus, when my kids are too Christian for their group?

• When I choose to keep my kids out of general public activities, I withdraw myself too. I give less to the elementary school down the street, the park district sports league, the Girl Scouts. I'm less likely to go volunteer with any of them, because my daughter isn't involved.
  

• My kids are going to grow up and eventually live in this "village". Will they avoid it just like me? Will their neighbors, coworkers, janitors, etc. be the kids who we didn't get involved with so many years before?
  

• Finally, I think back to the little boy cuddling up next to me at school. Some kids, even many kids, don't have a family that is as strong as they need. They need others in the village to love them, teach them, befriend them. If I live like family is the only place to raise a child right, I am ignoring the needs of millions of kids who have only a village to depend on.

And that is all that I have time to write today. What do you think? What is the balance between family and community? Why do you think that? I want to know.

All in the neighborhood

There's this corny Sesame Street song that comes to my mind... "Who are the people in your neighborhood?" I've been working a little harder than usual at getting to know my neighbors this past year or so. We moved to a new house a year and a half ago, and now Abby goes to school less than a mile away. Good excuses to branch out.

Neighbors, I'm thinking, are one of life's treasures. Just this morning, I had a few other moms and kids over to our house, all from within a mile (or a block!) of my house. One from Korea, one from Virginia, one from Pennsylvania, one from Texas. The one from Russia couldn't make it. I love visiting with each of them, and also just sitting back and watching them love their kids, take pictures, share stories. Who needs a road trip on a foggy, rainy day when you can take one in your living room?!

My neighbors introduce me to people I'd never get to interact with otherwise. Just in our immediate cul-de-sac, I've gotten to know a handful of the over-80 bunch, a Korean family and their nanny, a high school math teacher and her nieces, a family with two ten-year-olds and a thirteen-year-old. As much as I love the "small group" that I am in at church (full of young families), getting to know my neighbors gives me a great opportunity to talk about and do something other than kids and sermons!

Abby's class at school is a part of our "neighborhood" too. I was there earlier this week, and I get to interact with kids from around the city. They are from different countries, different socioeconomic classes, different types of families, and have different strengths and weaknesses. They remind me of the variety in my city, and that we all live side-by-side, working together to get our kids to school, get them through K, 1, 2, 3....! Being in the classroom helps me put a face and a value on the many families in my city.

My neighbors remind me everyday that the world is a much bigger place than our little family, our little church, our set of friends. I've got a slice of the world right at my doorstep, a glimpse of the world to explore, learn about, and love. They may be different than me, but what better chance to experience the "diversity" of the world and get to know it face to face?

What kind of random neighbors do you have? Have you talked to them lately?