Lenten Journal Day 3

So just to recap so far, we as a family have given up madness (no yelling or anger directed towards one another), and shopping for unnecessary things.


Right after I sat down at my computer and wrote about being Jesus to one another, and how I knew Satan would tempt me, I needed to go pick up Key from a friend's house. I waited for half an hour, I had forgotten my cell phone at home, and my child was not appearing in the place which we had agreed he would be for me to pick him up. I needed to go to the restroom, and my gas tank light was on. I was twenty minutes from home. Needless to say, I was becoming....angry. I had lots of rude and not at all nice thoughts about my friend and her insensitivity. The first thought that came to mind, in fact, was not, "I hope they are okay." It was, "Where the h*@* are they?" Which then made me realize that I needed to calm down and take true stock of the situation. This situation was turning out to be an inconvenience in my day, which immediately led to self centered frustration - directed outward towards my gentle friend. And that would not be exactly fair, given that I did not have my phone on me for her to call if something was wrong. I had left home early, and she did not cause me to have an empty gas tank. I knew where they lived way before I ran low on gas.

Truth?

I needed to stop worrying about what amounted to an inconvenience and figure out how to be useful in the situation. So I drove home. And guess who was waiting for me? Both of my children home from their playdates, and another mother that had taken care of my youngest all afternoon. They were playing in the backyard. Waiting patiently. For me. It turned out Key and crew had needed to go pick up his friend's brother because friend's dad had gotten stuck at work. So as a nice gesture, friend's mom had tried to bring me my child to save me a trip. Had I not left home early without a phone I would have known this. In turn, friend's mom had been worried about me. Her thoughts had not turned to anger, but to concern.

Lucky for me I had given up anger for Lent.

Otherwise I could have missed my contribution to the whole thing. I could have damaged a sweet friendship. See, I didn't calm down and think straight on my own. Actually, I looked up at the ceiling of my car and said in an exasperated tone, "Lord help me! Really? No anger? That's a crazy thing for me to try!" And, thank goodness, He answered, by filling my lungs with a deep breath and a sudden realization that the mother that had my child was gentle, and kind, and treated Key as her own. Always. And that whatever was happening was because of some miscommunication; not because she suddenly changed personalities and became careless with friends. In fact she has never been careless with friendship. And so therefore, I should not be either.

Truth?

It's getting easier letting anger run through me like a sieve, because I am getting humbled. I am messing up on a daily basis, and because I am more aware than ever of my emotions/ reactions right now, I am more aware than ever of my shortfalls. Which makes having patience towards others and extending grace towards others way easier. And it's easier because, honestly, when people expect anger and they receive sweetness, it's a gift for both. It changes what could become hostility into a life breathing moment.

Psalms 16:11

You show me the path of life.
In your presence there is fullness
of joy;
in your right hand are pleasures
forevermore.


James 1: 19-20

You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness.

Lenten Journal Day Two

I Love You Lord

I love you Lord.
And I lift my voice
To worship You,
O my soul, rejoice.
Take joy, my King,
In what You hear,
may it be a sweet, sweet sound
In Your ear.

song and lyrics by Laurie Klein

And We Begin: Lenten Journal Day 1

Ultreya.

Monday night I went to a dinner. It's a dinner called Ultreya, meaning onward. The first Monday of every month I go to this dinner and I share precious time with a unique gathering of people. We are all there because of one common bond, and that is our participation in a retreat called Cursillo. Several denominations have these retreats, and they come in many forms tailoring to the needs of the group. The purpose of these retreats is to ask the question "What now?" How do I take my utter gratefulness in being saved by Christ out into the world around me? Here we are, Christian and all, so what now?

We often times have been through a personal journey or we are facing a journey of some sort. Many of the Cursillistas on my weekend were cancer survivors or people living with a chronic and debilitating illness. Michael and I were facing a move to a new city, leaving behind a very comfortable and supportive group of friends and believers we very much counted on. Our house went on the market the day we left for the retreat, and we left our 3 yr. old with a babysitter for the weekend for the first time. I was six and a half months pregnant, supposed to be on bed rest (I didn't find that out til after I got back), and Michael was commuting two hours round trip for work til we moved. We had no health insurance due to that waiting period with new jobs, and we were feeling a bit uneasy about the whole situation. The week before I felt Satan attacking. I had contractions, I was completely irrational towards Michael, I hated everything we owned, I didn't think we had enough money or enough this or enough that. I had way too much to do to go spend three days in the woods, without my only child and no phone, talking to God. I wasn't going to even share a room with my husband. I had to room with a woman I had never met before. What if she snored? What if I had to get up fifteen times a night to pee? If it hadn't been for Peggy Williams showing up at my door, ignoring my protests, packing my suitcase in her car and ushering me to the passenger seat, I would not have made it. Seriously. But I did. And the weekend was a period of pampering and listening and sharing and rejuvenation of the Spirit within each of us that attended. It was a time when we felt Jesus through the people around us. It made us want to share the gospel, to shout it out loud and proud, because it was so, so good. It was that mountaintop experience.

Ash Wednesday is the time we remind ourselves we are dust. And to dust we will return. And somewhere in between the dustings we are to be Jesus to each other. We are to share the gospel, to walk like Christ. But it gets hard, and we get tired, and we forget. So here is our Ash Wednesday. Our reminder. It is the first day of forty days of preparation for the death and resurrection of our Lord. It is our time to prepare again for our time between the dustings. It is our time to pray to our Lord and to walk a walk like His. It is our opportunity to have another mountaintop experience, in a different way than the restful form of Cursillo. We can have another bonding time in communion with God by intentionally giving up and giving outwardly more than we may do the other 325 days of the year. We can begin to experience renewed compassion for Christ and also feel His grace reaching out towards us. Satan will be there, no doubt. If he tempted Jesus, I guarantee he will tempt us. But we have Jesus to lead the way. He's been there. Done that. And when we come off our mountain on Easter Sunday, He will be there still, filling up all of our crevices with the Spirit, His Spirit, when we move onward.

Ultreya.

Preview of our family lenten journey

If you haven't read any previous blogs, Lent is a big deal to me. In fact, I'll be writing about my forty day journey every day starting Wednesday, Ash Wednesday.

And now, my writings will be getting a whole lot more interesting.

Because I talked to my kids. They are brilliant. Naive and clueless as to what they have signed up for, but brilliant none the less.

Every year I have the family give up something together. In previous years I have been the dictator of sacrifice and picked what my family would do without. No discussion. I would consult Michael, my husband, but I can't remember really giving him much choice either. This year I decided I needed to explain the whole purpose of Lent with my children a little better, and so we had a candid cuddle session where we talked about Jesus. The whole topic arose naturally after my children asked me how old I would be in the year 3000, and my sweet oldest started to tear up at the thought of death. He's my more serious one. Or so I thought. The younger one pulls no punches in the deep thought department, I must say. Anyway, I explained why Jesus died, and we talked about Easter coming up and about Lent, which ushers in Easter. It was good stuff. Then, I asked them what we should give up for Jesus for our forty day journey. I talked about how last year we gave up pork every day and all meat on Fridays. They remembered. I suggested for this year we try candy. That was immediately voted down. So was the cookie suggestion. At this point I expected my babies to move on to things like squash, which is what I did as a child, but no. My sweet, sweet boys took the discussion seriously. They considered legos, but decided that was way too hard. So...they settled on two things. Key suggested we give up shopping for all unnecessary stuff. No new clothes or toys or legos. No taking our allowance to Target, and no buying things for the house for me. No unnecessary things. (This, by the way, does not include food. Candy is still safe.) And for Kelly. My sweet Kelly. No madness. No getting mad at each other. And no yelling. For Kelly, we are giving up anger. Oh, how hard this one is going to be. How easy anger and madness rise up. How easy madness can turn to fear, and resentment, and distrust.

So for Lent, my family is going on a journey like no other. We are living on what is reasonably necessary, and we are not to harbor madness towards others. And I can't wait for Lent to start. I need every day I have left to start warming up. Because this is going to be one strenuous journey. Believe me when I say that Satan can't wait either. And I, in all this, am praying right now that God holds my hand - very tightly - because I will need Him by my side. each. step. of. the. Way.

Lent

Lent is coming. I have been trying to decide what I plan on giving up for weeks now. Most people don't even celebrate lent, but for me lent has become the ultimate symbol of waiting and patience. Getting to Easter Sunday has become an incredible journey these last few years. (Please see the labels to read about those journeys. I am not savvy enough to do one of those highlighted links here.) The season of lent, which leads us into Holy Week and finally Easter Sunday, has always been important given that I grew up in a liturgical church that puts emphasis on spiritual discipline, such as fasting, confession, weekly celebration of the Eucharist, incense, sanctus's sang at every service, and on, and on, and on.

I am not Catholic. I'm Episcopalian. Lately Anglican. But it really, honestly, does not matter the category.

The point is, I'm Christian, and in my particular upbringing the religious seasons were to be practiced using set disciplines.

Lent was the time of sacrifice in order to taste just slightly the way Christ felt in sacrificing himself for us. By giving up something we love, we are constantly reminded of Christ. Some people give up meat, chocolate, facebook, etc. Others instead feel compelled to add a discipline to their day, such as daily devotionals or exercise.

So, given this knowledge, every year growing up, I gave up the same thing. Brussels sprouts. Lent was always a thorn in a kid's year. So, we came up with more useful ways to celebrate Christ's sacrifice by giving up foods we despised. Then we would quite righteously announce we could not eat said Brussels sprouts because we were using them to contemplate Christ's sacrifice for us. We thought we were brilliant.

Now I'm a grown up. And I'm torturing my kids with Lent. But in all seriousness, by practicing this discipline as a child, however halfheartedly, I find myself deeply moved when practicing these disciplines as an adult. I have even found myself mentally preparing for Lent way before it starts. I prepare myself for the discipline of patience, for the journey. The last two years I have made a Station of the Cross (#5 and #8). This year I do not feel a strong pull to make another one. So then what? This year, I have decided to step out of my comfort zone, and write for forty days, on here, and post my ramblings on facebook. Some days may be short, but I will attempt to post something spiritual, whether it be about my Lenten journey, or a hymn I love, or a Bible verse, each day, six days a week, starting on Ash Wednesday. I am stating this to give myself some accountability. Please feel free to join me. I'd love the company.

Raspberry Muffins

Each of us has that weekly meal our moms pushed on us growing up. I have several that come to mind, and every time I mention them, I get crazy looks. I have yet to get my husband to try a hamburger patty cooked with a beet slice on top. This of course comes with a side of canned fruit piled on top of a layer of iceberg lettuce. It was a weekly standard at my house that, alas, will not be passed on to the next generation.

Another regular menu consisted of canned peas, tuna salad on - yes - a layer of iceberg lettuce, and blueberry muffins. Again, I get looks at the mention of this meal. And yet, I like this one. So, I have continued in Cox tradition and serve tuna salad and blueberry muffins together. My husband agrees that they do go together nicely. We have updated the meal just a bit, switching from iceberg to romaine for tuna salad lettuce wraps or a healthy serving of spring mix with Asian dressing drizzled on top. We forgo the canned peas and have fresh cut fruit instead. And for muffins, well, it depends. Sometimes we make them old style, Betty Crocker mix galore. But sometimes we make them from scratch. The kids love these so much they actually asked me to make cookies out of the batter without the fruit. As you can see, the key to the whole meal is the muffins. I finally figured out what my mom was doing. I was an experiment just like Pavlov's dog. Because I love tuna salad - and so do my kids. Go figure.

Raspberry (or blueberry or any fruit bits you have on hand) Muffins
**from the kitchen of my sister, Carol Cox Benzi**

• 1 1/2 cups flour
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 12- ounce package frozen, unsweetened raspberries, thawed (I substitute any fruit here, it just needs to be chopped into small pieces, i.e. no whole strawberries)
• 2 eggs, well beaten (Egg beaters work well here too.)
• 2/3 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup chopped pecan, optional

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. In a medium bowl, mix flour, soda, alt, cinnamon, and sugar. Make a well in the center and stir in undrained fruit and eggs. Thoroughly mix in oil oil and pecans. Spoon batter into lightly greased muffin tins. Muffin cups should be full. Batter is heavy and will not overflow. It only puffs up a little bit. Bake 15 - 20 minutes. I bake them until I see them turning golden and crispy around the edges. Cool 5 minutes before removing from pan.

(For a greased and floured 9 x 5 inch loaf pan, bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.)

I Never Thought I'd Own a Minivan...

Several months ago I wrote an essay and entered it into Real Simple to try to win a trip to New York. Since they haven't called to tell me I've won, and the magazine is hitting stands soon, I am guessing I can now share my entry.

The topic: I never thought I'd....

...Own a Minivan, and technically I still don't.

I am a thirty four year old married woman. My husband is a thirty nine year old married man. Obviously, he’s married to me. We have two point one children. The point one is for the occasional pets that come to visit our home. They never stay for very long. It also stands for the baby girl we talk about one day adopting - if we don’t have to pay for her - and some kind of needy soul rings our doorbell and says, “Please take this perfectly healthy, beautiful, baby girl and make her your own. No paperwork involved.”

On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday we all get up and go to school or to work. I suppose technically I go to both, since I work at my youngest son’s preschool. My husband goes to just work. He’s a lawyer. On Saturdays we go to the soccer fields and yell at our kids to run faster. The kids – Well, they’re boys. On Sundays we get in our Ford Explorer (with a third row seat) and go to church.

As you can tell, I am living the American dream.

Except that in My Childhood American Dream I lived in a big city and rode on a subway. I had a husband that worked for a non-profit and we ate at little, local, tucked away restaurants just like in the movies. We were poor. In theory. I still got to wear J Crew and he always looked like a slightly unshaven underwear model. Children of my own were a vague hope floating somewhere in the future. My job was to save inner city kids just like that teacher did in Dangerous Minds. I was really, really great, but still humble.

Truth be told, I had no idea what I was wishing for when I imagined my future. I created a story I thought sounded interesting, then aimed for it. Yet somewhere along the way, I got distracted. And then I got distracted again. And before long I ended up in the place I am now. Now is what I fondly refer to as My Grown Up American Dream – revised edition.

It’s messy, this real world in which I live. Being married is grueling. My husband and I drive each other crazy, and I swear he does stuff like leave cabinet doors open, just to irritate the living daylights out of me. But I get him back. I subconsciously spread my shoes all over the house just so he can trip over them. Our children are actual live little people with sticky hands and tricycles in my house on rainy days and one even still has trouble with the bathroom paperwork. They go to school where these teachers give homework and they ask questions, like, “Do Mommies and Daddies grow babies? I thought God grew babies.” And I have to answer with, “God gives Mommies and Daddies babies, and Mommies grow them in their bellies. Daddies don’t grow babies.” At which point, having boys, I hear, “Yesss!!!” coming from the back seat of that Ford Explorer.

Then there are the relatives that accompany the marriage of a spouse. Crazy Irish Catholic relatives with thick Southern accents and boundless energy. On paper, they would look so normal, so like my family. In this real live, bounce off the paper version, however, they are much louder, much more opinionated, and love to celebrate birthdays. Even all the adults get birthday parties. Even those of us that marry into the family get birthday parties. My own family stopped giving me birthday parties when I went off to college, so I have to admit, it’s almost always fun and rarely boring.

Unlike the in laws, the family I bring to the marriage is normal. Normal to the point of being weird. My father reads in the evenings while my mother sits or sleeps on the couch, and my siblings live in big cities, but love visiting their roots. They have distinguished academic jobs, and nobody has been through a nasty, not playing nice in the sandbox, divorce. They’re all mainly Episcopalians, except one that jumped over to the Presbyterian Church. Combining one of us with the crazy Irish Catholics has taken some work, but somehow we have endured.

The key to all this wonderfulness is love, grace, and a mastery of sarcasm. Because in my explanation, what I’ve really left out are the messy parts. I’ve skipped right over my husband’s constant vigil over his diabetes, or my mom’s dementia and how it hurts that she can’t remember when I was born. I haven’t mentioned how two women in our families have battled and survived breast cancer, or all the adoptions our siblings went through to get those magazine worthy cute kids. I purposely left out an explanation of what debilitating anxiety looks like, or how grief over losing a brother to a drunk driver feels. I have yet to explain our heart wrenching circumstances that, over the years, have tugged at my faith in myself and have left me at times seriously questioning God. Explaining all those things, well, that would just be yucky.

And yet, it is all these messy parts of My Grown Up American Dream – revised edition - that help me to see my real life just as it is.

So, on Sundays, we get up, and we put on clothes, and we go to the local Episcopal, Catholic, Anglican, Presbyterian, Holiness Please forgive me Church. We go because we were raised to go. We also go to feel that love and that grace. To some people, religion isn’t necessary. For me, my faith is what helps me stand up, look outside of myself, and see that I really do have it pretty nice. It’s what sees me through when life gets so messy and tear streaked that snot comes out of my nose. Grace. Love. They feel good. They are what help me recognize that I never would have planned my life along the path I am traveling, and in my planning I would have missed out on everything. I would have missed the opportunity to hear my husband’s snoring and my kids arguing over the Star Wars legos and the phone ringing during dinner and my mom showing us her belly button and my dad explaining the futility of worry and crazy uncles sending treasure hunt instructions in the mail and my in laws giving me advice over gin and tonics. Seriously, Thank God for Sundays. It’s when we ride downtown, wearing clothes from Target, in our Ford Explorer (with a third row seat) and I finally see that despite my best intentions, I sure enough am living out my real life, messy, American dream - two point one kids, ranch house in the suburbs, and all.