my new friend caroline recently shared with me that many of her women role models don’t seem to balance love and work as much as they appear to be merely surviving love and work. implied in this statement is the notion that mothers are in a constant state of reaction to life’s curve balls: forgotten lunches, toddler illnesses, workplace dramas, heaps of laundry, et cetera. the holy grail (which i often mistake for a wine glass or champagne cocktail) then becomes that rare stillness that gives rise to intentionality. it’s the chance to act, and not react. it’s about making wise choices about those few moving parts in our lives that we can actually control.

for me, it’s difficult to imagine what a life of balance could look like when mere survival seems to be the most prevalent motherhood mode. but in the words of carolyn g. heilbrun, “what matters is that lives do not serve as models; only stories do that.” essentially, even as most of us are caught up in the business of reaction and survival, we have moments when our thinking shifts, when we trust our instincts, make counter-cultural choices, take charge, and replace conventions and expectations with trail-blazing honesty. even those of us who live lives of survival have a story or two to tell about a moment of balance. and in the words of my new friend caroline, “stories take us beyond abstract theory and into the world of the living and integrating.”

there are tales of a new way lurking in every person’s history; there is potential of trail-blazing honesty in every encounter. the key is to extract these stories from others and to share our own. when we do this we are collectively constructing a new narrative — one that has the power to draw us out of survival mode, even if it’s just for one moment at a time.

[source for this post is located on the bibliography page found on the sidebar to your right.]

i returned last night from the young clergy women’s conference, the topic of which was “leading as ourselves.” as i sat in the sub-artic environs of our candler divinity school classroom and looked around at my fellow girl preachers, i was struck by both awe and jealousy. many of these women work full time in the church or other para-church settings. some of them have children, some of them work part-time or half-time, but very few seemed to be on the piecemeal job plan as i am, stringing together a haphazard collection of part-time gigs with the trials and rewards of stay-at-home motherhood.

i learned later, of course, that i am not the only one holding my life and life’s work together with odd combinations of pipe cleaners, vestments, therapy, wine, and a steam mop. the room was full of those who long, as i did, to have children; those who struggle for balance of all kinds; those who are facing transitions; and those who are wrestling with issues of identity. 

i did not know all of this on day one, though, when one of our beloved speakers, melissa clodfelter, asked us what leadership-related topics we would like to cover in our time together. so, i raised my hand and explained that i am often trying to lead from the margins. because of my simultaneous frustration and delight with the church and my desire to spend the majority of my time with the monkey and the bird, i am never central to the church’s power structures. i often feel like an outsider, and i wonder if i can ever actually effectively lead from this position. though i felt as if i were speaking only for myself at the conference, i know that the world is full of women who feel marginalized in the workplace, whether for reasons of choice or unfair circumstance. what kind of leadership do we, the women on the fringes, have to offer?

i was relieved when melissa answered that the margins are the places from which true leadership emerges. it is only by stepping outside of the structures that rule our world that we gain the perspective needed to change things. fitting in is not a prerequisite for effective leadership, as evidenced by gandhi, martin luther king jr., and jesus christ, himself! in fact, affecting change requires an uncomfortable, liminal type of existance.

i am beginning to see that leadership, from my own personal margins might look like this:

• changing the world, by raising boys who are emotionally intelligent, compassionate, and justice-seeking. brown eyes over scrambled eggs, and all that…
• remaining on the fringes of church in order to speak from a place of perspective and insight.
• remaining connected to the church so that my perspective and insight will matter.
• writing here about what it’s like to try fashion a real, meaningful life that honors my own leanings as well as the legacies handed down to me by superwomen, fifties housewives, and everyone in between.

but mostly, i’m beginning to be thankful that i never quite fit in anywhere. in an odd sort of way, i am in good company. and there is meaning to be found in the margins and proclaimed to the world. thanks for joining me in this process — this little makeshift revolution.

the results of my little filming session with the mutual of omaha aha moment folks were posted yesterday afternoon. my reactions to seeing myself on video are always twofold:

1. i can’t believe this is what i look like, sound like, act like, etc.
2. i’m so glad my friends and family accept me anyway.

check it out:

http://www.ahamoment.com/pg/moments/view/12718

yesterday, when the monkey and i drove through kosciusko, mississippi, i said to my three-year-old-turned-captive-audience, “monkey, your great grandfather was from kosciusko.” i said this with full awareness that if  i had told him that oprah is from kosciusko, he’d have the same reaction, which was, “oh.”

a couple of hours later, when we passed through jackson, i said, “monkey, your great grandmother was from jackson.”

 i explained that he was named for these very special mississippi-born relatives, and then, in order to spark some interest where there clearly was none, i began to launch into stories about my beloved maternal grandparents.

i told him all about the time they took my brother and me to el chico’s for dinner and the waiter dropped a giant beer on my granddaddy’s head. suddenly, there were gales of laughter coming from the back seat. i told him that my grandaddy once worked really hard to build a giant tent on the beach for our family to play in. being an avid tent connoisseur himself, the monkey’s eyes widened. i told him about my spend-the-night dates with these grandparents that involved pancakes in the morning and sharing the bed with my grandmother on the nights preceding. we would stay up late, and she would tell me stories about her life and her relatives and about my parents’ childhoods and courtship. i loved these stories.

so i don’t know why i was surprised when, on two different occasions and after the passage of hours, the monkey pushed the stop button on his video and said, “tell me some more stories about your grandma and grandaddy, mommy.” and so i did.

i have read to the monkey and practiced with him his letters and numbers. i have potty trained him and tried (rather unsuccessfully) to teach him to share. but yesterday, i had the distinct sense that i was passing along something more important than all of those things. so much of enduring and enjoying this harsh and beautiful world depends our our ability to appreciate and tell a good story.

i began to understand the power of story when i read about vicktor frankl’s holocaust experiences in man’s search for meaning. surrounded by death and defeat, frankl kept his spirit alive by crafting a redeeming a narrative about his purpose in the world and the manuscript he would live to publish. we can make sense of our lives any way we want to. we can construct that stories that inform us in any way we choose. this process is what frankl called, “the last of human freedoms.”

 i experimented with this when my husband was diagnosed with a chronic illness, and i found that indeed, we can keep our spirits alive by choosing narratives that infuse our lives with meaning and purpose.

so today i am remembering with great fondness the one who sparked in me the love of a good story. what a privilege it is to pass along the last of human freedoms to her little namesake.

[the source for this post can be found on the bibliography page located on the sidebar to your right.]

in yesterday’s post, i took my friend katherine’s lead and created a “fantasy to do list.”

the purpose of a fantasy to do list is to start thinking beyond all of the many obligations that abound long enough to envision what life might look like with a little added refrains of fun. items on these lists have a strange way of slipping out of the hypothetical world and into our real lives! just try it. you’ll see.

to play along:

1. just scurry over to your own blog or facebook page and create your own list (however long or short) of things you would love to do. don’t let time or resources hold you back.
2. link to my blog by either grabbing my button (html code is located in the sidebar to your right) or simply attaching the link to this post, which is http://www.themsrevolution.com/2010/05/26/play-along/.
3. comment on this post or email me (themsrevolution[at]gmail[dot]com) and let me know you’re playing.
4. then, for those who have blogs, i’ll link from my blog to yours so we can all be inspired by each other’s lists. whether you’re playing along on facebook or on a blog, let me know if you accomplish a fantasy “to do,” in the coming weeks so i can give you a shout out on my blog!
5. invite your friends to play too!

here’s what the button looks like:

now go make those lists! have more fun!

who’s playing:

• stacy
• lane (facebook)
• secret agent mom
• megan
• katherine (the originator of the fantasy to do list)
• kathi
• jessa
• lindsey
• reverendmother
• melissa
• jaime
• emmy

motherhood seems to come with inherent questions to be faced daily, whether we realize we are facing them are not:

are we to measure the truth of what we read against the truth of our own experience, or are we to measure everything we experience against the truth of what we read? motherhood is not without its sacred texts or its powerful experiential learning. how can we weave these things together into an authentic version of motherhood, or moreover, an authentic way of being human?

on most days, for me, experience trumps book knowledge. i tend to draw much of my parenting tendencies from my own experience of being a child. there are many things about how i was raised that i want to duplicate for my children.  i expressed one of these ideals in my post about neighbors, in which i called to mind a time when “there were no scheduled play dates or activities. our parents simply let us loose to waltz through each other’s back doors and live out our days covered in sweat, mosquito bites, and melted popsicle juice.”

but a comment on this post reminded me that we cannot simply transplant the parenting habits of decades past into our lives without having wrestle with our fair share of questions. lane writes:

“I am challenged to find a balance between encouraging the friendships and life lessons of playing outside and the very real dangers that lurk in the spaces that we cannot supervise. How old to ride a bike on the street without a parent? How old to walk four houses down alone to play? How reliable is the adorable dog playing in the yard across the street? How well should you know a family (neighbor, classmate, whatever) before your child has unrestricted access to their house?

A Lebanese coworker of mine commented how Americans are the most generous nation of people to respond in a crisis, but as individuals, we keep our doors locked tight (figuratively and literally!). We DON’T typically know our neighbors, and we often don’t bother to try. I wonder how we can manage to be both at once?”

these are excellent questions, lane, and ones that move me out of the state of idealistic nostalgia and into a more real and complicated place. in fact, this is the place to which i keep returning, whether i want to or not. this place seems to be on the way to everywhere else i want to go. it’s a place of CONSTRUCTION.

what's a blog post w/out a cheesy stock photo?

i started this blog because i perceived that there is a gap between our cultural models of motherhood and the kind of mother i aspire to be. after looking high and low for models, mentors, and reading material to fill this gap, i realized that no ready-made solution exists. i will have to build one to suit me. we all will. so much of a mother’s job is construction.

and here, in the gap between the outdoor play of past and present and in response to all the questions about bicycle boundaries, strangers, and yard dogs, no ready-made solution exists. again, i will have to build one to suit me. we all will. so much of a mother’s job is construction.

i admit that i would often rather settle for a ready-made model and avoid the messy work and on-the-job training involved in building something new. but just knowing that there are other women out there donning their hard hats, scaling towers of literature, and descending into their own histories, actually makes this motherhood experiment fun. i’m so grateful for the company of so many who are committed to crafting something that is good and real.