last tuesday, my husband received his latest hepatitis c test results.

for those who are just now tuning into this saga, we think he contracted hep c during a surgery five years ago, and life since this shocking news hit has never been the same. we were in our twenties, prematurely grappling with our mortality. i was doing in vitro, he was enduring a year-long chemo-like treatment, and syringes and sharpe’s containers were among our regular household items. six months post-treatment, we got the news that the virus was back. there were treatments in the works but nothing new was on the market. hep c is a slowly progressing virus, so andy set out to control what he could control and live his life.

andy had regular acupuncture appointments and took fist fulls of herbs morning, noon, and night. he stopped drinking, stopped eating red meat, and eliminated unnecessary stress. he committed himself to getting more sleep, and he became a force of nature in the weight room and during his frequent jogs. i am still in awe of his determination and persistence.

last year, a hep c test revealed that he had no more virus in his blood. we were told that if he got similar results this year, he would be counted among the small percentage of people who manage to fight the virus off themselves. last tuesday, he joined this modest and grateful category of healthy men and women.

just as we were beginning to process this news, our neighbor and very dear friend, steve, passed away suddenly. steve was an almost daily part of our lives. in the two years since we moved in next door, we have had many meals together outside, in the cove, and inside, around our table. every member of our family loved him.

i was asked to officiate steve’s funeral yesterday, and driving away from the graveside after it was all over, i told andy that i am not sure i will ever receive a higher honor in my ministry. i am including some segments from my homily (crafted from many emails i received from his friends) that describe the kind of person he was. but i think andy really said it best when he said, “you know someone was a good person when his mailman shows up for his funeral.”

Steve was fun loving.

Perhaps this trait was the most obvious in Spin Class, where he always had “his” spot, right in front of the mirror. After leaving several times to change out of sweaty shirts, Steve could be counted on to have a water fight with Liz, or to stand up and start singing to his favorite Spin Class song, which, by the way, “That’s not My Name” by the Ting Tings.

Outside of Spin Class, Steve knew how to find a certain lightness about life and tap into it. And then, with a smile or a laugh, or just the right amount of teasing, he’d bring his friends into this lightness too….

Steve made Midtown better.

According to one business owner, “He didn’t just own the buildings in Midtown that so many popular businesses occupy, but he participated in our success. He patronized us all and helped so many of us become or remain successful.”…

If the grass got too high at Peabody Park, Steve would arrive on the scene with his lawnmower. Because of things like this, even those who didn’t know Steve personally have suffered a loss….

Finally, Steve was a “passionate participant in life.”

In other words, whether it was yoga, spinning, cycling, running, tennis, art, or [his granddaughter], Steve approached everything with passion and had a blast in the process. He truly enjoyed life and set a great example for all of us.”

He once told one of you, “I love my life, and I look forward to waking up every day.”….

It is with enormous grief that we gather here. But we do not have to say goodbye to Steve. Time will bring back that sense of lightness Steve loved to show us. The grief will fade. And we will remember him with nothing but gratitude.

if i could imbue my children with one virtue, one tool to be used in the face of life’s wonder and challenge, it would be CREATIVITY. it takes creativity to do things like improve the economy, convey truth and meaning, patch an oil leak, develop a vaccine, negotiate a real estate transaction, keep a baby off the stairs, generate personal narratives of hope and healing, wire light fixtures, and the list goes on.

though i want my children to be creative, this does not mean that they are required to be artists, chefs, or musicians, though creativity might very well encompass such delightful propensities. i want the monkey and the bird to be capable of “divergent thinking (generating many unique ideas) and then convergent thinking (combining those ideas into the best result).” this is the language used by e. paul torrance  in his longitudinal creativity study that began in the fifties. according to a recent newsweek article entitled the creativity crisis by bronson and merryman, torrance’s assessment of children’s creative tendencies (CQ tests) proved to be accurate over time and are still the “gold standard” in measuring creativity today. however, while IQ test scores are on the rise, CQ test results show that the creativity of american children has been on the decline since the nineties.

torrance

the cause of this decline is unknown, though there is speculation that kids’ increased time in front of the television and video games could be a culprit, as could the school system’s rigid and standardized measures of success. but it’s also possible that common misperceptions about creativity have contributed to its decline. one such misperception is that creativity is something that pertains to the arts, not the sciences. another is that it should be separate from actual, factual learning. and finally, many folks falsely believe that creativity cannot be taught, a notion successfully disputed by three recent university studies conducted in georgia, oklahoma, and taiwan.

such  information is enlightening to this mother, whose home is filled with music, cooking projects, and art supply explosions at every turn. but fostering my boys’ creativity is about more than making pumpkin bread with my children (something we do often). it’s also about helping them to solve problems by engaging all the parts of their brains (something we do much less often). this means that the constant “why is the sky blue” questions are more than just annoying. they are gateways to more questions, brainstorming, further research, an atmosphere of continuous learning, and the celebration of curiosity. according to the above mentioned newsweek article,

“highly creative adults tended to grow up in families embodying opposites. parents encouraged uniqueness, yet provided stability. they were highly responsive to kids’ needs, yet challenged kids to develop skills. this resulted in a sort of adaptability: in times of anxiousness, clear rules could reduce chaos—yet when kids were bored, they could seek change, too. in the space between anxiety and boredom was where creativity flourished.”

 i’m not sure how to provide for my children “the space between anxiety and boredom.”  but i am going to try to introduce them to this thought sequence developed by creativity theorists: problem-finding, fact-finding, idea-finding, and solution-finding. and because i am making up these policies as i go along, there will still be pumpkin bread and art supply explosions. this is not about getting these boys into college. it’s about teaching them how to get themselves out of trouble. it’s about helping them to construct meaningful lives in the face of life’s wonder and challenge.

 for further reading on this subject, check out“more than cupcakes: supporting your child’s creative potential,” an interview with dr. don treffinger.

first grade, for me, was when the curriculum ceased to be play-based. the active life of preschool and kindergarten, with all of its hiding and seeking and cooking and dancing, became fodder for my daydreams as i plugged away at my little wooden first grade desk at what was unabashedly called “seatwork.” i resisted this stationary kind of learning so much that i almost failed the first grade, but in the face of at least eleven more years of school, i learned to expand my knowledge within the confines of the system. unknowingly, i separated the parts of me that were once beautifully integrated in childhood: mental and physical exercise. there were spelling tests and there was recess. there was long division, and there was sports practice. there was contemporary theology and there was jogging. as i was being created into a contributing member of society, there was evening, and there was morning for approximately 4,140 days.

as i was riding my bicycle on the greenline yesterday with the bird in tow, i lapsed into the guilty reflection that is common to upper middle class mothers. i calculated how many days i have spent formally acquiring knowledge in educational settings, and i came up with the above number. then i commenced to worry that “my brain is turning to mush.” i thought of my diplomas that are not framed in an office but are still tucked away in their little black folders between photo albums of my kids’ first years and behind a colorful butcher paper masterpiece that the monkey created at school. i thought of the staggering amount of guilt that is experienced as women like me, who have spent the majority of our lives doing “seatwork,” are plunged into the unfamiliar world of mothering, where equations and essays are irrelevant. i started plotting my next vocational move once the kids are in school, work that would justify my masters degree and present a reason to frame those diplomas. and then i remembered another stark contrast between life in educational systems and life as a mostly stay-at-home-mom: the former is future-oriented by design. the latter can only be fully embraced by living in the present.

i went on like this for an hour — enough time for the bird and me to ride to shelby farms and back into town. i reflected on the way that my life now involves so much physical activity — schlepping kids, groceries, and laundry, pushing the steam mop, averting disasters, rushing to disentangle the climbing bird from all manor of hanging garage tools. the seatwork smarty pants in me unleashed more judgement. “what a waste,” she said.

and then, miraculously, i remembered who i was in the first place, before the confines of first grade hit, before i spent 4,140 days compartmentalizing mental and physical excercise. i am someone who loves a play-based curriculum and an integrated life. and that is precisely what i’ve got right now.

so as the bird and i finished up our bike ride and went on to schlepp the week’s groceries, i laid the guilt to rest. perhaps mothering young children is a chance to return to a more natural state of being, a time to collect all of the scattered parts of me and put them back together.

at the end of august,a complex idea was conceived. the monkey stated his halloween intentions in great detail, and a committee (comprised myself and the monkey) was formed to carry out the tasks at hand. feather boa… check. tie dyed union suit… check. homemade mask… check. facepaint… check. the result was one very happy “rainbow kitty cat,” and two parents who fell asleep last night knowing that we did the right thing by letting the monkey be the monkey.

we did, however, impose our own halloween ideations on the bird, who rocked the neighborhood as elvis (the rock star, not the webkinz mountain goat).

next year, the boys probably won’t even need costumes. they’ll just smile and reveal their rotted out teeth — a consequense of this halloween’s tootsie rolls and smarties. perhaps i should dress as a wicked dental hygienist. time to form a committee.

as someone who seeks middle ground motherhood between the extremes of june cleaver and superwoman, i must take a minute to reflect on the recent death of barbara billingsly, the woman who brought june to life, warm rolls to the dinner table, and visions of peaceable family existence into the american consciousness.

image from cultureblues.com

 june never ordered takeout. she never poured herself a glass of wine at exactly five o’clock. she never forgot to shower or brush her teeth. she gave her full attention to her children and husband, even while whipping up culinary delights and wearing recently ironed clothing. some viewers saw reflections of their own family lives in the cleaver household and derived a sense of okay-ness from such screen-lit similarity. others escaped their own family dysfunction and entered a miraculous world where all conflicts were resolved neatly at episode’s end. for all of the flack that i have given billingsly’s character for helping to create monolithic and impossible standards for wives and mothers, even i must admit one thing. the mothers who came before us, those who gave expression to their gifts and desires during a time when there were fewer options for doing so, cannot be faulted for aspiring for and achieving near-perfection in the realms over which they had charge. there is something to be said for doing a good job, even if that job is more narrowly defined.

yesterday’s “my thoughts” column by bill haltom  in memphis’ commercial appealwas about the reassurance june cleaver brought into american homes during the time of sputnik, bomb shelters, and fears of war with russia. haltom writes,

“And then there was June, the quintessential 1950s mom. While Sputnik in the skies above terrorized us, the very down-to-earth June Cleaver reassured us that everything was going to be OK. She wore pink dresses and beautiful white pearls. She stayed at home while Ward went to the office and Wally and Beav went to school with Larry and Eddie…. 

It was the American family at its best. It was America at its best — America at work, at school, at peace, at home.”

was this really “the american family at its best?” perhaps this was merely television at its best — distracting, inspiring, giving viewers a brief respite from their anxieties. this kind of simplistic nostalgia is unhelpful for those of us who are attempting to take the realities of today — the thrilling and overwhelming abundance of choices many women now possess — and construct authentic lives of meaning and contribution. 

i’d like to think that barbara billingsly was willing to re-imagine women’s roles in a way that her character, june, was not. perhaps this kind of resolve is what led her to play the cameo part of “the jive lady” in the movie airplane in 1980. i leave you with this little clip. perhaps i could even say that it is american film at it’s best…

friday and saturday brought us back topinecrest, the presbyterian camp where andy and i both spent time as campers and counselors. i officiated a five o’clock wedding there in the beautiful new chapel, so we packed up the whole fam damily and left memphis around noon. after the hour’s drive, there was plenty of time to enjoy the fall day in the country before the shin-dig.

i could write a whole post about what it’s like to try to keep up with two small boys at a wedding. there was the part where i was making small talk in the food line while the monkey engulfed himself in my dress and wrapped his body around my legs, the scene where the bird ran off into the wooded darkness, the ten minutes before the ceremony that i spent frantically looking for drawing paper for the monkey, and the constant and desperate begging for slices of the not-yet-cut wedding cake.

but this is not a post about the split second it takes for my family to turn a party into a circus. this is a post about marrying young.

the ages of the bride and groom were a topic of conversation among dismayed family and friends during the wedding weekend. the bride is 22 and the groom is 21, which makes them a year younger than andy and i were when we got married and several years older than the bride’s parents when they got married. modern wisdom suggests that it is best to do a bit of growing up before one joins one’s life to another, and though this was not my experience, i certainly see the value in doing so. but it seemed appropriate, in celebrating this couple’s courtship and marriage, to highlight the particular challenges and joys that arise when the newlywed years contain the decisions and experiences brought about by college, graduations, grad schools, vocational discernment, and watching cake boss on tv. here are some excerpts from my homily:

[Groom] and [Bride], “people are going to say that you are too young to get married.”

At least, these were the words of [Bride’s] dad, who warned his daughter of such nay saying.

 Then, he shared his own experience of marrying early, and of the grand privilege it is to grow up with one’s partner. There is something to be said for learning life’s lessons together in young adulthood… and in every age and stage to follow.

[Groom’s] sister chose and read scripture from 1^st Peter for this service, and, [Groom and Bride,] I cannot think of more fitting words for you. These words are a call for all people of faith to discern what our God-given gifts are, and to use these gifts to uplift those around us.

 This kind of discernment is ongoing, of course, but the crash course in self-discovery happens when we are young. This means that by marrying early, you will be doing the kind of work together that many people do alone…

…We are all here to celebrate the life you are building together, your shared journey of faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms. Let this be so, in young adulthood…. and in every age and stage to follow.

of course, there was much  more to it than this, but while i was delivering the homily, i had one of those rare (for me) preaching experiences where i was actually feeling the words and saying them at the same time. all weddings are supposed to be a time for all of those in partnership to celebrate their lives together but at this occasion, it was especially natural and easy for andy and me to celebrate our marriage. we were in a place where we did some growing up together, and 17 years after we chased campers around the pines, we found ourselves chasing our very own children among those same old trees.

there is no one right time to get married, but marrying young was right for us. it was right for the parents of saturday’s bride, and it seems right for the newlyweds, who are presently honeymooning in st. lucia — the same place andy and i went after our wedding 11 years ago.

what do spinach linguini, cherry tomatoes, turky kielbasa, leftover marinara sauce, and basil have in common?

they were all part of andy’s pantry week  pasta perfection.

last night’s chef would also like me to mention that he ran six miles on the greenline before he whipped up this tasty assemblage.

for those of you who have lost sleep pondering the fate of our seven cans of pumpkin, you’ll be interested to know that our supply is now down to six and a half cans. i used half a can yesterday to make these starbucks pumpkin scones.

the scones turned out okay, which is to say that my kids loved them. but then again, my kids also love dora gummies and ketchup-covered-quesadillas. i don’t think they taste as good as they look, perhaps because i used skim milk instead of whole milk and a combination of white and wheat flours.

i’m hoping to try a pumpkin soup before this little experiment is over, though i have not excavated the pantry to the point of uncovering any sort of broth, which would be necessary for such an undertaking.

thawing as i type are three more ingredients that are bound for pantry week promised land:

• half a pound of ground beef
• half a pound of ground lamb
• half a pound of ground sausage

what will come of them is anybody’s guess.

i am not a science person, and i never took physics. perhaps this is why i have managed to reach the age of 34 without fully grasping the simple concept that i cannot be two places at once. but andy’s three-day out-of-town conference last week was just the crash course i needed to fulfill my “knowing one’s limitations” requirement.

lesson one occured at memphis botanic gardens’ big back yard, where i encountered another mom, who was expertly holding her ten-week-old while her three-year-old was tentatively exploring.  

i, on the other hand, darted frantically from one child-in-constant-motion to the other. the bird fell, the monkey was hogging the slide, the bird nibbled on someone else’s lunch, the monkey needed help finding the mallets for the “house of rock,” the bird was dangerously close to the creek, the monkey…

wait! where was the monkey? hiding in the worm hole. cool.

only this wasn’t so cool with the aforementioned mother, because while my attention was on the monkey, the bird was playing with the enticing gadgets on her ten-week-old’s empty stroller.

i scooped up the bird in a flurry of apologies. she said nothing but went to work on the stroller with wet wipes.

the big back yard is just that — big. but no matter how far we strayed from the perturbed mother and her statuesque children, the bird always managed to find his way back to her alluring collection of stroller toys. when she started scolding the bird and yanking him away from the empty stroller, i knew it was time to go. i also knew that in about a year, when her baby is walking, this mother would be joining me in the impossible attempt to be in two places at once.

lesson two occurred at the end of my solo-parenting duty, just as i was congratulating myself for maintaining patience, relative calm, and a sense of adventure while andy was away. the phone rang, and a kind and gentle church parishioner on the other end of the line expressed legitimate disappointment that i had not visited his family during a very critical time they had experienced in the previous few days, the same few days i spent playing the roles of mom, dad, and cruise director for my kids.

i was, and still am, riddled with guilt.

i’m also frustrated that in many cases for me, quality ministry and quality parenting are mutually exclusive. but no matter how hard i try, i cannot be in two places at once. sometimes being fully present to one child means being only marginally present to the other. sometimes providing stability during a critical time for my children means not providing empathy during a critical time for parishioners.

this is the reality of my life right now, one that i am having a hard time embracing. even i were a science person, i cannot change the laws of physics.

when andy left the house last night for a meeting, our evening routine was ahead of schedule. the bird was clean and running around in a diaper. the monkey was in the shower, and i was so giddy at the prospect of having everyone in bed (including myself) by 8:15 that i even found motivation to do the dinner dishes. i am not sure how things devolved so quickly into a scene from the big lebowski.

the bird took a rare break from meddling in the dishwasher (yes, IN) to tell me that he wanted to tee tee in the potty. the fact that he pulled his diaper off and ran toward the bathroom prompted me to take him seriously, even though we’ve got at least six months to go before we re-enter potty training hell. i dangled over the potty for a couple of minutes to no avail. as it turns out, the bathroom rug held much greater appeal. he soaked the area around his feet and then giggled with maniacal glee!

not to be outdone, the monkey, who was cleaning his “stinky parts” in the nearby shower opened the steamy door, jutted out his pelvis, and marked his own territory on the rug. then, he let out his own prideful fit of uproarious laughter.

now i’ve got to schlep this rug into the back yard and hose it down. the bathroom floor with be awfully cold and bare while it’s gone. alas. it really tied the room together.

“what made you decide to become a minister?”

i have been on the receiving end of this question for over ten years now, and i have spouted off my answer the way a runner trots down a well-worn path, pointing out landmarks (female minister role models, a life-long fascination with mystery) as i (r)amble on. but every once in a while, a wise questioner will cut me off and say,

“no, really. what do YOU get out of having the title of minister, wearing the robe, the instant intimacy, et cetera. what is it about you that needs that?”

divinity school afforded me the kind of introspection required to honestly answer this question. i became more and more comfortable owning not only my purest and most altruistic reasons for entering the ministry, but also my need to be needed, the relief i found in the robe’s instant validation, and the sense of inclusion i felt when others let me in to their deepest experiences of joy and despair. the key, i learned back then, was to own these things and keep them in check. dishonesty about my own fulfillment would result in harm to others.

nobody ever asks me anymore why i went into the ministry. perhaps this is because i have made choices that translate into a vocational hybrid of writing and working floor puzzles, leading study groups and changing diapers, performing the occasional religious ritual and the kids’ nightly bedtime rituals. but the irony is that now that so little of my time is spent wearing a robe, being needed by other adults, and treading lightly on the sacred ground of others’ intimate affairs, some of my more base reasons for entering the ministry are more obvious to me than they ever have been before.

reorienting myself to the very different kind of validation and intimacy that comes with motherhood is a continuous challenge for me. sometimes i feel as if there is a vacuum (or perhaps a shark steam mop) where my healthy ego used to be, and a tinge a loneliness that was formerly squelched by the stream of college students making their way to my college chaplaincy office.

but i am still grateful for the two wise questioners in my life, the little boys who don’t care at all about my female minister role models or my fascination with mystery. they don’t care whether i’m wearing clergy garments or even undergarments. they love me just the same.

the key now is for me to learn to follow their lead.