as i have confessed in an earlier post, i am not always very good at explaining elements of my faith to my children.

perhaps this is because kids are such concrete thinkers and i, on the other hand, am not. or maybe this is because i am keenly aware that concepts such as communion, resurrection, and the trinity are truly bizarre. if i tell my kids now that god had a baby named jesus, for example, will they ever find pause later to consider just how outlandish this story is? if stories like this become part of the familiar fabric of their childhoods, will they ever be able to recognize the unpredictable and mysterious nature of god’s movement in the world (and humanity’s interpretations thereof)?

contemporary theologian and renowned children’s book author, rabbi sandy sasso, set me straight on this topic a few years ago when i heard her interview on the public radio program, keeping the faith. sasso asserts that children are innately spiritual, and that, unlike many adults, they have not developed a fear of mystery or unanswered questions. furthermore, sasso emphasizes that it is important to teach our children the sacred stories from our own backgrounds, even if we have negative associations with these stories, even if we see these stories differently now, even if they no longer inform our notions of truth.

“stories,” says sasso, “are the vocabulary of theology for children.” they, along with the communities that tell them, are the tools children need to grapple with the mystery themselves.

these are the thoughts that went through my mind the other day when the monkey became deeply involved in creating a “major” out of a laundry basket. you know, a “major,” as in “away in the ‘major’ no crib for a bed…”

the fun continued as a stuffed animal became the stand-in for the baby jesus.

and finally, when the kids took turns dive-bombing into the “major,” i reminded myself that they were just getting the feel for some very necessary tools. they were careening into a much-needed theological vocabulary. maybe they even recognized how bizarre the whole birth story is. after all, making a crib out of a laundry basket is about as strange as making a crib out of a feeding trough.

 *********

a what sorts of insights are emerging from your own versions of chaos? play along if you’d like. check out what erica, maryann, jaime, and kathi are finding in the midst of chaos. if i’ve forgotten to mention you here, please let me know and i’ll make the necessary revisions.

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.]