Chickens

Please don't buy me chicken figurines for my birthday. 

I know I'm a difficult person to buy gifts for, but I really hate to dust or find space for things. I like socks and hugs and beer. Probably in that order, but nothing cute that sits around looking cute.

Truthfully, I don't like chickens in an all-embracing sense. Chickens are dirty, stinky and loud. 

But, I love my chickens. 

I love that Ptari comes at the sound of my voice and squats in front of me so I can pick her up. 
I love that Buttercup runs back and forth in her enclosure looking for the exit long after the other chickens have wandered off (she's not the brightest of the bunch). 
I love that Pepper will stand on the edge of the snow refusing to step onto it, but screaming at the other chickens.
And I love that Chipmunk is always trying to break open the beer bottles on the porch. I think she has a problem.

I love in the particular not general sense. Rarely will I make sweeping statements on issues or people (unless it's cell phone usage in a public bathroom - always wrong). I'm not sure I even believe in a Christian perspective on issues. 

Our call is to love and that is always in the particular.

Here's my problem with some of the current stuff going on with the new administration. I worry the likeliness of encountering those I need in my life to know the abundance of life will decrease.

I need Muslims in my life (along with Sikhs, Unitarian Universalists, Mormons, Buddhists, and all the other folks who gather at Interfaith). My "daughter by another mother" was a Muslim exchange student from Bethlehem. We did not always agree or share the same perspective, but that's what makes relationships so rich. We could sit at the table and roll grape leaves together telling stories, laughing, and arguing.

I need friends of color, GLBTQ folks, Native Alaskans and Latinos so they can call me on my blind spots and share what life looks like for them.

I need people who are struggling with poverty, mental illness, and prison so I'm not adding burdens to their lives but walking with them. 

These are all people I have in my life and I love them as individuals and at times we make each other a little zany and at times we open whole new worlds. But we are not ideas to each other, we are flesh and blood. That makes all the difference.

When policies are put into place that further divide and insulate our neighborhoods and nation then it is harder to be in these relationships and keep a reality check. 

If we only hang out with those who think and look like we do, then we are cheated of abundance and that pisses me off.

BUT, the worst part of some of these policies, especially the Syrian and Iraqi refugee resettlement, is how angry I am and I'm finding it hard to keep that anger from bubbling into relationships where it doesn't belong.  

I'm blessed by every relationship and authentic encounter I have with folks whether we agree politically or not. I need conservative, white men and women to keep me honest about our need for security and hard work. I don't want to miss out on those chances to love because I'm blaming them for what breaks my heart. There are many valid points that have gone unheard, but it is hard to hear them in the current cacophony of callousness.

It is not our call as Christians to be right; it is our call to be in right relationship. We can only be in right relationship when we sit together, listen and respect each other. 

One of my favorite camp songs works well here:
If God can love turkeys, then God can love you
For you are a turkey and I am one, too.
So when you're lonely, remember the truth
If God can love turkeys, then God can love you.

I think chicken could work there too.

Happy

My grandma read two books to me when I was little until they were falling apart. One was about Raggedy Ann and Andy on a scary ride with a dragon where they helped each other and the other was The Ugly Duckling. I think Tweetie Bird was thrown in there, but I enjoyed it mainly because of my lisp. 

Those stories shaped me. I had a sense growing up that when I was scared, holding the hand of someone I love would make me braver. The images of Raggedy Ann and Andy holding each other up are still engrained in my head and not in a creepy doll kind of way.

Part of me probably loved The Ugly Duckling because I wanted to grow up and be graceful and lovely. 

But I like to imagine the story is not about hoping someday you'll stop being ugly. I like to imagine it's being surprised by beauty and not dismissing what we consider ugly. 

In college I ventured into readings by a whole host of authors. Dostoevsky will always be my favorite who captured the complicated nature of love and grace in the messiness of life and family. 

I also met Ayn Rand and Marquis de Sade.

I put them in the same category and I wince when reading them, but I find their way of telling the story of life is pervasive.

If you are unfamiliar with their names, you are not unfamiliar with their philosophies. 
Happiness is ideal, it is the work of the imagination - Marquis de Sade
Achievement of your happiness is the only moral purpose of your life - Ayn Rand

There are bits of wisdom to be found in both so I won't decry all they ever wrote, but their glorification of individual happiness led them both to a justification if not admiration of rape and humiliation of others. They both abhorred religion, God, and mystery.

I find the idolization of happiness showing up in all kinds of different places and it makes me uneasy. 

Life is not all about having fun and being happy. 

That's not the story I'm going to buy into, especially if my individual happiness comes at the cost of someone else's. 

The story I do buy into is the eternal power of love especially as witnessed in the death and resurrection of Jesus. And I've seen enough crucifixion images to know fun was not involved. 

Love brings our greatest depth of joy and pain, but it is what lives past death. It is definitely not always fun, especially if it involves children who leave junk all over the house or chickens who poop all over the porch, but it makes life rich and abundant. 

There are lots of stories we're asked to embrace and I think it's helpful to be aware of which ones you're telling yourself and the kids around you. 

Love and Learn

Kirt and I escaped to Seattle for a couple of days for a concert. A concert that wasn't at a school or involved sixth graders playing Hot Cross Buns.

Robert Earl Keen, he writes poetry you can dance to. 

I love him. And I think I might have told him that several times throughout the concert. 

Poor guy is from Texas and I think he was cold because he didn't take off his coat the entire time. I might have encouraged him to take off his coat a couple times too. 

Luckily the bouncer was my new best friend so I stayed out of trouble. The bouncer had lots of tattoos so before the show I was asking him about them. Tattoos are like stained glass windows; pictures that reveal the soul within. He liked that so I didn't have to move away from the stage.

I learned some important lessons:
1. My husband loves me a lot. We were supposed to look at electric cars and I was kind of dreading listening to details about cars. Instead of spending a day pretending like I was listening and caring, we went hiking. We only spent fifteen minutes at a car dealership and got a flyer thing for my beloved to study. 

2. Just because the scotch and pickle juice shot is on sale does not make it a good idea. Even if the guy across the bar says it's a great idea and he'll get one too, it's still not a good idea. When the bartender says it will clear out your system, this should not be a selling point. 
Scotch and pickle juice = bad idea.

3. Always lock my window when I'm happy and excited. People on the street do not need to know that I love Robert Earl Keen.

4. The world does not implode if I stop checking email, facebook or messages. 

5. Never be so busy that tending relationships and investing in the things that bring us joy get skipped. 

Louise

It was a Louise kind of day.  Cold with bright sunshine so one could sit in the car with the sun beating in and it felt warm.

When I first met Louise, she had recently given up driving, but she kept the car parked in the driveway so she could sit in the sunshine and read her mail. I would stop by her house and have to search the garden and the car because she was rarely in the house. I believe it was for Louise's 80th birthday that she packed out her first deer. It might have been 85.

She was one of my favorites. Louise told stories about knitting hats for WWI soldiers when she was in the third grade, thanking her daddy for not killing himself when the stock market crashed, traveling to Iran, and getting hit in the head with the ball during a World Series game in Detroit. 

Louise could tell stories and I regret every time I moved us back on track during Bible study instead of listening to one more story. 

We've been talking about grace lots at church; wrestling with what the word actually means. In my mind, Louise epitomized grace, especially learning how to age gracefully.

I think we confuse acceptance with grace. They're not the same thing. Acceptance is the willingness to receive what is. Grace involves a bit of a fight, a rebellion with what is, and a demand for what may be. 

Grace demands that humanity is recognized, and when it has been trampled upon, that it is restored. It is more gracious to demand respect from others than to allow people to dismiss or dehumanize us. It is gracious to ask for help when it is needed, but to also tell folks when you don't need their help. 

When we talk about people aging gracefully, I think we often want it to mean that people get out of the way, sit in the corner and be quiet while we do for them to appease our guilt so we can get on with our day. 

When Louise fell and broke her arm, I went to the hospital with her. The doctor was an ass. He treated her like an old woman. He talked to me like Louise wasn't even there and I told him she was perfectly capable of responding. He didn't believe me, but she shamed him. Sometimes shame is the correct response.

It ended up being cancer and Louise died a few days after Sophie was born. She was waiting to see the baby and it was one of the hardest funerals I've ever done.

But Louise fought. She didn't fight the cancer or caregivers, but she fought to remain human in the midst of so much that strips us of our humanity.  

So I'm thankful for warm sunbeams shining in my van on a bitter cold day to remind me of a lovely lady who taught me some about grace. And rhubarb.

Champions

My kiddos and I went for a fabulous hike on Monday. 

Sophie got wet. 

She always gets wet.

I used to pack a change of clothes because she always ended up swimming, but I thought we had moved beyond that.

And I am the kind of mom who puts a hat on her wet foot and we keep going. 

It was a stunningly beautiful day and trip, but unfortunately I had We are the Champions stuck in my head. That is now on my list of least favorite songs to get stuck.

I try to be aware of what is incredibly annoying to me and to others.

When I lived in an intentional Christian community in Georgia without most of the entertainment trappings we're so used to, we would entertain ourselves by seeing who could get the most annoying song stuck in each other’s heads.

You would get points if someone started humming the song you quietly sang around the house. 

More points if they actually sang part of the song. 

Super points if they cursed you for getting some horrible song stuck in their heads. 

Bonus points were awarded for Elvira or I’m a Rhinestone Cowboy.

If you can’t annoy those you love in good Christian kindness, then what fun is there in life?

So why do I hate having We are the Champions stuck in my head, but I’m happy to sing Bohemian Rhapsody until the cows come home?

The girls and I went through all our least favorite stuck songs to see if there was a pattern. Elijah would have participated in the conversation but he was hitting things with a stick and eating an icicle.

Worst songs to get stuck in your head (including Weird Al versions):

1. Feliz Navidad
2. Inspector Gadget theme song
3. VeggieTales theme song
4. Too Shy (hush hush eye to eye)
5. We are the Champions
6. Elvira 
7. Rhinestone Cowboy
8. Pina Colada song
9. Beat It

The pattern we noticed (besides the VeggieTales theme song) is:

1. Songs where we only know a few words and repeat them while racking our brains to try and figure out the rest
2. Tunes that are repetitive without complexity
3. Awkward outbursts that make people stare (A pastor singing No time for losers is embarrassing even for me)

Then we commenced seeing who could get the worst song stuck in the other’s heads. 

It’s truly fun and better than playing on your phone any day.

What better way to bring in the new year than annoying those we love?