Monday, April 16, 2007
Who's Asking?
A couple of weeks ago my 14 year-old son was having a bad day. He was more than a bit out of sorts. The results of this type of day and the impaired workings of a male teenage mind left him with a broken hand.
It has been painful for him to explain to adults exactly what happened. But to make a point - he is the one who always has the explaining to do to anyone inquiring about his hand.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I got mad and hit the floor."
"What were you mad about?"
"I was mad at my mom."
Yes, sad but true.
Every time this conversation has happened, it has been a bit of an embarrassment for my son. But today the conversation was different.
We are entering the ballpark for my youngest son's baseball game. . .
"What did you hit?"
"What?"
"What did you hit?"
"Oh, the floor."
The question comes from a local high school football player/wrestler who is greatly admired by all athletic teen boys - he is also recovering from the same type of injury. Well, actually he took on a cement wall.
My 14 year old is suddenly walking lightly. I am not sure I am thrilled by the exchange. . .
My youngest son pitched the last inning. His older brother declared one of his pitches "sick" - that is a really good thing for those of you who don't speak cool teen slang.
His dad and I thought it was too!
simple faith
A couple of weeks ago my 14 year-old son was having a bad day. He was more than a bit out of sorts. The results of this type of day and the impaired workings of a male teenage mind left him with a broken hand.
It has been painful for him to explain to adults exactly what happened. But to make a point - he is the one who always has the explaining to do to anyone inquiring about his hand.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I got mad and hit the floor."
"What were you mad about?"
"I was mad at my mom."
Yes, sad but true.
Every time this conversation has happened, it has been a bit of an embarrassment for my son. But today the conversation was different.
We are entering the ballpark for my youngest son's baseball game. . .
"What did you hit?"
"What?"
"What did you hit?"
"Oh, the floor."
The question comes from a local high school football player/wrestler who is greatly admired by all athletic teen boys - he is also recovering from the same type of injury. Well, actually he took on a cement wall.
My 14 year old is suddenly walking lightly. I am not sure I am thrilled by the exchange. . .
My youngest son pitched the last inning. His older brother declared one of his pitches "sick" - that is a really good thing for those of you who don't speak cool teen slang.
His dad and I thought it was too!
simple faith
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Tiger Years
It was early Friday morning. We had ventured out in the cold downpour to my last "Muffins with Mom" event at Tiger Elementary. Sitting with me were my 12 year old sixth grader and my 14 year old Tiger alumni.
At some point I realized that this was my last time to experience this. I was not sad, but I was wondering what my youngest son was thinking. . .
"Wow, can you believe you are about done with all of this?"
I won't record exactly what he said, but suffice it to say that he is done with elementary school.
My older son offered his two cents - he had been done with elementary school by that point in his sixth grade career also.
I smiled and noted to them that life is that way. When it is time for you to move on, you are ready for it. It is just the way the journey goes.
They will both be Irish next year. We are ready for it.
But I am sure there will be a few tears shed the last few weeks of our Tiger years.
simple faith
It was early Friday morning. We had ventured out in the cold downpour to my last "Muffins with Mom" event at Tiger Elementary. Sitting with me were my 12 year old sixth grader and my 14 year old Tiger alumni.
At some point I realized that this was my last time to experience this. I was not sad, but I was wondering what my youngest son was thinking. . .
"Wow, can you believe you are about done with all of this?"
I won't record exactly what he said, but suffice it to say that he is done with elementary school.
My older son offered his two cents - he had been done with elementary school by that point in his sixth grade career also.
I smiled and noted to them that life is that way. When it is time for you to move on, you are ready for it. It is just the way the journey goes.
They will both be Irish next year. We are ready for it.
But I am sure there will be a few tears shed the last few weeks of our Tiger years.
simple faith
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Good Friday
Palm Sunday has come and gone. Lent has been lamented. Maundy Thursday was spent on the ballfield in the cold rain. And then Friday came.
I have never really understood why we call it Good Friday. But however the Holy Day received its name, we observe it at our church.
The service takes on many forms - but they are always somber. This year included communion, scripture, song, poetry, music and a homily all woven together to lead us in a time of quiet reflection. It was beautiful and poignant.
No matter how the service is planned, the ending is always the same.
We have a free-standing wooden cross outside of our building. It was placed there early in our existance. Encircled in rocks and always surrounded by beautiful plantings it is the wonderful mix of beauty and roughness.
Just as we mark time in our sanctuary by changing the colors to reflect the Christian calendar, we also change the colors on our cross outside. Red, purple, white and green are the most often seen colors. But after our services on Good Friday it is always changed to black.
The congregation leaves the sanctuary in silence. We gather just outside our door or in the foyer to watch the changing. Our pastor and our children and youth journey to the cross. The red cloth is removed and the black is draped. Hugs and quiet small talk are exchanged as our church family departs.
It is one of those traditions that is leaving an impression on my boys.
My 14 year-old has reached the "when I grow up I will not make my kids (fill in the blank)" stage. Last night it was "attend a Good Friday service." But as the service ended both of my boys were up out of their seats and on their way to the cross with our pastor. No complaining. No hesitating. They were participating in the journey.
My prayer is that they will always participate in the journey laid out for them.
simple faith
Palm Sunday has come and gone. Lent has been lamented. Maundy Thursday was spent on the ballfield in the cold rain. And then Friday came.
I have never really understood why we call it Good Friday. But however the Holy Day received its name, we observe it at our church.
The service takes on many forms - but they are always somber. This year included communion, scripture, song, poetry, music and a homily all woven together to lead us in a time of quiet reflection. It was beautiful and poignant.
No matter how the service is planned, the ending is always the same.
We have a free-standing wooden cross outside of our building. It was placed there early in our existance. Encircled in rocks and always surrounded by beautiful plantings it is the wonderful mix of beauty and roughness.
Just as we mark time in our sanctuary by changing the colors to reflect the Christian calendar, we also change the colors on our cross outside. Red, purple, white and green are the most often seen colors. But after our services on Good Friday it is always changed to black.
The congregation leaves the sanctuary in silence. We gather just outside our door or in the foyer to watch the changing. Our pastor and our children and youth journey to the cross. The red cloth is removed and the black is draped. Hugs and quiet small talk are exchanged as our church family departs.
It is one of those traditions that is leaving an impression on my boys.
My 14 year-old has reached the "when I grow up I will not make my kids (fill in the blank)" stage. Last night it was "attend a Good Friday service." But as the service ended both of my boys were up out of their seats and on their way to the cross with our pastor. No complaining. No hesitating. They were participating in the journey.
My prayer is that they will always participate in the journey laid out for them.
simple faith
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Lamenting Lent
35, 36, 37. . . .yes, Holy Week days are included in Lent - dang! I was hoping it ended at some point midweek.
That is, unfortunately, how my Lent is going this year. Some things have been really great. It's not like my journey has been stagnant. It's just that what I gave up this year has been surprisingly difficult to sacrifice.
It's not very Baptist of me - to observe Lent or to give up wine - but, that's what I did. Not just any wine. Oh no, I gave up the other drink (besides coffee) that I refer to as the "Nectar of the gods" - red wine.
The first few weeks were not too bad. But the last couple have been much more challenging. And this week - well I am pretty convinced that absolutely no one who has teenagers should ever ponder giving up alcohol during Lent!
See, there I go again. Exagerating my sacrifice - I can have any drink I care for, except red wine. The issue is the value I have placed on this particular beverage. It is for me a treat. An occasional glass allows me a sense of pleasure. Kind of like my morning coffee. A deep breath, a sip - it soothes my soul.
Coffee. . .that was a Lent journey that also proved difficult during the final week. Perhaps it is because we see the end in sight. Easter is just a few days away. But this week was very difficult for Jesus. Friday comes before Sunday.
Perhaps this journey is on course afterall.
simple faith
35, 36, 37. . . .yes, Holy Week days are included in Lent - dang! I was hoping it ended at some point midweek.
That is, unfortunately, how my Lent is going this year. Some things have been really great. It's not like my journey has been stagnant. It's just that what I gave up this year has been surprisingly difficult to sacrifice.
It's not very Baptist of me - to observe Lent or to give up wine - but, that's what I did. Not just any wine. Oh no, I gave up the other drink (besides coffee) that I refer to as the "Nectar of the gods" - red wine.
The first few weeks were not too bad. But the last couple have been much more challenging. And this week - well I am pretty convinced that absolutely no one who has teenagers should ever ponder giving up alcohol during Lent!
See, there I go again. Exagerating my sacrifice - I can have any drink I care for, except red wine. The issue is the value I have placed on this particular beverage. It is for me a treat. An occasional glass allows me a sense of pleasure. Kind of like my morning coffee. A deep breath, a sip - it soothes my soul.
Coffee. . .that was a Lent journey that also proved difficult during the final week. Perhaps it is because we see the end in sight. Easter is just a few days away. But this week was very difficult for Jesus. Friday comes before Sunday.
Perhaps this journey is on course afterall.
simple faith
Labels: Lent
