Yesterday I was in a MALL. This is a very infrequent occurrence in my life as a whole. As a child I grew up in a rural community and trips to the city were exciting events that happened infrequently. When I look back I'm never quite sure why I found them exciting, perhaps it was simply something different, a change in the schedule, the possibility of something new. It certainly wasn't because I actually found shopping enjoyable. Since we didn't go shopping often, the trips were usually long and involved buying underwear and winter parkas. Shopping with three grumpy tired kids can't have been all that much fun for my parents either.
The one thing that I always looked forward to was the possibility of spending time at Coles bookstore (no longer in existence). The sore feet and long hours were worth it if I could just be let loose for a time among all those good friends I had yet to meet. Coles was the one saving grace in a mall filled with nattering sales people trying to convince me that I looked wonderful in that T-shirt even though it fit me like a sausage in a casing. It was the one place I felt at home.
Yesterday, I found myself in the mall. It was of necessity. I don't go shopping unless I have to. Since I live in the city now, the trips are thankfully shorter, though no less infrequent. However, because I was going to meet Alicia there, and my tasks took less time than I anticipated, I ended up walking the mall for well over an hour. As I walked passed the stores, Victoria's Secret with its soft porn advertising (or maybe not all that soft) and shoe store after shoe store, I was struck by a sudden realization. All the "edifying" stores were gone. I know there are millions of people who would probably like to argue with me that La Senza and Forever XXI are edifying, but this isn't their blog.
What I mean by edifying stores are the stores that fed people's hearts and minds. There used to be art (real art, not a zillion copies of a Gerber daisy or two cute kids kissing), musical instruments (along with sheet music and records), books, games and toys (often educational), craft stores and shops dedicated to the art of cooking. And now it seems we are just mannequins who need to be dressed and undressed and dressed again. Almost every store I passed by was dedicated to this purpose of shaping my outer persona, of covering up my flaws and flaunting my...well, we won't go there.
Like I said, as a child the one saving grace in the mall was the book store. The craft store and the toy store were a close second. They were the places I could breathe, provided I wasn't standing too close to the eucalyptus branches used for making tacky 80's swags for over the mantel.They were the places where I could explore my interests and escape from the never-ending concern about my body and how I looked to other people. And I don't like to get all immersed in the "oh, this whole world's going to hell in a handbag" kind of mentality, but this realization did make me stop and think. Young people spend hours in these malls. I could tell when school got out because the hallways were flooded with young people. And certainly a few looked like they were coming in to grab an item and leave, but for many, this is a serious past time. And it just made me think. I'm not a mannequin. None of us are mannequins.
We are so much more than dolls to be dressed up. We are worth more than a BOGO shoe sale. We are worth fables, and biographies, arias, and ballads, and banjos, and cellos, and pastels, and oil paint, and canvas, and easels, and Scrabble, and Trouble, and hiking, and baking, and pasta making.
And I'm not saying that I expect the mall to be the place where we go to become whole, complete human beings, but perhaps I'm just afraid that spending a lot of time at the mall will make us forget that we are.
(I should note that the title of this post is roughly a line from a Mennonite (?) camp song that was running through my head as I wrote this...and now it won't stop!)
You know that look, that sparkle you see in someone's eyes when they're comfortable in their own skin, when they're doing the thing that makes them most alive, when they're being truly who they were created to be? Have you seen that look? It's a look of absolute rightness, of pure congruence. I adore seeing that look in peoples' eyes. It's the look that says, "I'm home."
For many people, this doesn't happen very often. And frequently we don't notice it when the look is on our own faces. I know I sure didn't. I remember some of the first times when Alicia and others like Mandy, Sheila, and Linda began to smile and even laugh while watching me talk. I was confused, I wasn't saying anything funny. And then they pointed out that I was glowing.
I was glowing.
Having friends point out when I begin to glow has been one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive. I can't see myself in the mirror all the time (and I probably wouldn't respond the same way when talking to a mirror!). I don't always notice when I'm truly joyful, or truly convicted, or truly at peace. But sometimes people who know me notice. They watch me talk about ministry, about finding resources, about storytelling, about fiction, about baking bread and they see me begin to glow and they know that I am home.
Having received this gift from my friends and mentors, I find myself looking for it in others. I hope and pray that each time I see that look, I will be mindful of it. I will cherish it, and I will name it.
I will name it.
It was life-changing for me, maybe it will be for them as well.
When I was a child I must have had dreams, but I can honestly say that I don't remember almost any of them. I vividly recall nightmares (which were few, but memorable, usually involving amphibians and reptiles), but never my dreams. When I moved to the city as a 17 year-old things changed. All of a sudden I started to wake up with clear memories of the most startling and bizarre dreams imaginable. And after that, they've never really stopped.
I don't remember my dreams every night. And I still have nightmares sometimes. It's funny, my nightmares often are exactly the same ones I had as a small child, with a few home invasions thrown in. But my dreams, my dreams are completely impossible to predict.
Okay, perhaps not completely impossible. The number of dreams I've had of elephants means there's probably at least a 20% chance that my dreams will include at least one of these creatures. I've ridden elephants, watched dancing elephants, had elephants on my roof, and watched a baby elephant jumping on a trampoline who wanted me to take pictures and get him duplicates. Coincidentally, my mother also dreams about elephants. I have no idea why, and I'm not all that into dream analysis, so I just kind of go with it.
Not long ago I had a dream in which my dad and I were about to be eaten by a hippopotamus. We were floating in a river and there were little huts along the bank. Some small children saw our predicament and started calling to one another down the river and eventually help came to save us from the gaping maw of the hippo. Not sure what would have happened to us if no one had come to the rescue! And while there was some sense of impending doom, I wouldn't classify it as a nightmare. I didn't wake up in a sweat with my heart pounding.
I understand the myriad dreams that I've had that in some way indicate frustration. Often I've been racing around an arena completely unable to get to the judges stand on the other side. The competition is ready to begin and I'm the only one missing. These kinds of dreams make sense to me. They are predictable, normal, and while they sometimes put me in a bit of a panic, they are basically boring. But some of my dreams are just delightfully bizarre and make me wonder if nothing is impossible. I wake up bewildered. I wake up smiling. And sometimes I actually wake up laughing.
So whether my food or the furniture is talking or I find myself riding a giraffe in a purple fedora, I'm grateful for these dreams because in them there is a kind of freedom. In them all societal norms, all the laws of physics and biology are out the window and anything can happen. :)
Recently I heard a comment that stung... just a little. We were having a conversation about nurturing children and someone mentioned (in a nutshell) that people who don't have children have no business contributing to the discussion.
If I am to be honest, my most immediate response, as someone who has devoted much of her ministry to the nurture of young people, is to become defensive. But a defensive posture is rarely a healthy posture. So, I must admit that I'm not entirely sure how to respond to such statements.
I agree, that I cannot possibly fathom what it feels like to hold your newborn child in your arms for the first time. To get up night after night (or hour after hour) for feedings and to clean up vomit. To help your child navigate school and friendships. To drive children from one place to another, all.day.long. To ache when you see your child make unwise choices and to celebrate with them in their accomplishments. To hold them when they are ill and to encourage them in the things that bring them deepest joy. I can't walk a mile in your shoes. It's simply not possible.
But does that mean that I can't journey with you?
Often it seems that the only way that society can understand "helping" parents is through criticism. It's by watching them, pointing out what they're doing wrong, and then giving them info (often from the internet) on how they can do things better. Certainly, this is not helpful. I've heard enough parents express frustration over random strangers coming up and criticizing them in grocery stores! And I'm sure I have been guilty of offering criticism, though perhaps not to strangers, and hopefully not often. No one appreciates such judgment.
However, I hope that there are other ways that people who don't have their own children can be of support to those who do. One of the guiding scripture passages in my life is Deuteronomy 6:4-9.
4 Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.
5You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.
6Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart.
7Recite them to your children and talk about them
when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when
you rise.
8Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead,
9and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.
This is the way that we pass faith along to the next generation, and it is a command for all of us, not only parents.I want parents to know that they are not alone. That the endeavor of raising their children is one that they can share with a supportive community. My goal is not to judge parents, but to listen, to watch, to learn to recognize the systems in which they and all of us live, and to offer whatever support might lead them towards life. My ministry to families involves paying attention, not problem solving. It involves listening for the soul, not judgment. And while I don't know what it's like to be a parent, I do know what it's like to be a child (at least in a retrospective sort of way). And certainly I know what it's like to run out of time. To not have the time to find resources, or to make supper, or to listen. This is what I hope to offer families. I hope that I can arrange my own life in such a way as to be able to offer them my time. To be available to do some of the searching for resources that families often can't do on their own, to bring food when getting dinner together is just an unmanageable burden, and to listen when it feels like the ears of the world are deafened to the longings of the soul.
No, I don't have children... but I hope I can still journey with those who do.
