Sunday, May 29, 2011

News from the weekend when winter arrived

A conversation:

(Supper time)

Cam: Mom, ask me how I’m enjoying my meal.

Me: How are you enjoying your meal, Cam?

Cam: Yes.

Scott’s news:

He is pulling himself up into a standing position; every now and then he gets it right to crawl forwards; he likes to launch himself from trolleys and high chairs; he loves music and dancing and his brother makes him laugh and wriggle delightedly; he wakes up a LOT at night but it’s really hard to be mad at him because in the morning he is utterly adorable again.

Cam’s news:

He asked me last night where my gran (his great-granny) will be going after heaven…?; he composed his own worship song this morning (a soft, warbling melody with the words ‘tree’, ‘light’, ‘sky’, ‘Jesus’ and ‘worship’ thrown in intermittently, between hums and wa-wa-was…).

A haiku from the weekend:

Even when things are
Uncertain and I’m hurting –
My Redeemer lives!






Thursday, May 26, 2011

Celebrations this week…

This week, I’ve celebrated that our boys are growing up in an imperfect country that embraces change and challenge and music and diversity and lush, harsh beauty and nation building and forgiveness and hope. We’re teaching South African poetry to our Form 4 boys at St Alban’s, and it’s made me realise again that brave, hurting South Africans of every race have travelled socio-political light years in a matter of difficult, dangerous decades. And it’s not for nothing that we’re in this time, in this place.

I’ve celebrated that Murray and Toby rode an awesome Sani2C and came back all in one piece, having conquered the escarpment and survived the portable ablutions.

I’ve celebrated that Scott can see me on the other side of a room. I still sometimes get a bit of a fright when I realise he’s watching me, and saying things to me with his quiet, enormous eyes. J

I’ve celebrated Cameron’s questions. The other day we were listening to Matt and Beth Redman’s worship song, Blessed be your name:

Blessed be Your name in the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name when I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out I'll turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name when the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name on the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name

Cam asked me what the song was about, and then questioned me further, ‘Is life good or difficult?’ Later, requesting a top-up of hot bath water, he asked, ‘Why do hot things cool down?’ He constantly forces me to reassess and reinforce my beliefs about God, life and the universe.

I’ve celebrated, again, and again, and again, that when the sun splashes up and orange over the city, God’s mercies are brand new, even when we are shattered after a night of splintered sleep and mixing midnight bottles of formula and changing little wet pyjamas… There’s always grace for the day.

I’ve celebrated that at the bottom of our street there is a pavement café and a bakery that sells chocolate croissants and coffee and a second hand bookshop where you could lose yourself. It just makes me really, really happy. J

Friday, May 20, 2011

A word from Scott

Today I am eight months old. I weigh about 9kg and I crawl backwards. I figure – life is short! Do things differently! I smile pretty much all the time, unless I’ve reversed under the couch. Or if mom takes too long with my supper.

Dad’s away riding Sani2C this week. He’s amazing. He says one day when I’m bigger I can also ride in the mountains and get muddy. I can’t wait!

My brother likes to pick me up and drag me around. It’s pretty cool. Except when he drops me on my head. That’s less cool. But Mom says I’m really brave ‘cause Cam is much bigger than me but I still let him hug me and jump on me, and mostly I just laugh.

Some things I’ve noticed about the world: people love me a lot, and there are so many interesting places to go and fascinating things to drool on. I’ve also noticed that Mom kisses me about a zillion times a day, and prays for me loads. She says Jesus made me, and that he has extraordinary plans just for me. How cool is that?!

I feel super special.

J

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Of Depresshilaration, Impossibility and Christ

Here’s the Chapel talk that I did at St Alban’s this morning. I read the boys an essay – a hypothetical entry into the annual Bishop Bousfield Open Essay Competition that they are all writing this week. They have a range of topics to choose from; the topic I chose was a quote by Joseph Campbell: ‘We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy.’

Of Depresshilaration, Impossibility and Christ

Depresshilaration is a neologism – a brand new word. I know this, because I just made it up, for the purposes of this essay. Depresshiliration is a paradoxical merging of depression and exhilaration. I find it cruelly, painfully, intoxicatingly, excitingly depresshilirating, for example, to think that at this very moment – this exact second – all over this picturesque, polluted blue-green planet of ours, the following events are probably occurring:

550 boys are sitting in a chapel in Lynnwood Glen, Pretoria. (This, I suppose, could be either depressing or exhilarating.)
A baby is being born to loving parents.
A woman is being raped.
Silent, majestic forests are noiselessly exhaling oxygen.
Tons of toxic waste are being dumped in the sea.
Paper is being recycled.
A child is dying of starvation in India.
Two people are falling in love over lattes at a street café in Italy.
Someone is tossing, sleepless and restless and lonely.
Someone is dreaming, breathing deep and drowsy like waves against a holiday shore.
Someone just lost his job.
Someone just got his first real gig.
Someone is receiving life-shatteringly bad news.
Someone just found fifty bucks in her jeans pocket.

It’s hard for me, sometimes, to put these realities together. It’s harder still to contemplate the fact that God sees all these things, all the time. He sees the beauty and the goodness, and he takes his glory. He sees the tragedy and the pain, and he does nothing.

Or so it seems?

I serve a big, big God. His bigness brings perspective, and I know that the moment I forget his enormity – his vast holiness, great power, immense wisdom and unfathomable love – I lose hope. But still, why does he not simply press control-alt-delete and reboot the whole sorry mess that we’ve made of life on Earth? The Bible tells us, after all, that with God, all things are possible, even the impossible things. If his words can throw galaxies across a universe and hold planets in their orbits; if he can see atoms and quarks and pre-schoolers and other very small things, and count them and know them by name; if he can read the hearts of every person on every continent; if he could sacrifice his only Son to save the creatures that cursed him – then surely, surely, he is big enough to cure the world of sorrow?

Of course, he is. And the fact that he doesn’t always fix things – immediately, and in the way we think he should – means that he must have a very, very good reason. Sometimes we can see the reason. Sometimes we can’t. I suppose that’s what faith is. And if we have faith, things get a lot less depressing, and much more exhilarating. Here’s what God promises in his Word:

He came to bring life, and that in abundance. He is a shelter for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. He has overcome the world. He is a sun and shield; he gives grace and glory. He will withhold no good thing from those who walk uprightly (footnote: he decides what is good for us; and we might not necessarily like it – like Brussels sprouts). Those who trust in him will not be shaken. He does not abandon those who search for him. He is patient, inviting all people to turn to him. He forgives and he restores. He cares for the helpless, and does not ignore the cries of those who suffer. All of history will be summed up in Christ. He executes judgement from his throne, whether in this life, or the next, and the wicked will not go unpunished. He reigns forever, and he will make all things new.

Another particularly exhilarating thought is that God chooses to work through his people – in the place and the second of time in which they find themselves. Pathetic, selfish beings that we are, he drenches us in grace, and then uses us to spread that grace – lovingly, contagiously – into the lives around us. The impossible begins to happen, and bits of sorrow go out of the world. My friend Shane Kidwell shared the following poem with me a couple of years ago: 

I love the word impossible.

It’s like joy after sorrow.
People being friends after being enemies.
Rainbows after drenching rain.
A wound healed.
Sunsets on quiet evenings after
                Hot, noisy days.
Paralysed, injured limbs learning to grow
                Strong and useful again.
Forgiveness after wrong.
Truth after fog.
New love-made babies.
Birds learning to fly and own the sky.
Bitterness turned to mellowness.
Fresh, genuine hope… once abandoned.
People finding each other at right moments,
                In unexpected, obscure places…
                For God-ordained reasons.
I love that word impossible because my God
Believes in adventure
                And extraordinary mountains, and he dares
To be alive in a world crawling with terrible situations.
He promises to be bigger than any impossibility
                Because he is love…
                And love always finds a way through,
                In time.
Love isn’t scared.
It builds bridges instead of walls.
It never gives up.
It always hangs on.
It waits with stubborn, strong hope.
                Sometimes even years.
Love makes God alive in far more than human souls.
                Like sun and clear sky and drooping branches
                And dark birds and colour and design and music…
                And the sound of water on a shore,
Impossible means that I,
An ordinary person
Can be something special and significant
In an enormous, hurting world.
I can be love where I live,
And that is Christ…

Mythologist and philosopher Joseph Campbell once said, ‘We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy.’ I live in joy, because I cannot cure the world of sorrows – but I know Someone who can.


Scripture references:
Isaiah 6, 1 John 1, Psalm 9, Psalm 23, Psalm 84, Psalm 125, John 3, James 1, John 10, John 16, Revelation 21, 2 Peter 3, Colossians 1, Romans 16, to list a few.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

An interesting afternoon and other adventures

Scott is progressing rapidly through the nearly-crawling phase! He rocks and wiggles and groans and slides backwards and inches forwards. Other times, he moves, metres at a time, but imperceptibly. He’ll be sitting in one spot; then a few minutes later I’ll find him a couple of metres away from where he was, still sitting… Sneaky…

He’s starting to understand and interact so much more, and he even has slightly more hair! His enormous blue eyes draw flocks of adoring fans. This is probably why he likes to keep them wide open, even at night…

Scott’s favourite activities:

Peekaboo
Dancing
Spinning
Eating
Bathing
Laughing
Keys! (cue: wild waving of arms and legs, ecstatic gasps)

I still just stare at him and think, how great is our God.

We’ve been painting our house, and on Friday afternoon Cameron decided he wanted to paint, too. I got out the paints and the old t-shirts and some random cardboard boxes upon which he could splash his artistic expressions. But that was, like, boring! So he painted himself. Obviously.

This afternoon the house was ominously quiet while I was on the phone, so once I’d hung up I went in search of Cam. I found him in the bathroom. ‘Mom I’m just making the toilet water green with the green toilet cleaner.’ Alas, the green Harpic toilet stuff was untouched, but two litres of Cleen Green and 500ml of Listerine mouthwash had been emptied in his quest for greater – and greener – lavatory hygiene.

Perhaps it was the unnaturally minty fumes emanating from the toilet, but I then struck upon the foolish idea that we needed an outing, some exercise, and pesto to go with our spaghetti at supper. I put the boys in the twin stroller and walked down the very steep hill to The Pantry, and then I walked back up the very, very, very steep hill home again, with pesto and collapsing lungs. I stopped to rest a couple of times, but still my breath couldn’t catch up with Cam’s rapid fire questions, which went something like this (all the way there, and all the way back):

‘What’s that what’s that sign what’s it for what’s a zebra crossing is that a storm water drain how does Jesus makes the clouds move so the sun comes out again what’s that thing how do you cook roast veggies in the warming drawer who are you talking to is that lady going home what’s that blue thing?’

I had to lie on the lawn to recover, while Scott ate leaves.

Here’s a beautiful prayer:

God our Creator,
thank you for the wonder of new life
and for the mystery of human love.
Thank you that we are known to you by name
and loved by you from all eternity.
Help us as we learn the joys and challenges
of parenthood, to live one day at a time
and to trust you to provide for us as each new need arises.

 – Adapted from the Anglican Service of Thanksgiving for the Birth of a Child
(For some reason, Cam removed most of his kit for the painting session...)








 (These boots are made for... Mom, I guess.)

Monday, May 9, 2011

Realism, optimism and sex education

Fuss-twation

A couple days after the Plantland incident reported in my previous blogpost, Cam and I had a chat about the whole thing. I asked him why he hadn’t wanted to go off and play, and why he just hung around with me and Aunty Coral. Eventually it came out that he was feeling ‘fuss-twated’ ( = frustrated) and was a bit upset. I asked him if it was because he couldn’t see what the other kids were doing. He said yes, and added that he was also frustrated because he ‘couldn’t decide where to go.’ We agreed that we would do more of an intentional recon of a place when we arrive, to make him more confident of his bearings. We also came up with a ‘secret shout’ (‘Hey Mom!’; ‘Hey Cam!’) that we can use at any time to establish contact. We’ve been practising at home, and went back to Plantland yesterday to practise there. He’s pretty excited about this, and told a random dad next to the jungle gym yesterday, ‘Mom can see me even if I can’t see her!’ So, here’s hoping that he’ll begin to feel sure of himself, and relaxed, in these kinds of situations. Through a parent support chat forum and the experiences of others, I’ve gleaned some good ideas – like making a meeting place on a playground, and describing in more detail what other children are doing, and explaining to other kids (if they ask or stare), ‘Cam’s eyes work differently.’

I also had a good chat to Cam’s teacher. She told me that he doesn’t often play with other kids on the playground, but in his own way he does interact. A staff meeting came to a quiet halt the other day and all the teachers watched out the window as Cam sat on a step and sang worship songs to a circle of quietly listening children… J Connie, his most favourite Heavenly Tot helper, is his ‘safe place’ at school and he cries if he can’t find her on the playground. We spoke about building his confidence by turning this into a positive challenge (‘Let’s find Connie!’), so that he doesn’t default to panic. Lola (his teacher) spoke to Connie, who in turn had one of her amazingly motivational chats to Cam. She reported at the end of that day that he had been on every swing and slide, and had played happily with one of the other little girls in the class.

‘So we beat on, boats against the current…’ (F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby)

Murray and I have had late nights this week, chatting through the realisation that predicted eventualities of Cam’s situation are fast becoming real, and now. I feel as if we’re bumping into things that have previously seemed quite far away. I think my natural optimism (denial?) has settled into a place of more realistic acceptance. We can’t magic away Cam’s circumstances or the accompanying hard realities. Of course the issue is not the hard realities; the issue is whether or not they make him feel afraid, rejected, confused or alone. We can only work on him – as opposed to working on immutable conditions. We can only talk and explain and prepare as best, as lovingly, as honestly and as optimistically as we can. We can pray for wisdom, and pray that God would grow his confidence and his coping skills – grow in him an ease to ask for help and a rational sense of everything’s ok. (Yesterday I was jabbering about checking something in the oven and he said, ‘Don’t stress, Mom.’ J) We can daily remind ourselves that God’s grace is sufficient (2 Corinthians 12:9), that his mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:23), that he will withhold no good thing from those who walk uprightly (Psalm 84:11), and that he causes all things to work for the good of those who love him (Romans 8:28).

I haven’t quoted Fitzgerald to be melodramatic or cynical, but rather to say that God’s glory and beauty and goodness are evident even as we ‘struggle amid a struggling world…’ (Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter), and that ultimately life – even in a world full of sad and confusing things – is about making much of Christ as we delight in him – something that Cam already does. J

‘The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing.’ – Zephaniah 3:17

Two questions and a comment (by Cameron)

‘How does the baby get into the mommy’s tummy?’ (Yip. I answered.)

‘How does a car engine roar?’

‘We need to make a plan to get some cheese rolls.’

J

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Of globes and boot buckles

Heavy heavenly heart

My little Heavenly Tot had a heavy heart this morning. He started back at school after a long holiday, and despite being fine all the way up to the classroom door, when the reality hit home  (him staying, me going), he went quiet and clung to me; the lip quivered and the tears welled. His teacher sms’d me not half an hour later to say that he was fine. But still, my lip quivered and the tears welled all the way to St Alban’s, thinking of his silent sadness – his effort to be brave.  

‘Don’t leave me to be lonely. Just stay and be company with me.’

This has become one of Cameron’s mantras of late, which makes my heart heavy, too. He is a paradox of confidence and insecurity. At times he runs into open nothingness, fearless (reasoning: if I can’t see the danger, why worry?). Other times, he clings like a koala. The latter situation usually occurs when there are other kids around (reasoning: I can’t keep up with them or see what they are doing). He stands very still and squints at what must be to him a blur of movement, colour and noise, and it makes my stomach lurch and shrivel. It sometimes also happens in unfamiliar, obstacle-strewn places (reasoning: there is stuff here that I can trip over, or fall off).

Yesterday, the guys went riding so Coral and I took the kids to the pat-the-animals/play/drink-cappuccinos place at Plantland. Those kinds of outings are not terribly relaxing for any mom. In fact, the cappuccinos are a bit of a pretence. There is absolutely no calm, sophisticated conversation between frothy sips. There are only nervous glances towards the terrifyingly high slides, and mad dashes to the jungle gyms to wipe tears, mop blood or negotiate disputes while the cooling cappuccinos grow disappointingly unfrothy.

Nevertheless, we do it because the kids have fun, and because snatches of interrupted conversation are still great. The fact that Cameron has no depth perception and hardly ever looks down at his feet makes these occasions particularly stressful for me, because he is prone to walking right off the high wooden platforms, which keeps me hovering at the bottom. Yesterday, Cam was not at all keen to play on his own, or even with his cousins. He hung around the table with us and wouldn’t venture towards the playground without one of us in tow. I’ve heard from a blind mom that this is common behaviour for blind and VI children (e.g. hanging around the party table all afternoon scoffing the cheese curls while everyone else plays…).  I tried various tactics to let him know that I could see him at all times even though he couldn’t see me, but he remained reluctant to pat the bunnies and climb the ladders.

I continue to pray – with panic-induced fervour – that God would protect his heart, and give him calm self-assurance, an irrepressible sense of humour, the confidence to ask for help, and the knowledge that he is never, never alone. He does seem to derive security from knowing where Scott is and what he is doing, so maybe when Scott is older and able to hang around the jungle gym with him…? He is also using his sense of hearing far more, and I am grateful for his insatiable curiosity and his perseverance in making sense of the world. He is constantly asking, ‘What’s that noise?’ It often takes me a couple of seconds to tune into whatever distant hum, buzz, grind, roar or jumping castle he is picking up.

Serious, global conversations

Our first ‘serious conversation’ of the week had to take place after a visit to Aunty Mel and the resultant record-breaking tantrum. Despite numerous explanations about the inappropriateness of hanging around on the fringes of grown-up chats et al, Cam refused to go off and play with the other kids (see above… sigh). I let it slide but informed him on the way home that we would be having a ‘serious conversation’ about his behaviour. He obviously sensed just how serious this conversation was going to be. He shrewdly calculated his next move. ‘Mommy,’ he said, after a brief silence, ‘I also want to have a conversation about how Jesus forgives us when we are naughty.’ Now if that doesn’t knock the wind out of my disciplinary sails! He might as well have said, ‘Just remember, I’m under grace!’

Following on from that serious conversation was a lesson in scale and Geography. He has been asking questions about light bulbs and the world (‘Light bulb globes go “pop” but world globes don’t pop, hey?’), and the sea (‘Is the sea a river?’) and about how (on earth?) we could possibly all be living on a big ball… We borrowed a globe from his cousin Greg and I tried to explain the enormous concept of scale and unimaginable bigness. I showed him a tiny plastic dolphin then explained that real dolphins are huge, bigger than Lola! Then I showed him the globe and tried to explain that it was just a toy world, and that we’re living on the real big world. I showed him SA, and all the countries where we have friends that he knows, and I showed him that all the blue bits are ocean. Eish. I doubt that he got it but I guess we have to start somewhere, and I’m determined to answer all his questions truthfully.

Then the other morning Cam had a serious conversation with Scott. It went like this:
Scott: ‘Waaaah!’
Cameron: ‘There’s no point crying, Scott. That won’t help.’

He also told Granny that he would like to talk to her about Jesus and God and how Jesus loves him when he’s in his bed at night. Granny informed him in equally serious and matter-of-fact tones that indeed Jesus even loves him when he is out of his bed. J

Celebrating Scott

My paragraphs on Scott are shorter only because he says less, but I could write books about his rapturous smiles and jubilant, simultaneous arm-waving-leg-kicking. He is so often a picture of happy, uncomplicated ecstasy. We’ve hit another patch of numerous night wakings (note to self: never brag that your baby is sleeping through), but his sweet daytime demeanour makes up for his fractious nights. He is delectable!

A moment of worship

At church on Sunday, during one particular worship song, I was holding Cam (he was heavy and tired and snuggly) and Scott was sitting on a blanket at my feet, contentedly sucking on the (borderline bling) silver buckle of my left boot. I felt deliriously weighed down by love.

I will praise you, LORD, with all my heart;
I will tell of all the marvellous things you have done.
I will be filled with joy because of you.
I will sing praises to your name, O Most High.
… the LORD reigns forever,
executing judgment from his throne.
He will judge the world with justice
and rule the nations with fairness.
The LORD is a shelter for the oppressed,
a refuge in times of trouble.
Those who know your name trust in you,
for you, O LORD, do not abandon those who search for you.
Sing praises to the LORD who reigns in Jerusalem.
Tell the world about his unforgettable deeds…
He does not ignore the cries of those who suffer. – Psalm 9