Martin Walked So Barack Could Run

Martin Walked So Barack Could Run
A sermon given 1-18-2009


November 14, 1960, three little black girls walked past a screaming, taunting mob to enter New Orleans’ McDonogh Elementary School, to integrate it.

This Tuesday, two little black girls will walk into a house at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. They will probably be holding the hands of their father …

The President of the United States of America.

49 years.

Today, I am proud to be an American. No matter how we voted, we should be proud of this moment, not only as Americans, but as Unitarian Universalists. This is a moment that we were significantly involved in making a possibility.

Though we have struggled and fought over how to do it, when to do it, achieving equal rights for all is ingrained in our religion and acted upon by our members. People like Mary White Ovington, co-founder of the NAACP, and a Unitarian. Or the approximately 100 UU ministers who answered Martin Luther King’s call to march from Selma to Montgomery for Voting Rights. One of those ministers was Rev. James Reeb who was fatally beaten there. Or the hundred more Unitarian Universalist laypeople who came to march.

One of those was Viola Liuzzo … she was a mom of 5, 38 years old, who had recently gone back to school. She drove from Detroit to Selma. After the completed march, she began ferrying marchers back to Selma from Montgomery. On one of these trips, they passed a car with burned out taillights. Viola saw the African-Americans inside and said, “These are our people.” She instructed her passengers to roll down their windows as they passed, to let them know about the taillights.

After dropping off most of her passengers and heading back to get more, a car came upon hers. The occupants saw her out-of-state plates and the black passenger sitting by her and guessed why she was there. They rolled down their windows --

And shot her point blank, killing her instantly.

People have died for this day.

Turn to someone right now and say, “We honor them.”

Born the year after Martin Luther King died, I do not remember the news stories about James Reeb and Viola Liuzzo. But I will not forget.

People have marched, worked, lived and died for this. It is good for us to take pride in the part of our religious heritage that helped this to happen, but what walks hand in hand with this pride is a responsibility to continue the progress. Our first principle is that we believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people – all people – and in the words of Dr. King, “we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back.”

The deaths of Rev. Reeb and Mrs. Liuzzo led to the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. It is a sad fact that it took the deaths of people with white skin to spur public outrage in a way that the deaths of people like Rev. George Washington Lee and Jimmy Lee Jackson, both African-American, had not.

Some say that because we have elected an African-American man president, that proves that we are now post-racial, racism is dead, long live the King. But this is another Mission Accomplished banner that’s simply too early.

The election of the first black president that fills so many of us with such pride and hope is also bringing racism and hatred out of the shadows. Because where we have hope in our hearts, others have fear. And fear can very easily turn to hatred. The Southern Poverty Law Center reports that election of the first black president triggered more than 200 hate-related incidents. Obama himself has received far more death threats than any other president-elect, ever. And conservative estimates peg the increase in hate-groups at 40% since 2000.

The theory is that when people feel powerless about something they can’t do, they look around for what they can. It’s an insidious version of think globally, act locally. They can’t hurt Obama, so they look around for someone they can hurt … someone who looks like Obama.


But many will continue to say, “We’re there. We have achieved a fair and just society.” Indeed, the Voting Rights Act that was bought with blood, heads to the Supreme Court this April. Opponents of it say that election of Obama proves that there is no more need to protect the voting rights of our citizens.

Well, I just know about a friend of mine in Arkansas, who volunteered this year to help with voter registration. She called the county clerk’s office to request some voters’ registration cards that were in Spanish and was told, “You have to be able to speak English in order to vote.”

I do not remember African-Americans being given “citizenship tests” before they could register to vote … but I will not forget.


So many things work together to make Change happen. It was Rosa sitting and Martin walking. But it was also a multicultural Sesame Street and a very normal Cosby family. It was musicians and actors. It was companies and universities that simply wanted the best and the brightest. It was people willing to give a hand-up to those who did not have their same advantages. Scholarship programs. Churches who said it is wrong to discriminate and laws that said it is illegal. The world changed.

Continuing the progress in the face of people scared of change, worried about their jobs and afraid someone else is going to get their piece of the pie – and we may share those fears -- will take all of our heart, soul and strength. Moving forward, it will be necessary for us to march again, this time, not with picket signs, but with shovels, canned goods, and our intellect. In 1994, Congress designated that MLK day be a day of service. Tomorrow, the Obama family is making good on that promise. They will spend the day serving others and are encouraging the rest of the country to do likewise.

What can you do in one day? You can:

Clean a park, clean downtown, clean the 3rd ward, clean a highway, clean a community playground. You can sort food at a food bank, sort merchandise at a charity thrift store, drop off canned goods, paint a mural, clean up from painting a mural, repair and recondition donated bicycles, donate blood, donate platelets, donate toiletries, donate money, donate gently used household goods to those in Galveston still trying to recover from Hurricane Ike. You can assemble sandwiches for the homeless, feed the hungry, feed and entertain kids ages 5-14. You can help build a clubhouse.

All of these opportunities can be found by going to: usaservice.org – put in your zip code, and a giant list of opportunities will present themselves. If you’ve got kids at home, there are things you can do with your kids. If you have to work, then give some blood during your lunch hour, or stop at the grocery store on the way home, load up a basket with canned goods, and drop it off in one of those barrels by the front door.

Do something. “These are our people.”

Inherent worth and dignity of every person genuinely means every person. Your neighbor next door, the person next to you in the grocery store, the man you pass sleeping under the bridge. These are our people. It even means the people who do not agree with us.

As far as I know, Melissa Etheridge is not a Unitarian Universalist, but I think she’d feel right at home in one of our churches. I was profoundly moved by an essay she wrote about Rick Warren. Right after it hit the news that Warren had been selected to give the Invocation at Obama’s inauguration, Etheridge was scheduled to sing for the Muslim Public Affairs Council. She writes:

I received a call the day before to inform me of the keynote speaker that night... Pastor Rick Warren. I was stunned. My fight or flight instinct took over, should I cancel? Then a calm voice inside me said, "Are you really about peace or not?"

I told my manager to reach out to Pastor Warren and say "In the spirit of unity I would like to talk to him." On the day of the conference I received a call from Pastor Rick, and before I could say anything, he told me what a fan he was. He had most of my albums from the very first one. What? This didn't sound like a gay hater. He explained in very thoughtful words that as a Christian he believed in equal rights for everyone. He believed every loving relationship should have equal protection. He struggled with proposition 8 because he didn't want to see marriage redefined as anything other than between a man and a woman. He said he regretted his choice of words in his video message to his congregation about proposition 8. He said that in no way, is that how he thought about gays. He invited me to his church, I invited him to my home to meet my wife and kids. He told me of his wife's struggle with breast cancer just a year before mine.

When we met later that night, he entered the room with open arms and an open heart. We agreed to build bridges to the future.

Brothers and sisters the choice is ours now. We have the world's attention. We have the capability to create change, awesome change in this world, but before we change minds we must change hearts. Sure, there are plenty of hateful people who will always hold on to their bigotry like a child to a blanket. But there are also good people out there, Christian and otherwise that are beginning to listen. They don't hate us, they fear change. Maybe in our anger, as we consider marches and boycotts, perhaps we can consider stretching out our hands. Maybe instead of marching on his church, we can show up en masse and volunteer for one of the many organizations affiliated with his church that work for HIV/AIDS causes all around the world.

Maybe if they get to know us, they won’t fear us.

I know, call me a dreamer, but I feel a new era is upon us.

These are our people. Melissa Etheridge and Rick Warren. I actually have hope for Rick Warren. I believe anyone is capable of transformation. Like Billy Graham. In 1952 – 2 years before Brown vs. the Board of Education – he was having a rally in Mississippi. And he went out into the area where the people would be and tore down the ropes that separated the white and black sides. He would not have segregated rallies. And in 1957, he welcomed Martin Luther King onto the platform beside him. So … call me a dreamer, too. I have hope.

I think we should reach out with love – love in our words, love in our service, love in our actions. But we should not retreat from the cause of treating all people with equal fairness and rights. We stood up for civil rights in the 60s and said now is the time. And history has proven us right. And as we stand on the side of love today and say that now is the time for gay couples and lesbian couples to be able to marry, adopt, and pursue happiness with all the according rights and privileges, history will again prove us right.

I do not remember Martin Luther King on the night before he died, vowing that he had seen the promised land. But I will not forget.

Rev. James Reeb was with Rev. Clark Olsen and Orloff Miller when they were attacked in Selma in 1965. In 2002, Olsen and Miller returned to Selma. Olsen said, "Every time you choose to stand for something that's right, enormous good could come from it. Perhaps, something profound, deep and wonderful could happen."

There are many people, some of them here, who do remember listening to Martin Luther King. The universal words, amongst all colors, is what my mother said to me the other night. “I never dreamed I would see this day, a black man becoming president.”

This is a day we do get to see. And I am sure, we will never forget.

Sermon Block

Well, I have experienced and survived my First Major Head-Banging-On-Walls Sermon Block.

(We will pause whilst all the experienced ministers pat me on my pointy little head and mention that it won't be the last time. And chuckle when they think I can't hear them.)

MLK Sunday and the Sunday Before the Inauguration of Barack Obama, Bringer of Hope, and Oh Yeah, Also the First Black American President. But no pressure!

I could have written 50 sermons on the topic, no problem. But to narrow it to one? So what will be the focus? Historical import? Responding to the the Call to win a victory for humanity? Day of Service? Contemporary Racism? Anti-oppression? Love?

Well, I prayed and meditated, and learned again what a temptress Research is. (So much easier to read and research than to actually write, have you noticed?)

I know Sermon Block will happen again. But I'm glad I'm done with this one.

Two Things Not To Say to Someone Going Through Catastrophe

I have a friend who was diagnosed with kidney cancer (not Wilms' Tumor, she's an adult) about a year ago. They caught it early and she is doing fine right now.

In a recent email meme about herself she mentioned that she still really hates it when someone tells her how lucky she was that they caught it early. Lucky, she thinks, would be not to get it at all.

She's right.

Now, first of all, let me reiterate that when someone is going through Something Bad, the one thing worse than saying the wrong thing is to say nothing. Nature abhors a vacuum and so do friends ... if you say nothing, don't call, don't write, you create a vacuum. Chances are good that your friend will fill in the vacuum with their own thoughts, and they often (the DRE-BFF tells me) have no basis in reality. Thoughts like, "Oh, I guess I thought we were closer than we are," or "I guess I'm really self-involved and they don't want to have to listen to me," or "They think I need to just deal with it and get over it, don't they?"

But enough about me.

But here are two handy rules of thumb ... even though one might have the best of intentions, two things to avoid:

a) "You're lucky." There's always a reason someone is lucky. I'm lucky because even though she's fought cancer twice, Little Warrior is still alive. Someone who loses two children out of four is lucky because he still has the other two. Patrick Swayze is lucky because he can afford healthcare and still has a job.

But this is something that can only be decided by the person themselves. Having someone with perfectly healthy children tell me that I'm lucky? Having someone who has never had cancer tell my friend she is lucky?

b) "Helping" the person to find meaning in the catastrophe*. Or, what I've been guilty of, proclaiming that there is no meaning.

Now, if your friend asks you, well, that's something different. They have opened the door, and you are welcome to go in.

I learned the first go 'round that there is no meaning in my daughter getting cancer. There could not be a good enough reason for this. But you see, she is my daughter. Perhaps Mary thought it was worth it for Jesus to die ... I would not be so generous with humanity. I am too selfish in my love for her.

This go 'round, my father and I had a conversation. He had cancer when I was a child. "Luckily" it was an easy out. They went in, did surgery, and that was that. No need for chemo or radiation.

But if affected him profoundly. He feels that his life has been better ever since. He found meaning in the cancer; it made him realize that "there are no bad days."

In our conversation, he told me that he hopes I feel like that some day, that LW's cancer makes life better.

Well, I thought about that for a while, and then talked to him about it again. "Our own lives are cheap," I said. "The meaning that we find, it was worth what we went through ... assuming we survive. But could you feel that any meaning you found would be worth your child facing death?"

My father has lost a child. He understood and agreed.

"But ..." said I, comprehension dawning, "It's not up to me to decide the meaning of this. Because even though this affected me profoundly, ripped my heart to shreds, it did not happen to me. It happened to Little Warrior. And when she gets older, she is the only one who has the right to decide whether this had meaning."

And I realized that I cannot take it away from her by proclaiming my view, that there was no meaning in this. It is not my decision to make. All told, if she grows up to say, "You know, this happened to me, and it made me who I am and I really like who I am," who am I to argue?

The Cliff's Notes of "a" and "b" are the same thing: Don't assume you're wiser than the other person.

Even if she's only 3 years old.

--

*I don't need to tell you that defining what is and is not a catastrophe ain't yo thing, neither, right?

Religion-neutral prayers win the day

"The U.S. Supreme Court Monday declined to hear a case challenging a local government policy that requires religion-neutral prayers at public meetings.

The dispute at the center of the legal challenge pitts the city of Fredericksburg against a local City Councilman who wants to pray in the name of "Jesus." It dates to 2004.

That councilman, ordained minister Hashmel C. Turner Jr., later filed suit against the city, seeking to overturn a policy requiring non-sectarian prayers at government meetings..."

True anecdote for those familiar with the hymn "Come Sing a Song With Me"

So, The Husband and I were taking the ornaments off the tree. "Shoot," says he, "I was taking off several ornaments and one slipped off and went into the middle of the tree. Now I can't find the 'Hope' ornament."

"That's okay," I said. "Sometimes hope is hard to find."

Communion

Holy Water

I would do a communion
Of water
Water shared, each one taking a sip
Basis of life throughout time
The water cycle, nothing destroyed, nothing
Entirely new
I take a sip
It has traveled, bathing a Mayan infant
Raining in the desert
Snowing on the mountain
Its presence brings life
Its absence, death.
A sip of water to say 'thank you' for its gift
A sip of water to be connected to all of existence
A sip of water to express the reverence that we are all human
We are all connected
We are all in communion, life to life
Water drop to water drop
We are of the earth
We are of its water
We drink together.

YOU can help overcome the Nepal caste system

Or ... "How would you like to support the future Martin Luther King, Jr. of Nepal?"

My family has been sponsoring the education of a young boy named Alish, who lives in Nepal, and is lower-caste. He's the same age as The Boy and kind of sounds like his twin. Top of his class, very clever ... they even kind of look alike.

As the Worship Chair at my church, I've gotten to know the leader of ANSWER (American-Nepali Students' and Women's Educational Relief), Earle Canfield, and he has spoken at our church a couple of times, on his trips through town. His goal is pretty straightforward -- to overcome the caste system of Nepal.

He visits UU churches and finds people who want to pay about $250 - 280 a year to sponsor a child's education. That money puts a poor, low caste child into a private school, paying for their uniforms and tuition.

They are beginning to see the fruits of their labors ... lower caste children are completing college, and moving into professional positions -- business, nursing, teaching.

But that ain't all.

As I mentioned, it's not just about "helping the one starfish." It's about making a profound difference in a whole society. Every Saturday, they lead Social Welfare clubs for the students, teaching them about making a difference in the world, about how we each have a responsibility to each other.

Talking to Earle is very inspiring -- he is very passionate about what he does. His voice will crack and he'll tear up occasionally. You will, too.

Because of the huge problem with child-trafficking, they don't open up the gates wide over the internet. But I know y'all. If you're interested in sponsoring a child, email me at lizardeater at gmail dot com. I'll put you in touch with Earle. You can specify girl or boy, pick an age, etc. Twice a year, you and your student will exchange letters and pictures. Mine sends us his report card, too, to let us know how he's doing.

You know, he might be the future Barack Obama of Nepal.

My Dinner With Peacebang

Er, I mean, my coffee with Peacebang while she was on layover between flights.

Okay, at the risk of sounding like an overeager fan/sycophant/stalker, she really is funnier (and skinnier) in real life.

Lizard Eater and Little Warrior stalked, I mean searched, for Peacebang in a Really Big Airport, finally, thanks to cell phones, meeting her in the International flights area, which was the only one with no security checkpoint to get through. It's a good thing, too, because those security people were already looking suspiciously at Little Warrior and I think if I'd had them page "Peace Bang? Ms. UU Peace Bang?" it might have set up one of those TSA incidents you read about in the alternative press.

(Stops and realizes ... wait, so the only part of the airport where a person with no ticket can sit and have a coffee with a ticketed passenger is the International area? Let's ponder that for a moment, shall we? Okay, moving on.)

We wound up talking for hours and she was not only incredibly patient with all of the seminarian's questions about ministry, more ministry, and how I should cut my hair, she seemed happy to have Little Warrior climb all over her, try on her shawl, and jabber away. PB even did an Oscar-worthy interpretation of The Grumpy Old Troll Who Lives Under the Bridge that was upstaged only by her version of The Cowardly Lion, which you should ask to see whenever you meet her.

One of the things that comes through loud and clear is that this reverend LOVES her congregation, y'all. Just about any praise was deflected ... it's always thanks to her DRE, choir, staff, congregants. I'm madly jealous, both as a layperson without a minister, and as a potential minister.

Lots, lots, lots of great ideas swimming through my head, so much so that I got on the wrong road driving home. It was worth the extra tolls.

I'll feel better, though, when she logs on that she's in Amarillo, as we wound up talking longer than either of us planned on. And she had to go back through security (we'll be writing a country song titled, "Do yew luv me enough to go through security to see me?") and the word might have gotten around that she had been meeting a couple of shady characters in the International section.

When you wish upon a star ...

Tonight, two really lovely young women from Make-a-Wish came to our house to talk with Little Warrior and find out what her wish is.

We asked her a couple of days ago, The Husband and I. She responded with, "To be a grownup." As in, right now. "Oh, you don't want to miss out on being a kid, going to school, being a teenager ..." I protested.

Have you ever seen a 3 year old roll her eyes at you?

And then after I explained that Make-a-Wish doesn't have that kind of power, she actually cut those self-same eyes at me. Like she knew they could, but I was saying no.

"Mom, quit harshing my buzz," she said.

Okay, she didn't say that. But all the rest is true.

Anyway, when they came out tonight, she told them that she wanted to go to DisneyWorld. To meet "everybody." The princesses, and Mickey Mouse, and Winnie-the-Pooh ...

(In case you haven't picked up on it, we're not one of those anti-Disney UU families.)

So, they have to do their paperwork, and contact our doctor to verify that it's okay for her to travel. If it's all approved, if they grant her this wish, then it's going to be ... well, beyond amazing. There's a special resort to stay at in Orlando called Give Kids the World that's just for wish kids. The resort itself is made to be a child's wish come true -- ice cream anytime you want it, a carousel, horseback riding, a life-size Candyland game. Their goal ... and the tears well-up every time I describe it, including now ... is to take all those family vacations that may not happen and jam pack them into one incredible week.

I was writing to my father about this tonight and I said that I understand how -- especially if you lose a child -- it would be easy to become bitter about life, about how hard it is. But based on our experience, it would be difficult to become bitter about your fellow humans. There's just something about sick children that seems to bring out the best in people. Well, my hero Louisa May Alcott said it best in Jack and Jill:

Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened while the boys sang "The Sweet By and By," softening their rough young voices for his sake till the music was as soft as a lullaby. He lay so still his mother thought he was off, but presently a tear slipped out and rolled down the red cheek, wetting her hand as it passed.

"My blessed boy, what is it?" she whispered, with a touch and a tone that only mothers have.

The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack's own sunshiny smile broke through the tears that filled them as he said with a sniff,

"Everybody is so good to me I can't help making a noodle of myself."

"You are not a noodle!" cried Mamma, resenting the epithet. "One of the sweet things about pain and sorrow is that they show us how well we are loved, how much kindness there is in the world, and how easily we can make others happy in the same way when they need help and sympathy. Don't forget that, little son."

Foot Washing

I think this is so cool:

St. John's volunteers offer a scrub — like Christ once did — and provide simple toiletries for the homeless in Houston

No surprise to me that it's been doing at the church of my favorite non-UU minister, Rev. Rudy Rasmus.

Commitment, Mamma Mia, and even Jesus

Here's the third thing about Mamma Mia and why I think it, improbably, works:

COMMITMENT.

A whole lotta people loved the Mamma Mia movie and I think it can be traced back to commitment. Commitment in the face of glaring imperfection.

If you're a performer, commitment means putting aside your insecurities, any worries that you'll look ridiculous, and going in, 100%. It is, metaphorically, stripping off all your clothes -- all the way to the skin -- and jumping into the ice-cold pool. No dipped toe, no towel by the edge of the pool. Make a choice and commit to it 100%.

With one (in my opinion) exception, that's what the actors did. After watching a "making of" on the bonus disk, it sounds like Colin Firth and Pierce Brosnan were scared to death, literally having nightmares. But they jumped in. They committed.

Did Skellan Skarsgard likewise commit? Didn't seem that way to me. He looked uncomfortable, stiff, and almost rolled his eyes.

Hey, man. You don't want to be in the show, say No. But if you say yes, say yes with your whole body.

So, I'm thinking a lot about commitment and what we commit to with our words, but not with our whole bodies.

I have been as guilty as anyone else -- saying Yes when I should have said No, then not jumping in wholeheartedly. A lot of time, the lesson here is to not say Yes in the first place.

But if I do ... if I say yes, then like Colin Firth, I want to jump in with my everything.

And if it is something I want to do, I want to put aside my insecurities, put aside my fear that I will look or sound ridiculous. and let myself be vulnerable. Because that's how truth will come out. And that's how excellence will have a chance.

Commitment doesn't equal excellence. Commitment doesn't even assure that excellence will be reached. But I don't believe it is possible to get there without commitment.

(I feel the need to explain everything I'm not talking about. I'm not talking about a lack of boundaries. I'm not talking about unending commitment. "Merely" commitment. Merely 100% commitment to the job at hand.)

I like what Jesus said, quoting from Deuteronomy, about loving God "with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength." Sounds like he was talking about commitment. He probably wasn't talking about Mamma Mia.

But I bet he would have enjoyed Dancing Queen.

A Time for Everything -- Even Imperfection

Or ... "Why Mamma Mia Works, Pt. 2 of 3"

Imperfection.

I think there is a time for perfection. In preparing Worship services, as a lector/coordinator, my goal is perfection in what I do. The reason is not ego. I am fully guilty of ego in many instances, but in this instance, it's the opposite of ego. My goal is to be so smooth, that the "me" in me is rendered invisible. I don't want to get in the way of anyone's worship experience.

Plus, we are without a minister, so it's a different speaker every week. We use many guest musicians, so different musicians, too. The opportunity for an "oops" is so great, there's no need to add to it with a lack of preparedness on my part.

It's a goal and life invades. A sneezing fit, a missed cue -- hey, that's life. At least I aimed for perfection.

But there's a place for imperfection, too. And we can't be so afraid of imperfection that we play it too safe.

I think one reason why people flocked to Mamma Mia ... and then flocked back again ... has a little to do with imperfection. We see these movies with impossibly beautiful people, saying impossibly perfect things -- and then, along comes the anti-perfect movie. Meryl Streep is too old, and not model-thin, Pierce Brosnan is completely beautiful, but with an imperfect voice ... we take a deep breath and relax.

These are amazing people ... but in the movie, they're willing to relax, let us see their soft underbellys. They are not perfectly polished. But they look like they're having a lot of fun.

The story is imperfect, it doesn't add up, it requires a huge willingness to suspend disbelief.

Well, to everything there is a time ... a time for My Dinner with Andre, a time for Mamma Mia. A time to read deep philosophical texts and a time to read Carl Hiassen.

And a time to pull on sweatpants, put the hair in a ponytail, and sing karaoke.

Imperfectly.

Happy

So what does "happy" mean, anyway? Well, I feel no need to parse and define it past "the state of not being unhappy."

Which is a state I find to be pretty darn good.

Happy isn't perfect, isn't (necessarily) fulfilled, it's on the move and frequently fleeting. It's having a messy house and an overweight bod and bills to pay but being able to put the worries down in the corner and listening to the thundering footsteps of all the kids being home and just feeling a smile inside.

For me, anyway.

Maybe that's why I love Mamma Mia, the movie.

It's wholly imperfect (and apparently much work was put into making it so), ridiculous, frothy, meaningless, and boy, do I love it.

I saw it soon after it opened, in between hospitalizations, with a big bunch of my girlfriends. I can't say it removed me from my situation ... you never quite forget the reality you're living ... but it was a break. It was fun. It was happy. When Pierce Brosnan sang, the theatre erupted in spontaneous laughter. A shared moment amongst strangers. That just made it more fun.

Just a few days later, I thought of it and said, I need to see it again. I called my sister, who lives about 3 hours away and said, Come down. You and I and Mom need to go see this.

She did and we did. It was the first movie we'd seen together since I was 16, when we saw Crimes of the Heart.

This time, I could have a beer with my movie.

Mom and Sister both loved it. I burned my mother a copy of the soundtrack, plus a copy of ABBA's Greatest Hits. Every morning, she would wake up and put on the soundtrack. "What is an ABBA?" my father asked, befuddled.

Very simply, it made us happy.

I got my super-deluxe with extras DVD for Christmas. I watched it with The Husband and the kids. They all loved it. Well, the kids did. I think The Husband enjoyed it, but he's not going to go on the record about it.

My mom wanted to see it again. Yesterday, our last day together before she and my dad left for their home in NM, she made time so she could watch it again. And was delighted all over again.

Sometimes, "just happy" is a powerful thing.

Celebrating New Year's Eve with LW

Little Warrior says goodbye to 2008:


And "Enter, Rejoice, and Come In" to 2009:


And also to you and yours ... Blessed New Year!

Lesson Learned -- Cry, Cry, Cry

There's a reason why some do not recommend porn -- because it is based on something artificial. Well, the same is true with tear-porn. Dunna work. Cheap tears just aren't the solution. You gotta go to the source of your own pain.

Otherwise, you see, you wind up on your way to your parents to drop off Children 3 and 4 for a visit and sobbing the whole way. Which causes great consternation. And advice.

Here's my advice about advice about crying: ignore it. Except, of course, mine.

So, I've cried, cried, cried. I am hopeful that I will wake up tomorrow with swollen eyes but no more tears.

2009 will have tears. Tears of sadness, tears of joy, tears of laughter. Tears of frustration. Heck, tears from onions. But it'll be nice to begin with a drained tank, as it were.

Wishing for a Cry

I woke up this morning needing a good cry.

Odd, I thought. Then I remembered. Last night, leaving The Boy up playing computer games and my two youngest girls asleep (the eldest spending the night with my parents), I slid into bed beside my sleeping spouse, saying, as I usually do, I am so lucky. It's kind of a mantra. And true.

I lay there in that vulnerable time right before falling asleep when suddenly, the worms were there.

It's been a while. The holidays have kept them at bay.

And then I'm thinking about how life was really back to normal when we took her for scans last spring; as we sat in the hospital McDonalds, I told The Husband that I'd gotten to the point where I'd be surprised if something came back on the scans.

Never will say that again, never never never.

And I'm reliving it and I'm thinking that in the blink of an eye it'll be February, and time for scans again.

But somehow, I fell asleep before I could cry.

Well, no time to cry this morning. We're expected at my parents' trailer for hotcakes and to pick up The Princess. While I'm there, The Husband calls. Going to be $1700 for Bo Peep's dentist in January, another $2000 for the hospital and oh, this dentist says that it's not enough for Peep's pediatrician to okay her for dental surgery, we have to go to their doctor.

It's too much. I tear up. I blink them away and complain of allergies to my mother.

After pancakes, I take my mom on a quick errand. As I wait in the car, I check my home messages. The first is from December 17. Oops.

It is a call from a volunteer at Make-a-Wish. They want to schedule a meeting to find out what Little Warrior's wish is.

Make-a-wish isn't for terminally ill children anymore. It's for children fighting a life-threatening disease. And it's not like this is a surprise.

But still, it grabs me.

It's a gift, a wonderful gift, don't get me wrong. I'm a little conflicted. Not about whether to accept it -- Little Warrior deserves it. But whether to accept it now. She's 3 1/2. She'd appreciate it more in a year or so.

But in February, we get scans. And if all goes well, then more scans in May. And every time, our life could change. And I'd rather her be able to enjoy her wish feeling well, than be in treatment.

I come home. I want to just sit and cry, but that's hard, isn't it? Okay, maybe I have some tear-porn on the tivo. Beaches? Steel Magnolias?

No, it's loaded up with Christmas specials. I pick one -- "Noel: a couple, a diner chef, an editor, an orphaned hustler and a former priest find unexpected happiness on the holidays."

Well, that has potential for misery. I turn it on. Susan Sarandon's mother is apparently in a fairly vegetative state. I feel a bit of a tightening in my throat, welling up to my eyes ...

I sneeze.

Okay. Maybe later.

so this is christmas

So ... certainly not a perfect Christmas, but I don't believe in such an animal anyway. We picked up one aquarium and setup for two gerbils (they're very social, or so we've read) on Dec. 23rd. One for The Boy, one for The Princess. Put them back in our closet. My, the black one sure was chasing the brown one. OH MY, there's blood on the walls of the aquarium. By Dec. 24th, it was, OH MYYY, the brown one has bite marks and a giant wound on one hip. Got online to learn how to make them stop fighting. Kept reading "...once blood has been drawn, there will be no reconciliation." Put Blackie in a small cage left over from when we had hermit crabs and called The Husband, who was out running errands. Better get another aquarium and set ups.

The little cold I had seemed to jump full force into a big cold on Christmas morning. Afrin 12 hour, Sudafed 12 hour, and coffee and mimosas all fought for dominance in my head. It was not unlike the feeling of two gerbils racing around and around ...

Dec. 26, I realized the gig was up. The cold had won and I wasn't going to fake it out. My sister-in-law, GlamourGirl had arrived, so she and The Husband took out the crew to the mall and to a movie while I swigged Nyquil and went back to bed. Today, they're out bowling, while I stay home, detoxing from medication to see what's the cold and what's fuzzy-drugs, and watching sappy holiday movies I tivoed.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being disappointed. But it's an ordinary disappointment, getting a cold. And ordinary disappointments still happen, even after Great Big Things like cancer. Paper cuts still hurt, even if they happen after winning the lottery, I imagine.

And ... if I have to be sick, this is the way. House to myself, don't have to take care of anyone but me.

And even if it wasn't the perfect Christmas for me, I think several folks in my house feel it was pretty darn perfect for them. Like two kids with their own gerbils, that they can keep in their own rooms. "It's the best gift Santa ever brought me," says The Princess. And Bo Peep with her chef set. And Little Warrior, who doesn't remember other Christmases, but still says, this was the BEST one in her Whole Entire Life.

Which, in a way, makes it mine, too.

Christmas Time's a Comin'

Well ... I'm fighting a cold that chose today to make an appearance and I just realized today that though I have the play kitchen for Bo Peep and Little Warrior, I, um, forget any pots and pans. Kind of hard to play with a play kitchen without any play pots and pans. And I need to pay bills and my Christmas cards are going to be New Year's cards and Christmas is day after tomorrow and I just haven't had enough Christmas Season to suit me.

But day after tomorrow, my parents, my husband, and all four of my children will be in my living room, together.

Someday, I might look back on this and see it as a precious gift.

You know what? I think I'll realize it as a precious gift right now.

EVERY time I see one of those St. Jude commercials

Hey, she looks like Little Warrior. Aww, that's a nice commercial.

"Give thanks for the healthy kids in your life, and give to those who are not."

Yeah, it's bad to have an unhealthy kid. And of course, they're not talking about just a "sick" kid, they're talking about cancer, about a child having CANCER, that big scary thing that old people get, that people can DIE from, isn't that horrible?

pause.

HOLY SHIT. LITTLE WARRIOR HAD CANCER.

Every single time.

Sweet tenderness

My parents arrived today. They had gone back home right before Little Warrior's last chemo, confident that we were covered. But they're back for the holidays and happy to see all of us, but especially Little Warrior. They were starved for her.

It's been a month and a half since they've seen her. To me, the difference is her appearance is big, and I see her everyday. To them, it is huge. Plump, pink cheeks. Eyebrows growing back. HAIR growing back.

It is a visible amount of fuzz now, and feels like velvet. She is very tolerant of our caresses, as we all find that fuzz-head irresistible. I encouraged my dad to stroke her head. He was tentative. He voiced his concern that he was afraid of rubbing it off. LW and I both laughed at him and assured him that her hair is securely attached.

I imagine his concern isn't that much about her hair. It's the concern we all have, that somehow we'll "rub off" her health.

But it was still really sweet, seeing the tenderness of the gruff 79 year old man as he carefully ran his hand over the top of her head.

I found it, I found it!!!!

I have spent way too much time searching for this ... an SNL Tv Funhouse of Jesus and the real meaning of Christmas.

I Believe in Father Christmas

I love Christmas. No, more than that. I believe in Christmas.

What makes someone a Christmas person and another person, not? I don't know. Perhaps it is something just in you, like whether you're a cat or a dog person.

Nature, nurture. Like most things, you can point to definitive reasons why someone who is not a Christmas person is not ... like one of my friends, for whom Christmas was a time of more abuse, a scary uncle to stay away from. But then there are those who have all the reason in the world to turn away from the holiday, but instead embrace it. And those who had idyllic Christmastimes, but it just never struck a chord. They'd rather be off on a warm beach, drinking a Mai Tai.

I enjoy the story of a very special child being born in rude circumstances ... in fact, I was marveling on that this week, the choice to have Him born poor. The kings, the shepherds -- lovely.

But it is not the center of my celebration.

I guess, if I had to put a word to it, it'd be that over-used, overworked, but still plugging away word, Love. Even if there were no mention of Jesus, Christmas would still be the holiday I would celebrate. Because it's not a celebration of the solstice to me, it's a celebration of love in its many forms.

The holiday of Christmas, even without a virgin birth, is filled with meaning and history. Yes, there's traffic and grumpy people, but there are also so many people wanting to reach out, to show love to their families, their friends, and to complete strangers. They take a gift list off the mall tree to buy a little girl they've never met a Barbie and a Hannah Montana tshirt. They are more generous with their charity dollars. They sing carols at the old folks' home, they dish up soup at a shelter, they do art projects at a children's hospital. They smile at others in line. In their hearts, they really do want everyone to be happy on Christmas.

The eternal lament is, why can't they be that way all year? Well, as someone once said, I am thankful that thorns have roses.

The stories of Christmas fill my heart, fiction and non. The Christmas ceasefire. Della and Jim. Scrooge.

Oh, Scrooge! Scrooge, I love him so, because he embodies my deepest, hopeful-est belief in personal transformation. That one can wake up, literally and figuratively, and decide to be different. And be "as good as his word."

Santa.

I could write a book (actually, I am, but that's another story for another time) on Santa. I do have children, but even if I didn't, I would still believe in Santa Claus. When it gets to that scene in Elf where everyone starts singing, "... I'm telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town!" I just tear up, same as I do in the remake of Miracle on 34th Street where people all across New York hang out signs saying, "I Believe."

... just as I do every Christmas Eve, when we pull up NoradSanta.com to track Santa's progress around the globe. Because just as Scrooge symbolizes the possibility of transformation for me, NoradSanta symbolizes all the love and work that goes into Santa.

You know the story, right? A simple misprint in 1955, and all these years later, they still do all this work to bring information to children about Santa's journey.

On Christmas Eve, children all around the world get on NoradSanta.com, click on their language, and watch Santa's trip.

On Christmas Eve, people all over the world conspire to bring magic to children.

I think I may feel more strongly about what Santa does for adults than I do even his magical effects on children. Santa is the penultimate example of non-reciprocal, anonymous giving. (My vocab peeps out there, yes, I mean the correct definition of penultimate, one shy of ultimate. I think that the ultimate is doing all that for someone you don't know.)

Parents who would never let their children see them giving such bounty -- goodness, such largess, it's unseemly! -- glow with love as their children exclaim over the gifts from Santa. Willingly, they watch as Santa takes the credit for the bicycle, as they get kisses later for the board game.

Santa is magic, both for being so inaccessible and for being completely accessible. Anyone with the spirit to do so can be Santa. A present left on an elderly neighbor's front porch, a gift card in the mail ... signed, Love, Santa. What power!

I do not seek to convert nor take away from anyone their feelings about Christmas. To those on the beach, Mele Kalikimaka, Dudes. To those for whom Christmas is a deeply religious holiday, a time of spiritual reflection, Good Holy-days to you, and may the blessings of the Christ child be in your heart. My friends round the solstice fire, I'll probably join you as we call the quarters.

But then, I will get back to my house and my family, to bake more cookies, wrap more presents, watch more Christmas shows, and play Christmas songs til my fingers are puffy and sore.

Comes the time for Christmas
And as you raise your Yuletide flask
There's like this feeling that you carry
As if from every Christmas past
It's as if each year it grows
It's like you feel it in your toes
And on and on your carol goes
Harvesting love among your woes

--Christmas, Blues Traveler

Entertainment Weekly Cheap

And now, a break from deep thinking ... just found a good deal on one of my bargain boards. Get a year's worth of Entertainment Weekly for $10.

If you pay by credit card, then after you sign up, you'll go to a page offering a gift subscription for $5.

So for that relative you just don't know what to buy for ...

Can you talk about God in your church?

Such good stuff on iminister right now. Here's one thing that jumped out at me on Some Recommendations that Caught My Eye:

Enrich our ministries by having conversations about holy experience/transcendence with colleagues. Allow ourselves to be more vulnerable.

Talk about our holy experiences/sense of God in our congregations and with our congregations. Model this so they can do it too.

This is matching up with something that's been tickling around the edges of my brain: are we really more comfortable being open about our beliefs in our UU churches? Or only "some" of those beliefs?

The BFF-DRE and I recently took our children over to a local Methodist church for one of their holiday happenings, a "Walk through Bethlehem." Lovely thing, lots of church volunteers, good spirit, all free for everyone. Wonderful energy at that church but you know, not a theology that reflects my beliefs.

There are probably at least a couple of people who go there whose beliefs don't match up with the theology, but they go anyway for other reasons and keep their thoughts to themselves. At our UU churches, we often say, Here, you don't have to deny part of yourself. You don't have to keep your doubts, your thoughts, to yourself.

But is that really true?

Just a thought, not fully formed ... but I think some of us may feel very comfortable sharing our doubts, but our positive feelings about God -- do we feel comfortable sharing those? Do we feel comfortable saying, "I was really worried about X, but last night, I prayed on it, and I feel better able to face it today." -- ?

I'm not talking about testifying to others, or asking them to take our personal revelation as a message meant for anyone outside ourselves.

But do we feel comfortable being vulnerable? Do we make a place where people can speak aloud those feelings in their hearts about God? Or are they afraid that someone will see them as developmentally lower, quaint, not "evolved"?

Because if not ... then aren't we just like those two people in the Methodist church who keep their doubts to themselves?

A different seminary path

Rev. Christine has been having some fascinating posts about excellence in ministry, which have included questions about the process of becoming a minister.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about a jillion times, "Why didn't I answer the call back when I was 21, with no kids?"

Well, woulda shoulda coulda. One step in another direction, and I might not have my four lump-lumps. So, no regrets.

Still and all, my path to ministry is proving to be long and unique. Not uniqually unique. I think the majority of UU seminarians have unique paths.

Like most, I'd been getting the call for a long time. But I finally received a call I couldn't say No to. I signed up for seminary, with the expectation that I'd soon be getting pregnant for the fourth and last time. But I wanted to at least start, dip my toes in. Deciding where to go wasn't difficult -- I had a husband and three kids. I looked to see what accredited seminaries were in my town. Seminary 1: Catholic. Being both a) female and b) not Catholic, it was easy to cross that one off my list. Seminary 2: An extension program from a well-known seminary about 5 hours away. But in order to graduate, you have to do about a year's work in residence in that town. X.

Seminary 3: Local. Offers evening classes. Interdenominational, meaning "You can be any kind of Christian." Close enough. And I knew a UU minister who had graduated from there. We had a winner.

That first semester was hard, and not just because of morning sickness. I landed in what was called "Intro to Theology" but was taught as Systematic Theology. By a Southern Baptist. Who said, on my first day, "You cannot be a unitarian and be a Christian." (This wasn't directed at me, he didn't know my religion at that point.)

Rough, rough, rough. But a good introduction to seminary. I got an A, though as I grimly joked, I had to sell my soul to Jesus in order to do so.

And then, a break to have Little Warrior. When she was 6 months old, I made plans to go back to school.

And then life turned upside down, inside out, and we entered Cancer World.

And I didn't think I'd ever go back to seminary. Didn't think I'd ever be a minister. Didn't think I'd ever have anything to say of value, ever, ever again.

But she got better. And long after she got better, I got better. And I went back to seminary. Different professor, different subject. And I learned how to politely speak my mind at seminary.

During this time, I looked into doing the extension program through M-L. It looked fascinating and wonderful and all that. But I was making friends with fellow students at my local seminary. Practically all were black, living in the inner-city, making plans to minister to low-income communities. And I realized I was learning so much from my classmates. The things they talked about struck a chord in me. And I realized that this seminary offers me advantages that I wouldn't get at many other schools. I am the minority here. And it's like going to France to learn French -- I am learning about anti-racism/anti-oppression through an immersion experience. I am grateful to my fellow students who are my teachers.

(And I like to think that I am offering something unique, such as when I explained that in my religion, the question is not about the ethics of marrying a gay couple, but whether it is ethical to legally marry a straight couple, since our gay congregants do not have that same right. This is a conservative school. A few eyes bugged out that day.)

I did well. Then I signed up for another semester, and also signed up for an online class through Starr-King. Shooting rockets of new experience! Anyone who sees online classes as somehow a weaker sister ... well, they haven't had my experience. Because we wrote our conversations, sharing our thoughts on a private class-only bulletin board, we were able to be more thoughtful than when one is talking off the cuff. My class was Intro to Liberal Religious Education and it opened up a whole world for me, so much so that I wound up designing an RE program that my home church is using this year.

And then, a month away from the end of the semester, we took LW for routine scans. She was a year and 9 months off treatment. We were about to "graduate" to only having scans every 6 months. I even joked (oh, how I cringe now) to a person at my church that hey, if the cancer came back, I'd take it as a sign that God REALLY did NOT want me to be a minister.

They found a spot.

I juggled textbooks and suitcases, working on final papers while staying with LW at the hospital. I managed to turn everything in on time. I did well, school-wise. I'm proud of that.

We found that the spot was Wilms' Tumor and that we had to go back to Cancer World. But this time, it was going to be harder. And it would require hospitalizations every third week. For me, the mama, school wasn't an option. So I sat out the Fall semester.

She is done with treatment. And despite my joke, this time around, there were no real doubts about returning to school. I am signed up for Intro to Pastoral Care at my local seminary, starting in January. LW will have scans twice during the semester -- February and May. Life can change on a dime -- again. But I start yet again. Leap of faith.

I do not get the cloistered, intensive experience of going to seminary full-time at a UU seminary. And I certainly wouldn't recommend the "cancer track" of theological training. And since I won't be going to school full-time until LW is in kindergarten, I'm not eligible for financial aid, other than the Visa and Mastercard Student Loan program. (Really, really not recommended.)

But I think that at the end of this, I can confidently check off the "discernment" aspect. And AR/AO. And studying in a conservative, often fundamentalist, Christian community. And a whole lotta other, to be revealed as I take this journey, step by step ...

Thank you for the magic

The Princess is 9. She believes in Santa Claus, one of a dwindling minority in her class. But I know from prior experience that she is at the age where she'd like a little more proof. It's a tender age, on the way to pre-teendom, but still playing with Barbies and baby dolls.

On Sunday, a dear friend, the children's "annexed" grandma, sent all 6 of us to a special holiday brunch. Delicious food, lovely setting and Santa and Mrs. Claus. A fabulous Santa, gorgeously attired, long fluffy beard, and willing to really sit and talk with each child. We all walked out, pretty certain that the was the Real Santa.

The Princess asked for two things: moon shoes, and snow.

Did I mention that we live somewhere where it NEVER snows? Maybe once every dozen years. Maybe.

But Santa said he'd try.

Meanwhile, I just haven't been feeling it. The Christmas magic. As longtime readers of this blog know, I am a bonafide Christmas lover, bad TV specials, hokey songs and all. But this year ... well, I just wasn't feeling it. Last night, I had a little talk with the Transcending Mystery and mentioned that you know, I don't need it or anything, but I'd love a little Christmas magic.

The Princess is home with a little cold today. I left her at home while Little Warrior and I went and picked Bo Peep up from school. We were driving home through the rain and I noticed the oddest thing. The raindrops seemed to be, I dunno, kind of bouncing on the windshield. And it seemed like I could see them coming at me, but in a slow way, not like rain does and HOLY SMOKES, I THINK THAT'S SNOW!!!! BO PEEP, IT'S SNOWING, IT'S SNOWING!!!

And then it really, REALLY was snowing, great big huge fairy flakes coming down. We got out and ran to the front door calling to The Princess that it was snowing, really, really, snowing!!! She pulled a coat on over her jammies, stepped into shoes and came out.

The girls all danced and pranced, just wild with the wonder of it all. The Husband called because it was snowing at his work. Before he could say a word, I asked, "SO, do you believe in Santa Claus???"

Tonight, there's not a doubt in our minds. He really was the real Santa Claus.

Have a sexy Christmas

No, this isn't a post decrying sexy M&Ms or Santa Baby. No sirree Bob; it's quite the opposite.

There's lots of folks who will tell you that Christmas is for children. And the idea of Christmas being something sexy ... well, that's just wrong. Christmas is about a holy birth, or a completely G-rated Santa delivering dolls and toy trucks to kiddies. And sexy is just commercialization of Christmas.

Well, phhhbt on that, I say.

Even before I knew what "sexy" was, I think I've always had an awareness of how sexy Christmas is, starting with my parents. My parents are utterly, utterly appropriate, very straight-laced, but around Christmas, there'd be a twinkle in their eyes. Dad usually took a week's vacation around Christmas, so he'd be relaxed. He'd be making eggnog or Bahama Mamas, Mom would be playing the Christmas LPs and thanks to an organized personality that I did not inherit, all the shopping would be done. I'd see kisses and pats on the butt, and it gave me a warm glowy feeling.

Newlywed ... is there anything like a newlywed Christmas? Especially when you're still kids yourselves ... I was 21 and The Husband, 22. Our apartment was -- literally -- less than 500 sq ft, total. That fact notwithstanding, we went to the grocery store and purchased an enormous fresh tree. We had trouble opening the front door and we had to send my mom to spend the night with her aunt because we couldn't fold out the hide-a-bed ... but boy, did we have the Christmas spirit. With our meager budget, we were thrilled to find Swiss Colony goodie boxes we could send to everyone. (Boy were our faces red when we saw our gift to my parents at their house and discovered that the boxes of goodies were just like full size, but miniature. A stub of cheese the size of a cocktail sausage. Lesson learned.)

Now we're the parents, complete with secret looks, subtle innuendo, and whispers we don't explain. The other day, watching some holiday show, The Princess asked, "Why do kids complain when their parents kiss?" "I dunno," I answered. "I always kind of liked seeing my parents kiss." The Princess nodded sagely. "It means they love each other."

So ... along with all the fun family activities, spiritual moments of solitude ... throw in a little sexy. Wink, flirt, hug, dance. Twinkle.

Letting the magic in

Two main emotions of this season are playing tennis with my brain. Thwap, thwap, thwap. On one side, the happy mania: my child had cancer and now she doesn't -- how can anything bother me? Merry Christmas! Ho-ho-ho!

And that emotion is real.

On the other side, what creeps in, when I am in the middle of a happy moment, like watching LW deep in conversation with Santa ... What if this is her last Christmas? I am not being melodramatic. I've been a witness to this too many times. A third bout can go very fast.

And that emotion is real.

A couple of days ago, my next door neighbor (whom I like, but I wouldn't describe us as being soul-sisters), brings over a book she got at the library. She accidentally picked it up, thinking it was something else. It's odd, she says. But she thinks I'd like it.

The Book of Everything by Guus Kuijer.

Last night, she emails me. She just realized she needs to turn it back in, so she'll need it back Monday. Sick with a cold, I take it to bed with me. It's short.

"...And do you know how happiness begins? It begins with no longer being afraid."

I need to let magic back in to my head. The kind of magic that says that my neighbor accidentally getting a book from the library and then inexplicably loaning it to me, and then me being forced by a deadline to read it ... is not an accident, is not random. That, not all of the time, not by command, but every once in a while, what I need ... I'll receive.

Pie Crust Scraps and Family

Today is our tamalada. The DRE-BFF is over here, along with her twin ferrets (aka her high-energy, high-intelligence boys) and we've been churning out pork, chicken mole, and corn-jalapeno-queso-fresca tamales. At some point, the subject of pie crust scraps came up and how you sprinkle them with sugar and cinnamon, bake up 'em up, and fight to get them.

The Husband's mother called them "Stick-ems." Or "Stick-ums." He's not sure which. The DRE-BFF's mother called them "Gnarbles," pronounced with a hard g. Guh-narbles. My mom didn't make pie crust, but when I do, I call them snails, because I roll them up.

Neither The Husband nor the DRE-BFF have any idea why their moms call them by those names. "They don't stick to anything," I ask The Husband. "So why?"

"I dunno."

It's just an accepted family fact. Stick-ems and gnarbles. A tribe shibboleth.

What does your family call them?

Great Moments of the Week

Okay, it's Friday. What were some of the great moments of the week?

• Little Warrior insisting on using shampoo because she has hair now. Even if you need a magnifying glass to see it.
  

• Holding the phone out so my four could sing "Happy Birthday" to my 78 year old mother. And her telling me that it was the best birthday gift.

• Getting our photo Christmas cards back. Lordy, what a motley crew. But I love 'em something awful.

• LW getting really pissed off (sorry, no other term adequately describes it) because she keeps seeing shows where the characters get to ride in Santa's sleigh and "I Have Never Gotten To Ride In His Sleigh!!!!" Yes, I'm laughing at my child's pain.

• Signing up for the spring semester at my seminary. Paying the bill was not so fun, but I'm signed up. I order books today.

What were your great moments from the week? Tell me, tell me.

Three Guys, One Guitar

Something cool for your TGIF.

What it's like

There's this lake I used to swim in, with a beach. I'd get out, where the water was over my head, and just swim, swim, swim, until finally I was tired, and had to go in.

You swim toward the beach, and at some point, you transition from swimming to walking. You don't want to begin walking too soon, because if you begin walking as soon as your feet can touch the bottom, the wall of water is strong against your chest, and you wind up slogging and trying to push through. If you keep swimming too long, you slam your knees into rocks and look silly to the people up on the beach.

Unlike the swimming out in the middle of the lake, it's nothing dramatic, nothing life or death. It's just this little awkwardness, this transition.

That's where I am right now.

Spock Brain

Going through Something Like This, I don't think that being emotional is the worst. I mean, really, it can be a pain in the ass, when every single choir singing, every Hallmark commercial, the Christmas episode of Mork and Mindy for cripes sake, can make me tear up. But it isn't the worst.

The worst is when Spock Brain surfaces. Like Mr. Spock and his Vulcan side, my brain will occasionally go to 100% logical. No human emotion. Just logic. It surprises me ... and as soon as I realize it's happened, I feel physically ill.

Like last night. I was packing up the kids' lunches. We have three Laptop Lunchboxes and I noted that in a Fall 2010, when Little Warrior goes to school, we'll need a fourth. I should probably order one.

Spock Brain, always logical, said, "Better wait and see."

And my head popped up, realizing the thought.

And I felt punched in my stomach. By my own self.

Take a break from pie making

Stop crumbling your cornbread, dripping water on your still-frozen turkey, or doing work if you're still in the office (I'm sorry).

Live Blogging Port Removal Day

8:09 am The Husband got Little Warrior up this morning at 6 am to feed her oatmeal and bananas. We have to be there at 10:30, but surgery is scheduled for 12:30, so since they say no food/drink 6 hours prior to surgery, we should be fine. I'll probably still have to deal with some nurse, checking her vitals at 11:30, who will raise her eyebrows when I say she was fed at 6, until I point out the math. What they really want is for you to say that you last fed your child a week ago last Wednesday.

I'm drinking coffee, feeling a little groggy. I was so hopped up on excitement and a Peppermint Twist Mocha Frappuccino last night, I couldn't sleep. I took one Tylenol PM, noting the expiration date of 05/05. I dreamed I was in a submarine, looking at killer whales scratching their backs on coral. It was pretty cool, until one of the whales came over and began bumping our submarine.

9:15 am ... is when we should have left. Instead, I was arguing with LW about what shoes she was going to wear, as she wanted to wear her sister's boots that are way too big. "This is non-negotiable," I told her. This is how I talk to my 3 year old, which may partially explain The Boy winning in his first debate tournament last weekend. They learn to debate out of self-defense.

My cell phone is dead, but no biggie, lemme just grab my car charger. (I'm driving my MIL's car because yesterday the engine light began blinking on the minivan, and the code said something about the vehicle not being able to regulate its temperature. Sounds like a thyroid problem.)

Car charger. Car charger.

The Husband killed yet another cell phone this weekend (phones tremble as he draws near) and borrowed my phone while running errands. Charger is in his car. He's across town. Not helpful.

Drive to town, occasionally worrying that some emergency has happened to our other children and the hospital can't reach either of us. Oh well. I think the BFF-DRE is the In Case of Emergency person.

MIL's car is a smooth Cadillac. After driving the minivan, this is like driving a stick of butter. Smooth, smooth, smooth. I'm a bit of a reverse-snob about vehicles, but I can see why this tempts people.

Valet park because the one and only time you can get parking validation is if your child has surgery. That's one of the two perks of surgery. The other is a pair of pajamas, emblazoned with the hospital logo. This will be LW's 6th pair. She never wears them at home. I think they're itchy.

So here we are, in the waiting room. They've removed the play kitchen with the play food. Perhaps someone clued them in that having that particular toy in a room where all the children have been fasting is cruel and indicates either an ignorance of children or an evil malevolence toward them.

11:10: Now, we wait.

11:24: More questions from nurses. Allergies. Reactions to anesthesia. Apparently the latter can be quite genetic because they always ask if family members have reactions to anesthesia. I always explain that with me, the sedative wears off before the paralytic, which elicits an alarmed look and a lot of scribbling.

It's never been anything dramatic with me -- no waking up on the operating table. But I've had 3 surgeries, and the first two, I woke up after surgery and couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't open my eyes, felt like I couldn't breathe. It was pretty terrifying. Completely lucid, but trapped inside. The last time, I was so frantic, I began mentally reciting The Prisoner of Chillon over and over in my head to calm me down.

When I had an emergency appendectomy, I told the anesthesiologist about it. Ahh, he said, and explained to me that anesthesia is composed of two different parts, and obviously my body went through one faster than the other. When I woke up from that surgery, everything was A-Ok.

I'd hate for LW to have that experience.

The Child Life Specialist is calling ...

11:51 Child Life Specialists are cool people. They explain, in kid-friendly language, everything that that is going to happen. Little Warrior seems to be taking it all in stride. The Child Life person gave her one of those stickers with a snap on it that they put on you to hook heart monitors to. She's putting it on and off the plastic piggy bank that her grandmother gave her yesterday.

"Does she want to take anything back in the OR with her?" the nurse asked. "A special blanket, or a cuddly?"

Yes. This plastic piggy bank.

I have a unique child.

I would really like to charge my cell, but there are apparently no electric outlets in this entire waiting room. I keep moving chairs away from the walls, searching.

We're not in cancer world anymore. This is day surgery, so there are children here for all sorts of reasons. Some of the parents look nervously at LW with her bald head.

12:15 Waiting, waiting, waiting. I found a plug, so my cell phone is across the room charging up. I hope I don't forget it.

Two surgeons, in scrubs, just walked in. They are searching for the parents of child. What kind of news will they have for them? Can't tell by their faces.

It was in this room, just a couple of yards from where I'm now sitting, that our surgeon came out and talked to me, The Husband, and my brother and sister-in-law who had stopped by. To tell us that they took out "the nodule." To tell us that there was something on her kidney that they'd never seen before, that looked like a blood blister. That they took every precaution, but if it was cancer, some cells might have escaped, so she'd need radiation.

She won't be able to have children, I immediately thought.

Our immediate thoughts are not the most logical thoughts.

12:30 Some young women in full polished makeup, perfect hair have come in, carrying a gift bag and a balloon. "Oh, there you are!" they say to their friend, who has neither makeup nor perfect hair. They sit with her and her husband, chit chatting. Part of the conversation is about how children's hospitals aren't fun places. Yeah, says the mother, but our mirth is how we deal.

Little Warrior would probably argue with them. But right now, she's cutting covetous looks at the balloon and gift, while she idly plays with one of those bead roller-coaster toys, ubiquitous to every children's medical establishment.

"When are they going to call me?" she whines, coming over to me. I shrug.

I probably should have eaten more than 1/2 a cashew butter sandwich this morning.

12:50 Still waiting, waiting.

First time we did cancer, The Husband was always here for these things. This time around, his job is as a consultant. It's a good job, but if he doesn't work, we don't get paid.

So, I've done most of these things by myself. All the hospitalizations, the dental surgery, the appointments, most of the scans.

And ... it's been fine. Once again I've learned that you can do more than you think you can do. And anything can become normal.

And "help" makes all the difference, whether it was The Husband coming to the hospital to unload our stuff or the BFF-DRE bringing us lunch and a visit.

I think LW needs some cuddling.

1:22 I just want to note that I've been here since 10:30. We are still in the main waiting room.

Do doctors get exasperated when their cable guy says he'll be there between 9 and 5 and still hasn't shown up at 5:10?

It's surgery. This is the time to be patient, because the delay could be because a child needs emergency surgery.

I'm hungry. It's hard to keep my nice on.

1:54 One of the polished young women left and came back with a small teddy bear with a cross on his sweater, attached to a Hello Kitty balloon and a package of Starburst. "I wanted her to have this," she explains to me. "She just has such a pretty face."

Once again, I am awed at what total strangers will just up and do.

LW goes over and gives her a big hug. The pretty stranger hugs her close and says, "I love you." I give her to address for Love Through Action and tell her I'll be mentioning her. She demurs any praise and says, "The Lord told me to do it."

I like that kind of instruction.

3:08 We are back in a different waiting area. LW is in her hospital-issued yellow pajamas, driving a toy car around. We are ready to go.

3:20 Apparently there was a mix-up and they'll be taking another child before us. More waiting. And now, I'm sure:

I really should have eaten more than 1/2 a cashew butter sandwich.

3:40 A resident came and talked to me. Once they take the other child, it'll be about an hour before they take Little Warrior.

This kid is being amazing. Looking at books, watching tv. She has to be starving, since she last ate at 6 am. What a trooper. Little Warrior.

When we were back in the main waiting room, I had "Why, Charlie Brown, Why?" playing on YouTube for her. One of her favorites, not surprisingly. A boy, probably about 10 or 11, began watching it with us. Politely, he asked if it was You Tube. When the little girl in the cartoon said she had leukemia, he perked up. He asked if that was what LW had. No, she has Wilms. I noticed his short buzzed hair. "Is that what you have?" He nodded. "Three years." I told him that LW was done with chemo and getting her port out. He said he was getting one put in.

Which means ... he's been in remission, but judging by the length of his hair, not for very long. And the beast is back.

I am pretty sure that he's the child we're getting bumped for. So it's pretty hard for me to begrudge the delay.

I found an open bag of Haribo cola gummies at the bottom of my bag. When LW isn't looking, I sneak some.

5:02 pm They just took her back.

5:30 pm Wow. No idea this Live-Blog would be so long. Well, LW is still back in surgery. I made it over to the hospital food court before it closed. Wolfed down a Chick Fil A sandwich; it tasted like the most delicious food ever made. Now, of course, a bit of a tummy ache. But better than hunger pangs.

What a day, what a day. The niece of the pretty stranger wound up playing with LW in the "about to go to surgery" waiting room, two little princesses in their hospital-issue jammies. "Now, are you a boy or a girl?" she asked LW. "I keep thinking you're a boy." Little Warrior took no offense.

I talked a bit with her Mom. She was having surgery for reflux. Kidneys were involved, so I said, "Well, the kidney surgeons here are very good. We had Dr. S--." "Oh, he's our doctor!" she said. We chatted about him, how he's kinda funny because he's a major chatterbox (unusual, in my experience, with surgeons), but very smart.

We're all connected.

The polished women and the mom are all sisters, and all moms. Their children are all about the same ages. I am a bit envious of that, I admit.

But I have good friends. And you know what? I have good strangers.

9:19 pm

We are home. I am typing w/ 1 hand, as LW is asleep in my lap. She's drugged up.

I'm tired. And awed with thankfulness.

Sex, Baby!

Okay, so lotsa people talking about Rev. Ed Young and his command to his flock to have sex every day for one week.

Well ... t'ain't original. Nor dramatic. This minister, last year, asked his married parishioners to have sex every day for 30 days.

Well, me being me, I brought this up in my Christian Ethics class last year. There were some joking remarks about it, then we went on to something else.

However ... my professor (who is a very thoughtful person and a conservative Christian) went off, thought about it, and studied his Bible. A week later, he had all of us turn to Proverbs 5:18-19:

May your fountain be blessed,
and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth.

A loving doe, a graceful deer—
may her breasts satisfy you always,
may you ever be captivated by her love.

And we had a very good conversation. And I got to advance my contention that preachers need to talk more about sex.

Do I think sex is the solution to everything? Nah, of course not. And maybe a better way would be to challenge couples to spend a half hour every night with no tv, no computer, no Blackberry -- just each other. But neither am I offended by the idea that a minister challenge their partnered congregants to focus on sex for a week.

In the words of renowned theologian George Michael ... Sex is natural, sex is good.

Online Communications, Communities, Communing

Living her Moxie Life, Jackie is talking about all the ways of communicating online and asks:

So, what about you? Where online do you find real depth? Are you a gadfly running to each new thing? What community online feeds your soul?

I'm glad she asked. I've been meaning to blog about this.

First, I must admit:

I am addicted to Facebook.

Once again, I have learned the lesson that one must not mock, because you will become, or begin to do, what you mock. ("Oh, those silly people who win the lottery, what a bunch of prisses.")

Waiting, waiting ... okay, moving on.

I mocked those who Twitter. What egotism! Who wants to know what you're doing every second?

Meanwhile, I signed for Facebook, after being urged to by some seminary friends. And found more of my friends on it. Then found high school friends on it. Then figured out the whole "updating your status," thing.

I'm twittering ... on Facebook. Especially when we're at the hospital. "Liveblogging the hospital."

And I love, love, love reading the minutiae that makes up my friends' lives. This one is about to face the diaper pail, that one just won an SCA honor, she's about to go perform a wedding, that one just made 3 dozen cupcakes.

Okay, that last one was me.

I love that Facebook is as much or as little as you like. I can see what's going on in my friends' lives, without being obligated to respond, like with email.

Email ... ugh. A boon AND a bane. I really, really am not a friend of the phone, as my friends will tell you. Maybe in a few years, but for the last 10 years, me getting on the phone is a call for children to come running, needing water, paper, a referee, a video, an audience. If one can be agoraphobic, but just via phone, that's me.

So in that way, I love email. When scheduing speakers, I don't have to leave a message, play phone tag. I send an email and when that person checks their email, they respond.

Yeah, but there's the rub -- "Respond." People email me and then of all crazy things, they want me to respond. Does that happen to you, too? And the emails add up, because I really want to follow up more on this one, or save that one, or ... well, you know. I'm not the only one.

Jacqui recommends that we narrow our online communication to three modes, which happens to fit what I do. My third is blogging. Happily, she didn't recommend we limit ourselves to only one blog.

This is my main blog. It's an online version of a Pensieve, where I can dump my thoughts, opinions and the like. And in its connection with other blogs, a community has formed. I've blogged about this before. The whole blogging experience continues to fascinate me. How people whom we've never met "in real life" can know more about our thoughts through our blogs than people who see us every single day.

I have the Love Through Action blog, which was meant to be a place to post the good deeds that people did in LW's honor, but along the way, became a bit of a video blog about LW.

And I have a blog for friends and family to be able to follow what's going on with LW. If you have a family member going through a health issue, I highly recommend having a blog where you can send everyone, like carepages.org or caringbridge.org. Cuts down on the phone calls for status reports.

Still and all, now that LW can go out in public, I'm looking forward to being able to have coffee with friends. But when we couldn't go out and were for all purposes in reverse-quarantine, blogging, emailing, and facebooking kept me connected.

Heck ... it kept me sane.

Home for the Holidays

Wait a second, before you dive into all the Christmas movies ... first, Thanksgiving. If you haven't seen Home for the Holidays, rent it. NOW. Go to Netflix, put it in your queue, and shuffle it to the first position. Trust me.

Incredible cast: Anne Bancroft, Charles Durning, Holly Hunter, Robert Downey, Jr, Geraldine Chaplin, and tons of other famous faces. Directed by Jodie Foster. (Oh, and David Straitharn in this tiny role but oh-my-god, he does it well. You KNOW people just like his character.)

Actually, you know people like all the characters. Maybe YOU are like one of the characters.

Who should see this movie: ministers. Anyone with an adult sibling. Anyone with older parents. Anyone with a child who is or will be a teenager. Anyone gay. Anyone unmarried. Anyone who loves a family member "in spite of" something. Anyone who has ever gone home for the holidays.

Really. Get it, now. It'll put you in a Thanksgiving mood. Although you may just decide NOT to go home this year ... No, still and all, it's a sweet movie. But sweet in a real way, warts and all, no treacle. Not a bit of it.

But the prettiest sight to see

Today, I received a call that I was expecting. Really Cute Nurse Practitioner was calling to schedule the surgery to remove Little Warrior's portacath.

What I was not expecting -- "The surgeon can do it Tuesday."

Tuesday??? Wow! Yikes! Awesome! Eek! This Tuesday??? Yes.

If you get chemotherapy, odds are good that you'll get a port implanted under your skin because the chemo has to go directly in a vein. If it gets in the muscle, it can cause some major damage, like eating right through it.

Hey, this chemo stuff isn't for kids, you know?

Oh.

Anyway, getting it out is a big deal. As long as that port's still there, any fever over 101 means you have to go to the ER, because it could be a potentially fatal line infection. Once the port is out, then you go back to regular life. Get a fever, suck it up, kid.

That's the practical side. Then there's the other side. That says getting the port out means that you are DONE getting chemotherapy, DONE being a cancer patient.

So the fact that LW is getting her port removed before Thanksgiving is pretty thrilling.

This afternoon, Little Warrior was sitting on the arm of my chair, jabbering away to me. The sun came in through the window behind her and ... oh ... my.

Teeny tiny almost-microscopic fuzz. All over her head.

These small hours

"Little Wonders"
Rob Thomas

Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels

Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain

Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you
And i don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by,
It's the heart that really matters in the end

Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain

All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now

In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain

--------

I am hopeful that the hardest part is over.

Preliminary reports are that the scans were clear.

As we walked down the long hall that bridges the clinic and hospital, I carried Little Warrior (it was a long day). I told her that we just got some very good news; did she understand what the doctor was saying?

Yes, she nodded. Cancer is over, she said with a serious look deep into my eyes.

What if Starbucks Marketed Like a Church?

More Scan-xiety

For the last six months, on a day like this, I'd be packing up, prepping food for home and hospital, and planning on going in the hospital Tuesday.

Well, Little Warrior finished "Regimen I" on Halloween. Technically, she's still been on chemo since then, as part of the cycle is when it's in her system.

Tomorrow morning, we will get up early to go to the hospital. CT scan in the morning, which means fasting, then drinking lots of yucky contrast. Meeting with her oncologist around noon. Echocardiogram at 2ish, because one of her chemos is really hard on the heart.

About a week ago, we got the news that Regimen UH-1 had been discontinued because two of its chemos, cytoxan and doxorubicin, had toxicity issues. As in, children dying while on treatment.

She's been taking those chemos.

Tomorrow, we should find out if the cancer is still gone. We should find out if there's any problems with her heart.

We've already had to learn the lesson that "No Evidence of Disease" merely means that they can't see anything. And that life off-treatment can change to "fighting it again" in just one scan.

So it's not like any part of us sees tomorrow as the end of cancer. Best case scenario is that we go to no treatment, just watching ... and waiting.

I will take it. And celebrate it, should we be so lucky to get it.

In the meantime ... go check the comments on We're Never Going to Grow. Lots of interesting conversation about perceived superiority, class attitudes, and how we treat differences in income/education level in our churches. Weigh in with your opinion.

How to Do Coupons

Do you want to save money on groceries? Really, really save money? Okay. I've got your back.

Myths:
I can't coupon because I'm vegetarian
I can't coupon because I don't eat processed foods
If you coupon, you'll spend more, buying stuff you won't use

Oh, I'm sure there's more myths. Here's the deal. When I was at the height of my best power couponing, my partner in it was a vegan, the kind of vegan who knew that regular Oreos weren't vegan, but mint Oreos were. And she saved tons of money. Re: processed foods, yep, you can save a lot of money on those, but in my binder right now are coupons for eggs, milk, soy milk, salad, bread, and flour. And cleaning products. And toilet paper. And dog food. And candles.

If you really want to save money by couponing, it's not the same thing as when my Mama would clip a few coupons and stick them in the coupon drawer. Power Couponing. I know there are tons of websites with even more tips, but I'll give you the bare bones.

1) The name of the game is "Combining." You want to combine your coupons with grocery store sales.
2) The middle name of the game is "Stocking Up." You're not shopping for this week, you're shopping for your in-home "store."

What I've done in the past is to use a zippered binder filled with the plastic pages they sell for collecting baseball cards. They're perfect for holding coupons. Divide your binder into sections -- dairy, frozen, baking supplies, cleaning, toiletries -- you get the picture. When you put a coupon in, make sure the expiration date is showing.

I'm trying something a little different right now. I date the coupon flyers and file them according to the name of the flyer company, e.g. "Smart Source," "Red Plum," "P & G."

Reason why I'm trying this way is because of this site:

http://www.couponmom.com/

This website -- free -- is wonderful. If you live in or near a major metro area, you can go to "Grocery Deals" by state every week, and for different grocery stores, she posts the item on sale, and the coupon you can also apply. Here's an example:

11-02 RP

Nestle Carnation Evaporated Milk 12 oz (qualifies for Mix & Match Offer -- final price assumes the purchase of 10 participating items) -- charity!

$1.00

2

$0.50

FREE

100%

11-02 RP means that there was a coupon for this item in the 11-02 Red Plum circular. The sale price is 1.00 per can. The coupon specifies you purchase 2 cans. The coupon value is .50 a can, but this store doubles up to .50. Additionally, this store is doing a Thanksgiving promotion where you get 5.00 off, for every 10 qualifying items purchased, making the sale price effectively .50 a can.

So ... 2 x .50 = 1.00 - .50 doubled = 2 cans of evaporated milk, free.

I know this sounds complicated. It really isn't. And this website does most of the work for you.

Okay, so there's kind of a starting point. Just google "couponing" and you can find out far, far more. Ask your friends and neighbors who don't coupon for their Sunday circulars.

When I was really disciplined about it, I generally spent $30 or less, per week on groceries, for a family of 5. And donated tons of stuff we don't like -- Hamburger Helper and such -- to the food pantry. Things like pickles, mustard, dry pasta, I NEVER spent money on. Those, you could usually find for free. And along with the savings, my husband loved it because we always had a big stash of deodorant, shaving cream, etc. No last minute runs to the store.

Now, if you only shop at Whole Foods, or just don't have time for this, or think couponing is distasteful, hey, I'm not trying to talk you into it.

But for those who are interested -- give it a try. I've done bare bones, only buying generics, lots of rice and beans shopping, and I've done couponing, which is generally brand-name, lot of variety ... and the couponing was wayyy cheaper.