As I stood there in the preschool pick-up line I watched as the
teachers carefully checked the names on the little paper plates under
the Play-Doh pumpkins and then handed them to each child as they were
dismissed. I stepped up to get my four-year-old and the teacher said
“We know which one is Oscar’s.” She then selected a flat pumpkin
sitting next to all of the nice round ones. He smiled as he took it and
proudly showed me what he made. I asked him why his was flat and I
have to confess my unspoken thoughts were “he didn’t follow directions
or he smashed it because he was being aggressive or he lacked some sort
of fine motor skill needed to make a round Play-Doh pumpkin.” It’s not
that I don’t think he is wonderful, I do, but I was just doing what so
many of us parents do and putting my own criticisms and insecurities on
my child. In a very matter of fact way he answered, “I didn’t want it
to look like all the other ones. I wanted mine to be different.” I was
embarrassed of my first assumptions and proud of him. A few days
later when he came home with a sparkly pumpkin with eyes spread as far
apart as possible I immediately congratulated him for his originality.
The
world in which my son will grow will only become more and more
populated with people more and more connected and also more and more
aware of standards, norms and “shoulds.” So, I’m happy that he can see
the value in being different. After all, you don’t name your child
after a Salvadoran Archbishop made famous by a radio broadcast that
boldly preached against violence and stood with the severely oppressed
poor people, a man who stood against what his religious authorities,
friends and government demanded, unless you are prepared for a child who
can go against the grain.
I thought about this as my mom and
I were having a conversation later. I was explaining to her that I
wanted to turn our basement into a play room because right now the play
room is the first room people walk into. I told her, “it looks crazy
and cluttered walking into a room of toys.” She looked at me with
surprise and said, “you’ve never cared about that.” It’s true. We have
a purple living room, a “Florida mango” nursery, a bright red living
room with a chalk board wall and a bright blue fireplace. Our house is
decorated with bright colors and things that we have picked up on our
travels or been gifted, things that have meaning for us. Lately though
as I found myself in other people’s homes for parties and play dates I
have looked at their carefully coordinated walls, uncluttered and
impossibly clean surfaces and found myself rethinking our decorating
strategy. But my mom is right … that’s not me.
I remember
nine years ago when I began my first appointment in ministry trying to
figure out who I was as a pastor. I worked with a wonderful senior
pastor who had his own way of doing things but never pushed that on me,
he encouraged and supported his associates as they expressed their own
pastoral voice. That was great, but I needed to find that voice. There
are so many decisions to make in ministry. I would find myself
wondering how other pastors I knew would respond to situations. It was
stressful and uncomfortable. Eventually, I gained confidence and began
to find my own way. It became a balance of learning from others while
also being the unique person God called.
All these years
later and I’m still in that process. Figuring out how to be who I am as
a mom, spouse, friend, preacher, someone who can learn from others
without losing my unique voice. Lately I especially find myself
wondering what is next for me in life. How do I balance the strong
sense of calling I feel for ministry with the rhythms we have
established as a family. As I look for models to follow or expectations
from others, I have to remind myself to be who I am and find my own
way.
So I have decided to embrace the chaos a bit.
Yesterday we decorated the outside of our house for Christmas and I
decided to bring up all the decorations, even the weird light up snowman
we bought years ago and never figured out what to do with. I even
brought up the wooden Mr. and Mrs. Claus figures that were left in our
house by the previous owners. I knew my one year old would love that
they were the same size as him. I hung up the snowman, stuck the wooden
figures in the ground and put every working string of lights on our
bushes. I laughed when I looked at it and told my husband to feel free
to edit. He did. He went into the house and came out with a big
plastic candy cane stick and stuck it right between the yellowed wooden
Santa Claus and the Mrs. Claus who for some reason has aged much
better. It was finished. The kids loved it.
I remember as a
kid being completely baffled by plain white lights, it seemed like a
wasted opportunity. Now I think white lights are very pretty and look
lovely, but it’s not me. I’m the house with the lights with big bulbs
because they remind me of the house I grew up in. The one with the
bright blue fireplace that matches the knickknacks from Mexico and India
we got during our travels. The one with the gel clings on the front
window that don’t make any sense because I promised the kids I would let
them be in charge of that part of the decorating. I’m the house with
the flattened Play-Doh pumpkin inside, where we are all trying to figure
out what it means to live in community, build relationships, learn from
others and still use our unique voices.
No comments:
Post a Comment