I have no imagination. That may sound strange considering the fact that I'm a writer, musician, dancer, teacher and mother. How can I do all that without imagining?
I create out of what's there. If it's not there, I can't make it up. I dance the steps I'm shown, I sing the notes on the page, I rearrange the statements from an interview into a meaningful story.
I guess I'm more of a sculptor than an painter. Give me a blank page and it stays blank. Give me a chunk of words and I'll chip away the garbage until the beauty underneath shines through.
My dream is to write a novel. I've been working on it for the past year and I'm not so proud to announce I have....one page. Not necessarily the first page. (It is a very good page though!!)
The thing that's blocking me is that I can't seem to make up things about my characters. Even if I could, it feels like lying. So everything about them and everything they do is from either my life or someone close to me. (Right now the guy is sort of a combination of Tony, my dad, and Ray Goertzen, if you can imagine that! Short, furry, and loves airplanes.)
If I haven't experienced it myself then I can't imagine it happening at all. Which means I'm giving away a lot more of my secrets than I'd like through these characters! How do other people feel deep down about God, sex, death or their own elbows in their most honest moments? I don't know!
So either I need to get comfortable with telling the world my secret fantasies and insecurities or I need to learn to lie. Or God needs to infuse me with a serious dose of imagination. He created an entire universe no one else had ever thought of before, so maybe he could show me how to create a story world from nothing too?
Or maybe I should just stick to writing truth. The truth that I know. Like "How to be your best unemployed self" or "10 things, I hate, about commas" or a commentary on the "Intertextuality of Ezekiel." Informative (for the 1% of the population who would care) but not very inspiring.
No, I have a need to create. A God-given need to lead people towards beauty: the beauty of a Creator who "can do more than anything I can ask or imagine."
Imagine that.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
When all hope was lost
Biking around the neighbourhood feels very different this summer.
And not just because I finally have a bike with working breaks, a kickstand that reaches the ground, and more than one gear. I have a very sweet husband, who values me, and my ability to stop before the parked cars, enough to surprise me for our 14th anniversary.
This summer I don't cry every time I go by the school playground.
Before you google "new antidepressant meds" allow me to explain. In May 2007 we found out the school board wanted to close my kids' elementary school, around the block from my house, due to low enrollment. So last June my full time job was ringing doorbells, doing surveys, handing out fliers, calling the division office regarding services and funding policies for small schools, researching the history of the building and its founder, and writing speeches.
And chastising the apathetic parents on the playground. You know, the kind that say, "Oh, we can't make a difference anyway." Or "My kid's going to junior high next year so it doesn't affect me."
When the kids were let out last June, we only knew we had a year-long fight on our hands, with no hope in sight. It was a bunch of zealous soccer moms and dads against the elected pocketbooks.
The suits had already made up their minds. The suits controlled the media. And despite our brilliant presentations, the suits voted to put our school up for review for closure.
Every time I rode by the empty playground and saw the vertical garden the students had just painted, poles full of jellyfish, flowers, fruit and butterflies, I cried. I wept when I imagined the new playground equipment torn down and the playing field sprouting condominiums. Or the building where K. learned to write his name turned into a military base, or a meat packing plant. (Nothing says "happy family neighbourhood" like raw pork and tanks.)
The school board's final vote to close the school was scheduled for the beginning of June. "All through the school year," one staff told me, "not a day goes by when the topic of closure doesn't come up." Like a cloud over our heads. Why plan and dream? Why create and improve when someone is going to tear it all down?
Enter Education Minister Peter Bjornson. Out of the clear blue this June, he passes a bill in legislature placing a moratorium on school closures in Manitoba. Done.
When we heard the bill had passed I heard a parent say, "A week ago it seemed so hopeless, and now it's all turned around. I don't believe in God, but this almost made me wonder..."
I'd have to agree. To step in and save us when all hope was lost and all our efforts had failed sounds very God-like.
I'd like to think rescuing beautiful, safe places where children are loved was on the divine to-do list for 2008.
Race you to the swings!
And not just because I finally have a bike with working breaks, a kickstand that reaches the ground, and more than one gear. I have a very sweet husband, who values me, and my ability to stop before the parked cars, enough to surprise me for our 14th anniversary.
This summer I don't cry every time I go by the school playground.
Before you google "new antidepressant meds" allow me to explain. In May 2007 we found out the school board wanted to close my kids' elementary school, around the block from my house, due to low enrollment. So last June my full time job was ringing doorbells, doing surveys, handing out fliers, calling the division office regarding services and funding policies for small schools, researching the history of the building and its founder, and writing speeches.
And chastising the apathetic parents on the playground. You know, the kind that say, "Oh, we can't make a difference anyway." Or "My kid's going to junior high next year so it doesn't affect me."
When the kids were let out last June, we only knew we had a year-long fight on our hands, with no hope in sight. It was a bunch of zealous soccer moms and dads against the elected pocketbooks.
The suits had already made up their minds. The suits controlled the media. And despite our brilliant presentations, the suits voted to put our school up for review for closure.
Every time I rode by the empty playground and saw the vertical garden the students had just painted, poles full of jellyfish, flowers, fruit and butterflies, I cried. I wept when I imagined the new playground equipment torn down and the playing field sprouting condominiums. Or the building where K. learned to write his name turned into a military base, or a meat packing plant. (Nothing says "happy family neighbourhood" like raw pork and tanks.)
The school board's final vote to close the school was scheduled for the beginning of June. "All through the school year," one staff told me, "not a day goes by when the topic of closure doesn't come up." Like a cloud over our heads. Why plan and dream? Why create and improve when someone is going to tear it all down?
Enter Education Minister Peter Bjornson. Out of the clear blue this June, he passes a bill in legislature placing a moratorium on school closures in Manitoba. Done.
When we heard the bill had passed I heard a parent say, "A week ago it seemed so hopeless, and now it's all turned around. I don't believe in God, but this almost made me wonder..."
I'd have to agree. To step in and save us when all hope was lost and all our efforts had failed sounds very God-like.
I'd like to think rescuing beautiful, safe places where children are loved was on the divine to-do list for 2008.
Race you to the swings!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
reflections on motherhood - the non-apple pie smothered version
This is a short talk I gave tonight at a church baby shower for a sweetie named Zachary. My husband T. thought it deserved wider readership. If you're looking for a speaker for an event I love to talk so feel free to email me. (If you pay me I'll even try to make it funny.)
Of course, I would have to talk about the blessed state of motherhood after a sweaty, gripey Inservice Day with the kids home from school, sitting on the leather sofa in sandy, wet swimsuits and stepping in the flowerbed, and me wanting to throw them onto a passing Canadian Diabetes collection truck! Anyways, here it is:
The top 10 reasons I love motherhood:
1. If you don’t want to go to an Amway party, volunteer on a church committee or take a part time job all you have to say is “Sorry, I don’t have a babysitter.”
2. You get to ride with Merry-Go-Round again, this time without people staring and calling you childish.
3. You have a scapegoat for all your audible farts.
4. The chance to rediscover Charlotte’s Web, the Cat in the Hat, and Voyage of the Dawntreader with a few of the newer classics – Captain Underpants - thrown in.
5. Knowing that in at least one area you’re doing things differently than your mother, and realizing that in every other area…she was right.
6. Finding used Bandaids in your sheets and ½ eaten cupcakes behind the sofa and realizing you don’t care.
7. Being the only one they want to kiss away all their boo boos and chase away their monsters.
8. Weeping with pride from behind your video camera at dance recitals, Christmas pageants, squawky band concerts, and sweaty graduations. He waves and you know he’s waving at you.
9. Knowing, for at least the first 12 years, that there’s a short person who thinks you’re the best mom in the world.
10. No matter what we do – wiping off the waterfall of half-digested tomato and stomach bile soup which cascaded from the bunkbed to the back of your neck before you could say, “What’s wrong honey?” Or bribing them to do times table flashcards or baking floppy birthday cakes or remortgaging the house to pay for college – no matter how mundane or traumatic, everything we do as mothers carries the grand purpose of shaping for God’s kingdom a new, unique image of the Creator with the potential to restore another part of his creation. And so we go on, through leaky diapers and late night leg cramp rubbing, knowing God sees what no one else sees. And he knows our joy and pain because God is a parent, too.
Mothering is full of surprises, as I’m sure you noticed already. Zachary may not sleep or feed like you expected, and there’s a good chance he didn’t arrive like you expected. (Unless you’ve ever swallowed a moving freight train, you can’t really anticipate that kind of force taking possession of your insides.) And so began the loss of control – now your home, your sleep, your schedule, your wallet are no longer totally your own. Your once widened belly gave way to a widened life.
There were a lot of things I didn’t know before I became a parent. (And some things it’s just better not to know before you get there.) Here’s what I wish I had known:
1. Where ever you go there you are. Motherhood didn’t miraculously change my personality overnight. You’d think the responsibility would come with a divine dose of wisdom and maturity but it doesn’t. You don’t become a super-spiritual saintly missionary the day you get off the plane in Africa. You don’t become a great dancer the day you enroll in ballet. Just as Zachary will grow gradually so will you. So be patient with yourself and don’t compare yourself to anyone else.
2. Just like I’m still me, my husband is who he is. And your husband is still who he is. He didn’t turn into a younger version of his father or a cuter version of James Dobson or a white Bill Cosby overnight. I know T. didn’t fit the picture I had in my mind of what he’d be like as a dad – he doesn’t throw the kids in the air (because of his back injury), and he hates rollercoasters. But he does read the Hobbit with crazy voices and he plays piano while they dance. Let Dad be who he will be.
3. You need community. Even if you’re an introvert, motherhood is too big to do all alone. Not every mother will understand the unique challenges you face as a parent, but someone out there will. Find her. And find other mothers who feel alone or misunderstood, because you have gifts to give them as well. Get involved in a small group, mom’s program or Family Centre. (St. George School has a good one.) Motherhood is a tie that unites women across cultures, generations, and languages. (We all have days we want to sell our darlings to the circus.) When you’re in pain reach out for community, don’t isolate yourself.
4. Just because your child came from inside you, doesn’t mean he’ll think anything like you! Take time to understand Zachary’s fears and dreams. When children feel understood they are much more willing to listen. I used to take it personally when my kids disobeyed because I took it to mean they weren’t respecting my authority. But I learned that responding to misbehaviour isn’t to protect our honour as parents, but to use it as an opportunity to teach them kindness and self-control.
So is a child’s willfulness a manifestation of original sin, the divine image, or immaturity? Those who say children are inherently sinful let babies cry because they’re being “selfish” and punish toddler’s “nos” because those must be defiant. People who say children are innocent give them everything they want and excuse their inappropriate behaviour. Those who answer “immaturity” believe kids are just blank slates, raw clay waiting to be molded.
The truth is children are all three, just like the rest of us. We all assert our wills and raise our voices in sometime selfish, sometimes immature, and sometimes divinely prophetic ways. Don’t assume too early that you know which it is.
Galatians 5 says, “When the Holy Spirit controls our lives he will produce this kind of fruit in us: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” Whether you use time-outs or sticker charts, whether you decide to let him cry it out or rock him to sleep a little longer, aren’t the most important part of discipline; Zachary will learn to follow the Spirit most by watching you model gentleness, self-control and patience, even when he’s flushed your earrings down the toilet. That applies not only to those with children at home, but to all of us as spiritual mothers and grandmothers to others in the family of God.
Of course, I would have to talk about the blessed state of motherhood after a sweaty, gripey Inservice Day with the kids home from school, sitting on the leather sofa in sandy, wet swimsuits and stepping in the flowerbed, and me wanting to throw them onto a passing Canadian Diabetes collection truck! Anyways, here it is:
The top 10 reasons I love motherhood:
1. If you don’t want to go to an Amway party, volunteer on a church committee or take a part time job all you have to say is “Sorry, I don’t have a babysitter.”
2. You get to ride with Merry-Go-Round again, this time without people staring and calling you childish.
3. You have a scapegoat for all your audible farts.
4. The chance to rediscover Charlotte’s Web, the Cat in the Hat, and Voyage of the Dawntreader with a few of the newer classics – Captain Underpants - thrown in.
5. Knowing that in at least one area you’re doing things differently than your mother, and realizing that in every other area…she was right.
6. Finding used Bandaids in your sheets and ½ eaten cupcakes behind the sofa and realizing you don’t care.
7. Being the only one they want to kiss away all their boo boos and chase away their monsters.
8. Weeping with pride from behind your video camera at dance recitals, Christmas pageants, squawky band concerts, and sweaty graduations. He waves and you know he’s waving at you.
9. Knowing, for at least the first 12 years, that there’s a short person who thinks you’re the best mom in the world.
10. No matter what we do – wiping off the waterfall of half-digested tomato and stomach bile soup which cascaded from the bunkbed to the back of your neck before you could say, “What’s wrong honey?” Or bribing them to do times table flashcards or baking floppy birthday cakes or remortgaging the house to pay for college – no matter how mundane or traumatic, everything we do as mothers carries the grand purpose of shaping for God’s kingdom a new, unique image of the Creator with the potential to restore another part of his creation. And so we go on, through leaky diapers and late night leg cramp rubbing, knowing God sees what no one else sees. And he knows our joy and pain because God is a parent, too.
Mothering is full of surprises, as I’m sure you noticed already. Zachary may not sleep or feed like you expected, and there’s a good chance he didn’t arrive like you expected. (Unless you’ve ever swallowed a moving freight train, you can’t really anticipate that kind of force taking possession of your insides.) And so began the loss of control – now your home, your sleep, your schedule, your wallet are no longer totally your own. Your once widened belly gave way to a widened life.
There were a lot of things I didn’t know before I became a parent. (And some things it’s just better not to know before you get there.) Here’s what I wish I had known:
1. Where ever you go there you are. Motherhood didn’t miraculously change my personality overnight. You’d think the responsibility would come with a divine dose of wisdom and maturity but it doesn’t. You don’t become a super-spiritual saintly missionary the day you get off the plane in Africa. You don’t become a great dancer the day you enroll in ballet. Just as Zachary will grow gradually so will you. So be patient with yourself and don’t compare yourself to anyone else.
2. Just like I’m still me, my husband is who he is. And your husband is still who he is. He didn’t turn into a younger version of his father or a cuter version of James Dobson or a white Bill Cosby overnight. I know T. didn’t fit the picture I had in my mind of what he’d be like as a dad – he doesn’t throw the kids in the air (because of his back injury), and he hates rollercoasters. But he does read the Hobbit with crazy voices and he plays piano while they dance. Let Dad be who he will be.
3. You need community. Even if you’re an introvert, motherhood is too big to do all alone. Not every mother will understand the unique challenges you face as a parent, but someone out there will. Find her. And find other mothers who feel alone or misunderstood, because you have gifts to give them as well. Get involved in a small group, mom’s program or Family Centre. (St. George School has a good one.) Motherhood is a tie that unites women across cultures, generations, and languages. (We all have days we want to sell our darlings to the circus.) When you’re in pain reach out for community, don’t isolate yourself.
4. Just because your child came from inside you, doesn’t mean he’ll think anything like you! Take time to understand Zachary’s fears and dreams. When children feel understood they are much more willing to listen. I used to take it personally when my kids disobeyed because I took it to mean they weren’t respecting my authority. But I learned that responding to misbehaviour isn’t to protect our honour as parents, but to use it as an opportunity to teach them kindness and self-control.
So is a child’s willfulness a manifestation of original sin, the divine image, or immaturity? Those who say children are inherently sinful let babies cry because they’re being “selfish” and punish toddler’s “nos” because those must be defiant. People who say children are innocent give them everything they want and excuse their inappropriate behaviour. Those who answer “immaturity” believe kids are just blank slates, raw clay waiting to be molded.
The truth is children are all three, just like the rest of us. We all assert our wills and raise our voices in sometime selfish, sometimes immature, and sometimes divinely prophetic ways. Don’t assume too early that you know which it is.
Galatians 5 says, “When the Holy Spirit controls our lives he will produce this kind of fruit in us: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” Whether you use time-outs or sticker charts, whether you decide to let him cry it out or rock him to sleep a little longer, aren’t the most important part of discipline; Zachary will learn to follow the Spirit most by watching you model gentleness, self-control and patience, even when he’s flushed your earrings down the toilet. That applies not only to those with children at home, but to all of us as spiritual mothers and grandmothers to others in the family of God.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Where dreams really do come true
We took our first major family vacation this month, the kind that requires passports and plane tickets (but no shots).
There are two types of vacations. Our honeymoon 14 years ago was spent soaking in a jacuzzi, feeding ducks, making puzzles and sandcastles, and drinking sparkling apple juice while watching "Sleepless in Seattle" in a little cottage in the Whiteshell. That's the restful kind.
A couple weeks ago we got on a jet bound for Disneyworld with our kids, my parents, and my brother. We left the house at 3:45 AM and spent every day from 9 AM till 9 PM on our feet in the Florida sun exploring all Mickey Mouse had to offer, from a 13 story elevator drop, to a white water soaking, to a singing Nemo swinging from the rafters. That's not the restful kind! It was a memory-making, relationship-building, mind and body-stretching kind of vacation.
Here are my highlights:
My return to childhood: Other than the fact that I was responsible 24/7 for making sure my kids didn't get lost in a crowd in a strange country, I got to be a kid again. I screamed on the wild rollercoasters. I got little heart flutters when I saw Cinderella, Goofy and Jiminy Cricket. (K. kept reminding me, "Mom, it's just someone in a suit!") And I got to see G.'s wide eyes when she met the Little Mermaid. ("See K., she is a real mermaid with a tail!")
The garbage can: Our first day at lunch K. came running up, jumping and giggling about a robotic trashcan that thanked him for the fries. G.'s response: "See K., I told you everything at Disney was alive!"
The surprises: I listened to G. scream all the way through Thunder Mountain, a runaway train in a old mine. But when the train came to a stop she yelled, "That was great! Let's do it again!" I was afraid the Haunted Mansion would freak K. out but he loved it! I thought the kids would go batty in all the 20-60 minute lineups, but they were so patient.
The star of the show: We went early to "Storytime with Belle" and got a seat in the front row. When Belle came out she said, "I need someone to help me tell the story. My father Maurice was a great inventor. Who will play my father?" and she pointed at K.! She called him on the stage and asked him, "If you were going to invent something what would it be?" He said, "Actually I have plans to build a Hovermobile, which is part airplane, part helicopter." She was so impressed! He was great on stage, quivering with fear in the dark forest and dancing with Mrs. Potts and Lumiere at the happy ending!
The gratitude: As we were getting out of the boat in "It's a Small World," K. told my mom, "Thanks so much for this trip!" She turned to me and said, "You coached him to say that, right?" And I hadn't.
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