Jesus is not a sound byte

Luke 14:25-33 

Just saying right now that Jesus could in no way run for political office here in the US in the 21^st century—in one fell swoop, he just threw away any credibility to espousing family values.  And that is precisely the point, Jesus is not running for public office; he is not trying to figure out how to convince us or persuade us (read manipulate us) into buying into a bunch of sound bytes that will close the deal without giving us the full story—the full picture of what choosing Jesus will entail—the costs and the benefits.  He is not telling us partial truths and glossing over reality, not telling us what we want to hear, and definitely not pulling a switch and bait—no in today’s Gospel Jesus is laying it out completely—all the costs and yet also begging us to choose him because in choosing him we are indeed choosing life.  But it does come with a cost, a discipline, a choice.

                Earlier this summer I was desperately trying to get back into an exercise regiment once I could run again.  I don’t know why it’s so easy to get out of shape and so hard to get back in—so I was struggling and in my frustration (I can be a little competitive even with myself) I was not completely committed.  In the mornings I would come up with lots of excuses—good excuses about why I couldn’t exercise; I needed to get to work earlier and didn’t have time; it was too hot; too rainy, one time I even said too cold.  A friend was also struggling and she decided to take action.  She formed a group 100 miles in 100 days and we each pledged to either walk or run at least 1 mile every day for 100 days—no excuses.   I made a choice—a choice that requires a commitment, a discipline, a choice, an intentional plan every single day.

        God is asking us to make a choice that requires a commitment and a cost every day—it’s not the simple choice on whether or not to get up and go to church on Sunday—that’s the sound byte; it’s a choice to say yes to Jesus guiding our every thought, word, and action—every day and in all we do.  We are being asked to make a decision to be a disciple of Jesus even when that choice brings us into conflict with those we love most dearly—our family and friends; a choice that may bring us into conflict with those with whom we work, go to school , and with our neighbors.  It is a choice to continue to follow the example of Jesus even when it puts us on the outside of our comfort zone; on the outside of the popular way of life.

        By making this commitment, we are also saying yes to paying attention—to paying attention to where the world seems broken and to being a part of the healing grace of God.  Sometimes these times are obvious, but sometimes not so much.  Often these times come up with those we know, love, and respect are centered around what we call the hot button issues--social issues such as sexuality, racism, sexism, health care etc.  And often it’s not overt and so we are called to pay attention and to make a choice. Do we speak up against our friend, do we challenge the actions of our mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, do we risk division of a friendship?

In the end for most of us, these decisions will not mean that we shun people when we disagree about a social issue nor will we take it upon ourselves to reign down God’s fiery judgment because we think the other is deliberately and cruelly making choices to bring harm or making severe errors in judgment, rather the choice is whether or not we allow these relationship to ultimately trump what and how Christ is calling us to be with each other and in the world.

        As strong as the language in today’s Gospel is, nowhere in it does it say become people of judgment—get in people’s face, judge, condemn—do whatever you have to to win—to cram your way of thinking down everyone  else’s throats.  Frankly that is dangerous—many times the one with whom we disagree may be in fact also be living their lives in a way they believe to be a committed life to Christ.  They may be as sure in their belief as we are in ours—a good time for dialogue, for discernment, for conversation that may open us all to hear something new.  Jesus is asking us each to make a personal choice and to live our lives fully and completely committed to him-- to live a life of love, and grace and openness, and forgiveness, and mercy.  We are not alone—we couldn’t do it alone, but “Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine: Glory to him from generation to generation in the Church, and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever.”

        This is not a political ad, a sound byte.  It cannot be because being a disciple of Jesus means there are no separations—we don’t separate church and state or work and play in our lives—it is one life lived completely in thought word and deed completely and totally committed to God.  An integrated life lived with costs but oh the benefits—God is begging us to say yes.

Cousins Weekend--Where wearing lipstick and mascara at the same time means your overdressed

What is so special about Cousins' Weekend?  It's not like we don't see each other at other times of the year.  Seriously this family travels en masse to all events.  I almost laughed out loud when I was asked if I'd need one or two pews reserved for my Ordination--could you make that 10? So, what makes Cousins' Weekend so special; I'll try to put the indescribable into words.  It all begins when we drive through the hedges of Ditchley Pointe.  It's when we leave the world (and the make up) behind....

We come from three states; we come as marketing execs, guidance counselors, insurance execs, contractors, priests, health care analysts, elementary students, middle school students, high schools students and those in college.  We come as those who've been born into and married into this

mess; we come as first, second, and third--we've quit trying to figure it out, we're all just "Cousins." We come having experienced promotions and demotions; academic honors and academic disappointments, athletic success and bench warming status.  We come not to impress, not to outdo, but to just be; to be who we are at the core--"The Cousins." We come as people who have experienced trauma and loss, rehab and recovery, financial loss and gain, friendships lost and friendships gained, death and resurrection, moves and adjustments, but we come each and every year-- we just come.  And as we pull into the drive we know that despite all that has happened in our lives and all that will happen, we have three glorious days of just being "The Cousins."

The magic equality of Cousin Weekend this year began as we pulled into the driveway..
The new 16 year old driver pulls in and is greeted by the 8 year old who says, "You can drive now? Well look what I can do." as he
swings from the nearest limb.  And both are equally celebrated for their new skill as they run off to play lacrosse together, creating a secret handshake--simply Cousins.  Cousins embarking on another weekend of the solid and familiar, the routine and the tradition, the love and the laughter, and the unconditional pure grace and forgiveness.

We come to hear the familiar phrases of, "Don't leave the door open." "Don't forget your life jacket." "The mosquitos are really biting."  "Children take showers outside."  "Who wants to give Papa a massage?" "I'll just have a smidgen." and "Sit a spell and talk before you head out."

We come where every adult is as likely to reprimand anybody's child misbehaving as they are to grab him/her up in a spontaneous hug.  We come where we know that the first day we will swim and tube, the second we'll sail, kayak, tube, and go to the beach.  We'll pick crabs and eat at Sal's the final night.  In between they'll be every sport and card game imaginable.  We come each loaded down with food for his/her assigned meal but knowing that everyone will

be gathering together for dinner. There is always a pasta casserole the first night, banana bread, blueberry muffins (in honor of and remembrance of Gangan) and fruit for some breakfast, always ice cream, and always gummy bears and worms.  We come with lacrosse sticks, volleyballs, swim suits, towels and needlepoint. We come knowing the same pictures will be taken in the same spots that we have used for 18 years, and we come missing those who couldn't be there this year.

Oldest to youngest

By height--changes every year

But most of all we come with our hearts full of  love- and we come with and for the stories.  The stories we've told for years and the new stories we bring each year.  And all these stories are tightly wound together; they are wound as if they were multiple colors of yarn.  Yarn that is wound together into a tight ball; they are wound together so that all the stories combined become not your story or my story but part of our story.  The story of the Cousins.

As we drive away each year, each cousin takes a hold of a piece of that yarn and carries it in his/her

heart back through the hedges at the end of the drive and into the world--back into our separate lives into our separate states, the ball unravels as we move out; we are each given the right amount of string to be ourselves, but it never breaks; we are  always connected at the core because we are "The Cousins."




More about Cousins' Weekend

A Letter to Gangan
Another Letter to Gangan
Cousins of the Heart

Holding Hands

Two nights ago Sarah Katherine climbed into my bed, laid her head on my shoulder and reached for my hand.  Instantaneously the memory of the first time she reached for my finger as an infant flashed through my mind.  She clung so tightly then, and she clung so tightly the other night.  It was a powerful moment that has stayed with me for several days.  That moment followed a conversation I had earlier in the day.  A close friend with a most precious 7 month old asked me, "What have you learned in the last 10 years that you would have done differently?"  I'm pretty sure I droned on about the same old things most parents do who have a child on the threshold of leaving home, but again I couldn't get this question out of my mind.  This morning on my run a list just kept coming, so here is is.

• I would have said "no" to being on so many  boards and "yes" to more time being on swings
• I would have smocked and sewn fewer clothes and spent more time getting the ones we had dirty
• I would have made fewer gourmet meals and spent more time outside, rushing in to make whatever was quick (Lucy, I may have even made hamburger helper)
• I would have spent less time worrying about the future and what might happen and more time enjoying the present
• I would have spent less time asking questions and lecturing and more time listening
• I would have spent less time running errands and more time running on playgrounds
• I would have taken fewer pictures and been more involved in the moment
• I would have spent less time trying to make sure I was getting it right and more time just getting it
• I would have been less controlling about creating memories and more spontaneous in letting them happen
• I would have spent less time rushing around and more time holding hands

And I wonder, what am I missing in this moment?  We all have to slow down, be present, and allow hands to clasp ours.  In our busy lives, in our busy world, there is so much that goes unnoticed.  So many hands reaching out for ours.  Take time and hold one today..  

The Holy Ordinary

I'm a worrier a perfectionist--you can read neurotic if you'd like.  No matter how many times Chris repeated, "It's kindergarten." I spent hours agonizing over where and when to send the children to kindergarten.  I spent hours worrying that they were adjusting to moves and changes and new babies and well just about everything..I can't tell you the number of times we'd have a difficult morning and I'd go to their schools in tears, get them out of class and apologize because I didn't want them to have heard an ugly tone from me as the last words before they left.  (And usually they didn't even remember, but hey back to the neurotic).  And sometime I'll confess the extra large diaper bag story and the hammer in the glove compartment.  Suffice it to say I worried and stressed and planned and tried to control so that the children would grow up healthy and happy with wonderful memories of amazing days (and so there was less to tell their therapists later).  I tried to make every holiday, every birthday, every occasion a huge memory, a new theme smocked outfit for every occasion or holiday (including Groundhog's Day--back to the neurotic)--I loved doing it, and I'm glad I did, but it truly is the little things, the holy in the everyday ordinariness, the little moments, the relationships, the love--something I learned this weekend from SK.  She had to write a response to the question, "Where are you from?"  Below find her answer.

Sarah Katherine Doyle

I am from Louisville, from Georgia, Pittsburgh, Virginia, England.

I am from Chris and Katherine a marketing director for a vodka brand a female priest

I am from homemade bread and Big Green Egg grilling, rom banana bread, peanut butter fudge, and fish tacos.

I am from four kids and two dogs, from “our door is always open—anyone is welcome.”

I am from yes ma’ams and no sirs

I am from the Avett Brothers and Mumford and Sons, from John Prine, Bob Dylan and Todd Snyder.

I am from “dream big,” “work hard,” and “always expand your horizons.”

I am from questionable, inappropriate dinner conversations and no mental filters.

I am from Grey’s Anatomy and The Office; from A Christmas Story, The Sandlot, and Caddy Shack.

I am from Episcopalians—half the Catholic, twice the fun.

I am from Church Camp; from roasting marshmallows, walking the labyrinth, and capture the flag.

I am from “get your elbows off the table,” and “because I said so.”

I am from late nights surrounding my dad and his guitar, and from ‘Twas the Night before Christmas’ every Christmas Eve.

I am from craziness.

I am from accident-proneness and dysfunction; from occasional bickering and constant laughter.

I am from go anywhere, do anything, and be anyone, but home is always here.

May we always remember that it is the little things that make a difference in the lives of our families and everyone we meet.  

Living Out Loud

Last week I had the privilege of serving as the chaplain for All Saints Junior High Camp.  Yes privilege--it's early in the morning, the sun hasn't gotten to my head yet and it hasn't been five o'clock, so trust me I'm in my right mind.  It was an honor, a privilege and a time to learn about the beauty of living out loud.

Meet Anne--I fell in love with Anne at a soccer game in the fall of 2011 when she sat down beside me and said, "Hi, I'm Anne.  I was born prematurely and have Aspergers.  Do you have any issues?"  (Oh Sweetheart, how much time do you have?)  I need to insert right here that this blog is written with Anne's mother's permission.  I was going to write it anonymously, but I guess that would cancel out the living out loud.

This past spring my eldest son and I were talking and he said, "Mama you know All Saints would be perfect for Anne.  (He loves her too.)  Everyone is accepted, and she would love it.  You'll be the chaplain, Caroline will be a camper, and I'll be a junior counselor; do you think we can convince Mrs. Stevenson?"  I'm not sure how we did--Mrs. Stevenson knows my issues--but we did and Anne came to camp. I prayed a lot; I wanted this to be a good experience for Anne, and I didn't want her to get hurt. And I wanted to earn the trust her mother put into me.   I prayed that God would wrap loving arms around her and protect her.   I don't know what she learned, but here's what I learned from Anne.

The first evening Anne asked her counselor if she could talk to the other girls in her cabin.  She told them she was born prematurely and that because of that she sometimes had problems.  "Sometimes I say things that seem weird or out of place, and sometimes I don't quite understand what's going on," stated Anne, "I don't always understand social situations, but I want to and I'm sorry if I hurt someone's feelings because I never mean to but sometimes I do.  And another thing, I'm terrible at math."  Well, Anne I don't know about the math part, but I'm pretty sure there wasn't a single girl in that cabin that hasn't felt some of the other feelings, but only you were brave enough to admit it.  (I'm also sure a few of them felt that way about math)

That's the way the week started and already I was learning from Anne.  What if we all just laid it out there, exposed our vulnerabilities, admitted we made mistakes but that for the most part we were acting with good intentions?  How could we change the world if we were just honest with ourselves and with others?

The second night I got to sit with Anne.  I tried really hard not to smother her, protect her, shield her but remember I've loved this girl for two years; I convinced her mother to let her for the FIRST time ever come to camp, and I suppose if I'm totally truthful, I didn't fully give her over to God as I'd promised.  Oh me of little faith.  At dinner talk of the camp dance was in full swing--it's a tradition at All Saints, and sometimes boys ask girls to be their dates--it had already started.  Anne says to me, "I don't have to worry about anyone asking me.  No one has ever been interested in me."  Can I just tell you that a piece of my heart dropped off?  I busily searched my mind trying to think of the right thing to say already planning to ask Christopher to make sure he asked her to dance at least once--I was desperately trying to control.   And then Anne said, "I think I'm okay with that.  I won't be forever but right now I'm not really sure how I feel about boys and flirting.  Sometimes I want to but sometimes I worry about it, and maybe I'm too young anyway."  There were three other girls at the tables whose mouths dropped open and I'm pretty sure they were all thinking, "me too", but not one was brave enough to say so.  Life is messy and complicated and confusing; being a teenager is messy and complicated and confusing--what if we all just admitted that?  What if we all just said, "Sometimes I feel one way about it and sometimes I feel another"  What if we didn't feel like we had to have everything all neatly packaged and answered.  What if we allowed ourselves to feel more than one feeling at a time and embraced it?  And what if we let go of trying to control everything even with the best of intentions?

That same night one of the campers dropped his or her fork and everyone started to clap.  Anne addresses the table and says, "Why is everyone clapping?"  A junior counselor answered, "I guess just to embarrass the person; it's kind of a tradition here."  Anne, "Why would you want to embarrass someone for making a mistake?"  Amen Anne--why would we and yet we do that to people all the time; point out their shortcomings publicly and I suppose it's so we don't have to look at our own.  But Anne wasn't finished with that lesson, "If the person is new this year, they may not know that's a tradition and they'll feel bad."

You're right Anne--and how many times do we "welcome" people into community but not fill them in completely?  We leave them to figure out our customs; we leave them to figure out our ways, and do we even ask them if they want to follow them?  Do we ask them what customs they'd like to share with us?  Traditions are wonderful; they help to build a community, but traditions need to be explained and taught if we're going to be an open community welcoming everyone.  And so, thank you Anne, we explained it to everyone.  (For the record, Anne was clapping with everyone else by the end of the week when someone dropped something, but thanks to Anne everyone knew it was in good fun.)

Wednesday morning Anne was late getting up; her counselor  waited for her and brought her to breakfast a few minutes late.  It was easy to do she said because the first thing Anne said in the morning was, "Hannah, I think today may be one of those days for me.  Could you just be patient with me?"  Asking for what we need?  Admitting we may not be in control?  What a novel concept!?!?!  And you know what, because Anne asked for a need to be met and because Hannah met that need with no judgement, Anne only had one of those moments not one of those days.  She bounced right back.

I promised I'd be totally honest in this blog, so I have to talk about Thursday afternoon.  This is what I was dreading, oh me of little faith yet again.  During rest time Anne was continuing to live out loud and I suppose she said something about someone's date and it hurt the girl's feelings or embarrassed her--who knows they're adolescents?  I learned about this incident because Anne went to Hannah and said, "Everyone is mad at me and I don't know what I did.  Can you help me figure it out?"    And Hannah did, and Anne said she was sorry to the other girl.  But more importantly those girls learned about taking responsibility and not walking away from a problem.  Anne addressed it head on, and guess what?  One of the girls apologized to Anne and said, "Maybe we overreacted and we shouldn't have taken sides."  I'm sure you're not amazed by this next part, Anne said to Hannah, "thank you for helping me."  What, a teenager who asks for and accepts constructive criticism and redirection and then thanks the person?!?!?!?!

The youth and staff at All Saints call me Mama Doyle and I absolutely love it.  I can't explain it (maybe Anne can help me figure out my feelings) but it means the world to me.  My heart grows every single time I hear it.  I really wanted Anne to start calling me Mama Doyle; somehow I thought that if she did then that meant she was really a part of the camp, that she was really a part of the community, and to be Anne-honest I thought it would mean she loved me and we'd established a close bond.  So everyday I waited for her to call me Mama Doyle, everyday I hoped and prayed that this would be the day,  and everyday she called me Mrs. Doyle.  On Friday someone asked her why and Anne said, "I've always known her as Mrs. Doyle and it's just more comfortable for me."  Well slap me in the face--I was making it about me, about my needs and my wants.  When I reflect on it now, I wanted to be the one who made camp a success for her and if she called me Mama Doyle at camp (secretly I was hoping she'd continue to call me that when we left camp), then that would be my proof that I was successful.  It was about me.  I wanted to be special, to feel special, to be important.  And I wonder how many times that happens to me and to others?  How many times do our wants and needs get in the way of looking at someone else and their wants and needs?  It's easy to camouflage it--to make it look like it's about someone else.  It's easy to convince ourselves and others that we're only looking out for someone or something else.  But I learned to listen to that small voice that is so incessant, to listen to that urgency--that frantic need and to figure out from where it comes.  Another lesson learned from Anne; be aware, be in touch with your motivations, and be honest with yourself.

The final afternoon I asked Anne about camp--"I loved it Mrs. Doyle.  It was fun; it was hard; it was exciting; it was scary, and I'm coming back."  Yep, tell it like it is, every thought in your mind--you CAN have all those emotions at one time--thank you Anne.  May we all have the confidence to not only live out loud but to allow others to as well.

She had a date to the dance!!!

The sheer joy of living out loud.

My children do say "hate"

Recently I was asked two questions about my parenting.  One, do you let your children say, "I hate you" to each other, and two do you make them say they're sorry.  The answers yes to the first and no to the second.  Shocking I'm sure that a mother, a priest and mother at that, would answer that way. Read on if you're not too shocked because, well it's not that simple--

I believe we all parent from so many perspectives--we parent in ways our parents did, and we parent in ways directly contradictory to our parents.  We parent from our places of confidence and we parent from our places of brokenness.  My choice with these two questions comes from all those places.

In my home growing up, we were absolutely not allowed to say "I hate you".  "We don't hate people in our family and we certainly don't say that" was how my mother explained it.  What I heard was, "we don't feel that way."  Which was very confusing to me because, frankly sometimes I did feel that way.  So I internalized those thoughts and they turned into, "if you have those feelings you are bad."  And then the "I'm sorry" part of it.  We were forced to immediately apologize if heaven forbid we did let out a negative emotion.  (Parents were exempt from this rule--another lesson I learned.)  So what I learned is that I must always say I'm sorry first maybe even before anyone knew how bad I was, and that I was responsible for everything and everyone.  What it's raining and you want it to be sunny?  I'm sorry.  You don't like your teacher, job, house, fill in the blank--I'm sorry; I'm pretty sure that somehow it's my fault and if not my fault I should still take responsibility for it--try to fix it.  You know, keep the peace, make everyone happy at all cost;--I was such a good middle child.  The fact of the matter is, the cost to me was huge.  Without going too far off subject, the result from these teachings kept me in relationships I should have ended and left me not trusting my own emotions.

So here's the long answer to the questions I was asked.  First, "let" is not exactly the word I would use.  Let indicates I have complete control over my children and anyone that has ever stepped foot in our home or been around us knows that is completely false.  I wouldn't say "let" or "allow".  What I do try to do is acknowledge their feelings; I do not deny that in that very moment they probably do feel an emotion that is so powerful that the only word they have to describe it is "hate."  And I acknowledge that there are many feelings and often they are confusing, they are intense, and they are difficult.

Our feelings and emotions are ours and ours alone.  And I firmly believe that all emotions are given to us by God.  Read the psalms--every emotion under the sun is written into that beautiful book.  Strong emotions that even if they don't use the word "hate" certainly point to the feeling.  Consider Psalm 137:9 that says, "happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!" or Psalm 69:22-28 which wants God to set a trap for people, strike people down, add guilt to their guilt.  I'm fairly certain these people felt an emotion at least equivalent to the one my children feel when they say, "I hate you."  (Read also, Psalm 139:21-22; Psalm 18:37-40 just to name a few more)

What do I do?  Well I acknowledge they are feeling a very strong emotion at that moment and I separate the two (or three or four).  Strong emotions can cause us to say and do things we regret later, so separation is, in my opinion, an appropriate action.  Truth is that 99% of the time after separation the apologies come on their own with no prompting from me.  For that I feel blessed.

 But we do talk about apologies and forgiveness.  And we talk about how holding grudges really only hurts the one holding the grudge.  (these conversations are not always in the moment but have occurred over time).  We talk about the fact that we all make mistakes in things we say and do (James 3:2 "For all of us make many mistakes.  Anyone who makes no mistakes in speaking is perfect.) and we talk about the power of the tongue (Proverbs 15:1, Psalm 19:14, 1 Peter 3:10, Proverbs 10:19).  We talk about how words spoken can never be taken back and they can cause as much or more damage as a physical attack.  And we talk about forgiveness.  And  I talk about how everyone else will come and go but you'll always have your siblings. I don't just talk about that, they see it.  They know that my siblings are the most important people in the world to me after Chris and the children.  They know that my sister is the first person I call with any emotion I have, and they know that sometimes we get mad at each other, but they also know that loving her is as natural as breathing.

One of the readings at our wedding was Colossians 3:12-17.  Verse 13 says, "Bear with one another and , if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other as the Lord has forgiven you so you also must forgive."  I remember very clearly the homily given and The Rev. Donald Fishbourne (the Fish) saying, "Not if you hurt one another but when you hurt one another."  Those words were freeing--they acknowledged that we would hurt one another so I didn't have to feel like a terrible evil person if and when I did something intentionally or unintentionally that hurt Chris, and I didn't have to panic every time I messed up that he would leave me because he would find out how horrible I was.  (Just to be honest, they were freeing but they didn't just flip a switch; in order to internalize them it took years of prayer--and therapy--and a patient, loving and forgiving husband).  These words also spoke to the power of forgiveness.  Chris and I have relied on those words many times over the years--in our house parents do say they're sorry to each other and even to the children.  We are each and every one of us human, and we are learning everyday how to be in relationship with one another and with the world.  I want our home to be a haven; a place of safety to learn how to manage our feelings and to learn how to interact with the world.  Our home is not perfect; it is loud, possibly (okay probably) inappropriate in the conversations we allow, chaotic and intense.  I'm fairly certain I'm giving the children plenty of fodder for their own therapy sessions, (at least they'll be able to label their emotions) so in the meantime, I'll continue to acknowledge their feelings and to nurture their relationships.  So far, it's going okay.

My sister

The Babies

The Big Kids

My rock

Chaotic Storms and Unexpected Blessings

"Being a disciple of Jesus will bring you and the church to unexpected places and unexpected grace. It may only be in retrospect and with inspired interpretation that we can look back and recognize the Spirits driving wind rather than simply a frighteningly chaotic storm."

This quote pushed me to write this post. The post has been rolling through my mind for several weeks, and while preparing for this week's sermon I read this quote. So here it is.

Several months ago a good friend said to me that she and her husband often talked about how they hope they have as much fun in their family and that they are as close as our family when they're son and his future siblings are growing up. She asked how we did it, and after my head lost some of it's swelling, I responded, "I guess we just got lucky." I like to talk, but I am terrible at accepting any form of a compliment. And I do think we were blessed with four amazing children, but in retrospect perhaps there is something more--something beyond even Chris and myself.

Probably the single most often asked question about our children is, "Do you like having them this close?" (Four years 10 months from start to finish). The first answer I usually respond with is that "I don't know any other way", and the second on some days is "yes", on other days.... The truth is we didn't plan on them being this close--to be honest we didn't plan at all. That's the way we roll! I recently learned that our children do not like us to publicly say they weren't planned (well three weren't planned, Boss was--an honor he proudly wears). I thought they didn't like it because it made them feel like they weren't wanted, but no it's because they don't want people to know we had marital relations for any reason other than to have them--well guess what? (My cousin Beth swears it's because we sleep in a double bed with no TV in the room--she has a king and a TV, and two children---)

Truth is for those of you who haven't known us forever; we didn't think we could have any children biologically or at least not without a good amount of medical help; so there is the first miracle. Seriously--and we have known this; it hasn't taken retrospect. Every time I announced I was pregnant, after Chris stopped making excel sheets of how many children would be in college at the same time and after he called our insurance agent to increase his life insurance, we remembered it was indeed a blessing and a gift from God. (There have only been a few times when we wondered about the wrath of God and curses..)

Now four kids in under five years was only part of our fun back in those days. Added to that fun was Chris starting his MBA two weeks after Caroline was born--full time unemployed student husband + full-time stay at home mom + four children = not much money. Those days were full of fun, laughter, no sleep, diapers and a bit of stress. Those days of no money forced us to do things in certain ways--if one child had to go to the doctor, we all went; they learned to sit quietly and to be with each other. When we moved to Pittsburgh and began financing the children's hospital, there was no family close by to keep the other children and I didn't want to take advantage of all our friends, so many times one child (usually Caroline) would be in her hospital bed with a sibling on either side and one at the foot of the bed (or controlling the bed as it was raised and lowered--why pay for an amusement park when you can just get admitted to the hospital?)   Countless moves required the children to play together--they knew no one else.  They fondly remember the six weeks living in the Embassy Suites; I would rather forget that part,  a feat that has been helped by the open bar the hotel provided each evening.

We were also blessed to have friends in the same situation or at least with the same age children, and so we did lots as families. Grilling in the cul-de-sac, family trips to Georgia/Florida where the husbands went to the game and the wives hung out on the beach with the children. (That was also the trip when SK learned that not everyone still drank out of a sippy cup at 6--the family that sips together...STOP judging; it was easier--line up the cups (color coded of course), pour the milk, screw on the lids, and NO SPILLS EVER!!!) We took beach trips without nannies; when we could we went out to dinner, as a family--lots of restaurants have kids eat free--but those of you still trying to decide how many children to have, keep in mind it's one child per adult. Basically we did everything as a unit--and it worked. Did it stink having no money? Yes. Were there times we wondered how we were going to get through the month? Yes Were there times we wished we could do something but couldn't because of money? Yes And just to be totally transparent, were there times we spent money we shouldn't have (Mainly I spent money I shouldn't have)? Yes. But these were our choices--we wanted me home full-time with the children, and we wanted Chris in graduate school, and we wanted lots of unexpected blessings, so...

Thirteen years later I get asked, "how did you do it?" The answer is--we did it the only way we knew how, with love, laughter, some tears and a lot of prayer. And we did it the only we could because our of circumstances--

When I read the above quote a few days ago, it hit me. Looking back the times it seemed like chaotic storms blew through our home, through the frighteningly difficult times, the Holy Spirit was there. That's how we did it; love and trust--love and trust in each other and love and trust in the goodness and faithfulness of God. And that's how we'll continue to do it--so far it's working...Thanks be to God.