Realisa

Almost everynight Evan asks me to read to him. It is often his way to delay actually facing sleep. He has a ritual. Will you read to me? Will you lay down with me? Will you snuggle? Will you say prayers? Can I have water…with ice? Can you leave the light on? Can Cameron sleep with me? Before he started Focalin and even on the nights he misses his medications, he sleep walks. You can set a watch by him. Ninety minutes after he falls asleep, he is walking. Guide him back to bed and 90 minutes later he is walking again. Fascinating to think what is going on in his sleep sodden brain that partially wakes him and set him strolling. He is awake enough to know when the house is all asleep because he comes and climbs into bed with me. One day that will stop.

I admit, I was much better with reading to Cameron when he was little than I was with Evan. That is a good solid layer of mother’s guilt. So,I have taken to reading more to Evan lately. I have learned he likes poetry. He likes rhymes and cadence. We are reading Runny Babbit.

It is a silly book, a billy sook. Filled with wixed up mords. Evan can hear the wackward bords easily. He hears the puzzles and the transposed letters quick and unscrambles them. Brains are funny and amazing. I love my Gittle Luy.

So it is likely that everyone who watches TV has seen the iPod commercial that features Coldplay and their song Viva la Vida. Apparently, it is the most downloaded song on itunes (per Cameron). I bought the CD…so we could all put it on our iPods.

Thinks late 80’s- early 90’s “alternative” sound. With a touch of Dylan, Bowie, U2 and Petty. I like them very much.

I told Cameron that the lead singer was married to Gweneth Paltrow and they had a baby girl named Apple. He thought it was a bit of “product placement”. Certainly a future commerical…..Apple for Apple playing her daddy’s songs on an iPod.

Someone commented to me that I am a formidable person. Formidable is one of those words that might be offered as a compliment, but it has a double edge. I do not like the idea that I am considered fearsome. I prefer awesome, tremendous and being difficult to defeat. But formidable I suppose I am. I am willful and strong in this way. I hope to teach my sons to be formidable. It is a good character trait. Can it be taught? I think formidable is the amalgam of impulsivity and courage. Swing too far toward impulsivity and you miss formiable and simply end up with reckless and dangerous. As a woman of forty something, formidable is not to shabby. But is may also be a polite way to say that I am one scary, crazy broad. Worth some discernment.

The Gospel reading from today’s Mass was from Matthew 13:1-23. Jesus tells a parable about the farmer that sows seeds. I must confess something. I never really understood this piece of scripture. Rather, I had it backwards. I thought the seeds represented PEOPLE. Some people land in good soil and grow abundantly and produce great harvests. Some people are so shallow that they cannot grow. Needless to say…..I had it all wrong.

The seeds represent God’s LOVE. O-tay Buckwheat! I get it now. Before I kept thinking how unjust it was. If I am a good seed that has the misfortune to land in craggy soil…..I can’t MOVE. I am stuck with my lot. No free will and no power. But that is not what jesus is saying.

God is the farmer. He has a sack full of seed. He has so much seed that he is generous in how he spreads it. He tosses it everywhere. He does not judge. He puts seed even in the most barren soil. He puts seeds in place they are very unlikely to survive, yet he sows his seeds anyways.

God loves everyone abundaantly. he loves without regrad. He loves the people with good souls and solid faith. They are the rich loam, the fertile ground that takes his love and flourishes. But God loves even the empty souls, the dried up souls, the hearts choked with thorns of bitterness and anger. He loves boundlessly and with reckless abandon. He loves like a madman. His love is hope and promise. He has faith in US to take his love and make something out of it.

I just finished reading The Shack. What a fantastic book! Fantastic, as to mean, fantastical and supernatural. It is provocative and inspiring. I believe I will read it again. It is filled with ideas and concepts, a very meaty proposition. What would I do, if God invited me to a weekend off in the woods or a beach house. Imagine a whole weekend with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. The whole book begs the question….if we profess faith, can we LIVE it. Do we really love? Can we forgive? Not because the people who have harmed us ask for forgiveness or deserve forgiveness, but because NOT forgiving shackles US. The story is of a man, Mackenzie Phillips, who looses his 6 year old daughter, Missy to a child predator. The child is abducted right under Mack’s nose. While they find evidence of Missy being murdered, they never find her body. The Great Sadness descends upon Mack’s life and his faith in God. He is angry. He feels betrayed by God. He rages at God. How could he let Missy be murdered? It is a gut wrenching book. Mack grief is beyond comprehension and its dark shroud over his heart prevents him from having a genuine relationship with God. In fact, he does not want God. He is LOST in his sorrow and rage. Then God invites him back to the place of Missy’s death. Reading it felt eviscerating. The courage to return to that place is immeasureable. After many, many conversations….God asks Mack to forgive. Not because the murderer deserve it….but because Mack does. Mack’s heart is lost in his hatred. To free himself, he has to let go of his judgement. He has to give over to God that which is His. I highly recommend this book. Even if you are not Christian, it asks the reader to consider LOVE and relationships from an unorthodox perspective. It makes you think of God as a VERB. God said, “I am what I am.” God is dynamic. God is an action. God is a verb. God is alive. God is not a noun.

 Anyways….too big of a concept to summarize. Just get and read the book.

In my always circuitous meandering on the internet, I came across these.  They are adorable! The creators are Zander and Karla of Geekfreeks. They live in New Zealand. There is some confluence of divine energy and creativity flowing that part of the planet. I really want a set of these!

My little guys come home today. I am so excited. They have had, what sounds like, a truly awesome week with their Aunt Rosie and Uncle Rob, Granma and all the Miami family. There is such an abundance of fun for the kids down there. I remember going to Girl Scout camp in Sebring, Florida, but I never got to go off to relatives without my parents when I was young. It sounds like such an adventure. I have made their favorite dinner: baked ziti. If they get stuck in northbound holiday traffic, it will keep for tomorrow.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said that a true friend is someone with whom you can be stupid. A friend is someone with whom you can be foolish and silly. You can trip and fall flat on your face and they help you up….after laughing their butts off at how you looked. And in their laughing at you, you do not feel hurt or belittled. I have the good fortune of having….FINALLY….a few of these friends. Two are my sisters by blood, one is a sister by choice and another is a great comrade. I never understood the power of the GIRLFRIEND. In these friendships, I can cry and they comfort me. If I am angry they match my indignation. Sometimes, they bring the indignation because I simply cannot muster enough energy. They share recipes with me. We share kid stories. We share house decorating ideas and how to get out spots. We share books to read and spiritual experiences. My mother had some of these ladies when I was a child. They were all ladies on the block, other housewives. They all ran their homes, washing clothes, cooking dinner, hanging laundry on lines, sewing and generally keeping the house and home orderly. They were on a bowling leagues together. They bowled in the morning, while their husbands were all off conquering the world. Those neighbor ladies don’t exist for me. So, to have found late in life that my two sisters are indeed friends, is a treat. After 24 years, I still have my best friend from college. She is rock steady in her committment to me and I in her. And to have made a new friend in the unlikeliest of places….work. The binds that tie me to other women are connections for which I am ever thankful.

I have never been a fan of the sports metaphor. We had a priest at our parish nicknamed, Father Gator. He would often work the Gator football performance from Saturday into his homily on Sunday. When he would try to preach a life lesson, he would roll out a sports metaphor and I would groan. Literally. I rarely use a sports metaphor, with the exception of counseling men on impotence. SERIOUSLY. Men hate discussing their impotence, they are humiliated to even be asked, they cringe at having to admit they have “issues”. Reverting to a sports metaphor diverts the embarassment. Baseball works best for this situation. They are in a slump. After a few no hits at bat, they psyche themselves out. But, you can’t put a pinch hitter in for your turn at bat, so you have to step up to the plate and make an effort. Viagra helps. Viagra makes the bat feel like it is the size of Florida and the baseball is the size of a Pilates ball. No way you could miss or fail, right?

Well, it all depends if you are willing to take your turn at bat.

Whenever someone starts talking about the batter in baseball, I think about the pitcher. What does it feel like to be standing on the mound throwing everything you have at the batter. And then they do not swing. You throw a slider; no swing. You throw a curve; no swing. You throw a fast one; no swing. You throw a few softies, underhanded, right over the plate and still no swing. Some batters just refuse to swing. They are looking for a walk. They won’t risk a strike or worse, a pop fly and an out. So, they take a walk. They let the pitcher put them on base. They let the next batter move them forward. I suppose that is why some pitchers beam batters, hitting them on purpose. They want the batter to rush the mound. They want the batter to DO SOMETHING instead of saying NO!

Baseball is a great metaphor for life. It can be an exceedingly boring game. Dull and mechanical. Or, there can be an elegant triple play. Or there can be a klutzy error. There are collisions in the outfield. There are bunts and sneak steals. And then their are the grand slams. Can anyone hit a grand slam? Should every batter, at bat believe that they have what it takes to conquer the green monster? I think every boy (or girl)that follows baseball can visualize what it might feel like to swing and connect with that perfect pitch. They can see the perfect arch of the ball rise and scream away from them. They can feel the crowd roar and all the flash bulbs flashing. And then the sound erupts as the ball falls over the wall into the parking lot outside. They imagine trotting around the bases in glory. No one hits a ball out of the park unless they first swing with all their might.

Mostly, when a person says they have plenty, they mean enough. The true definition of the word PLENTY is quite different. Enough means you have just the right amount. But, plenty means a luxurious, extravagnat amount. Hidden inside this common word…..a word commonly misused…is this context. Plenty is like a double secret agent. It disguises itself as something ordinary when it is actually ABUNDANCE. What things is life are abundant? What things in this world are extravagant? A mother’s love for her child….or a father’s love for his child….is extravagant. Or….it should be. When you realize a child is flesh of your flesh and bone of your bone then you understand abundance. Inside that love, in the shimmering glory of the love we feel for our children, is the glimpse of True Glory: God’s love. I think the word plenty is perfect. It is just plenty.