Rising from the ashes....

We have a ceremony for everything these days, it seems. Turning three? We have a party that would have eclipsed most debutante balls 100 years ago. Moving from elementary school to middle school? We throw a graduation party that rivals a high school graduation. If someone dies, we have a funeral, and whether we throw a wake or sit Shiva, it's usually a party of remembrance. We have sweet 16's, Quinceañera parties, and prom. But the mother of all parties, throughout the world, is a wedding, which on average costs more than a new car or a person's first annual salary.

The one party we don't throw, however, the one life event that goes unheralded, is the divorce that fully 50% of American couples endure. We don't send cards, we don't have a reception, there is no religious ceremony to mark the occasion. These days, with no fault divorce, mediation and lawyers doing all the talking, you often don't even have to go to court.

For myself, the moment came in a phone call while I was sitting in a parking lot near the courthouse, just in case something went awry and my presence would suddenly be required. There is something quite surreal about hearing that you are suddenly unmarried, that the solemn vow you made so many years ago binding your life to someone else's is voided. The glue is unstuck, and the life you built together is forever undone.

Divorce is awkward in the social context. Some people seem to fear that their own lives will be contaminated by the suggestion that marriage isn't forever after all, and they subtly recoil upon seeing you, like you are contagious

Your closest friends choose sides, find your former spouse entirely at fault, and deliver a sound declaration that you are much better off this way, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Although I can appreciate the impulse, often the wounded party is too confused and hurt to appreciate the underlying support. It is painful to hear your former spoouse denegrated, and it also makes you question your own judgment, since you were the one who picked that person in the first place.

Most people ignore it altogether, as if it's a social disease better left unmentioned.

Divorce is a death with tentacles that reach far beyond the couple involved, and I find it strange that such a seminal event in a person's life is without ceremonial observance. The collateral damage of a failed marriage, a family blown apart, spreads farther and wider than most people imagine when they are focused on their own misery.

The children, of course, suffer when their parents combined lives are rent asunder. Suddenly, they are forced to decide where they want to spend important holidays, birthdays, and other special occasions. Big events in their lives become a strategic planning circus, as they carefully manage who sits where and who takes precedence. Their daily lives change, not because they have done anything wrong, but because they cannot be in two places at once, and there is always one parent missing.

The extended relations also feel the rent in the family fabric, as the spouse is left out of occasions when they would previously have been included. Someone who has been important to them, perhaps even a Godparent or other close family member, is now shut out of their lives because they are no longer "family" in the way they were.

Friends are often caught in the middle of the warring parties, walking a tightrope between the ex-spouses, trying to remain friends with everyone. Eventually a new equilibrium will be found. Sadly, more often than you would think, that involves cutting both spouses from their lives, as they feel incapable of choosing one over the other, and thus, eliminate them both.

I found my own answer to this dilemma, and threw myself an "unwedding." I called it my Phoenix party, a way to rise from the ashes of what had been to something new and better. It gave me something positive to plan and look forward to, a focus on something new and different, and also encouraged other people to face the situation head on and deal with it along with me. It was a positive recognition of the huge change in my life, and one of the best things I've done for myself and my children in the aftermath of the devastation of a divorce.

I had my assistant pastor, a wonderful young woman who understood my need for God's blessing on the unmarriage, come and do a brief, but meaningful service for me and my children in front of the assembled friends and family. I wore my wedding dress, a ceremonial outfit fitting to the occasion. I chose the verses she read, and worked on things that would make the occasion meaningful to us. My children and I stood together and received a blessing that reassured us even though the marriage vows were broken, we were still a family worthy of God's grace.

And we partied, with food and drink and conversation. It turned out to be a fun occasion despite the serious moments, a celebration of our new life, a recognition that though a marriage had died, a family was broken, there was something new and wonderful that had now begun. It was, as all ceremonies are, a recognition of the new status that I would have, and it was important to me that it was done, not alone, but surrounded by people who cared about me.

I encourage anyone who has been through the agony of divorce to consider a similar unwedding ceremony. I have never understood how we could allow someone going through such a difficult and painful time to do so un-remembered and un-recognized. For me, what began in a church with the blessing of God needed to end with the blessing of God, as well. If you got married somewhere else, then you will find your own way to honor and remember the ending of your union, and usher in the new place where you find yourself in life. But don't ignore it, do it!

If you know someone in the throes of divorce, recognize the loss and the hurt of the death of what was, and encourage them to find a way to celebrate their new status. It is healing, comforting, and normal to honor someone when they are going through a huge change in their lives.

Five years ago, I started planning my Phoenix party, and it's one of the most positive things I've ever done for myself and my children. I encourage anyone who is experiencing the pain of divorce to consider a similar event. There aren't many resources out there to help you, but once you embrace the possibilities, you can make it an event that is entirely your own.

My email address is sarahisawalton[at]kc[dot]rr[dot]com. Feel free to contact me if you want to talk about ways to honor your past and future with a ceremony that is entirely your own. It isn't for everyone, but it can be a lot of fun, and it provides a positive way to move ahead in a life that is new and different, but also worthwhile.

Embrace the possibilities!

Tripping the guilt fantastic....

I read a quote this morning that really struck a nerve with me. I don't know the author of it, but he or she certainly hit the nail on my head. "Faith is a journey, not a guilt trip."

Like most moms (I can't speak for dads, but from superficial appearances they seem to have less of it than moms do,) I have a load of guilt that I carry with me at all times. In fact, without something to feel guilty about, I am almost lost in space. I am accustomed to the burden on my back, in my mind, and in my heart. When I free up space by dropping part of the load, I rapidly fill the void right up again with something else.

I feel guilty about not having enough time to devote to my children, even though both are now living elsewhere. I feel guilty about not having enough money to help them with not only needs, but modest wants. I feel guilty that my yard is a mess because I don't have the inclination or energy to deal with it. I feel guilty that the dogs don't get walked enough, the rabbit spends too much time in his cage, the fish are swimming in dirty water. I feel guilty that I haven't replaced the cracked window, and my mulch has now become dust without adequate protection for the vegetation that needs it. I frequently feel inadequate at work, not up to the job that I have to do each day. I don't get my clothes washed, I don't get the house cleaned, I don't spend enough time with my mother. The list is pretty endless, and all are legitimate claims on my time and my attention that are getting shortchanged one way or another.

I think that simple phrase, life is a journey, not a guilt trip, encapsulates everything that is wrong with the culture of being a mom today. Unless you are superwoman, all things to all people all the time, you are going to shortchange someone or something worthy of more on a regular basis. But our time and energy are limited. We shouldn't waste the limited time we do have feeling guilty.

Good enough is no longer valued in our culture. We want The Biggest, The Best, The Most, The Highest, The Lowest. Whatever it is, we want to have it be the ultimate, so that no one has it better than we do.

This week, our Lenten journey takes us along the path of Too Needy. The greedy nature of being human makes us, by definition, needy. We always want more and better of whatever it is we have or want. But at some point, enough should be good enough. We should be able to stop and enjoy the blessings we already have, instead of constantly striving for something more.

Ambition is valued in our culture, revered even. But when blind ambition leads us to neglecting what we already have, then where is the value? And for that matter, where are our values?

I don't think I am a particularly needy person. I am pretty content in my life with what I have, and would just like to be able to sustain it without the wolf being at the door. My need, if it can be called that, seems to be carrying guilt that I haven't earned, that I don't really want, and which, at times, prevents me from enjoying the life I do have. It is a luxury to feel guilty, I have realized, another thing I cannot afford.

Space in my home is finite, and at some point, I have to get rid of what I already have if I want to add more. While there is infinite room in my heart for everyone that fills my life with love, including God, I think I have also cluttered up my faith life with unnecessary detritus. If I am carrying a load of guilt, where is the room for the grace?

In this week of examining what it is to be too needy, I am going to work on dropping the guilt, and simply be grateful for what I do have. Instead of worrying about what is wrong, I will focus on what is right. The alternative to need is not acquisition, although that is the instinctive response when we want something we don't have. I think, instead, the alternative should be to redistribute what we no longer have any use for. Not only is that cheaper, in the long run, it's more satisfying.

This week, I am going to try to let go of some of the guilt, and fill the space with the grace of God. It seems like a trade-off worth making.

Too Entertained....

Lent is a season of preparation and waiting. If we are faithful to the purpose, we spend 40 days challenging our faith and preparing ourselves for the grief of Good Friday, followed by the joy of the resurrection on Easter Sunday.

This week, the theme of our Lenten journey at my church is “Too Entertained.” Celebrities, video games, movies, television, cell phones, computers – we are inundated with the culture of our times instead of the Jesus culture for all time. We think nothing of missing a Sunday service but wouldn’t dream of missing The Big Game or the latest celebrity gossip. Charlie Sheen is sacrificing his life for drugs and fame and we can’t get enough of it, while we shun Good Friday where Jesus sacrificed his life for our salvation. Too Entertained, indeed.

Technology is a wonderful thing. It has made life easier and safer, and given us extra hours in which to pursue activities purely for pleasure. God does not ask us to give up all earthly pleasures. On the contrary, God gave Adam his helpmate to make his life more pleasurable. Jesus turned water into wine at a wedding party. Time and time again the Bible refers to Jesus spending time with the people who were most important to him.

But when the pursuit of pleasure overtakes everything, it is a detriment to what is real and important in our lives. We have all seen teens walking around the mall, each one frantically tapping away on their cell phone while in the company of their friends, together, but alone, each in their own little electronic reality. They appear mesmerized by the screen they are holding in their hand, to the neglect of the people who are right there in front of their faces. It is sad, I think, that they have lost sight of the flesh and blood friends they are with for the illusion of what isn’t there.

Much like a teenager wrapped up in their cyberlife, I think many of us have substituted entertainment for time with God. I find it oddly disturbing that people can tell me all about the lives of the cast of characters on American Idol, but don’t know the last time they cracked the cover of their Bible or said a meaningful prayer that wasn’t a list of demands. We live next door to people and don’t know their names, but feel like we know total strangers because they are on television. We are distant, removed from the nitty gritty realities of life, instead of focusing on God and his place in our lives.

As I have thought this week about my own personal entertainments, the superficial pleasures available in our modern culture which I put before my faith, it was not hard to come up with any number of ways where I have focused on the profane realm instead of the sacred plane. I realized that for me, being too entertained is not about any particular thing. The problem won’t be solved by eliminating cell phones, or internet, or television, or movies or athletic events or award programs or board games, although that may temporarily remind us that we are focused on a higher goal.

Being Too Entertained is about putting other pursuits ahead of the love of our Lord, and the search for His presence and will in our lives. Dying on a cross is not entertaining, unless you count “The Passion of the Christ.” It is harsh. It is cruel. It makes us uncomfortable to think of Jesus hanging there with nails through his wrists and his feet, his life ebbing away with the blood running from his body, the final words he heard the mocking jeers of a crowd more focused on the entertainment of watching a man die than on the salvation of their own souls. In the act of sacrificing himself for us, that love which passes all understanding built the path to true joy and happiness, both in this life, and in the one to come.

The next time you have a conflict between church and another activity, remember that Jesus died, not to entertain you in an over-budget movie, but to save your soul. He was real, he was human, he felt our pain, and he took it with him into his battle with Satan for our souls. If we faithfully seek that path, eternal joy and satisfaction will be ours.

The world can keep its cheap entertainment. Give me Jesus, and my joy will be for all eternity.

Silent partners....

When my children were young, I harbored the hope that they would be close in adulthood, best friends, even. I dreamed of a world in which they would be happy to turn to each other for love and support, even if I weren't there to encourage it. I imagined them calling each other, visiting each other, interacting entirely independently of my assistance, true friends of the heart.

Turning dreams into reality is a little harder than it looks on the average sitcom.

I started laying the foundation for this Utopian existence before Thing 2 was even born, talking to The Eldest about The Baby, trying to make her real in his head even before he saw her. I knew that if he could bond with her at the beginning, that was a big step in the right direction, and I worked hard to foster that.

Then came the birth. Several weeks early with a fair share of drama, and Adam displaced by the unexpected arrival. That was my first signal that this whole thing was not going to go quite as planned.

By the time The Baby could be taken out in public, she was put on display for Show and Tell. I felt proud. I was already seeing my dream come to fruition - I was A Successful Parent - he was so proud of her, he wanted her to come as his exhibit for all his friends.

Basking in the rosy glow of my early success, it did not occur to me that his desire to show her off might have more to do with the fact that he considered her some sort of odd alien specimen than a thrilling addition to his world. [What can I say? I was still working with a hormone overload and not in my right mind.]

Fast forward a few years, and the shiny new thing is suddenly an annoying toddler who puts everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, in her mouth, and who honestly believes that if she wants it, it's hers. The bloom was off the rose, but I kept reminding the older child how great it would be when they were older. I ignored the skeptical looks he would shoot my way, and clung fast to my vision. I am nothing if not tenacious.

Add a few more years of up close and personal experience, and the wheels came off the wagon altogether.

In our family, we have never used physical force to make our point. Instead, we verbally barrage the subject of our disaffection until they are so overwhelmed with the desire to make it stop capitulation is the only recourse. My children learned at the feet of the Master [me] and started putting that technique to good use early on.

At age three, my lovely little girl, sweet and innocent, one day came running down the stairs, mad as a disturbed hornet over some slight that had occurred between her and her older antagonist, who had bounded down the same stairs just moments before her with a feigned attitude of coy innocence.

Obviously, something was up, and we waited with interest for the other shoe to drop.

As she looked over the railing, the words started tumbling out, "Adam, you are so stu..." She saw parental interference on the horizon, since we were sitting there watching this little drama play out, and changed her word to, "...pendous." No one was fooled. Although, in truth, we did laugh, and it's become a classic family story.

That was the warning shot across the bough of the family ship.

To be fair, my children did get along pretty well most of the time. In fact, they were closer than most siblings, probably, and the true fighting was not a regular occurrence in our household. But occasionally, we would skid into a period where they simply could not be in the same location without lashing out at each other.

The flash point of their mutual existence occurred every morning at 7 a.m., when the youngest child would practice piano, while the oldest child was trying to get a couple more minutes of sleep. [We are still dealing with the fallout of that bitter experience.] It would start every day with a blast, and we would go downhill from there.

I would tolerate their guerrilla warfare for as long as I could, then I would be forced to step in. The simple question, "Do we need to have A Talk?" could usually stave off the inevitable for weeks, if not months. But eventually, the simmer would come to a boil, and the process would be set in motion.

It always started with me yelling at them [by which I mean, I spoke more quietly than usual, we are not yellers in our family, and through gritted teeth,] "Okay, that's ENOUGH. GO TO YOUR ROOMS."

This was the beginning of a little game I like to call keep-away, where I would separate them, at which point, the one thing they craved more than anything else was to be together. I would hear them upstairs, quietly closing their doors, knowing that they would go through the adjoining bathroom and before long, they would end up in one room or the other. Together. Probably plotting against me.

After awhile, I would ask if they were ready to come out. They would delay as long as possible, but eventually, they would have to eat, if nothing else. So out they would come, each through their own door, pretending they hadn't already been in conference the entire time.

If they had worked things out between themselves, it would be a quick and easy resolution, and we would all go on our merry way.

Occasionally, though, they would still be angry with each other. Then it was time to pull out the big guns in my parental arsenal, The Apology, followed by The Talk. You have no idea the power of those words, until you put them into action yourself.

I have always taught my children that you apologize, even if you don't really, really mean it, because it's the only way to move forward. Eventually you will be sorry anyway, so you might as well apologize up front, and then it's out of the way.

My children, not surprisingly, have never really agreed with this strategy. [I can't wait until they have children of their own. I will bring popcorn and cheer for the kids.] Sometimes they would even throw caution totally to the wind and argue about the insincerity of it all. Eventually they realized that the more they argued, the longer they would be sitting there. Thus, they would ultimately find themselves apologizing, whether they meant it or not.

You don't just say a terse "I'm sorry," however, at least not if you belong to me. You are required to identify what, exactly, it is that you did wrong, and to apologize specifically for that action.

Neither are you allowed to issue disclaimers such as, "I'm sorry IF...," or "I'm sorry BUT...." That is not actually an apology, and it's not accepted.

After the apology, we go one step further. The other person is required to formally accept the apology, even if that isn't meant, either. I believe my line in the production was usually, "If an apology has been offered, you are required to accept it at face value." This is another step which frequently resulted in resentful argument, as they debated the merits of the apology, and howled out their disapproval of the insincerity of it all.

The lesson I was trying to teach them is that, in the end, the apology is offered, not for the person you have wronged, but for the sake of your own soul. Even if you don't mean it at the moment it is said, you are still forced to identify your wrongdoing, and ultimately, you will realize that you were wrong and will own it.

Forgiveness works the same way. You are not really forgiving them for their sake - they will go on just fine without it, if necessary - but by holding onto the resentment, you are hurting yourself.

My attitude was that you might as well just get it over with, because eventually you will be sorry and forgive, anyway. My way, it's already taken care of, and you can just move on. You will have to talk to them if you want their point of view. Trust me, if you know my kids, they have a point of view. And they will be happy to share it with you. Just ask them.

Having dispensed with the formalities, we would then proceed to the next step, which was Mom [me] lecturing on the importance of each to the other. I would wax poetic about the relationship they could have when I wasn't here with them any more. I would draw verbal portraits of the special love they would feel, each for the other, and how much it would mean to them somewhere down the line when they didn't hate each other any more. I could go on for hours, if necessary, and usually gauged my endpoint by the speed with which their eyes glazed over.

They quickly learned that by keeping quiet, they could shorten the process considerably. So dead silence would ensue in a silent collaboration until they could get away from the living room chair where they were planted, and peace would reign once more.

The road has been long, but I think we are approaching the fulfillment of the fantasy, and I find that my vision is, indeed, coming to pass. My children have a deep and thoughtful love for each other, in spite of their many differences, and they crave the kind of interaction they can only find with one another. I don't know whether those hours of sitting in the living room, each in his/her own chair, listening to someone older and wiser pontificating about the importance of their relationship actually made a difference or not. But I know that I will never regret trying.

The outcome is life changing, not for me, but for them. They are a gift to each other, and I don't regret a moment of the fantasy I hatched for them, however far away it may have appeared at times to the protagonists of the piece. They will write their own story now, and I think it will be a captivating tale.

Parenting is a crap shoot. But there is no better feeling than when you get a win.

Easter hats in springtime....

When I was little, spring was a time to rejoice. I have always hated winter, snow and cold are anathema to me, and I would look forward to spring with anticipation of the scents and sights that would fill me with joyful celebration. Budding leaves on the trees, flowers peeking their stems above ground, grass greening up - all are signs that the earth is coming full circle once again, and the time of renewal is upon us.

But for me, there is nothing more spring fever inducing than an Easter hat on a little girl's head. It is a sight I associate with everything I love about the spring, all rolled into one charming little display of hope.

When I was little, getting a new dress for Easter was An Event. It was so exciting, to be able to cast off the old winter outfits and don the new apparel that my mother would have sewn for me with her loving care. The dresses were always fresh and springy looking, floral prints or checks in pastel pinks and blues and yellows. I looked forward to getting new shoes, shiny white patent leather or perhaps even leather sandals to wear through the too short summer season.

The coup de grace, of course, was the Easter hat I would put upon my head. They were generally made of white straw, and would have ribbons streaming down the back to blow about in the gentle breeze as we went to and from church. I felt grown up in my Easter hat, special, different, because it wasn't something we did every day.

I don't know if there is anything similar for boys, but Easter hats have a draw all their own for most little girls. You can't explain it, you just have to feel it, that yearning for a beacon on your head that bears the good news that winter is leaving and summer is nearly upon us.

One time when my daughter was small, she must have been about three or so, we were at the store, and suddenly her eyes lit up with the wonder of something beyond special. She had seen The Easter Hat, with white ribbons, and she had to have it.

This was a ridiculous desire on her part, because she utterly refused to wear anything on her head, even in the dead of winter. Getting a hat tied under her chin was an ongoing battle, and she lost more mittens than most people have in a lifetime because she refused to keep them on her hands. Obviously, I was not going to indulge a whim for something she would never wear, and I declined to make the purchase.

Upon hearing no, her little nose turned red, as it always did when she cried, and her eyes welled up and silently overflowed with tears. Her little heart broken, she looked at me in wounded expectation that I would fix the problem by changing my mind. (There was, unfortunately, a fair amount of precedent for her faith in that outcome, since those watery eyes and that little nose were pretty hard to resist.)

We left the store with the hat firmly planted on her head, skewed a little sideways to allow for the price tag hanging down next to her face. It was part of the hat, she would not allow me to remove the tag. Proudly she wore that hat out to the car. (Fortunately, she did not realize the people snickering as she passed were laughing at her, not with her. Not that she would have cared.)

She climbed into her car seat in great satisfaction, not because she had gotten her way so much as because she was thrilled to be decked out in her new hat. Two minutes later the stress of the day caught up with her and she was asleep, hat still on her head, and tag still hanging in front of her face. It was a sight that filled me with an overwhelming love for her, and a wish that I could make all her dreams come true so easily.

I enjoy going to church on Easter Sunday and seeing all the little girls in their new Easter finery. They strut around the narthex with their parents, proudly showing off their new duds, frilly little dresses and shiny shoes topped off with a hat that makes them irresistible.

There are a lot of reasons to love having a little girl, but I would be lying if I didn't say one of them was dressing her up like a live doll in fancy clothes. Too bad it only lasts until she has an opinion of her own about how she wants to look. Which, in our case, started at birth, so that fun was short lived!

We celebrated her birthday a couple of weeks ago by indulging in that time honored mother-daughter activity, clothes shopping, as she spent her birthday money on much needed items. It is fun to shop with her, she has her own sense of style, and she is still not shy about wearing things her own way.

Sometimes, when I see a little girl in her Easter hat, I think about how lucky I am to have my own little girl in my life. She is now a grown up 19, forging ahead in her life as she always has, following her own path. I can't solve her problems with a new Easter hat any more; she has to find her own way now, and usually without my help.

But whenever I see a little girl in a her brand new Easter finery, I can't help but think about that moment when I could solve all of life's problems with a new hat, tag and all.

Happy birthday, precious daughter. Here's wishing you many more Easter hat moments to come....