Jesus our Brother

Though I certainly didn’t recognize it as a child growing up, I have since come to see that the best gift my parents ever gave me was my siblings!  Those people who first taught me about sharing, friendship, anger, laughter, reconciliation, alliances, letting go, love.  Those people who continue to teach me about these things!  In addition to my parents, they are the ones who prepared me for life, and who share in a most unique way in mine.  Even on some of our worst days (and we certainly have our share), I still hold true in my heart that my siblings are the best gift they ever gave me! 

So when it came time to start a family of my own, it was a strong hope that I could offer the same for my kids.  I know that, despite the many values and blessings (and even train sets and soft friends) I try to offer them, the best gift I will ever be able to give my children is each other.  

 And in turn, giving my kids siblings has been a gift to me!

I love watching them be siblings to each other.  Though Adrian was young, just over a year, when we brought Lilly into our lives, his instinctual love and affection for her was still apparent, and a true blessing to watch.  As they’ve grown it has also been overwhelmingly apparent that these two little weirdoes are, as is often said, “best of friends and worst of enemies.”  But the best of friends part far outweighs even their craziest of spats.  I thank God regularly that Mike and I were blessed to be able to have more than one child, giving them that remarkable gift of each other! 

Having recently welcomed little Layla into the world and into our family has reiterated this for me.  From the very start, Adrian and Lilly have proven again that love is natural.  Even before she was born they would go around announcing to family, friends and strangers alike, “We are gonna have a new baby” with pure excitement.  Not caring who they had already told, they were bound and determined to share their joy by telling it again and again, the message never growing old to them.  And upon her arrival, they did, and are still, taking every opportunity to tell folks that “we have a new baby.”  It’s been months, but their happy hearts still want to share the good news! 

 

And the way they shower Layla with adoring affection is beyond-words-beautiful!  The hugs and kisses, the way they softly stroke her head and tell her she’s “so pretty” (“even more pretty than Lilly or Momma or me,” according to her affirming big brother); the daily songs song to and about her.  I doubt Layla will fail to know that she is cherished for quite some time.  Their little hearts are already loving and taking their new sibling under their wings.  A true, pure gift to behold! 

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Memories of bringing Layla into this world and daily signs of her lovedness still engrained in my mind and heart makes this season all the more special to me.  As we prepare these final days for the true meaning of Christmas, the coming of the Christ-child, I can’t help but think of how loved that little baby was by his parents, knowing the joy it was to welcome my children and the wonders – in challenges and blessings – of these early days of infancy.  But I also can’t help but wonder what it might have been like if Jesus had had older siblings to help Mary and Joseph welcome him.  What a wonderful nativity scene that would be: the toddler and the preschooler fighting the shepherds for their place right next to the manger-turned-crib, so they could kiss, they could sing, they could behold, they could love their new little one with child-like reckless abandon. 

And along those same lines, I imagine what it might have been like for Christ as a child to welcome younger siblings into his family.  Though the church holds that Mary was “ever-virgin” and so Jesus wouldn’t have known what it was to welcome his own new baby, I still imagine he would have been a good big brother.  I picture him playing school and teaching his little sister from the top of the hill outside their small home; I envision them having water fights in the stream near the well and “tea parties” with the few loaves and fishes they could nab when Mary wasn’t looking; I imagine them stealing their Dadda’s tools to “fix” (aka break) things, and then saying “Jesus did it” when confronted.  I see hugs, kisses, songs, compliments, fights, playfulness, and a family of the true ups and downs of love.  And I imagine their mother smiling through it all as she watched her children play together, praying for each of them and their love to last, and to spread throughout the world (though I also picture her saying some choice words that the “pure Mother Mary” isn’t usually thought to utter, but every mother especially of more-kids-than-hands lets slip every now and then). 

At this Christmas time, I can’t help but wonder how Jesus, Mary and Joseph’s life would have been different with more children.  And how our lives, the church, would be different if this were so and those family adventures were passed on as part of our faith.  And yet, even without siblings, these adventures were passed on.  Jesus’ ministry shows that he knew how to share, and how to challenge others behaviors.  He knew how to care for each person he met with the unique individualized attention they need, while still holding to the over-arching equality of love and compassion and justice.  He knew how to love and make others feel cherished.  He knows how to teach, play, be angry, reconcile, laugh, cry – how to be a brother! 

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It is Christmas, and we are invited to welcome the Christ-child again, as if we are his big brother or sister – with adoring.  As the incarnation is celebrated in a few days, we are invited to make Christ know that he is a loved and embraced part of our families.  We can spend this holiday sharing love, and showering the Christ in others with hugs and kisses.  Our church services and car rides are filled with singing songs to and about him.  And like Adrian and Lilly, both before and after their sibling’s arrival, we spend this Advent and Christmas season proclaiming to the world that our new baby has come!  May doing so never get old to we the loving “siblings” of our adored Christ-child. 

And at the same time, we are invited to enter this season, each season, as the “younger sibling,” with Christ as our brother.  With the celebration of the Word made flesh upon us, we are invited to know that God loves us and rejoices in our being a part of His family.  We can spend each day feeling Christ’s caress, his tender messages of love shown to console our sadness and fix our brokenness.  All of creation and the blessings of our life’s journey are like a heaven-sent song sung just for us.  With each day of our lives, no matter how long ago we were born, Christ is filled with joy as he proclaims to the world that we are here, we are His!  May hearing so never fail to touch the hearts of we the beloved “siblings” of Christ our brother. 

Christmas is about the Christ who is both baby brother and big brother.  And this holiday season my heart is both touched and challenged with that thought.  Though Jesus may be an only child, he is also our brother.  What a gift!  The best gift ever!! 

 

Merry Christmas!

Lessons from Shaun

Shaun’s not a “best friend” of mine by any means.  You might not even say “close friend.”  Realistically, he probably falls more in the “acquaintance” category to most people.  We don’t stay in regular contact.  Before this weekend it had been about six years since I last saw him.  And not only have we spent much of that time in different states, but for about half of it we were even on different continents.  Nonetheless, I consider Shaun a dear friend.  Because despite the time and distance, Shaun is someone who has taught me more important life lessons than some friends I see on a regular basis. 

The first lesson I learned from Shaun was about my hair.  Well, not really about my hair, though that was affected by the lesson.  Shaun, a friend from grad school, and Mike, a friend from undergrad, were the first people I knew who grew their hair out to donate for “Locks for Love” (an organization that takes donated hair to make wigs for patients of cancer and other such illnesses).  They not only taught me about the organization, but also giving, quite literally, of yourself for others.  Their willingness to, again literally, change who they are in the name of charity and compassion, changed me.  Shaun is a care-free spirit who never seems to need to control the situation, but nevertheless his ability to let go of control (both of his hairdo to craziness as he grew it out, and of his locks when it was grown enough) was an inspiration to me.  If these crazy guys can do it, I thought, then so can I.  Shaun taught me many other lessons over this past decade that I have been blessed to know him, but his first was how to be courageous and crazy in doing whatever it takes sometimes to be there for others in need.  And though I started growing my hair out after undergrad, Shaun was the presence in my life when my locks were ready, but my spirit was weak.  He was the influence at that time that finally helped me take the risk and cut and donated my long locks; and the reminder that led me to do it again five years later.  

* * * * *

Shaun’s most recent lesson for me came this past weekend, at the celebration of his ordination as a transitional deacon for Mayknoll Missioners.  In his homily for the event, Bishop Kettler told Shaun, “You are not only a deacon for a little while,” referring to the few months before Shaun has his final ordination as a priest, “you are a deacon for the rest of your life.”  These words stirred strongly in me.  For Shaun to hold this vocation as deacon, the primary office of service and charity within the Church, forever, even after taking vows of another vocation, has profound meaning for me and my life as well.  Is it true that our first vocation continues despite subsequent callings?  Do our first promises really continue to ring true, regardless of the vocations we also receive down the road?  Am I really called to continue my first vocation, even though life has led me towards others as well?  

The first vocation I took on was that of missioner, received in my baptism.  For as the United States Council of Catholic Bishops tell us, “One reality we encounter through the sacrament is Christ’s presence in the Church community, his Body.  This recognition of Christ’s presence in the community should lead to a stronger awareness of being sent on mission to engage in love-inspired action in the world.”  Being given new life in that baptismal water gave me a global vocation before I even knew what water or the globe was.  

But I have taken on many new vocations since that time at two months of age.  I have been called to the vocation of Lay Ecclessial Minister in the Church.  I took vows and promised to live out the vocation of marriage, and subsequently have the vocation of mother as well.  Yet, as Shaun’s ordination reminds me, none of those vocations removes that which came first.  I am still, and always will be, a missioner.  

* * * * * 

Today is my first day back at work after maternity leave.  And I am a mix of emotions – grateful for the time I had to stay home, and disappointed to not have had more of it; excited to see certain people again, while saddened to have to leave my baby; relieved to be using my brain again, and anxious about whether or not I’m using it in the right place.  These last nine weeks have had me question if I would, could, should, give up this ministry outside the home to focus just on the ministry of my family.  Some days I couldn’t wait to be back to work, while others I just wanted to be with and learn from my little ones constantly.  Today is a combination of both.  Though it feels good to be back, it is not easy being away from the life I have spent the most time with these last two months. Though it feels good to be a part of such a unique and important ministry, I miss those unique and important pieces of my life I leave behind for 8 hours a day.  Already today I have found myself crying, and rejoicing – sometimes at the same time.  And through them both, the questions continue to stir.  What is my place?  Where is Christ calling me to be and what am I called to focus on?  

This morning, as I shared a video from Shaun’s ordination as one of my first tasks at work, I was reminded of his newest lesson for me.  He reminded me that I am a missioner.  That vocation has not gone away, and I am blessed to be able to live it out in such a concrete way through this ministry.  In addition, I am a Lay Ecclessial Minister; I like to work in and for and with the Church, and am blessed to have been called to do so.  And though I am also incredibly blessed to be a mother, perhaps one of my most joyous (as well as challenging) callings, that vocation does not do away with those that came before it.  I must still be a missioner, still be a minister, still be here.  

So though I know not what the future will hold or where God will beckon me in times to come, and though I certainly don’t know how I will handle the juggle of both my work and my family vocations, for right now I find comfort in the answer Shaun offers to my stirring questions.  I continue to be called to this work, and therefore God will continue to guide me and sustain me in it.  And God will also help and provide for the combination of all my vocations – even on the not-so-easy days away from motherhood – because S/He has called me to each of them.  

I should have known that my free spirited and generous friend would offer me such a gift.  Thank you Shaun for this latest lesson that makes me grateful for all the callings I have received, and more confident in the challenges of living out more than one at once.  Thank you for the reminder that has helped make this day of transition a bit easier.  No matter the time or distance, I am blessed to have Shaun as my friend and teacher!  

May we all learn from the Shauns in our life, and may we all have the courage and craziness to live out those lessons, whatever it takes sometimes. 

PS. Shaun, I noticed that you recently cut your hair…I have just added “make hair appointment” to my to-do list – thanks again!  :)  

 

The Cereal Incident (AKA My Finest Hour)

We had an incident one morning.  Well, I had an incident.   

I was tired from another restless night of pregnancy-meets-toddler-momma.  I was tired from trying to wrestle my children out of their beds and get them to stop whimpering about not wanting to “go to Terri’s” (which just means they wanted to play instead of having to get ready) long enough to tell me what they wanted for breakfast.  I was tired of debating about who got to get the spoons out of the drawer, and waiting for them to concede that they in fact could not reach them without my help to open the child-proof drawer latch.  I was just down-right tired.  So when my three year old proclaimed that she wanted the “pink bowl” (of which in her limited understanding of color she didn't realize there was none of – red or purple yes, but no pink), I lost it.  I lost it even more when my four year old demanded that he wanted the “pink bowl” (this from the kid whose understanding is not limited in this area, and actually DOES know what purple is).  Followed by him pushing his sister, trying to stealing the bowl off the counter, almost spilling the “Cinnamon Cereal” within it, leading to his little sister’s ridiculous wailing that culminated it all.  They were out of control, and I was getting there quickly! 

By the time I got done moving them both as far away from me as I could in our small kitchen, scolding that “we don’t get to pick our bowls and we will take whatever Momma picks for you, especially since you never finish all your cereal anyways,” and putting their RED and PURPLE bowls down on the table in their respective seats, both kids were crying.  And Momma almost was.  Luckily for all of us, Dadda came to take over so I could walk away.  Not my finest hour as a mother!  (But then again, when has 7:00am EVER been my finest hour?) 

After cooling down, and seeing the kids eat just fine from whatever colored bowls were in front of them, I realized that, unfortunately, they get it from me.

I like to pick.  I like things my way.  I like to have a say in what I do and get in life.  Who doesn’t?  But my tendency to want to pick, even wanting options that aren’t available, it seemed was rubbing off on my children.  And my next child was a prime example. 

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As an expecting-mother, I wanted a girl.  I grew up with sisters, and have an incredibly unique relationship with one now as an adult.  I also love seeing the unique relationship between my Mother and her sisters still.  So I wanted that for Lilly too.  Plus, I had a girls name all picked out (I just had to convince Mike of it).  I had butterfly curtain rods in the nursery that still made me smile, and could picture myself rocking that lovely little girl to sleep, whispering how beautiful and cherished she is to GOD.  Yes, I could see myself with another little girl! 

But, I also wanted a boy.  Mike talked about how he never had a brother, and so how much he longed for Adrian to have that special relationship he’s never been blessed with; it made me want that for him too.  Plus, Mike had a boys name all picked out (and as much as I pretended I thought it was silly, it was actually quite nice; I just wanted him to “convince” me a bit more).  I had blue crib bumpers in the nursery that still made me feel calm, and could picture myself tucking in that gorgeous little boy, whispering how handsome and cherished he is to GOD.  Yes, I could see myself with another little boy! 

People would ask if we knew what we were having.  People would ask what we were hoping for.  People would comment on us having one of each already, so this one’s gender didn’t matter, right?  But it did matter, to me.  Because I really wanted another daughter!  But I also really wanted another son!  Though I didn't want two at once necessarily (which other than for about 36 hours in April, we knew wasn’t an option), I just couldn’t decide what my heart desired; I wanted both.  Despite it not being an available option, I wanted the "pink bowl!" 

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This week our family had another incident.  Like the last time, it happened in the early morning hours.  I was once again tired (oh-so down-right tired!); there was once again a good share of crying on the part of two generations; and once again my husband was there to help out.  But this time, instead of wrestling with my three and four year olds, I found myself in a fight with a newborn – their stubborn will against mine, both trying to set our own timing for their arrival.  And though they won (I have got to find a way past this multi-digit hours-long labor, not to mention the two week pre-labor this time!) it was one of my finest hours as a mother!  (Who knew that 6:00am EVER could be my finest hour?) 

And this time, instead of walking away, I have been spending the last day holding on tight, staying as close as I can to my new, beautiful DAUGHTER! 

Though I wanted a boy AND wanted a girl, though I couldn’t decide where my heart’s desire lied for the nine months prior to this, I knew without a doubt when Mike told me what we’d been blessed with, that I had just managed to somehow get the pink bowl!  Not because I got an option that wasn’t available, but because I got the option that GOD had picked for me.  GOD my Mother set that beautiful child down in front of me, sweeter than “Cinnamon Cereal,” and I knew that despite what I may have thought I wanted or what I could never quite decide on, this option is just right for me.  This option is filled with a lifetime’s supply of blessings, more than I will ever fully be able to take in.  Thank goodness GOD put Her foot down and chose for me; because this option is perfect! 

And welcoming them has certainly been among my finest hours indeed! 

Welcome to my little “pink bowl,” my cup of blessing overflowing, my …

Layla Josephine!!