An Unexpected Gift, 28 December 2013

Today I am recovering from Christmas!  Thanks to my blessed FIL and Mrs. FIL, the kids had a sleepover with them last night and I slept until 9:00 this morning.  Heavenly!  Now, after hot tea and a toasted bagel, I'm back under the blankets, still in my flannel nightgown (no photos forthcoming).  I can think of few better ways to recover from the flurry of planning and socializing that characterized this year's holiday!  (Okay, let's be honest: a bungalow on a white-sanded beach or a cabin in snow-bound woods could probably be even more restorative than this, but both of those involve driving or flying, plus rental fees, so I think I'm good with the current scenario.)

While out to a delicious New Orleans-style dinner last night (thank you again to the FILs!), Jay and I discussed how we can prevent next year's Christmas season from being as thoroughly exhausting as this year's was.  We came up with a few ideas.

1. Keep the house more orderly going into the hosting season to prevent a sudden loooooooooooooooong to-do list of chores.
2. Spread out the various family events.  Three Christmas celebrations three days in a row (with book-ending celebratory weekends) was just a bit much.
3. Pester gift recipients for their wishlists and do the shopping (preferably online) before December.
4. Apply for, be interviewed for, and accept any new jobs before mid-December.

I'm sure you nodded to yourself as you read the first three, possibly glazing over a bit at how predictably generic they are, but you may have been caught a bit off-guard by the last item.  I shall elaborate.

Jay read a book a number of years ago that described three main kinds of labor: Wage, Reproductive, and Domestic.  For the first years of our marriage, Jay and I were both engaged in full-time wage labor (working for a monetary income).  When we decided to start having kids, I shifted to part-time wage labor and full-time reproductive labor (growing a human being is a 24-7 job!).  Once we had two children, I transitioned into full-time domestic labor; some call this being a stay-at-home-mom, others call it being a homemaker, and my favorite is the title my parents gave it: Domestic Engineer.

I've used this cartoon in a post before.  I like it.  :-)  Although to be clear, I don't daily wear skirts and heels. And I don't drive a station wagon.

The above paragraph is a fancy way of saying that I have not had a money-paying job for over five years.  Jay and I are definitely at peace with that, because we place high value on all three kinds of labor, and this has seemed the best way to do things for our little family.  But starting January 2nd, I will have a money-earning job!

No, I'm not "going back to work" full-time (just 17 hours a week), and it's not even a permanent position.  I will be acting as Interim Music Director at a local church for three or four months while their leadership looks for a permanent person.  It will involve directing their small adult choir through rehearsals and Sunday mornings, teaching two 1/2-hour music classes to elementary kids once-a-week, and selecting and leading songs for two worship services per week.  This is a super opportunity for me for many reasons!

In the first place, this has come at a great time.  Those 17 hours a week include the weeknight/Sunday services, so my other prep time will fit neatly into the eight hours per week both my kids are at class.  In the second place, this is so great for me is because it is a temporary position.  I'm not ready to commit to a long-term wage-job, and Jay and I aren't ready to make decisions about whether we'd move our family to another congregation.  (While I'm working at this church, Jay and the kids will continue to attend our "regular" church family; it would just be too disruptive for the kids to switch congregations, and Jay and I are still very much "at home" there.)

A third reason this opportunity is perfect for me is that--unfortunately--the situation with the church's previous music director has been messy, and there are wounded people left in the wake.  One of the things they want in an interim director is someone who will enter and gently love on their congregation.  And you know what?  I'm really good at loving on people.  I'm not tooting my own horn here, it's just acknowledging that through my various life experiences, God has given me a growing capacity for compassion and tenderness.  This is not to say that I won't be extremely challenged and stretched through this time, but I think I'm coming into it with a background that prepares me well.

Another reason I'm so excited about this opportunity is that it is a paying music job.  Paying.  Music.  Don't get me wrong...I enjoy all the volunteer-music I do, but there is something incredible about being given money to use the skills I've worked so hard for (I have a Bachelor's of Music degree; for the whole long scoop on my history with music, grab a coffee and read about it here).  I am so excited about taking time to plan, produce, and participate in music on a consistent basis!  And I'm getting paid, too!!  WOW!!!

I'll try to moderate my music choices, heehee

Not gonna lie though...I'm nervous too.  Logistically, everything I've done in my few alone-time weekday morning hours will have to find other slots while I'm involved with this new job.  Emotionally, I'm coming into a somewhat volatile situation and I'm not sure what interpersonal dynamics/demands will be like.  Mentally, I'll be stretched by a new church service format and by the weekly kids' classes I'll be teaching, especially.  And this will certainly be challenging spiritually.  (My observation has been that when someone is in a ministry-type leadership position, they tend to get hit with a lot of life difficulties, from home plumbing problems to kid behavioral issues to health crises etc.  These things could be attributed to any number of factors; perhaps simply the added strain of leadership creates extra tension; but I believe that there are very real forces of good and evil at work in the world, and when the good is moving forward, the evil strikes back.  Star Wars, the Matrix, and a lot of other "epic" stories seem to tap into this idea.)

So yes, I'm really thrilled at this opportunity to use my music skills, gain new experience, meet new people, and be stretched as I love and learn.  The timing and the nature of it feels like such a gift from my loving God, even if it did enter my life in a particularly crazy month.  I'm thinking a little eggnog and television with my family just might be a great way to wind up our celebrations before this new whirlwind hits the first week of January.  A couple more mornings of sleeping-in would be great, too.

Happy New Year!

Bah Humbug, 18 December 2013

Today I stood in some long lines and made several gallons of soup by accident.

The logic of the soup-making went like this: "I'm going to feed 6 people tonight.  This recipe says 'Serves 6.'  So I'll make a double batch."

I probably could have paid attention to the amounts in the recipe--a cup of butter, 8 cups of chicken broth, 2 cups of milk, 1 cup of half-and-half, 1 cup of sour cream, and a pile of veggies.  Those amounts are for the single batch.

Two large pots, two large glass measuring bowls, a huge cutting board, and many knives, ladles, whisks, and taste-tests later, we had soup.  And we will have soup.  For days.  Good thing we like how it tastes!

Meanwhile, I'm not enjoying Christmas.  To be honest, I haven't wanted to blog over the past almost-2 months because I thought to myself, "I only blog when I'm sad or when I cook too much food.  No one wants to read more about me being sad."  But the reality is that I am sad.

Our Christmas-decorating tradition for several years running had Grammy G as a pivotal figure, and the kids and I went Christmas light cruising with her the last two years.  This year, she's not here and I haven't really felt like doing those things.  Yes, we put up the tree for the kids and made Christmas cookies and I'll hang up stockings.  But my heart just isn't into it, you know?

NOT.

Which brings me to standing in long lines today.  As I'm sure many of you know, when one isn't enjoying Christmas, being trapped in a line of 15 people waiting for one single cashier in a store with cheesy holiday music blasting out of overhead speakers is just about enough to make one scream at the world, "MAKE IT STOP!!" and sprint out of the mall weeping, never ever to return.  Of course, the mall gremlins wouldn't actually shut off the music, and one's sweet children would be in tears if there weren't gifts under the tree come Christmas Day, so one stays in line, grits one's teeth, and takes deep breaths, screaming silently instead of at 120 decibels.

At least, that's the strategy I employed today.  Added to my Angst was the fact that the boys had a minimum day at school, so I knew I only had 2 hours (after slamming a load of dishes into the dishwasher and cramming a load of laundry into the washing machine) to get my shopping done.  I stood in four maddeningly slow-moving lines today, each one of which was almost enough to undo me.

But here's where this story gets good.  And when I say good, I mean good like God-makes-ugly-things-into-beautiful-ones good.

My first line of the morning was for an exchange at Toys 'R' Us.  'Nuff said.  By the next store, I still had five items on my master-list to purchase.  I agonized for quite some time over sale racks, trying to hit upon the perfect ratio of "cute" : "cheap," taking into account that if I spent $25, I'd get to use a coupon for $10 off.  (Score!)

Once I made a decision on three of my five required items, I headed to a checkout in the men's clothing section because I figured the line would be shorter, which it was.  Unfortunately, length of line < length of wait.  I'd just gotten to the teeth-gritting stage when I glanced at the people behind me and saw an acquaintance from one of my Al-Anon meetings.  I felt suddenly happier, knowing I had someone to chat with!  There's the first way God brought beauty to my day!

Janine and I exchanged chit-chat about what I was buying my sister and what she was buying her boyfriend, and I mentioned my dealio with the coupon.  Her eyes suddenly lit up at the thought of finding a coupon somewhere in the store, but her face visibly fell when I explained it had been mailed to me.  Neither of us had smart phones to find one online, either.  (I know, I know, so 20th century; come to think of it, I didn't have a cell phone of any kind in the 20th century.  Or a car.  Or a laptop.  Dude.)

Finally, it was my turn in line.  Part of me wanted to gut my purchase, forego the discount, and hand off the coupon to Janine.  The other part of me wanted to hurry up and buy the three items I'd agonized over (which added up to $27.53), get my savings, and escape from the store.  But God had other plans.

"I'm sorry, this $6.00 item is on clearance and doesn't count toward the $25 for your coupon."  I looked up at the cashier and expected to feel a surge of frustration...but instead, I felt relief!  "No problem," I surprised myself by saying, "I'll just buy the one that's $9.59 instead of all three.  Here!" I called to my Al-Anon friend behind me in line.  "You take this coupon!"

Seriously, I think she almost fell over.  Saving ten dollars is a plus for me, but I think it was a game-changer for her.  She couldn't thank me enough.  "No problem, I can't use it anyway, really.  And...merry Christmas, Janine."

That would be already be a great closing line for this post!  But it's not the end.

Given that I gutted my purchase at the can't-use-my-coupon store, I headed down the mall to a different retailer, hoping to replace the two discarded items.  Let me describe the check-out line at this place by saying that from the time I went into the store to the time I decided on the replacement items and got in line, one person had been checked out.  I started deep breathing right away.  Then I remembered what a pastor had said once about using waiting times to pray, so I prayed a little.  My prayer went something like this:

"Lord, I'm feeling overwhelmed.  I don't have very much time.  Excuse me, is there another person who can help check out?  Only one of you can do that?  Really? Oh.  I'm feeling discouraged at prices for the gifts I'm looking for.  But thank You for allowing me to share the coupon with Janine.  If they can only have one cashier, couldn't they have one that's fast?  Umm, so yeah, please help me with my time and decisions today.  Oh, the gal in front of me isn't wearing makeup either.  Good."

Just as I noticed the makeupless customer ahead of me, two of her friends breezed in from another store.  "I just got a steal!" one of them exclaimed.  "Mega markdown!"  My eyes darted to her shopping bag and noted the name of the store she'd just come from--a store I hadn't even thought of visiting.  Then it was my turn at the check-out.

Sure enough, minutes later at mega markdown store I found the last two items on my list...for exactly the price I'd been hoping to pay!

Which I wouldn't have found because I wouldn't have shopped there if I hadn't been delayed long enough at Toys 'R' Us to be in line at the same time as Janine at the second store; and if all three items had worked for my coupon, I couldn't have given it to Janine and I wouldn't have visited the third store; and if I hadn't been in line long enough at the third store, I wouldn't have heard the conversation about mega markdown.

See?  Good stuff.

Of course, I still had to actually purchase the last two items, which involved yet another line with yet another lonely cashier.  But this time, my prayer was a little different.

"Wow Lord, I'm really amazed at how You've brought good things out of frustration today.  Is there any particular reason I'm waiting forever in this line?  Someone You want me to talk to?  Something You want me to see?  Please open my eyes so that I can see You working in my life at this moment, just as You have been all day.  I bet Hello Kitty is so popular now because all the grown-ups buying it were kids when it was first popular.  This is the second time I've heard the Beach Boy's Christmas song today.  Oh, so yeah, thank You for being so good."

As it turns out, no miracles--that I know of--happened during my last long wait of the day.  But I was calmer.  I felt loved.  Loved because the God of the universe cares enough about the infinitesimally-small details of my wonky life to make good things happen.  Even little good things, like finding sales and sharing coupons.

I think after today--though I'm still grieving through this difficult season--my heart is a little more ready to celebrate the Big Good thing God did, making Himself a human baby and being born in a stable, 2000 years ago...so that He could ultimately save us from all things ugly.

Merry Christmas, and may you have a Hopeful New Year.

A New Season of Grief Begins, 27 October 2013

I am so tired of working through grief.

Today, three days before the second anniversary of Jay's mom's death, we told our kids their Grammy G is now in Heaven with Jesus.  This is the third grammy they've lost in 3.5 years, and the third mother-figure I've lost.

While Grammy is not legally related to us, she has been our closest family friend for the last 8 years, since before our son G was born.  I've mentioned her in a few posts, most notably in the strawberry jam adventure, but I'd like to spend little more time expressing how much she meant to us.

We met at church, got to know each other more while she and I worked for the same company, and fully adopted her into our lives as Grammy when Jay and I found out we were expecting our first baby.  I remember lounging in her living room one sunny afternoon while feeling morning-sick, and announcing the news of my pregnancy to her.  Her whole being glowed while she reached forward for a hug and said, "Oh honey!  I thought so."  She's been part of every major event--and countless humdrum ones--ever since.

Grammy isn't in very many of my photographs because I always knew I'd be seeing her again in a couple days; she's the kind of person I unconsciously assumed would always be around.  Just like we "happened" to go to the same church and "happened" to work at the same company, we also "happened" to live just a few blocks apart; we even lost our homes around the same time and both "happened" to move to new neighborhoods, which were again a few blocks apart from each other.  I'd often pack the baby (or babies) into the stroller and walk to her house for play time.  She had special toys she always got out for the boys, and going to her house was like going to Disneyland.  Even just last week, my 2nd grader and Kindergartner were asking to go Grammy's house.  They still excitedly play with the same toys (plus a host of others she's added to the collection over the last seven years).

Grammy has been to every birthday of both boys, plus every Christmas tree decorating and Easter egg hunt.  She took pictures of the boys in their costumes every October.  She counted their first teeth.  She interpreted their cries and first words.  When she retired a few years ago, she became our first-call baby sitter, equally available booked in advance or an hour ahead of time.  Even though plagued with back and leg pain, she occasionally took both kids for a night or two at a time--and I'm not sure who chomped at the bit for those visits most...Jay and I, the kids, or Grammy!

Grammy set up this informal photo shoot for G's first Halloween.

And for his third, she helped him make cookies.

Grammy has been more than a friend to my kids, though.  She has been a friend to me.

Being a "crafty" person, Grammy had a closet-full of party decor: ribbons, streamers, bobbles, candles, stickers, platters, centerpieces...plus a whole lot of ideas and experience.  When I hosted a baby shower, I went to her and her closet first.  When my siblings and I pulled off a surprise party for my parents' 30th anniversary, the decor was carefully packed from Grammy's closet and spirited away to the party.  When Jay and I had his parents over for their 30th anniversary, I used Grammy's dishes and tinsel.  As I prepared for Jay's sister's wedding, she tirelessly helped with decorating or watching my kids, as need arose.

At my parents' home, with Grammy's centerpieces and place-cards

This picture (and below) is at our previous home, celebrating my in-laws (on St. Patrick's Day); all decor is Grammy's, except the large painting and the China dishes on the table.

She has been there for me with advice, laughter, and encouragement in the riotous, hilarious, exasperating moments of motherhood.  She's been the #1 fan of my garden and flowers (just last week I texted her pictures of five bouquets I'd made, and she responded with delight to every one).  Her startlingly-helpful wardrobe advice has resulted in the cutest outfits I have.  When I went to visit my sister abroad, Grammy expertly packed my over-full suitcases.  She has sent many texts to me over the years, encouraging and affirming me as a person.  When I look at my timeline of loss, she was my first call and the first tearful hug at each crisis.  She's folded my laundry, done my dishes, swept my kitchen floor.  Needless to say, Grammy's on my speed dial.

There are ways I've been a special friend to her, too, and I mention them here not to toot my own horn, but to demonstrate the kind of unique friendship we had.  (Besides, no matter how much I helped her with anything, it never felt like I'd done half as much as she had to help me.)  Grammy cried on my shoulder during some of her hard times, and I walked her through a number of them.  When her back pain became too much to bear at a desk job, she sat on my couch and we filled out disability retirement paperwork together.  When her mortgage turned upside-down during the housing crash, I scheduled and accompanied her to HUD consultations.  I attended her father's memorial service (she attended my mother's and MIL's) and spent hours listening to stories--happy and sad--of her childhood and youth.  Because she never had internet at her home, she'd sometimes come over for my help if the need arose to print something or retrieve information from a website.

In short, Grammy has been like a mom to me since before I became a mom, myself.  I never imagined raising my kids without my mother living, but I knew I still had Jay's mom...and Grammy.  I never imagined raising my kids without Jay's mom living, but I knew I still had Grammy.  And now...

...I simply cannot imagine my life without Grammy.  So I won't.  Not today.  Today had enough of its own burden as Jay and I prepared and sat with the kids to tell them about this third great loss of their young lives.  We hugged them and cried with them and hugged them some more.

My little boys will get more hugs from us tomorrow, and I know I have other dear friends and family who will give me hugs, too.  But oh! why can't I have a hug from Grammy?

"I Do" and Still Do, 12 October 2013

Today makes 11 years since the day Jay and I were married!

Happy Anniversary, Darling.  I thought I was head-over-heels about you then, but compared to now, I didn't even know you!  Now I'm crazy about you, for sure.

Huh, makes me wonder how I'll feel after the next 11 years!  The better I know you, the more I love you.

Here's to another year of growing in our relationship and falling deeper in love with each other.

Love,
Wifey

P.S. Think you'll ever wear tails again?  I kinda have to agree with my mom that it looks dashing.

Mostly Yesterdays, 30 September 2013

This morning I had a wonderful time getting to know our new pastor of children and family ministries.  Pastor Elle and I sipped coffee and nibbled a cinnamon roll while I got to hear some of her story, and she got to hear some of mine.  It's not every day that I sit down with someone and review the highlights of the last few years...and honestly, it's not an easy story to tell.  I'm so thankful for Pastor Elle's thoughtful listening, and for the opportunity to review some of my recent past.

Plus, how can you not enjoy a cappuccino when it looks like this?

When I got to the story of Jay's mom being killed just 18 months after my mom died, Elle sat up with big eyes and said, "How did you not just run away from God at that moment?!  How were you not ready to give up on Him?"

I stopped and thought about it.  But my mind was blank.  "I don't know," I replied honestly.

I'd like to explore the "how," but first here's the "what."  The following timeline is not a pity-party, but it helps explain Pastor Elle's question this morning.  (Please keep in mind that these are just the "highlights"; sprinkled throughout are babies' first steps, landscaping projects, family vacations, dishes and laundry, flus, graduations, and lots and lots of everyday stuff.)

2005-2009

January 2005 - Buy an 850 square-ft house at what--we discover later--is the very peak of the housing market, planning to sell and move up in three years

September 2006 - G is born

July 2007 - I resign from my part-time job to be full-time stay-at-home mom

July 2008 - Z is born; house is feeling smaller and losing market value

July 2009 - We take a hard look at our financial situation with a home that has lost 70% of its 2005 value

December 2009 - We enter the market for a new house, reserving savings for a down payment  and aggressively research options for dealing with our current house

2010

January 2010 - I attend a weekend retreat and learn about accepting grief; I recognize my grief about college music and find comfort in the lament Psalms of the Bible

February 2010 - My dad loses his job; the pastor who married Jay and me commits suicide at the age of 50

March 2010 - My mom (diagnosed with polymyositis in 2001) goes into the hospital for an emergency spleen removal; a young dad at our church dies of brain cancer while his tween daughter is at my house (I tell her and accompany her to say goodbye to his body); a college friend's brother dies in a ski accident; we put an offer on a house

April 2010 - We get keys for our new house; my mom dies at the age of 52 after six weeks in the hospital

May 2010 - Our church overwhelms us by fixing up our new house for us; we start negotiations with banks to resolve our first home's mortgage problem

June 2010 - We move into the new house and begin short sale proceedings on the old house

October 2010 - My sister Kay gets married without her mommy and moves to New Zealand

November 2010 - I start regular sessions with a grief therapist

December 2010 - After 6 months of bank b.s., our old house goes into foreclosure process

2011

April 2011 - Our old house forecloses; my dad sells our childhood home of almost 25 years

August 2011 - Jay's sister gets engaged and moves to California to prepare for her wedding with family nearby; I start homeschooling G for Kindergarten

October 2011 - Jay's mom is brutally murdered at the age of 55 by one of her sons; I take on setting up meetings with legal services, work on the memorial service, and accept the reigns of planning my sister-in-law's December wedding

December 2011 - Jay's sister gets married without her mommy

2012

January 2012 - I take a hard look at my life and come to terms with the reality that a dear friend is an alcoholic...and simultaneously realize that my own life choices have spiraled down in ways that parallel hers

February 2012 - My ADORABLE nephew Baby K is born to my sister Clare--he's the first grandchild never to be held by his Grandma

March 2012 - I start attending Al-Anon; write my first blog post after burying my mom's remains; and attend the trial prelim for Jay's brother

April 2012 - I begin helping my sister Em plan her June wedding

June 2012 - Em gets married without her mommy; my dad remarries the very next weekend

October 2012 - Jay and I mark our 10th wedding anniversary (delaying celebration until 2013); we mark one year since my MIL's death

November 2012 - The trial against Jay's brother begins

December 2012 - The verdict is pronounced

2013

January 2013 - Jay and I are interviewed and photographed for the local paper about our housing story; sentencing is completed

February 2013 - Jay's dad gets married 

March 2013 to the present - Our lives take on less of the unexpected and more of the peaceful; we have our 10th anniversary celebration; Z starts Kindergarten; I reconcile with music 

That's the "what" of Pastor Elle's wide-eyed question.  You have your own timelines, your own stories.  This just happens to be mine.

So now the "how."  How did I go through--and continue to live with--all of this without giving up on God?

Now that I think about it, the how isn't that profound.  While writing this post tonight, I paused to look at--and cry through--some of the journal entries I wrote over the last three years, and they show how I deal with the grief.  I get counseling.  I journal and write poetry.  I cry.  I yell.  I get hugs.  I get angry.  I eat.  I exercise.  I sleep.  I lay awake.  I pray and hope.  I read.  I connect with others.  I see small and big ways that God gives me grace and strength to face the day.  I learn to be more compassionate toward others' pain.

The more profound question, I think, is "Why?  Why haven't I walked out on God?"

The answer is another 'w' word.  It's because of Who I'm convinced He is.

In the movie The Great Muppet Caper, our favorite green guy, Kermit the Frog, asks Charles Grodin's bad-guy character, "Why are you doing this?"  To which the bad guy answers, "Because I'm a villain, pure and simple!"

C'mon!  Who holds Kermit at gun-point?

Well, my God is a good guy, pure and simple.

My God created a perfect world, a world full of people who make choices like He does.  When we mess it up, that does not mean He did anything wrong. He hasn't abandoned us, but keeps on offering right-now relationship and forgiveness to everyone...even the really, really bad guys.  (And btw, we're all badder than we think.  Ever hated someone?  You know, like brothers-in-law who murder their mothers?  Yeah, well Jesus said hating someone is murdering them in your heart.  Oh snap...)

I haven't given up, because I have this little thing called Hope. My God gives me a dried-in-blood promise that things won't be messed up forever; that He's going to wipe away pain, suffering, tears, injustice, hatred, and all evil.  Instead there will be joy, friendships, peace, excitement, wholeness, and pure love...forever.  (But why isn't that amazing eternity now?  I've asked that question in anguish many times.  But the more I think about it, the more I suspect He's the one patiently leaving room for us to step up and become the change in today we want to see.  I just might have to act on my convictions about the wrongs in the world!  Oh snap...)

Writing is one of my favorite art forms, but today I've had a really hard time using words to express my feelings about all of this.  Maybe word-pictures are better!  As it so happens, completely apart from all the thinking I've been doing about this, Jay--with some help from the kids--came up with the word pictures below, which I'd like to share.

The bottom line is this:  Whatever happens in my life, I know I'll get through all the hows because I'm already convinced of Who the Good Guy is.  And that's why I'm not giving up. 

A Love Affair Rekindled, 16 September 2013

Today I have time to write about a new romantic relationship I'm forming with one of my exes.  We actually never totally stopped seeing each other, but the relationship was strained for a long time, and other things always seemed to take precedence over spending time together.

But today I can tell you for sure: I'm falling in love with Music again.

Chapter 1

Music and I go way back; in fact, our relationship is older than I am.  As a pre-born child, my little forming ears heard my mom playing organ, piano, and viola, and my tiny insides vibrated whenever she'd pull out all the stops and let loose on a Bach toccata.  Once born, I heard vinyl and cassette recordings of sacred music, orchestral music, and children's songs; and on Sunday mornings, Sunday nights, and Wednesday nights, I heard hymns and other spiritual songs sung at church.  The songs must have had the most influence on me, because I can remember wandering around the house as a toddler, making up my own tunes and lyrics (mostly about how wonderful Jesus was).  One might say that Music was practically a member of my family.

My relationship with Music went from casual to serious around the time I started taking regular piano lessons in mid-elementary school.  Occasionally I'd stand Music up at practice time dates, but I normally showed up and diligently spent the 30 minutes or an hour tickling the keyboard.  My piano teacher drove out to our house in the country once a week and spent a few hours giving back-to-back lessons to my siblings and me, bless her heart.  She would self-deprecatingly say she didn't know much about music theory, but somehow she managed to give me a solid foundation of Music's framework and technicalities.

In 7th grade, I had a brief fling with the violin.  It's hard to say who suffered more--me or Music, but after nine months my tortured teacher and I convinced my mother that I was not suited to stringed instruments.  (Word to the wise: If a child is struggling with self-esteem anyway, don't let them try learning a stringed instrument of any kind.  Shudder.)

I never actually got violent in the relationship, but I was tempted.

One day, on the long, quiet drive home from one of those nerve-fraught violin lessons, I said tentatively  "You know what kind of lessons I'd really like to take, Mom?  Voice lessons."  Her response was noncommittal, and although I put the violin down (RIP), I still continued with piano.

Chapter 2

With my first year of high school came the true ignition of my love affair with Music!  I joined a community children's treble choir, and was overcome by luscious harmonies, seductive rhythms, and breathtaking melodies.  For four years I poured myself into the choir, attending rehearsals twice a week and practicing my own notes at the piano in between.  My dates with Music were mostly group dates now, and every rehearsal was something between a sweaty workout and a steamy massage.  (It's a wonder I don't have permanent bruising where I'd beat my knee with a pencil to keep track of downbeats in tricky passages.)

Hello, Nineties.

At the start of my senior year, there was no question: Music and I were going steady.  In addition to just-for-fun harpsichord lessons, I started private voice lessons with a prestigious performer in our city.  A whole new world of trilled-'r' vocalizes and operatic arias was opened up to me.  I wasn't "blending" my voice in a choir during these lessons: I was developing a solo voice of my very own.

One thing led to another, and when I realized that I couldn't imagine my life without Music, we decided to take the relationship to the next level, and I began preparing voice auditions for college music schools.

Chapter 3

I was accepted with merit scholarships to a performance program at a conservatory of music.  My life felt right, my relationship with Music felt right, and I was excited to become a great singer--a remarkable singer.  A famous singer!  The world of opera opened the curtains and beckoned me in.

My first year of study was exhilarating   Core classes came more easily to me than to some (I thanked my early piano teacher for giving me such a good grasp of music theory); I adored acting classes; and I practiced hard to be ready for competitions and auditions.

But as happens in some relationships, in my second year at the conservatory, Music and I began to fight a little.  I wanted it to carry me into the international opera world.  My voice professor suggested I might be more suited to some kind of career in sacred music.  But that was not my plan, and I fought with doubt and discouragement.

In the first half of my third year, practice room dates with Music usually ended in tears, if they didn't start that way.  For four months I lived abroad, studying and practicing in one of the world's most musical cities, but my dreams of a career with Music began to crumble.  When I imagined a life of endless auditions and constant travel, I felt desperately lonely and anxious.  Standing in the cheap "seats" night after night at the city opera, the stage looked further and further away.  For me, the curtains of a performance career were closing.

Chapter 4

At the end of those four months abroad, Music and I decided to take a big step back in our relationship.  We didn't break up--I continued my studies at the conservatory--but we agreed to see other people to expand our horizons.  Lo and behold, the following semester I fell in love with someone else.  Namely, with Jay.  During the first months of my senior year, I married him.

I stayed friends with Music, but on a more reserved, professional level.  I completed my Bachelor's of Music degree in Voice Performance.  I sang in church sometimes.  I directed our church choir and led Sunday music a couple times a month.  I taught a handful of voice lessons.  I coached Jay's men's quartet  But most of my energies went into earning money at office jobs (Jay went into graduate school during our first couple years of marriage) and managing a household for two.

When my first baby arrived on the scene, my main response to Music was fatigue.  It just took too much of my limited energy.  When a second baby arrived less than 2 years after the first, my relationship with Music got buried to the point of being something like a dirty secret.  But it was a secret that festered.

Chapter 5

I've been jealous.  Jealous of the love affairs others were having with Music.  Jealous of performers who were "successful" in their music careers.  I've been angry.  Memories of reverse-favoritism by professors, lack of opportunities, what-ifs, and if-onlys have fed a growing sense of bitterness.  My alma mater became an icon of betrayal.  Over a decade of living in the same city after graduation, I have attended not one single student performance there.  I cringe every time I walk through the campus, hoping I won't be spotted by a former professor--one who might look at me and think, "Failure."

Nighttime dreams of college failure plague me.  I'm in school, but forgot to sign up for voice lessons.  I'm one semester away from graduating but I didn't fulfill the performance requirements.  My professor sees me across campus and turns her head in disappointment.  I am rejected at auditions.  I forget to attend class.

Maybe I'm not the only musician with bad dreams.

Fear choked any remaining sparks of attraction I had toward Music.  Fear of inadequacy, fear of not singing the "right" way, fear of judgment, fear of commitment.

Plus, the reality is that I've been busy!  Raising and homeschooling two boys, losing two moms, buying two houses and losing one, hosting a full procession of holidays and events, dealing with alcohol, developing and maintaining yards, taking three international trips, walking through a murder trial, washing endless dishes, marrying off three sisters and two dads...the last several years have been jam-packed.  The way I've seen it, why should I spend precious time and energy on a relationship that only fills me with pain?  Music was almost dead to me.

Almost.

Sometimes our nightmares reveal what are actually deep longings.  Check with your friendly neighborhood therapist for more detail on that, but I believe that during this dark time of bitterness I've been waiting and hoping for reconciliation with a Love that seemingly abandoned me.

Chapter 6

Have you ever fallen in love?  Did your heart flutter whenever you thought about the One?  Did you eagerly look forward to time together?  Did you spend un-counted minutes and hours thinking of ways to show your affection?  Did you giggle and smile?  Did you find yourself wanting to talk--or write--about your love?

This is the state I've been in for the last month.

"Why the change?" you ask.  "Did Music change or did you?"

Both!  Well okay, I guess I can only take the relationship metaphor so far.  Any changes that have happened in my relationship to Music came from my end, so here are some of the catalysts for my healing (yay lists!):

• Al-Anon.  No, really!  Primary among the things I've learned/re-learned during my 18 months in this sister-to-Alcoholics Anonymous program are that 1) God's good plan for my life is His plan for my life, and His plan for others' lives are for their lives; 2) I am a valuable person apart from my accomplishments; 3) I do have faults and need to accept myself as I work toward improving.
• Recognition that I have more gifts than singing.  Learning to value myself as a whole has been key to rejecting guilt.  Who is to say that the gifts used to organize a memorial service are somehow inferior to the gifts used for enthralling thousands from a stage?
• Letting go of the vice-grip that there is one good way to physically sing.  Maybe my voice professor wouldn't approve of the technique I use to sing in praise band--and maybe the technique wouldn't carry me into the opera halls of Europe--but I have fun doing it (AKA no despondent practice room tears) and I know listeners enjoy it too.
• Time.  Nine hours a week, to be exact.  It's not that I spend all the time my kids are in class "doing" music stuff, but the weekly breathing space allows me time to think.  To feel.  To dream.  To finagle my schedule.  It's a wide margin in the composition page of a harried sketch artist.
• Opportunity.  You heard me!  Opportunity!  This item deserves a chapter all to itself.

Chapter 7

Six months ago I attended a special-event worship service of sacred music by a quartet from a local church.  It consisted of a female singer (who also played guitar, banjo, glockenspiel, and clarinet), an electric guitarist, a mandolinist (also taking a turn on banjo), and a pianist.  The music was beautiful, sensitive, intelligent, welcoming, humble.  I shed many tears during the performance, thinking, "Yes!  This is music I love!  These are people who aren't performing just to impress! This is a kind of group I would love to be part of.  I wish...."  But I hardly dared acknowledge my hopeful, aching longings.

Afterward, a friend who had attended with me said, "I want more worship services like that!  I'm not a musician so I don't know how I could participate, but I'm going to talk with the lead singer and see if we can come up with something."  My heart thumped.

"I would like that too," I responded, "...and I'd love to sing with them...would you ask the leader if I could call her?"

A few weeks later, about eight people got together and brainstormed.  The quartet was happy to set aside two Sunday afternoons a month (in addition to their regular rehearsals) for very loosely structured times of singing, praying, and reflection.  The quartet leader welcomed any other musicians who would like to participate in those Sunday afternoons, and I jumped.  We started meeting in May.

The Sunday afternoon equation looked something like this: Nice people + talented musicians + no performance pressure + a relaxed atmosphere + very, very cool music + a small group (not me alone, but my contribution makes a difference) + space for contemplation of God's goodness = Safety, Delight, Love.  Music was wooing me back.

Then, at the beginning of September, the quartet leader said off-hand, "Hey Rachel!  I think I remember you saying you're busy on Thursday nights, but if you're free, would you like to join our regular quartet rehearsals?  Another guitarist has started coming, and I'd love to have you as a second vocalist in the group, too."

It was as if she casually reached into her pocket and said, "Hey, here's a winning lottery ticket!  Wanna share it with me?"

I didn't cry when I thanked her and assured her I'd be there.  I didn't yell or whoop or run around in circles.  Okay, I did smile broadly.  I think I did a delighted little hand-clappy dance at the first rehearsal when we sight-read a new piece together.  (I'm also pretty sure Jay cried when I came home afterward and he saw how happy I was.)  But I am happy.  Hopeful.  Healing.

Chapter 8

So what's different about my love affair with Music this time around?

For one, I'm obviously older and wiser.  My teenage romance burned with passion but lacked healthy perspective.  Two, I'm not singing to be famous.  Crazy how much pressure that removes!  Three, I'm not singing "required" music.  I'm singing what I choose and what I love!  (Okay okay, shout-out to my conservatory voice professor: You were right about me and sacred music.)  Four, I'm not singing to impress anyone.  I'm singing because it's fun!  I enjoy going over a piece and playing with voicing and instrumentation.  Five, I feel accepted.  The "quartet" (which is not strictly four people anymore) invited me in.  They respect my musicianship for where it is.

Six, the music group is the opposite of pretentious.  The whole reason they formed in the first place is because they found they were staying late after church services to play around with music together.  They enjoy challenging themselves, but are relaxed about what they do or don't want to attempt.  They're kind to each other.  They're creative without being snobby.

Seven, I don't have to organize things!  Do you have any idea how much stress that eliminates?  I'm not in charge of scheduling, recruiting, teaching, researching.  I'm there to sing and learn.  And worship.

Behind this whole love affair there is one Matchmaker.  He is the greatest artist and musician ever known.  In fact, He created art, music, beauty, joy, love!  He created me and loves me with all my features, faults, and foibles.  While I will never be able to see all the details of His ultimately good plan for my life, I know that guilt, bitterness, and resentment don't need to be a part of it.  I want to walk forward with faith and hope, learning from my past and meeting my future with open hands.

Will I ever become a famous singer?  I dunno (and for the first time in my life, don't really care).  Will more and more music opportunities open up to me?  I dunno.  Will I have more disappointment and grief in my life?  Probably.  Will I continue to heal and learn?  I hope so!

But in my current love-flushed glow of enjoying music, enjoying my voice, enjoying exploration, one question shines out above the rest:

How can I keep from singing?

Four Days of Pumpkin, 31 August 2013

Today I realized why I can't lose five pounds, and I knowingly gave my entire family a case of bad gas, which all comes from a desire to be efficient and from the wishful thinking that it were already autumn and not 90 degrees F.

You see, four days ago I opened a 30-oz can of pumpkin.

No really, stay with me here.  Jay found a large beef top loin roast on markdown at the grocery store which had to be cooked by Tuesday.  So Tuesday morning I found a safe-looking slow-cooker recipe, threw the thing in the pot, and forgot about it.  (Actually, neither of those statements is true.  The particular recipe I used had quite a few different steps, and forgetting about it wasn't possible because the meaty aroma spread through the whole house.)  As dinnertime approached, I couldn't help thinking that a hearty autumn-like dinner would be perfectly complimented by some spicy pumpkin muffins.

At which time I opened the smallest can of pumpkin in my pantry, which amounted to the aforementioned 30 ounces (3 cups; 850 grams).  To lend some perspective to my non-baker friends, an entire pumpkin pie only uses half that amount, and a batch of muffins naturally uses much less than a pie.  Using about one-third of the pumpkin, I got my spiced muffin fix (which made for a great snack while home alone the next day), which left the rest of the can plus the milk left over.  Loathe to throw it out, I stuck them in containers and bunged them into the frig.

Of course, you see where this leaves us.  Over the next few days, I had to prepare recipes that used the rest of the pumpkin!  Did it occur to me to make some sort of sage-y dressing and go all gourmet on a chicken, or to stir up a savory pumpkin risotto?  Of course not!  Pumpkin is for desserts (okay, and for the rare soup--very rare soup).

On Thursday we had a quintessential summertime meal: Corn-on-the-cob, fresh carrot sticks, melon, and Rollkuchen (I'll do a blog post about the fritters and other Mennonite recipes another time).  Not having had much protein in the meal, I made pumpkin cream cheese bars for dessert.  Get it?  Cream cheese = protein.  Duh.

Today, I gathered some bounty from our garden and made a beautiful main-dish salad, beefed-up--so to speak--with dry salami and grated mozzarella cheese, topped with a nice little oil vinaigrette.  Technically-speaking, this salad completed all our remaining nutritional needs for the day.

So darn pretty! I love picking things that aren't weeds from my garden.

But technically, I still had leftover pumpkin and evaporated milk, which were reaching the end of their refrigerator shelf-life.  In the name of waste-not-want-not, as soon as my second bowl of salad was eaten, I began the search for the perfect recipe to use up the last bits of that large pumpkin can, opened four days earlier.

Did you know that if you do a Google search for "cup pumpkin," the first hits will be from other bloggers who collected recipes simply for the purpose of using up leftover canned pumpkin?  I am not the only one who has experienced this dilemma!

And then I found it.  The perfect recipe to solve all my pumpkin problems: Pumpkin Cheesecake Milkshake.  Oh yes.

Oh no.

Does anyone know if using no-sugar added vanilla ice cream cancels out the calories in a block of cream cheese?  Anyone?  Well that was my strategy, even while knowing sugar alcohol was going to do a number on the hapless members of my family.

However hapless we were, after one sip of that milkshake we were happy.  Oh.  So.  Happy.

But we weren't happy enough to stop guzzling after just one sip, of course.

And that, my friends, is the story of why I can't lose five pounds and why I feel badly for the people who will be sitting in the pew next to us during church tomorrow.  At least I didn't waste any pumpkin in the process!