Monthly Archives: June 2015

In Which my French Comes in Handy…

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My New Year’s resolutions tend to be rather random and specific.  A couple of years ago I resolved to replace every plain white pair of underwear in my drawer with a fun pair.  That drawer is now a veritable rainbow.  The year after that I resolved to not wear T-shirts anymore (and I mean the ratty ones) on a daily basis.  They would, henceforth, be relegated exclusively to bedtime wear.  This year I said a simple prayer sometime in early January,

“Lord, by the end of this year I’d like to have a friend who wears a hijab.”

I prayed it a few times over the course of the week.  Motherhood is isolating enough.  Add an urban setting, a language barrier, and such a visible testament to strong religious beliefs and I imagine it must be lonelier still.  I wanted to know these women underneath the scarves with whom I must share so much as a mother in the city.

And wouldn’t you know, today it happened.

I met a mother at the park.  I almost never go to this park anymore. I began asking about her daughter who was playing with my son in the sandbox.

“I’m sorry,” she said, stumbling through her English, “You don’t by any chance speak French?”

“Mais, oui!” I said.

And so began a long conversation with nervous laughter, patience, and a lot of hand movements as we moved between French and English, talked about our husbands, and about Ramadan starting next week and how hard it is to feed the kids and not eat yourself.

Halfway through this conversation in the middle of June I remembered my New Year’s prayer.  Of course, this begs the question, which came first, the prayer or the plan to bring this woman into my life?  Which prepared the way for which?

It turns out she lives directly across the street from me.  We chatted until dinnertime.  She kissed my cheeks and welcomed me into her home.  I welcomed her into mine and asked if she liked tea.  We will see each other again.

I’m so glad for random prayers, new friends, and three kids who were going so crazy this afternoon I had to get off my butt and take them to the park.  God even finds joy in using my crazy kids. What do you know?

Ingestion…

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My emotions reached a point of sketching today. It’s pretty self explanatory. I obviously feel like I’m taking a lot in.

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Not all that I am devouring is sharp edged and anxious. I was happy to find green life there, some refreshing blue. And I was happy to be able to count them, to write down their names and identify their ragged shapes. Some of the lines are old friends. Some of the lines are battle weary, old enemies that I have yet to force into retreat.

I am ingesting them all and trusting the one who inhabits my heart with the processing. And I point to my belly as I have the thought, like my daughter does when speaking of her heart, here in the middle. It feels as if you could place your hand there and feel it’s motion from the outside, the tangled bits coming undone and done up again. Green growing Barbara.

Seasick…

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Well, you can say a little prayer for me this week.

I’m doing well. I mean, I knew this was going to be difficult, new job, joining anew the workforce, making my crazy dreams for children’s ministry at City Church of San Francisco a reality. And it’s not so insanely difficult. Indeed, I am at times overwhelmed to the point of paralysis. But then I just turn around and get drunk on the overconfidence of my amazingly heady ego and get stuff done. It’s dizzying being Barbara. (And imagine how my husband feels?!)

I feel like an apostle sent out on the boat. I am supposed to go to the other side. But the other side is not the destination. It never is. The other side is merely the end measure of the destination, the destination, and the point of all of this, being jumbled up somewhere in the length of this crazy ride over the time it takes to get there.

I am on a boat going to the other side. And I can’t tell which Bible story I’m in. I don’t feel like I’m in a storm, so maybe I’m in the one where the apostles are just not making much headway. Whatever, the wind’s against them or something. And Jesus has in mind to beat them to the other side just by walking across the water. Maybe he thinks they have it under control?

But they’re struggling after all. And so he goes to them, just right across the water and in the face of the damn wind he goes. And there’s me, Peter, the rock, saying, “Command me! Pick me! Let me do this job!” And Jesus says, “Ok, c’mon.” And there I am, Peter, sinking like a, well, a rock. I’m sinking like a rock at my own request.

“Save me!” “Command me!” “Save me!” “Command me!” “Save me!”

That’s me this week. It’s dizzying. And yet, it’s surprisingly secure. I am commanded. I am saved. I am being commanded and being saved.

I commanded. I saved. I am commanding. I am saving. I am. I am.