The Lion and the Tribes

Turbans? Yes, please. 

My son attended Vacation Bible School (VBS) last month. Children were grouped together according to the tribes of Israel. Colorful posters displayed on chairs in the worship space showed icons and names of the groups. Spotting a lion, I realized we were assigned to the tribe of Judah. Delighted, I squealed, "Ooh, the line of David! Of Jesus!" My son just looked at me and glanced back at the cool image of the big cat. 

Earlier that Sunday morning, Pastor John spoke about hospitality as we prepared to open our church to the youth of the city and surrounding areas for VBS. He referenced Abraham and Sarah in the desert when three mysterious visitors appeared. Abraham ran to the tent to prepare a feast. Thankfully so, since as it turned out they were messengers. Angels in the desert. 

The theme for this year's Bible School was Marketplace 29 A.D. It offered a snapshot into the time of Jesus' life and culture through the activities of the market. Each tribe visited different stations every night -- jewelry, weaving, pottery, carpentry, scroll writing, spices. Little noses lifted skywards to bunches of dried thyme and rosemary. Herbal treasures. Pretend beggars even made their rounds and children offered up faux gold coins.

The marketplace pulsed with life and so did our Vacation Bible School. We danced in whirling circles and waved scarves of scarlet and tangerine. My son's favorite song offered an Egyptian dance move, complete with lyrics: "Pharaoh, Pharaoh, ohhhhhh baby, let my people go, uhh. Yeah, yeah, yeah."

The week continued. Friendships were formed. By the fifth and final evening, the dancing and music were moving more into a frenzy of games of chase, bounding leaps and other horseplay. Some members of the tribes listened more than others. The energy was reaching a crescendo and my gut reaction was to corral, lay order to chaos, but I refrained as a spectator.

After the happy bedlam had subsided and we made our way home, I reflected on my feelings. How I had wanted to stifle joy, curb its free and boisterous spirit because it didn't seem to fit my definition. Not very hospitable for these angels in the desert. While VBS is traditionally meant for children, I found my very adult self learning in the process. I can only be thankful that I have my lion to lean on.

"Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals." - Revelation 5:5

Mom in the Heels meets Cat in the Hat

I was reading this book recently and was struck by how much I must resemble the Cat at this point in the story, juggling any number of things. My own dialogue reads something more like this:

The volvo needs fixed,
The special cupcakes need mixed.
The diapers are out,
There should be more blogging about.
The dishwasher is broke,
Just let the dirty ones soak.
Pack lunch for a field trip?
Try not to flip.
A fun trip to the store,
Stumble home through the door.
Kick off the high heels,
Put away more meals.
Find jammies, pour milk,
Blueberry splatters, stained silk.
Emails from the boss,
Sometimes I'm at a loss.
A presentation at dawn,
10PM fold socks with a yawn.
Exercise, burn flab,
There's no time to gab.
Does my bible have dust?
I have not made it a must.

Do you remember what happens next in the story?

My balancing act is more akin to a train wreck.  Still, I keep trying. Spread projects out, slow drama down.  And some things just don't get done because of the occasional impromptu family dance party in the living room. Complete with a rousing rendition of "Rock Me Amadeus" and some robot moves. Cat in the Hat, look out.

Country Charm

Country living charm. After almost a decade in Washington, D.C., we moved to a substantially smaller area in Pennsylvania. Green hills dotted with farms. Black starry skies. 

Five years later, I am still delighted by small-town living. While I can't find French-Thai or Ethiopian cuisine or swanky, posh lounges that overlook marble monuments, I can find a Penny Fair. An honest-to-goodness, we'll take your copper Lincoln-head coin for payment Penny Fair. Are you serious? I wanted to hand him a twenty. SO excited. 

We stumbled upon this Penny Fair one Saturday in a churchyard. Everything was a penny. Everything. Including the entrance fee into the petting zoo. Fluffy baby chicks scrambled round like a pillow fight. Ducks sloshed through a water basin, now slippery for small, eager hands. Little girls in cotton-candy colors clutched kittens tight to their middles. Pigs snuggled in the mud. A llama eyed us from afar and my youngest kept calling him "camel." A chocolate calf lay nervous beside her owner. Lashes long. 

My girlfriend once told me before my big city departure, "Oh, honey, I just can't picture you in mud boots and garden gloves. Unless they're Prada." I laugh at that image. As I now laugh at the fuzzy chicks that tease my boys in this charming country life of mine. 

Thinking

My sister gave me a gift certificate to Bas Bleu this past Christmas. This is a catalog/web-based book company, which in French means "blue stocking" or literary woman. They offer a fascinating selection of titles, both modern and vintage.

One of the books I settled on was a A Year with Aslan: Daily Reflections from The Chronicles of Narnia. Its new, permanent home is the scratched surface of our dark kitchen table. While my family has not read The Chronicles of Narnia (someday!), I appreciate the opportunity to discuss life lessons, based in fact or fiction, with my sweet brood.

How could I resist such excerpts with titles like: "Never Forget to Wipe Your Sword" and "Eustace the Dragon Tells His Story." Swords? Dragons? My six-year old is all ears. My soon-to-be three-year old is all belly. He interjects with shouts for more dessert.

Last evening we read a brief scene in which Aslan the lion meets the Witch. His golden form. Her marble whiteness. The main questions: "Why can't the Witch look Aslan in the eye? When have you not been able to meet someone's eyes? What was the reason?" The reasons flowed. Shyness was my oldest son's first thought. Shame quickly followed. Fear. Deceit. So many feelings the heart holds.

Rarely do I ration my time to think. My day is about doing. My night is about doing more. Thinking is reserved for the shower. Time to pass while the suds bubble. Rinse. Repeat. I'm thankful for my Aslan book and its provoking questions. Even more, I'm thankful for the moment it offers to chew on an idea and discuss its deepness. The gift of thinking.