Quote of the week

One of my favorite people just said these words to me in response to my angst about a prevailing life situation. I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair in a public place and all of my stress fell away.

"Don't try to win over the haters. You're not the jackass whisperer!"

(the speaker wishes to remain uncredited because she doesn't want her Mother to know she said jackass even though it IS in the Bible.)

Expressions of affection

Two of my wonderful friends gave me gifts last week. Separately, they both gave me a package of beautifully printed purple paper napkins. Totally weird gift right? Turns out they both know me and know I LOVE fancy purple napkins. (yep, I'm the weird one.) They both knew that I'd had a whacked out week and showed their support. Slam dunk. One million friend points to both of them.

I have received hundreds of similar beautiful expressions of love and support over the years. Some took significant effort. When my Williamsburg house burned, before I even returned to the scene, my dear friend sifted through the rubble, found my beloved sewing machine (a gift from my Grandmother), cleaned it up and presented it to me as a symbol of encouragement and hope.

Beautifully sensitive. She knew me and it likely only took a second to sleuth out what I needed.

A couple of years ago my Father in Law died of cancer. I am certain it was not the easiest time to be my friend. On the day he died, I came home and my whole house was clean. Even my toaster oven! We had a temporary house mate at the time and she knew me. I'd be going in a hundred directions over the upcoming days and she stepped in and lifted part of the load. (Then she made me a mix CD of comforting songs. So sensitive and sweet! I listened to it yesterday and it inspired this post.)

I am not a Costco fan and my neighbor knows it. Whenever she goes, she calls to see what she can pick up for me. Another friend, for my 40th birthday had a portrait made of Wonder Woman and put my own face in it so I could know how she sees me. My Dad showed up one day with a screw driver with a Purple Heart wood handle he turned on his lathe and custom fitted to my hand. And the list of beautiful expressions goes on and on.

Each of these people have used their unique gifts and sensitivities to show their affection and support for me. Many of the gestures are small but mighty. Some of them are giant displays. All of them communicate a powerful message of love.

I wondered yesterday, as I was belting out a song from my comforting mix CD, about my own expressions to other people. What am I communicating to other people about my affection and support for them? How do I express my insights into them? Am I showing them the place they hold in my heart? Reaching in when they need a lift? Helping them know they are a part of my family?

I wonder who might need their own package of lovely printed napkins?

But I'm a girl.

I don't think I am qualified to parent these kids.

I am a girl.

I sew.

I like to create all kinds of art. I like to talk and delve deeply into my and others emotions. I love to appreciate things that are beautiful. I like to have tea with friends and can do so for several hours at a time. I like to paint my fingernails. I form relationships relatively easily and like to gather people around, preferably with an elegant glass of Zinfandel.

God, in his infinite humor, gave me two sons. What was he thinking? They don't even like TEA!

I know how I was in school. I know how it was for me to make friends. My first day in first grade, entering Beaver Acres about a month after school had started. I was really shy (true story!) I had hip length wavy hair and big brown eyes over a sprinkling of freckles. At free play time in our classroom, alone, I sheepishly went over to a stacking table where there were yellow and red blocks to help with counting. Almost immediately another brown eyed, long haired girl named Linda Moeller came and asked if she could play. BAM!!, elementary school best friend LOCKED IN. We walked to school every day, played Wonder Woman on bikes or roller skates every day after school. Those were powerful years and the game had a powerful impact as we both grew up to be 5'10" amazons who shouldn't be messed with! She is still just as fun and good as she was back then. A really good quality person sent to me on my first day of school. (and returned to me about 5 years ago in Java Nation. I'd recognize that booming voice anywhere!)

I assumed that is what everyone did.

That's not how my sons roll.

They both have very different relational styles but neither is anything like I was. Why is that? Is it a boy thing? Neither has a best friend. They both have several friends of varying closeness but neither has a gang, a crew of good, tightly connected and loyal buddies like I had. One has more tendency toward that than the other but it causes me to wonder. And wonder. And wonder. (see paragraph 1)

I know God is protecting them, lifting them up and redeeming their Mother's shortcomings. (hallelujah!) I just know that I loved my gang of sweet, crazy, smart friends and it really enriched my life. I also know that there are many ways to experience a rich life. So once again while I am so busily trying to teach my kids a fundamental lesson about how to make and hold friends, they have sat me down to teach ME that they are their own people. They are NOT me.

There are many appropriate ways to walk through life. Many ways to form relationships. Many different ways to experience the world. And I am trusting that God will help me to help them find THEIR way.

I guess I can teach someone else to sew and enjoy hoarding creative resources while drinking Earl Grey. God clearly gave me these testosterone pumping, bewildering, unpredictable BOY hooligans so I could learn powerful lessons about the diverse alternatives to crafting a successful life.

It's surprising how well you can throw a football while holding a cup of tea....

Things you can't say to your wife

Heavy stuff Tanya! I thought I was going to be delving into light topics like which direction the forks go in the dish washer. Suddenly we are talking about abused children. What in the world? Sorry for the bait and switch. I don't really have a plan here. I did warn you that this blog would be a peek into my mind which in the span of 3o seconds can combine yelling at a squirrel to stop eating my tulips to grappling with the injustices of the world, all while singing "The Pirates who Don't do Anything". It's a circus in here.

How about something funny? I have just become aware of Tim Hawkins. Hilarious comedian. I don't generally love comedy shows but this song cracked me up. Check out this song called "Things you can't say to your wife" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iK2OakMoW_c (I need to figure out how to make that prettier and where are the interesting pictures Tanya? Remember I am new at this. Baby blogger alert.)

Why is it that there is a whole list of things you can't say to your wife? We all laugh at them because they are universally horrifying, everyone knows them and yet it is funny because men still say them. Is there a list of things you can't say to your husband? Where is that list? Are women just crushing men right and left with insensitive comments, making them feel stupid and bald, diminishing their lawn mowing and grill-master skills and not knowing it? Do men just not care what we think? Have they tuned us out and truly don't care if their butt looks big in those jeans? How is that possible?

Maybe I will compose a light ballad of things you can't say to your husband. Please weigh in with taboo topics and tune suggestions.

Survivors

I spent this past weekend with survivors of human trafficking.

I am nearing the end of a 6 month intensive training program with an organization called Door To Grace in Portland. It was jaggedly emotional and invasive to my heart. At the end of Saturday I was so overwhelmed and outraged, I sat in my car and cried. And it was not the first time.

Saturday I listened to a beautiful, articulate, 25 year old woman with a twinkling laugh talk about how there was not one year between the ages of 6 and 18 that she was not physically or sexually abused. At 12, when she finally got the courage to tell a "friend" about the abuse at home, that "friend" sold her to a pimp for $50 in drugs and her life only darkened from there. How can you come back from that? Is it possible to become whole again?

I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about "pimp" culture. Heard brutal words used to describe and diminish the underage girls who are being bought and sold to finance fancy cars and expensive champagne. Some of these pimps are treated like gods on the streets of their neighborhoods and held up as the ideal for masculinity while the girls they have destroyed are silent and hidden human sacrifices.

It is hard to know how to reach into this darkness. It is estimated that there are at least 1000 children being sold on the streets of Portland. How do we begin to stop the systematic pillaging of innocence in the defenseless children of our world?

I don't have any of these answers. Thankfully it is not up to me. I know that God can redeem the hearts and minds of these beautiful children and make them whole. HE will reach into those dark places and bring light.

So if God will do all of that then what should I do? I think Augustine had it figured out when he said " What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like.”

I know God will lead this effort but this seems like a perfect place to start.