Easter

It was the Saturday before Easter, and there was much to do, but by the end of the day, much of it was done. The kids needed showers. Lily can manage on her own, but Lewi needs assistance. After he is clean he always begs for more time under the water; for once I acquiesced, because I was in the middle of making Easter desserts, and I needed just a little time to get things into the oven. A few minutes later, as I put the cake in the oven, I heard Lewi: “Mom, I’m bleeding.” The tone of his voice made me take it the stairs two at a time. There was blood flowing from his left thumb at an alarming rate, and I instantly knew that he decided to touch his sister’s razor. It took three separate changes of gauze to get it to slow down.

Once the kids were in bed, I put out Easter baskets. One of our cats is addicted to Easter grass and will go to crazy lengths to ingest it, so I try to put them where he will not access them. At three a.m., as I listened to him retching, I concluded that I had misjudged. I got out of bed and cleaned it up. Stupid cat.

Then, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, the phone rang. Of late daughter Kelsey has been the Queen of the Unwise Choices, and her most recent mistake will prevent her from being home for Easter. So we talk on the phone, confident in the hope that soon we will put this present sadness behind us and move forward.

The younger kids woke and were excited to unpack their Easter baskets. “I love the Easter bunny!” said Lewi. I decided to take credit for my work: “The Easter bunny doesn’t bring these; I do.” He’s momentarily disappointed, but recovered quickly at the sight of his loot.

After breakfast, I re-bandage Lewi’s thumb and then rush to get ready myself. I hustle out the door only a few minutes behind schedule.

On the way to church I am reminded that at some point during the week, my windshield cracked. It’s in an odd place, and there’s no sign of what caused the crack. I know I need to get it taken care of, but not today. Put it on the to-do list for next week.

The next hour both the choir and the bell choir rehearsed, and then worship began. Our congregation’s theme for Lent has been “washed in the blood.” Each week we would pick up a red ribbon to remind us of Jesus’ love, sacrifice, suffering… Today we traded in our scarlet stripes for ribbons of white. We celebrated communion and concluded worship, as is our tradition, with the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus, a piece of music that speaks to my soul in ways that I cannot begin to explain.

I do not always understand the ways of this world or the actions of the people in it, and I cannot begin to explain the ways of God. My own faith is a mystery to me, and some days I wonder what I really believe. But Easter isn’t about fact or explanation, but about hope. On Easter we look past today—with its blood and its puke, its cracks and brokenness, its temptations and mistakes—and we remember that these things will end, and that we will again see those we love. We are able to see that sadness will end, and that beauty can come out of crisis. And we can see that, just when we think it’s all over…something new begins. 

And he shall reign forever.Hallelujah! 

Sleep

When Daniel was a toddler, he was our child who just wouldn’t sleep.  No matter how tired he was, he refused to nap and refused to stay in bed at night. He was the one who tried my patience most on these matters, although Phillip and Kelsey had their moments, too.

Now, thanks to higher education, all of our older kids have turned into night owls. They have their own wonky sleep patterns, which is no big deal at school, but can be inconvenient and awkward when they’re back at home.  Those of us who are not college students do most of our living during the daylight, and it’s not always convenient to tiptoe around if the young vampires choose to nap in the middle of the day in the middle of the family room.

When we adopted, one of the things we were cautioned about was the possibility of our kids having nightmares and sleep disorders. This was never a problem; from the beginning, the kids went to bed easily, and if they woke during the night, they kept it to themselves. But in those early days when I’d check on them after they had fallen asleep, they didn’t have that peaceful and angelic look that most kids get when they sleep. They seemed troubled, even when far away in dreamland. Lily in particular sprawled across the bed as if fighting some sort of epic battle. Her contorted posture reminded me of the fossilized people of Pompeii, trapped for all time wrestling in the lava that they could not outrun.

Over time this has changed, and Lily now sleeps peacefully, angelically. In fact, she’s so “normal” that she’s started to complain about her bedtime: “Why do I have to go to bed at 8, even on the weekends?” It’s not that she minds going to bed; it’s that she hates to think that she’s missing anything. Like most kids, she still doesn’t understand that bedtime is not a punishment, and sleep is a gift.  

Lewi hates to go to bed, but what he hates even more is getting up to go to school. On the weekend he’s up before any of us, but during the school week, every morning he complains of being tired. My attempts to point out the correlation between going to bed early and feeling rested in the morning are a lost cause at this point. Maybe someday…

A few nights ago I woke to find Lewi standing by my bed. “Mom, I had a bad dream, and there were geckos in my room. Can I sleep with you?” It’s not an unusual request for a six-year-old, but he’s never asked to sleep with us before, and I’m not sure where he learned it. Perhaps it’s universal in kids—instinctual, like complaining about bedtime.  But even in the wee hours, I could recognize it as a sign of trust in me as a parent. I held open the covers; he snuggled in next to me and, safe from the geckos, soon was back to sleep.

Later that day Lily was reading in the recliner, one of her favorite after-school activities. It suddenly occurred to me that she hadn’t turned a page in quite a while, and that her breathing was heavy and regular. It was another first. At 4:30 in the afternoon, Lily was taking a nap, a sign that, finally, she might be at peace in her home.

What an amazing gift, the gift of sleep. It’s the world’s cheapest beauty treatment, for both the external and the internal self. It gives us both an escape from, and a way through, emotional ups and downs. Sleep renews inspiration and gives us hope to try again.

It’s also a barometer of what is really going on inside us. How we sleep, when we sleep, what we dream are all cues to who we are. And maybe to what we can become. 

The Bucket List

When I consider things I’d like to do before I “kick the bucket,” it’s hard for me to come up with ideas. There are a few things that I’d like to do, a few places I’d still like to see, a book or two I’d like to write, and I really should try a water slide just once, but in generally I’ve had a great life, full of events and opportunities that most people don’t experience. I’ve traveled, I’ve studied, I’ve met people. I’ve been able to pursue many hobbies and interests, I’ve ridden in a hot air balloon, and dipped my feet into most of the world’s salt water. I’ve been paid to write, I’ve married a great man, and together we’ve raised some pretty awesome children, who are all in college or college bound. We even adopted children, which has been a lifelong dream. I’ve been blessed, and while I didn’t accomplish anything earthshaking like curing diabetes or developing calorie-free chocolate, I hope that I’ve done more good than harm in my life.

But there is an item that tops my short bucket list: to take Lewi and Lily to Disney World. We were able to manage a few family trips there before we added Lily and Lewi to the family, and I would love to take all the kids, in part as a way to tie together the ends of our stretched-out family. But at this point, with three kids in college and less income than we used to have, it’s a distant dream for sure.

A trip to Disney is a luxury, and millions of kids grow up and go on to live productive lives without ever setting foot in the Magic Kingdom. Even in our first-world nation, many parents work hard and are stressed and stretched and still unable to care for their children’s most basic needs. These parents can only dream of a college education for their kids, let alone a family vacation.

This struggle surely would have been reality for Lewi and Lily if their bio father had not made the choice to put them up for adoption. There would have been little food, little education, little hope to break out of poverty. And they probably would have never even heard of Disney World, being focused on survival instead. It’s good to wish for great things for our kids, but it’s good to remember what’s important.

So instead of Disney, I took the kids to Meijer Gardens, which has a fantastic living butterfly exhibit every year. We enjoyed the beautiful butterflies as they flitted about the conservatory, we spent a little time exploring outside in the freezing cold, and we enjoyed a special ballet performance about the birth of a butterfly. I even coaxed them into the art gallery for a few minutes; the sculpture exhibit was too adult for them, but they indulged me by looking it all over and even asking a few questions. On our way home, we stopped and picked up donuts. (Just for the record, I’m NEVER the treat parent; that kind of spoiling is usually reserved for Bill. So when I buy the kids donuts, it’s kind of a big deal.)

I hold out hope for the big dream, but we invest in the everyday. A single trip will never compensate for the small things we do that nurture, inspire, and entertain.  It’s the here-and-now that lays the groundwork for their future.