i believe in fairy tales

These thoughts are largely inspired by the Easter service we experienced today at Mosaic. A podcast will be available through their website.

He is risen!

He is risen indeed!

Humanity has long dreamed of its gods coming to earth and entering into the human experience. The Greek gods especially were persistent in their visitations, mainly conjugal (and they seemed to avoid taking on human form). Other cultures imagined their gods descending, too: creating, teaching, interfering, and testing. Is the Christian dream of Jesus any different? Is Jesus humanity’s dream come true? What makes Christianity unique?

In Jesus, we find a god who refuses to come for a visit. Instead, he intentionally sets aside the powers, rights, and privileges of godhood and enters humanity on its lowest level, as a hungry newborn of outcast parents, claiming only the questionable status of an illegitimate child. Once he embarks on his inaugural tour of his chosen nation and people, he is shunned by the learned and embraced by the poor and “sinners”. Instead of awe and acclamation, he receives rejection and finally, crucifixion. The prophet Isaiah said it this way:

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
Like one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

What was it about him that we just didn’t get? What did we fail to recognize? Does it make any sense at all that a god would walk among humanity and be told, “No thanks, you’re just not what were looking for” as if he were a job applicant?

I think that in this instance, truth truly is stranger than fiction. Our ideas of a godly visitation are waking dreams, visions of how this existence could be spectacular and elevated beyond the ordinary. This whole experience with Jesus doesn’t appeal to us. Somehow it seems so banal, even dirty, and it’s just not what we would have chosen. We could have written a better story ourselves if we were allowed. We love fairy tales; the prince is always supposed to slay the dragon and win the heart of the princess. The prince is never supposed to die. The god who descends for his pleasure or to evaluate some specimen of humanity and then retreats to Mount Olympus for high tea just seems so much more… well, godly.

My point is that Jesus makes sense just because we wouldn’t have dreamed him up. Our dreams do have a basis in reality; the fault lies with us if we refuse to accept the reality just because it doesn’t square with our wishes. While those other gods stopped by to take their pleasure, or to see if humanity was keeping up standards, or to sway a battle in one direction or another (poor Hector!), this god was different. Jesus didn’t come for himself; he came for us. I don’t doubt that he enjoyed much of his time as a man, but wouldn’t you have been frustrated by spending your time with a group of guys who were stubborn, confused, and only loyal until you were arrested and tried for your life? I would have been. Not to mention growing up as a social bastard because my parents weren’t married when I was conceived; not to mention having no roof over my head; not to mention going into all this knowing that the end of the story was my own death, that this prince would be slain by the dragon. Yeah, I would probably have spent some time looking over my shoulder for the next applicant, too.

Jesus doesn’t. In fact, he steadfastly refuses to take an easy escape route. Instead, he submits himself to the authority of those he created. The last hours of his life are spent in pain, humiliation, and torture. Finally, he receives a criminal’s death on a cross hanging between two thieves. The prince has died; the fairy tale has played false; there is no happy ending. Friday is desolate.

If the story ended on Friday, Jesus would be a character in a fairy tale read by no one. This god’s visit would be a failure and we would continue to tell visitation stories and dream of a true fairytale prince to lift us above our human existence.

However.

This isn’t just any god, or just any fairy tale. This is the One, the True Story, with the True Prince. And the ending? It is the ultimate Happy Ending. This story ends, not on Friday, but on Sunday instead, and the grave is empty. The Prince has died, grappled with Death, and triumphed. Death itself was the dragon, and Jesus conquered Death once and for all. Jesus’ victory over death, his resurrection, it was all for us—to rob Death of its power and renew our hope in eternity. Jesus has died, true, but Jesus has risen from the dead. For us, life is Christ, and death is now gain.

There are no more dragons to slay, but we continue to dream. We long for happy endings because we are destined for one. We are not destined for tragedy and for death. There is a fairy tale which is better than we could ever have imagined, precisely because it is beyond our wildest dreams. Imagine, if you will, a god who loves us so ardently that he cast everything aside, embraced humanity at its most visceral level, submitted even to Death itself, only to rise again in a new, glorified body, and crush Death’s power forever. Having done all this, he extends his hands, the hands that we nailed to a cross, to welcome us into his kingdom. Now that is a fairy tale to believe in.

happy birthday, little sea lion

Yesterday was one of the most anticipated events in our household in a long time. Caroline turned five. Why was she so excited about it? Only she knows. I must confess, I don't feel like we make much splash about birthdays at our house: we do aim for a special meal, cake, and presents, but no parties (so not my forte). However, this year was big news in her little life. I would guess that part of what makes it exciting for her is that she has been eagerly anticipating kindergarten like mad and she knows that this year is the year.

I haven't told her that she is already doing kindergarten work.

Funny thing: her birth is so vivid in my mind as one of the most harrowing experiences of my life, but the details slip through my fingers like sand. Lest you be concerned here, no, I am not going to subject you to a birth story (I recently read one of the funniest birth stories ever and know that nothing I can pen can compare). No worries, there was no traumatic 36 hour labor, last minute interventions, drug reactions, or what have you... all I can claim is an unsympathetic and obstinate triage nurse, an EMT student, and a hallway for a birthing room. No, I wasn't trapped in the hallway; the nurse and student were attempting to get me from triage to the birthing room (question: why didn't she take me when I actually wanted to go to the birthing room? Once she realized that I was about to deliver a baby RIGHT NOW, why didn't she leave me in the triage room? And why did I have to pay the hospital for a birthing room when I didn't give birth in it? I singlehandedly delivered this child (with coaching from Andy) and no one paid ME anything.). It just set the stage for the next fifteen months of her little life, which are pretty much a blur to me. This was not a happy infancy.

Other news: we have rented a moving truck. This train is heading east in mid June. Just in time for hurricane season, hooray! I will say that I am so looking forward to some good thunderstorms. I think it has rained here on maybe three different days since we arrived last August.

Also, we went to Yosemite for three days with my dad. We had a great time, but if this is Yosemite's slow time, I certainly cannot imagine planning a summer visit. We all went snowshoeing for the first time ever, which was a hoot. I am looking forward to David and Rabia buying their property now (wish, wish) so that we can plan a winter visit and snowshoe all over it! We also rented bikes and rode around the valley (snow up high, very pleasant in the valley), which was a neat way to see the park... the speed of driving with the silence of hiking. There are some pictures on flickr, but I didn't get as many as I would like; the light was very harsh.

A blessed Easter to you all.

spring break

Well, y'all, we are home from our spring break trek. It was a lot of fun, but once again I am glad to be home. There are things I do love about vacationing and things that I do not love, and it is nice to be reminded of what they are.

I do not love hotel shampoos, which seem to confuse perfume with actual cleansing ingredients. If I wanted perfume, I would go to a store and buy some (no, I actually don't own any right now). I do not love leaving something I value (like my laptop or (this week in San Francisco) my van) with a stranger, even if I am paying them for the privilege of trusting them with my valuables. I do not love long eternal drives through the middle of nowhere. I5 runs for 797 miles through California... much of it is long stretches of nothing. The fields and hills are pretty, I will say, and traffic moves at a brisk clip, but there is certainly nothing to compel anyone to drive that stretch of highway on its own merits. I do not love "free" hotel "breakfasts" which consist of Special K. Special K is not food. It is Rice Krispies for grownups. I do not love tourists. I do not love being a tourist.

I do love having fresh towels every single day. I do love having someone else make my bed. I do love my children and my husband and getting to spend time with them. I do love getting to take hundreds of pictures. I do love having a laptop I can take anywhere so I can dump said pictures every night. I do love getting to see country I've never seen before. I do love the restaurant at the Monterey Bay Aquarium (holy cow, I would buy a membership to the aquarium if I lived there just so I could eat!). I do also love the Wild Plum Bakery across the street from our hotel in Monterey (see Special K note above). I do love driving on the Pacific Coast Highway in Big Sur (think Blue Ridge Parkway but with ocean).

When it's all said and done, though, mostly I love to come back to my own home with my own family and Andy's cooking (!!) and my own big computer. I love my own bed and my own coffee. Of course, right now I am suffering a little schizophrenia on where exactly home might be... I didn't think that 210 would ever be a welcome sight to my tired eyes, but that's just another indication of how things can really change. We will be here for just over two more months and then this is home no longer--an old/new home to head back to, one which has been waiting patiently for me for months. And let's not even get started on the theological implications of going home, but I will say that my current "two home" situation puts that one in a whole new light as well.

Enjoy the pictures; let me know if you want more.

photo alert

I know, I am way overdue for an update. No update here, but wanted to point you to some new pics on flickr from a recent day at the beach. The girls match because Aunt Jenny made them sundresses for birthday presents (so it's early, but if you're giving matching gifts you ought to do it simultaneously and if you're visiting you ought to do it while you're here). There are more pictures of Elanor than anyone else because she actually smiled for the camera; Caroline made stinky smell faces; Michael was just on the go (that lone foot in the surf, though? that would be him).

By the way, I should note that when the girls opened their dresses, they were so excited that I thought they would hurt themselves. I had to beg them to wait until Sunday to wear them (but they can wear them for play also). They did get to try them on over their pjs that first night, though. Anything we give them for birthday presents this year will have to be pretty spectacular as Aunt Jenny has set the bar pretty high.

regression

My father reminded me that I am overdue for a family update (or any kind of new post, I guess). I am afraid that I don't have much to share with you, but here is where we're at:

My dear friend Mylissa just flew in from Memphis for a visit, which was lovely. It struck me that although we've been friends since our oldest were toddlers, this is only the second time that one of us has stayed the night at the other's house--the first was this past summer as our family stayed with hers on our way out here. We had an enjoyable, pretty low key visit, and Mylissa is right back in the thick of things back home... check out her doings at Habitat for Hope's site.

Michael now understands the rudiments of the four basic math operations (addition, subtraction, multiplication, division). He really enjoyed the new concepts of "greater than" and "less than" which we hit last week. The concept of alligators is thanks to my fourth grade math teacher, whose name I unfortunately cannot remember. He has been introduced to the characters of The Lord of the Rings and has developed an intense interest in the same. He's been begging us to read it to him but we resisted, saying he needed to read The Hobbit first, thinking that would delay him for quite a while--until he was emotionally ready to confront the Black Riders. Well, it delayed him about two days. He spent those days hunched over The Hobbit, following Bilbo There and Back Again, and then demanded that we start on the series. He really read it, too--I asked pointed questions about what happened and he knew. The child amazes me. What's next?

Caroline has moved on from teaching herself addition to teaching herself subtraction. If you have preschool children who are interested in math, or who are not interested in math, or elementary children struggling with math, whatever, I highly recommend a set (or two) of Cuisenaire rods. These things rock. Michael was already doing some mental math when we started with them so he doesn't seem to need them very much, but Caroline started out playing with these, just playing, then moved on to building "trains" ("What do you put with a purple rod to make an orange rod?"), then asked for worksheets, and has never looked back. I taught her nothing about addition and very little about subtraction--and she just gets it. She rarely if ever needs the rods for addition at this point. Did I mention that these things rock?

By the way, for those of you who knew we were on the fence about schooling for next year, we have decided to keep Michael and Caroline at home for another year instead of trying to run the school choice gauntlet long distance. It would have been doable, but Michael insists that he wants to continue homeschooling and I think we'd like to go another round.

Elanor has had an interesting couple of weeks and bears the dubious honor of having this entry named for her. She potty trained quickly at the end of October/beginning of November last year. It was truly an effortless experience. I've trained two children, each with their own little quirks (Michael's: needing constant coaching and encouragement to stay on the toilet long enough to make a real "deposit", hence the need for "poo poo stories"; Caroline's: several months of losing bladder control every time she lost her temper, which if you knew her back then, you know was about four times each day), and, until last week, Elanor had none. She was perfect. Last week, however, Elanor apparently forgot that she was potty trained. She started having accidents everywhere. At the kitchen table. On a chair in the playroom. In the bathroom. Hanging off a gate outside of church. In her bed. Several each day. Total regression. Thankfully she seems to be over it. But she is sleeping on a towel.

It made me think of a blog post I read last fall--look here. I thought then, and think now, that the author has a really good point. We do love to think of God as "Daddy" and "Father" and he has encouraged that. But I know from watching Andy that any good father spends quite a lot of time coaxing his children, humiliating himself, and cleaning up their messes. And doing all those things with patience, love, and consistency. Elanor may have backslid on her potty training... and I confess I rolled my eyes more than once... but how often do I backslide in my own faith? Does God roll his eyes over my accidents and mistakes? I doubt it. Like Andy with Elanor, he cleans me up, loves on me, and sends me on my way, hoping that this time I will make it.

a fun way to spend time

Note, I didn't say waste. Nothing involving books could ever be considered "wasting time". Thanks to Angie for telling me about Library Thing, this fun little site. It is like flickr, but for books. You sign up for an account (get this, they never even ask for your email address or name or anything, so you can't get spam from them!) and then you start entering in your personal library. I discovered that entering ISBN numbers is easiest because there are hundreds, I mean hundreds, of different editions of Pride and Prejudice out there. I own two. For each book, it tells you how many other users also own that book. There are also groups (not explored) and forums and if your book (or author) is mentioned in a forum (or topic or conversation or whatever), then it provides a link to that conversation!

I entered my worn out copy of The Complete Father Brown by GK Chesterton (I really need a hardcover copy of this one) and discovered that it had been mentioned in a conversation with a title something like "must read British/Irish detective fiction?". Wow. A quick glance through the conversation reaped me a nice little handful authors to explore. How exciting!

Unfortunately most of my library is in boxes back home, so an extensive listing will have to wait until this summer. I got a bit of a start, though. This is a fun little site and worth exploring--check it out. And when you do, let me know so we can connect over there and check out each other's libraries!

the patience of a saint

I'm going to take a minute to brag upon myself (because generally I don't have a great reason to). Last week, I had a day--a day which was eminently blogworthy, a day of trials and stress, and a day in which I was patient. Truly, like a saint. I felt great. Then I moved on to this week and just like that, it was over. Sainthood is once again out of my reach.

Started out with Caroline. I was trying to get everyone corralled and out the door so we could go buy groceries (once again being out of food because no one goes to the store when one has company). We'd done about an hour of school and then everyone headed downstairs to put on shoes, use the facilities, and get ready to go. For some of us this is a five minute task. For others, it is an hour long ordeal. I kid you not. I even delayed my going back upstairs by taking the time to make my bed. With clean sheets. I reminded Miss "Others" (OK, it was Caroline, like you wouldn't guess it anyway) that she was supposed to be acquiring footwear. Dawdle. Dawdle. Dawdle. It is amazing to me how slowly that child can move. And let me tell you, she doesn't get it from me. So I finished my bed-making and headed upstairs, at which point the storm broke loose. I must point out that for some reason, all of the children consider the lower level of our apartment to be a very scary place in which to be alone. An adult escort is generally necessary. She was still barefoot and still moving at a glacial pace, until she heard me headed upstairs. The tempest followed me in hot pursuit, screeching for me to return. I refused, calmly pointing out that she had ten minutes to get on her shoes and the closest I'm coming to going back downstairs is sitting on the steps. I have good reasons for holding firm on this and so we spent quite a bit of time battling. I was ready to cash in the grocery trip (who knows what we will have for lunch) and let her spend the rest of her morning on her bed. Finally she conceded, put on her shoes, and we went to the store.

She is a ray of sunshine for the entire shopping trip.

I am not.

The morning is not the part of the day during which I exhibited my saintly patience. I snarled.

Did I mention that the day got even better?

Michael had woken up that morning complaining of a sore ear. Then said nothing more about it. He has had one ear infection in his entire life. I had kind of wondered off and on during the morning if I should try to do something about it, but it really didn't seem like it was bothering him at all. Plus, doctors don't want to prescribe antibiotics unless they really need to. Also, our beloved family practice doctor is 3000 miles away. Incidentally, I have no interest in beginning a doctor/patient relationship 3000 miles away from my home. Added to that, I wasn't thrilled with the idea of taking three children to an urgent care clinic because those places are not known for being speedy. And it was a Thursday, which meant that Andy was in class and inaccessible for the entire day (I would call if someone was actively spurting blood or dying, but it is a weighty matter to interrupt the Hebrew class). Michael came upstairs from quiet time, complaining about his ear, but more focused on getting to play a video game with me (go Nintendo 64). That lasted about five minutes and he was obviously in a lot of pain.

At this point, you know it is too late. I will attempt to be brief. Thankfully, Elanor woke up early from her nap. Not so thankfully, the nurse at the clinic informed us that they were looking at a three hour wait. Thankfully, random pediatrician's name that popped up (as an emergency provider) in my internet search before leaving the house was right around the corner. Not so thankfully, the office does not actually see emergency cases. Thankfully, they had an opening in less than an hour and were willing to see Michael. Not so thankfully, he was moaning in full gear at that point. Thankfully, they called us back in twenty minutes. Thankfully, he fell asleep waiting for the doctor. Thankfully, they had electronic medical records and she faxed his prescription right to Target. Not so thankfully, it didn't do any good because they wouldn't start counting pills until they had our health insurance card. Thankfully, it was right up the road. Thankfully, the pharmacist was really nice. Not so thankfully, we still had to wait 15 minutes to pick up the prescription because of the aforementioned card. Thankfully, Target is a store in which I can shop anytime. Not so thankfully, when I returned after 10 minutes because Michael had moved from moaning to wailing, I was stuck behind some man who wanted to flirt with the pharmacist. Thankfully, she rang up everything for me there. Thankfully, the prescription included numbing drops for his ear. Not so thankfully, I forgot to pay for the bottle of water we'd all been drinking as we walked around the store (I paid for it yesterday, thanks for asking). Not so thankfully, Michael had been hurting for so long that he vomited in the parking lot next to the van. Thankfully we were in the back corner of the parking garage (I did tell someone who hopefully ordered a cleanup but you'd better believe I didn't stick around to do it). Thankfully Target is three blocks from our apartment. Thankfully Michael fell asleep on the way home. Thankfully Andy was home when we got there. Thankfully Michael spent most of the rest of the evening asleep. Not so thankfully, he vomited three more times (once in my cupped hands and all over my bed, the one I'd put clean sheets on that very morning). Thankfully, he slept most of the night and felt much better by lunchtime the next day (and is now fighting fit).

Throughout the entire afternoon, I was calm, cool, and collected. Soothing Michael. Singing to the children. Talking to everyone. Friendly. I was SuperMom. For one afternoon, I was great. Like I said, I had the patience of a saint.

This week has been an entirely different story. Some ups and downs. The sad part is that much of the downs have been self inflicted. I would like to go back into last week and try to collect some of that patience to have on hand for future needs. Unfortunately, I am not sure it works like that. I just hope that Michael remembers the snuggles from when he was sick and not the snarls from math. Thankfully, he is well again. Thankfully, I think he will remember my snuggles more than my snarls.

Thankful. I am thankful. For my husband, for my children. For our health. For our home. For our insurance. For Target. For amoxil. And for the blessing of having multiple pairs of shoes for my daughter to ponder every morning. Really.