Hiatus

In the light of a few Lenten adjustments, I'm giving up writing this blog for awhile. Definitely until the end of Lent, but most probably for longer. Its ironic because I've not been able to write that much recently anyway, but thought it was worth a quick mention. Until next time.xxx.

P.S.
The family blog, saxtons place ,will continue as usual.

The Surrender of It All

I love Lent.
On one level its like the total experience, holistic - a spiritual, physical , mental and emotional detox.

It’s also been historically a significant part of my walk with God. Back in the day at St. Tom's, Lent was always so powerful. There was always a Lent series, during which we'd seem to be collectively undone.

On a personal level, Lent has often functioned like the engine room of my year.
Many battles were won or lost during Lent, even if the actual outcome was months into the distance. I think its because Lent is a time to focus on surrender. It’s the stripping away, the austerity I love. I'm not saying its necessarily been a pleasant experience, because it hasn't. But in the pain of letting go and letting God, I've learned to embrace the 'worthwhile'.

Lent. The power of it all, the intensity of it all. The confrontation of it all, the wilderness of it all. The total surrender of it all.

The cultural norm during Lent tends to be to give something up. Maybe its a catch up on those New Year's resolutions. Perhaps a genuine attempt to control things in our world that tend to control us - TV, junk food, alcohol, gossip, retail therapy. Or at least place their control into God's hands.
Abstinence can be tough. It reveals the voids our mini addictions fill; it exposes the hurts that keep us entrenched in certain attitudes. And yet its not as tough as working out what to do with all we discover about ourselves by giving up something as random as chocolate, shopping, alcohol, multi-tasking for a mere 40 days.

But if we're that controlled by the world around us, the marketing messages of big companies, magazine covers, the stuff in the refridgerator - we'd like to know, right?


A norm I've come to appreciate in recent years is the discipline of taking up something. Being intentional, the discipline of engagement. On first glance, it might seem like something of a cop out. Where's the pain in the discipline of engagement? I know, I'll take up shopping this year, I will take up a new Bible study.Maybe it does sound too easy.
But then we think of engaging in forgiveness, choosing to bless instead of curse (or nurse the wound of) the one who broke you in two. Or engaging in eating, when you know you freak out about losing weight. Or engaging with relationships, friendships at a deeper level, when you find trust and vulnerabilty impossible.. Or engaging in a new mission, outside of your comfort zone, knowing it'll cost you in money, time and effort. Engaging with your kids, your marriage, your job, your singleness, anything you've checked out of and become passive about simply because its easier than facing pain. When you look at it like that, then maybe you've rather give up chocolate for 40 days instead.

40 days. Abstinence. Engagement.
Lent. The intensity of it all. The loss of it all. The facing of it all. The surrender of it all. The power of God in it all.

Saxton Spirituality

Its not uncommon that when people have children, they get a bit spiritual. Not just in the christening/baptism/dedication sense, but in a growing desire for some kind of spiritual roots. Chris and I are no exception to this, and being church leaders and all, Chris and I want to nurture our children in a Christian environment.Sunday School is an integral part of that, but we feel that primarily its our job to teach them .

I have high hopes. I imagine my children fervent in prayer on their cute little knees. I hear them singing sweet songs to Jesus, and understanding fundamental Biblical principles. Oh, their wisdom.Who knows maybe they'll even have dreams and visions and prophecies from the very early days.

And then there is reality, which goes something like this:

Worship
We generally have two "expressions" of worship. A CD and a guitar.
The CD is called Worship Jams (Seriously?) - a full of worship songs that have been souped up in one way or another. Generally made faster, bouncier and all together more hyper. Reminiscent of the "Now That's What I Call Music" (a dubious and destined to oversell/underdeliver title for a compilation series if ever I heard one) version of POP.
Zoe likes to be the DJ at these worship events, turning the CD on and off at any given moment and giggling. And bouncing. Tia dances and runs around the room, claps and jumps. Tia is quite into jumping off anything, especially if its high. So much of the worship time involves the words
"Tia get down!" and I am not talking about her dancing, though I'm proud to say she's got the moves.
Sometimes Tia runs around the room shouting "Jesus!" and collapses in a heap laughing. Then when Zoe stops the music, Tia holds a pose.
Obviously we devout Christian parents sing along looking enthusiastic whilst trying to stop Zoe from breaking the CD player and Tia from breaking her legs. Requests for songs by Barney or the Wiggles are deferred.

Guitar - well the girls love the acoustic feel. Keep music live and unplugged, perhaps even a little unhinged too. Zoe loves the guitar so has decided she will play it with Daddy. So she bangs it and hits it. Dare I dare to steer her away from it, and its like dragging a teenager away from a boyband, all kicking and screaming. Who knew of the bodyguard skills necessary for the worship experience?
Tia loves the guitar, but is content to play on her drums as loudly as possible. Suddenly her face takes on a very serious expression. "Enough!" she cries "Stop!" Zoe, having found her way back to Daddy and his guitar is not listening. I await my little one's revelation with baited breath.
Tia runs to the potty. "Got it." she says.
A few moments later, she stands to her feet and exclaims
"I did it!!"
Clearly worship times can really build the self esteem.

Prayer
We pray at meal times. We ask the girls to put their hands together as a sign that we are going to pray. You always know when you have gone on too long because you look down and see that the girls have started eating without you. Some days the hands only come together with a bit of pasta in them. But generally things run smoothly and Zoe screams "Ahhhmmmeeeeee!" at the end and the girls shout and cheer and whoop.
The special days are when we are eating with others. Chris and I pray and we end as we normally do by shouting amen and cheering and clapping. Only on these occasions, the girls just stare at us, as though we are doing something they've never seen before and are embarassed for us.

Bible
Now this we like to mix up a little. During advent, we had this advent calendar, and christmas tree ornaments of the Nativity (shepherds, star, angels, et al) and each day introduced a bit of the story and an ornament for the tree.
As far as the girls were concerned this was The Longest Story Ever Told. They were far more interesting in putting decorations on the tree and fighting over who got what. One evening Tia walked off in the middle of our God slot. She returned with her Children's Bible storybook, handed it to us and said "Read it". Nuff said.
We have these other books too. Right now Zoe and I are reading about the pig who shared his dinner with the Prodigal son. Zoe's taught me that Pig quacks like a duck.
Tia and I end each night with children's version of Ecclesiastes 3. The whole "there is a time for everything" bit. The time to live and a time to die has been exchanged (thankfully) for "A time to get muddy and squelchy, and a time to be clean and soapy". How cute is that?

So this along with car rides singing along to Soul Survivor, Brenton Brown and Chris Tomlin (with homegrown actions), thankful prayers (thank you for my broccoli, for my pasta and for my potty, and for my other potty...) and bible stories told by Pigs (prodigal son) and Ducks(who found Moses) and Donkeys (carrying the good samaritan, or hanging out with Shrek depending on our kids' moods) is our family spiritual life thus far!

A change is gonna come

Last night Chris and I watched Hairspray.
Its a fun loving, sing songing movie set in Baltimore in 1962.Tracy Turnblad is a "pleasantly plump" (her own words) teen who loves to dance and gets the opportunity to be a dancer on the Corny Collins show. Once on the show she discovers that the black kids are only allowed to dance on the show once a month. Her belief in racial integration leads her to speak out, take risks in a way that will change her live and the lives of those around her forever. All wrapped up in some groovy tunes and some funky dance moves.
Like all musical movies, Hairspray is fun and ecletic, and you wonder how these actors manage to keep a straight face while their colleagues burst into song mid dialogue. I loved the actors, John Travolta and Christopher Walken are great, and I love it whenever Queen Latifah is back.

Somewhere near the end of the film, there was this somber moment that settled on Chris and I. It didn't come down to a speech or a song. The film has these blink and you miss them moments which sobers up about the pain of racial segregation, the inevitability of change in that era, and yet the incredible resistance.
Chris started talking about Reggie, a mature African- American student he studied with at Fuller. They had a conversation about segregation once. What it was like to live in those days, every day. How it felt. Reggie talked. Chris listened.
Chris turned and said
"Sometimes we don't realise what a statement we are in this culture."

Obviously, we've had our fair share of abuse since getting together, from both black and white, though the abuse (unprintable) has consistently been directed at me. The UK had its dark days too. Signs on the doorways of rental properties etc " No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs". Rivers of Blood and Cricket Tests. Not a pretty picture. I digress.

But we didn't have segregation.
One day I took the girls to meet Chris down at Fuller for lunch. I met Reggie and a few other African- American mature students. There's a look in the eyes of people who have lived through days you could never understand. There was a warmth in their eyes and smile. An element of suprise as they watched our little family. Who knows what they were thinking, feeling. Maybe they saw history and the future at the same time. It was only a moment, one of those blink and you will miss it moments where you have the privilege of seeing someone's soul, their life hopes and dreams in their eyes.


Our film ended singing and dancing, prophesying of a change that would come no matter what.
Democrats will choose between a white woman or a black man to lead them to the White House. A Republic African American woman is the 66th US Secretary of State. People make statements and fall in love cross culturally every day.
There is a long way to go, lots of changes that need to take place here in the US. Lots of healing, progress, equality needed - across racial divides that are not just about Black and While, but many cultures, many colours.

But a change is gonna come.

Those who can, cheat.

So after giving it some at the gym, I figured it's time to take things to the next level health and fitness wise. What kind of January would it be if I didn't resolve to get fitter, eat healthier, tone up, shape up etc.? What kind of person would I be if I didn't resolve to make this year the year when I really accomplished the above -just like I passionately resolved last year, and the year before, and...

But alongside all the magazines and shows promising perfect healthy recipes and work outs that whip those abs into shape....are all the corner cutting alternatives that promise so much more, and so much more quickly.

There are the obvious things like cosmetic augmentation for cosmetic reasons. New parts! Back in the day it seemed plastic surgery was very Michael Jackson and rather taboo. But now I see advertisements everywhere, practices springing up all over the place. Funny how the world changes.


We all know hard work, exercise and disciplined food choices are the way to a healthy lifestlye. But if I'd had a caeserean and my ob/gyn offered to deal with the excess baggage, I would relinquish my principles (and my fat) in a nano second.

I go to Robecks, my super smoothie place. And they offer supplements for your smoothie, like extra vitamin C etc. Funny how I always choose the one that offers to speed up your metabolism.

I don't know if this is just a girl thing - but there is also the body affirming underwear a la Bridget Jones. They add just that little extra for the safe enclosure of the beer belly, and smooth down the muffin top (awful phrase and yet sooooo irresistible). But others add booty and allsorts - who needs surgery - get yourself down to your local department store (Do guys have like undies that create 6 packs?)!
And now Walmart is stocking this wonder pill Alli - that accelerates weight loss. That's not all it accelerates though if you aren't careful mind you. If you break the rules you may suffer explosive results!

Obviously the deep and profound truth is that all of the above is pretty shallow. We are so much more than our clothing size, and at some point we need to be happy with who we are. When I was younger I thought that age would teach me this. Yet as I enter my mid thirties, I simply discover that there are more expensive ways to handle the insecurity. I didn't think there was an obsession with youth until I realised I was not considered young anymore !

Post babyness, there is something patently ridiculous about wanting to go back to the way we were. And yet its crazy to think that something so life altering as babyness wouldn't throw you so much that you reach into the past occasionally to recall who you are. I guess its inevitable that our insecurities are enlarged and exploited by those who fill our stores with expensive products and empty promises, who still tell us after all this time how to look, what to want, who to be.

Much of the time , those of us who have chosen something more lasting than looks as life's anchor can laugh and walk away. Much of the time. Even then, on a bad bloated day, the odd comment can get under our skin and gnaw away at us.

But we're busy people and we just don't have the time for this nowadays, what with jobs, relationships, kids, life to consider.
So those who can, cheat.

Curls and Curly Q's

See you start talking again and there is just so much to say.

This post is utterly meaningless if you've never had a problem with your hair. And I'd kinda be guessing you're bald. And bald is a great look on people.I am serious.

I've always had quite an intense "relationship", shall we say with my hair. The 'fro and I have been through so much together in terms of combs, styles (ooh the 80's) and chemicals. I've straightened it, curled it, straightened and curled it. I've gone au naturel. I've had thread in it (not my prefered style as a 6 year old - who likes having a hairstlye that looks like a spider is on your head? Let me tell you people, NO ON DOES.Its not cute, its not pretty. Its just plain humiliating, and a nightmare to sleep in. Just back off your child's head, OK? There. I've said it). I've put extensions in it, hot combed it, flat -ironed it, tonged it, flicked it, cornrowed it, had beads in it (not the most practical, but great sound. But don't expect to surprise anyone by creeping up behind them. Of course they can hear you) twisted it. I've never left it alone. I've put a lot into it and and had a lot fall out of it!I've spent a lot of my life at the hair salon, or at some random hairdresser's house.

And I am always, always contemplating what to do next with it.

In the black community where visits to the hairdressers can take an entire day - hair can be at the heart of your community. But I reckon for all of us - regardless of colour or creed, hair is important, period. Hairdressers can make or break your self esteem, at least for a little while.

Yes, I have an intense relationship with hair.

And now not only my own, but my two little girls who have hair that is very different to both their parents.

Its been a little challenging to find the right products for the girls hair. My stuff is way too heavy, Chris' stuff - just not enough. And their hair is very different from each other too. And we all need different combs and brushes.

So fueled by my anal personality, and many experiences of putting the wrong chemical in my hair and it falling out - literally - I've been determined to give my girls' hair a great start in life. My friend Jennifer, a biracial woman with perfect hair told me

"There is one thing you will have to accept with your girls hair. Its going to be EXPENSIVE"

I didn't mind, I've shoved enough cheap rubbish in my hair for all of us.

So I've been surfing the net and reading up and surfing some more, emailing a few contacts (including the rather unsual one of a pastor friend called Lance in OK,who in a previous calling used to work with ethnic hair products. A high calling indeed) Eventually I settled on a company and ordered some stuff.

It arrived the other day. I resisted trying it out straight away cos the girls have grown tired of me messing with their hair. Especially Tia who in the run up to being Beccy's flowergirl had to go to her daycare group thingy everday with all these different fancy updo's that I was trying out. She was not impressed with me that month.At all.

So 24 hours in (48 for Tia) I got to work.

And seriously - this stuff is good....

Introducing the Curly Q's product line by Curls. Lots of great things for my Tia and Zoe's hair. I love em! I'm going to settle with these guys for awhile before I move on and try out some other ones I've found.

Everyone complimented the girls on their hair - or me as their mom who did their hair, last night at church, so I guess something must have worked! But alas you don't get any pictures right now. They weren't going to stay still any longer !

Flowergirls, Princesses, Sugar and Spice

I have made no secret of my absolute distain for the whole entitled Princess culture thing. The fairytales and the saccharin and the feeling that its all a bit limp wristed and pointless and amoral. I want strong images of feminity, not that waiting to be rescued nonsense. The only princess my girls really heard of was Shrek's Fiona, cos I am not a fan of Disney's limitations on beauty either. And so the militant perspective went on.

Tia was Beccy Beresic's flowergirl, so we had to go to David's Bridal to try on dresses. Expecting Tia to hate it, I tried to make it as simple and quick as possible.
But then she tried on the dress and fell in love with it.

"Mommy, dance with me" she says. We spin and twirl around the store. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and is rapt with wonder.

"I love my dress! Let's do ballet"

No longer needing my lead, Tia spins and dances and giggles and does her version of ballet. Captivated customers smile and sigh and coo, and the staff are grateful for the free advertising.

"I'm a princess!"

At that moment, my mind is bombarded by all manner of thoughts:

That my daughter is gorgeous, beautiful, charming and adorable. Its wonderful and terrifying at the same time. Wonderful, because she is. Terrifying because I've been given this wonderful gift and we've got to raise her, nurture her.It would help if I had a clue what I was doing! I know I am not alone in this thought. Anyway, I digress, but you know how thoughts wander...Yes, you are a princess I think to myself and I don't care how much of a contradiction that makes me right now, how much of a hypocrite, in this moment I will live the dream and enjoy it with you. Maybe I am just a bitter old shrew who never got told she was a princess and that is why I am so militant. Maybe.
My final thought is this princess thing has more nuance than I gave credit... its going to be interesting to navigate in the years to come.

Reality gets all up in my face as Tia has the mother of all tantrums when as I try to get the dress off.


Then there is Zoe. Wonderful, one year old Zoe. I repeat, one year old. I've said this before; Zoe has this kind of personalilty that just is. It's not that she is quiet or anything like that. Its just that Zoe has this quality about her that simply expresses who she is and will not be moved.

And what Zoe is, is girly. Actually they are both girly girls. But where Tia is out there and funky, Zoe is emerging as something of a fashionista. I first observed it when she was crawling around the house with a tiara in her hand, just because ( No I didn't buy the tiara, it was given to us). And then she got into the pearly beads. Its like her outfits are not complete without them. And I don't choose the colours either. Its all Zoe. If this is her at ONE, then obviously I am in for a bit of an education.


So am I just a musty old shrew with a princess complex? Am I taking this all too seriously? Quite possibly. But I won't let go of my opinions just yet. My hope and prayer for my girls is that they grow to be women who are confident in all they are, and are more than a bit of arm candy. That they grasp and enjoy all that they can be as women.



Who knows, maybe they'll do it with a whole lot of pink, fab shoes (no complaints there!) gorgeous outfits and accessories. And, no doubt, with a whole lot of flair.

Back

Well you blink and then 5 weeks or something has passed. I have not given up blogging; I've not been won over by Facebook, its just that life got in the way for a little while. Then I felt that I needed to have a big comeback with something profound to make up for the absence. Then I realised quite how pretentious that was, and that anytime I have been profound it is pretty accidental.

So I remembered that I love writing and - especially with my friends across state or overseas, these monologues are just me chatting and ranting like I always did. And when you look closely at life there is plenty to natter about.

So I am back, with my decaf, ready to go.

Half Mast

I look out of my window and see the US flag at half mast today. Its been like that for days. First in response to killings in Omaha, Nebraska last week. A troubled young man, goes into a mall and ends many lives, including his own.

Then on Sunday another troubled young man goes to a YWAM base in Colorado. By the time he has left, two young adult missionaries are dead, two others are wounded. He then goes to a church after the service has ended. Apparently he intended to kill as many people as possible. By the time he is killed, two sisters aged 16 and 18 are dead, and their father and someone else are in hospital.

Its all over the news, the losses, the questions, the pain. The tragic troubled lives so filled with pain and vengeance that turned to murderous intent. The lives of other young adults, full of potential cut short.
There are so many stories, and yet a loss for words.

I cannot get my head around this. On one level I don't want to.When Columbine happened, Dunblane happened, we were shocked to our very core. And rightly so. I don't want to get used to hearing about incidents like Virgina Tech, Omaha, Colorado, and the others, for there are others.
Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong.

The flag is at half mast today. Its been like that for days.

A Winter's Tale

It was the first snow of the season and it was going to be a very long day if I didn't take the girls out to see it, touch it feel it. Its a known fact that I am not especially into these things. Snow, winter, Christmas that sort of thing. Give me Christmas on the beach away from the rampant craziness and the cold. But I have children so such Scroogyness no longer gets an audience. I had to change whether I wanted to or not.

So I dressed the girls in the obligatory layers. It took so long I wondered if spring would come before we made it downstairs. But this is Minnesota. Snow built to last.Eventually we made our way downstairs. I took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped out into the white.
There's something about winter. Fall is my favourite season with its richness and depth and change. But something about the winter , when I am not ignoring it, takes my breath away. The trees are stark, barren, brittle looking, left with nothing. Only the evergreens seem to survive. And the snow. How can something so delicate on its own, collectively be so utterly devastating? Snow has the final word, nothing can resist it, and all that is left is silence. I've never considered it gentle or picturesque or peaceful. Its the complete takeover that I find so, intrusive. There was a whole world happening before the snow came. Now that world has been taken over.

The landscape evokes countless metaphors. Barren brittle trees and thriving evergreens. Delicate devastating snow. A world, a life beneath the white surface enveloping everything. Cold and austere. Its reminds me of loss and isolation and strength that comes in tough times from invisible sources. Of how its often the little things,lots of gentle little things , choices, moments, heartaches that somehow quietly, stealthily ,if you will, command control of our landscape.

An eleven month old's giggle interrupted my thoughts. Zoe was looking around and stretching out her arms, and feeling the snow whisper past her face as the wind blew. And it made her smile and giggle.

Tia walked slowly toward the snow. Gently. almost on her tippytoes. She bent down and touched it, swept up a handful and threw it in the air and the wind carried the flakes away. She looked up at me, her wide eyes wider than ever and filled with awe. "Mom," she gasped "It's Christmas"

And as her eyes locked with mine, I saw who I used to be, how I used to be some 30 years earlier. When winter and snow and the cold filled me with awe and wonder. When I could stare at snow for ever, stick my tongue out to catch it and feel it melt. And there were cold fingers and wet clothes. But there were snowmen and snowballs and games and fun. And there was wonder and awe and you wondered if the snow would ever stop, but you hoped it wouldn't stop falling, so you prayed a prayer to whoever you thought was there to not let that moment ever stop. And it didn't ever stop, because it wasn't about time. It was about wonder and excitement about who knew what else. Yes there were presents and nice food and fun and Christmas, but there was more than that. There was magic. Not the Harry Potter type David Blaine/Copperfield stuff. I mean the word you use when you are a child because your vocabulary isn't big enough to say its beyond what you heart can contain and bigger than your brain. That magic, which as an adult I'd probably call spiritual.
I saw who I used to be and how I used to be. And then I remembered the time, when, way back when,winter became a metaphor for loss and endings. For little things that became this big thing that was out of your control, always was, and then just took over everything. When winter became cold and wet and cruel and the magic was... gone. There will be a time for that another day.

But in her eyes I saw that it didn't have to be that way anymore. That I was free to find wonder excitement. That I could feel the flakes on my face again. They were allowed to melt on my tongue again.I could see evergreens, I could see beauty and peace and Christmas and magic. So we walked into the snow and we played and we sang and we danced and we played some more. Little flakes of redemption, gently falling, settling, taking everything over. I smile at my little girls and wonder who is raising who.