A Cacophony of Clothing

Yep.  Sold in a store near you.  Someone wanted money for this. 

Hello Friend,

How are you holding?  Fall is settling into my corner and I miss our walks by the seaside.  They helped me make sense of the world, which seems to be hurling toward the book of Revelation at a break neck pace.  As a Canadian, American politics was hard to understand with your tutelage, without it, I’m simply lost.  I was keeping pace until that Moochi fellow reenacted the Fall of Icarus with such staggering devotion.  At that point I became overwhelmed.  Though it was barely 10 weeks ago the tone of my surroundings have changed so much it has altered my prayer life.  I offer the Lord fewer solutions now, realizing we have crossed the event horizon of social incivility.  Media of all forms has become a blood sport and I find myself limiting my exposure to its war cry.  I am spending more time with those I love and enjoying the care those relationships provide. 

It’s nice.   

My recreational time has been overtaken by the demands of raising teenagers, which was how I ended up at the mall recently.  Any of my children will tell you going to a shopping mall is a gift of sacrificial love on my part.   I simply detest the places.  One of my children however, spontaneously acquired the shopping gene, so to prove my undying love, we spent an afternoon window shopping.  

This is where it gets complicated.  I love spending time with my girls.  I enjoy discussing life issues, reshaping problems as opportunities for hope and encouraging their souls to look for joy.  This parenting goal is challenged the moment I set foot in a store whose objective is to clothe my children.  Clothe did I say?  I’m sorry, I should have been more accurate.  What would you call it if a clothing factory vomited on the floor and then offered to place its fabric remnants on your child?  That’s the word I’m looking for… 

This week I have decided to become a fashion blogger, because frankly, Christian mommy blogging has its limitations.  What makes it all the more awesome is the fact I’m radically unqualified to blog about fashion.  My friends will tell you my fashion style is rumpled or nonexistent.  This means, anything I will say is based on observation and sheer ignorance.  I’m excited as I feel I meet the standard set by the internet at large: opinionated and uninformed.  

The first thing I noticed was the vibe of the store.  The place possessed all the despair and broken dreams a sweat shop can afford.  Cheap and sad, most of the clothing hailed from the same unimaginative muse.  Like the $20 barmaid Halloween costume, the clothing was dipped in a tawdry layer of sexuality that was both bizarre and depressing.  I wandered aimlessly looking for something … anything pretty.  I realized I was in the wrong place.  This store had given up flattering for flattening.  Skeins of spandex spun into every garment so that young forms and curves could be forced into the shape of a garish doll, identical and tired. It was like a physical manifestation of a teenage identity crisis.    

I walked to outer wear which was a wise move on my part.  My mood picked up immeasurably.  Walking around in disbelief I suddenly realized I was feeling better.  The wailing of cheap sex had been silenced by racks and racks of fuzzy faux fur.  Unclear of what I was seeing, I asked my daughter, “What exactly is all this stuff?”   “Coats Mum!” was the reply.  “Get out! This is amazing!”  I was rewarded with an eye roll.  So in the vein of a fashionista, I would like to introduce you to a few of my favorite coats this fall season. 

Though not as stylish as velour tracksuits, I see potential here. 

I call this one “Low Carb Cookie Monster” in honour of all my friends on the Keto diet. Do you recall how smug you felt when you realized Cookie was a puppet and was therefore unable to eat the cookies he threw about the room?  Not only is this coat really ugly and shapeless, it is the colour of Cookie Monster himself, minus the fuzz length.  How many humans look good in this shade of blue?   I’m not certain but if you know what comes after the phrase “C is for cookie…” this is your coat. 

This could only be improved if it came with a cinnamon scented liner. 

This garment was brought out for fall and I call it Pumpkin Spice Muppet.  There really aren’t words to describe it.  Think Ewok meets Beaker’s hair and you are working your way there.  I spent a lot of time staring at this one trying to imagine who would look at home in it.  I decided that our hamster James would do it justice though the sizing would be a problem.  A Sphynx cat might also appreciate it as a bed.  The makers of this fabric are laughing their way to the bank.  Back in my day we used this stuff as craft material.  We cut it into long rectangles, put two googly eyes on it and sold them as caterpillars at the church bazaar.   Clearly the coat visionary didn’t know this fabric wasn’t made to become clothing.  

To understand why I like the next coat you have to meet a member of my family.  My daughter found him at the dollar store and fell instantly in love with him “because he was so soft and fuzzy.”  His sole function is to come on family trips and have his picture taken.  Meet Scruffles: this is Scruffles at Lake Tahoe this summer.  

Fortunately Scruffles didn't need to get into the water because I don't think he can swim. 

Imagine my surprise when I saw Scruffles in coat form! My shock was matched only by my middle child who screamed and launched herself at the coat rack.  It took a while to get her put of there and a complicated discussion ensued as to how many Scruffles were harmed in the making of these garments.  I made a mental note never to take that child shopping again. 

Scruffles family

We wandered some more, bought sugar dipped dough and chatted.  By the time we returned home I was tired, not physically but mentally.  I was unclear how to convey the importance of self-worth when so much of the clothing available to this generation is worth-less.  Unclear where to find self-respect when it has been exchanged for rabid self-righteousness.  Unclear how to encourage thoughtful discussion when many would rather rage than engage and venting anger has become the norm.  

Where was Jesus in the whole mess?

Funny, when I type that, a whole bunch of Christianese phrases jump to mind.  “He is high and lifted up.”  “Ruling and reigning.” “Large and in charge” and a whole myriad of phrases that aren’t all together helpful.  As the world gets noisier and troubles increase, we are faced with a choice.  From where will we pull our strength?  Will we pop a phrase in our computer and hit enter and come before the Google god?  Or will we hit our knees and come before God himself?  With what, will we clothe ourselves?  Will we put on articles provided by the world, faux fury and frustration? Or will we hold to the simple gospel that every person is found wanting and clothe ourselves in the grace Jesus provides? 

It isn’t easy.  

So I’m praying for you dear friend.  While so many are in a season of loss and grief that you will be able to come alongside in compassion and understanding as opposed to offering trite soundbite sentiments.  That you would have the strength to bridge the spaces between your neighbors and listen with understanding.  

Thinking of you this week,


xoxKaren

Child Care

How can there be too many children?  That is like saying there are too many flowers.
~Mother Teresa~

The first time I went to Children’s Hospital I got lost. It was fall and the rain turned everything grey.  Culture shock hung off me like a trench coat, heavy and physically limiting.  When I realized I would have to drive a six lane highway to get there I almost lost my nerve.  Off ramps where a new experience in my world and I lived in fear of exiting the freeway by accident, only to end up 2 states removed from my original destination. 

Thanks to map quest (remember when we used to print out directions?) I planned my route and made it to the campus on the edge of Seattle.  My miraculous victory was short lived, I remember sitting in the parking lot, two littles in the car, crying because I was supposed to be the functional adult.  I felt uncertain, unqualified and unprepared.  It was horrible.

Summoning my nerve, I grabbed my cotton clad poppets and stuffed their sweet chubbiness into strollers and harnesses.  Sippy cups and cheerios were slung into their appropriate holsters on my person as I turned toward the building to do battle with my fears.  Drying my eyes, I hid my face in my baby’s hair, took a deep breath of her fresh soapy scent and walked through the doors that slid open as I approached. 

The presence of God is a difficult thing to describe.  Mostly it’s because people who are foolish enough to use those words are an odd bunch who shout hallelujah at weird times and wear a lot of denim.   I’m going to try not to go there.  But when I walked into the hospital, I felt a peace descend over my fear and I could breathe again. 

I still must have looked rough because I was asked six times between the parking lot and the 4^th floor if I knew where I was going.  Each time, my answer was the same, “No, not really.”  My eyes would start to sting again and I would blink furiously trying not to cry as hot tears escaped anyway off my nose and onto my baby’s head.  Scolding myself furiously for my tears, I detoured to the bathroom in order to cry in a stall: the huge one, with the space for a small excavator.  Soon tears were a luxury I couldn’t afford as I battled my nylons, baby front pack and my baby’s sock that, due to an uncanny sense of timing, came off her foot and got lost somewhere in my skivvies. 

I was an emotional wreck with a baby sock lost in my knickers. 

The day was unforgettable for the wonderfully awful way it started.  It became an awfully wonderful day because I had discovered a community of amazing people.  I have returned several times over the past decade and each time, been touched by the amazing staff and family’s that grace its halls.  I am grateful I was referred there so many years ago.  After a few visits this month, I wanted to say thank you to those who work with children in particular.  I have friends who foster children from broken families and those who nurse them back to health in their times of illness.  Courage and steadfastness are not the half of it.

I am thankful for your ministry. 

Thank you for your faithful service.  Ministering to sick children isn’t for cowards.  Sometimes I hide in my community, doing battle with illness and death only when it is absolutely necessary.  I counter it with prayer and casseroles not knowing what to say and retreating whenever possible.   Thank God there are those who battle daily with gauze, sutures and hope.  I came face to face with the reality of long term illness at my last visit, as a sweet child came round the corner in pajama clad feet, sucking her thumb as the nurse took her for a wagon ride down the hall.  It felt like she rolled over my heart as she came by.  I was profoundly thankful for those who minister to these little ones.  For their courage to continue to care for such children.

I have been impressed too, by their kindness.  Crisis has a way of bringing out harsh words and short tempers.  Yet this group of caregivers seems graced with the ability to bring gentle words to frayed hearts and minds.  Their continued patience with families who are stretched beyond their ability to cope is amazing. 

If you are someone who works with little people, I wanted to thank you for your ministry and to remind you that the Lord sees your sacrifice.  I’m not certain what we would do without those who care for children in difficulty, our world is richer for your service.

Kindness is just love with its work boots on.  ~unknown~

I am praying for you this week and always,

Karen

Cool as a Cucumber

  

I opened my purse and dumped it on the hospital bed, looking for something that might ease my low grade tension or high grade boredom.  Tylenol, scripture cards, gum, eye drops: anything would have been helpful.  It was 2:00 am and my daughter, finding respite from pain under the blanket of sleep, opened her eyes surveyed the mess beside her legs and stated, “Mum, that’s a cucumber.” 

“Yep.  You are right.  That’s a cucumber.”  I agreed, moving it aside in search for something less organic.  Eyeing the vegetable once more she gave me a puzzled look and retreated into unconsciousness.  Given the amount of drugs in her system, I could have told her she was dreaming and to go back to sleep but she was entirely correct.  We were stuck in the Emergency Room at 2:00 in the morning and all I had in my purse was a cucumber. 

If I had a choice, I would have packed something more useful but choice isn’t found in many ER’s so we, like all those admitted this evening, were making the most of it.  Despite my abundant imagination, I couldn’t come up with a scenario featuring a cucumber unless my daughter suddenly decided she wanted a hand sanitizer and cucumber facial. I stared at her pain creased face and sighed.  I was feeling outclassed again.

I wasn’t overwhelmed 12 hours earlier, when I stopped by a friend’s house and for a quick visit.  The height of efficiency, I had combined errands and managed a half hour chat before she left on a flight the next morning. On my way out the door she handed me a baggie of cherry tomatoes and a cucumber like any reasonable gardener does.  Rubbing my eyes, I wondered where the bag of cherry tomatoes had gone and prayed I hadn’t left them with my clipboard of paperwork at the front desk, like a horticulturalist addict dropping seeds and baggies of gardening smack wherever I went. 

I decided the late hour was getting to me and headed to the bathroom to wash my face.  A trick I learned from my husband, who believes most all hormonal issues can be dealt with by a metaphorical reboot, hence the face washing ritual.  It actually did the trick and I headed back to our green cubical, reminding myself to stay cool and that losing my patience now wasn’t going to speed things up.

This week, I’ve spent some time thinking about the discomfort of being in a situation and feeling desperately unequipped. The drive to the hospital was hell, the noises my daughter made seemed to bypass my auditory system and translated directly into unsafe driving.  I blew through 3 yellow lights (if red is a shade of yellow) as I navigated dark streets trying to close the distance between our location and my daughters promised relief.  I couldn’t fix a thing. 

Ever been in that place my friend?      

Perhaps you went to work expecting support but received only slander.  Maybe you were in the relationship until “death do us part” but your partner bailed at “death of size 4.”  At times we walk into situations expecting civility and are met with cruelty and condemnation.  When faced with unkindness, Christianity can seem as useless as a cucumber in an emergency room.  What good is the power of God if I’m not allowed to hurl it at someone’s head to stop their aggression?  What good is my faith when it doesn’t stop the pain? 

In these situations, I’ve only ever seen two options: to move toward God or move away from faith.  My highest priority when I’m in pain is to get out of it as quickly as possible.  When that doesn’t happen, I get angry and blame the Lord for not waving a magic wand and turning my obstacles into chocolate creams.  Rarely does rejoicing or thanksgiving come to my mind when confronted with suffering, I need to coax -  yay force - myself towards faith in these moments.  It isn’t my default setting.  (I think that’s a maturity thing, we can’t all be as amazing as John Piper.) 

But praise God there is an alternative to my limited carnal thinking. There is a God who sees my suffering despite my fussing and is willing to condescend to coax me along.  Though the steps I take might be small, God is big and able to sustain all those who are suffering and come to him for help.   

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.  2 Corinthians 1:3-4  

If you are feeling like your faith is limited, or that you are ill equipped to handle the situation before you, allow me to remind you that there is a God who fights for you and will continue to walk with you throughout your trial.  Though you might not see a purpose in your pain does not mean God has forgotten or abandoned you in your time of need.  Your weakness does not negate his strength or his plans for you.

I couldn’t come up with a use for that cucumber at 2:00 am but at 12:30 pm it was quite a different story.  Lunch was sparse, plans for grocery shopping having been interrupted.  I had half a container of cream cheese and a sleeve of Costco bagels I liberated from the freezer.  As I set to work toasting and slathering my daughter looked in the fridge and asked, “I don’t suppose we have any vegetables anywhere?”  “We do!” My eldest replied from her nest on the couch, leg propped up on two pillows.  “Check mum’s purse, it’s where she stashed a cucumber.”

May you things that were formerly useless become useful this week.

I’m praying for you,

xoxK