Wee Adventures

Being a full-time babysitter is full of spontaneity and adventure: if the munchkins and I have an interesting idea for how to pass the time, we go for it. As long as it's cleaned up by the time the parents get home from work.

Friday we made a fort in the oldest girl's bedroom: a blanket hung from the rail of the top bunk, spread over to the dresser and the desk, propped up with a laundry basket and chair. Inside this fort we laid down a blanket. And we had picnic lunch inside the fort. Being out of bread, an improvised "hiker's lunch," involving trail mix, apples and oranges, cheese crackers, and peanut butter on a spoon, made up our spread.

I peeled oranges and apples. We told knock-knock jokes (I know 3 besides the only joke they know, which is "interrupting cow." All attempts to compose new knock-knock jokes were declared to be small failures by yours truly.).

Thursday we went out for snow cones. We pulled into the cramped parking lot of Cowboy Corner around 3; it was the steamy, sunshine-y, hits-you-as-you-step-out-of-the-car kind of afternoon. Perfect for snow cones. Moseyed across the pavement to the hut. Tried to look like we knew what we were doing. Isobel studied the flavors indecisively; we got the little guy a blue raspberry. I ended up with a scarlet "cream soda".

Then we sat on the parking block of a vacant spot, all in a line, like very cute and sweaty bums. We taught Shawn how to eat a snow cone properly, while watching carefully for slug bugs and monster trucks. After the mounds were taken off the top of our cups, we walked down a few blocks to a shady picnic table and rested in the shade.

Lunchtime Religion

(Background info: I'm a daytime nanny for 3 kids right now.)

Lunchtime has brought in the issue of praying. The last summer we were together, we didn't pray at lunch because I knew they were Catholic and didn't know what to do. They were little. I didn't want to step on their parents' toes.

This time I decided, what the heck?

I announced on our first day together that I always thank God before I eat, so I though we should pray together before lunch. To my delight, they immediately knew what I was talking about, and were even eager to do this. The older two led us in the Catholic grace (framed by crossing self with the Holy Trinity and saying "Amen"): "Bless us Oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, and these our guests (probably added for my benefit) through Christ, Our Lord."

Of course, they immediately noticed that I had no idea how to recite the prayer, much less cross myself.
"You're not Catholic, are you?"
"No, I'm not."
I told them that I knew Jesus, and that's what is important to me.
"How do you pray?"
I have learned a couple prayers that sound a lot like theirs--so while we munched on sandwiches and I cut apples, I briefly recited a Lutheran prayer and another prayer before meals that I had learned as a child. The girls shared a couple prayers they had learned at friends' houses. (They knew "God is great; God is good. Now we thank him for this food.")

What did I usually say at lunch?
(I told them very briefly.)
What church do you go to?
(I casually didn't mention it.)

We've been using the Roman Catholic prayer at mealtimes all week, and I've been saying it with them. I'm perfectly happy to thank God using the Catholic prayer. I'm still working on learning it. I just found it online; which will help, since the kids mumble through some of the words they don't understand.

As a die-hard Protestant, I somehow have no theological difficulty with crossing myself. First of all, I believe in the Trinity. So, invoking the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is a perfectly right and proper thing to do. Each Person of the Trinity has separate office, necessary if I am to come before the Father in Heaven. Christ mediates and gives us access, the Spirit teaches us how to pray, and the Father receives our prayer. The Catholic cross is first and foremost a reminder that I rely every person of the Godhead as I pray.

As for the physical act of tracing a cross on oneself: The Catholics (at least officially) find no magic in the sign itself. It is a prayer and a proclamation. The sign of the cross is a physical act which announces to everyone in sight (and to yourself), "I have been redeemed by Christ's death on the cross." It is something you symbolically "wear". They argue that merely invoking the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is a prayer in itself.

In his shorter catechism, Martin Luther said that as part of morning and evening prayers, "you shall bless yourself with the holy cross and say:
'In the name of God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.'"

That first year I babysat them (when I didn't pray with them at all), my conscience bothered me. After the fact I recognized that I was very fearful, and as a result, God did not get the glory. On the other hand, now I've claimed Christ and I'm still terrified. I hope these kids will see in me a "grown up" who firmly believes that Christ is the most important thing in life. What they'll actually see is the failure, hypocrisy and compromise that makes up who I am. I stand in a place of responsibility (and therefore judgment), but also in a place of mercy. This gives me confidence. I know God is greater than anything I put in his way. His plans are greater than mine, and his power overrides all my willing or unwilling opposition. Isn't he awesome?

stay tuned.

What are you reading now?

On my stack (not started):

Middlemarch, George Eliot
The Curate's Awakening, George MacDonald
Green Dolphin Street, Elizabeth Goudge
Various youth fiction/teen and pre-teen series. (which may not include "Twilight" books... :P). Suggestions?

I'm putting up book reviews as I go along. Stay posted. First on the agenda: Girl Meets God, by Lauren Winner.

raggle-taggle gypsy-o!

(please follow link above)

I have said goodbye to my senior friends;
Why would I stay when the homework ends?
I'm going where it's dry--
Oklahoma in July!
I'm away with a raggle-taggle gypsy-o!*

(*I have since nominated to road trip with a raggle-taggle grannie-O*. The gypsy is unavailable for comment.)

(*The similarity between Grannie-O's title and that of aforementioned gypsy is completely coincidental and does not infringe on any known copyright which may or may not be held by said gypsy*.)

(*statement made by Grannie-O*'s attorney, 5/5/10)

(*also known as Grandma.)

...

Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis is a beautifully crafted, deeply poetic, meditation on the glory that awaits all Christians in eternity.

Lewis describes glory as God's approval for us, because our deepest pleasure is found in making Him happy. (This is almost the reciprocal side of the WSC, "man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.") Because of Christ, God is infinitely pleased with us. His pleasure--this glory He gives us--climaxes in our oneness with Christ.

There is a beauty and glory shining through our life experiences (a song, a sunset, a movie), teasing us to become a part of it. Right now we cannot. Creation can only taunt us now. One day God's glory will beam through us more gloriously than anything we've ever sensed in the sunset or a song. He will say to us, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of my Lord."

"Am I a good actor?"

I called Christa on her birthday. Here are the topics of conversation, roughly in order:

1. visiting the local tick farm for her birthday date (actually, she hopes for Thai Cafe and the OKC zoo).

2. a discussion of the beloved Jack, Spot, and Racetrack, and whether any of them would taste good with pepper and a dash of lemon.

3. this morning Ruthie said, "Libby's on the phone" when it was really Mutti.

4. Chris beautifully delivered to me the way Mutti said "Hello? Is this Christa?"
(proof that she had indeed been tricked)

5. This led to other ideas. Chris had a long line of "people who wanted to talk to me," including brother Calvin and an anonymous Private Eye who found a body and wanted "The whole truth, ma'am."

Well, Christa, I have to go now. Happy birthday!

I love you Lib.

I love you too.

Hey, Libby?

yes?

Am I a good actor?

Crossfire

(for the people I've loved over the years who suffer from depression or something similar; if you don't like emo-style introspection, you need not read further)

I.
I did not want to exist, so I pretended you did not.

I took you down as I shot myself.

I cried out for help, but I could not find relief. I growled at you from the corner of my soul as I licked the gaping wounds.

I have returned; I am better.
Talk to me, friend, and stay a while.


II.
I was taken down in the crossfire; closed in by an airless, sullen void of burning grief.

I wanted to put an arm around you; but you refused. I wanted to take you out of the corner and into the light of day. The light of day was too terrible.

I can no longer be well; but I forgive you.
I need help, but not yours.
I offer love, but not mine.