Upkeep

I believe in aging gracefully. I believe that I'm better, smarter, wiser, kinder, stronger, and happier than I was ten years ago. You couldn't pay me to be 18 again. But here's the deal, getting older requires upkeep that I wasn't quite prepared for.

I used to hold the world record for getting to bed fast. OK, not really, but if such a record existed, I'm pretty sure it would have been mine. This was not an inherited skill. My grandmother was just the opposite. Her bedtime rituals were quite a puzzle to me when I was a kid. Lotions and potions everywhere, denture paraphernalia (although she tried to keep that hidden to avoid terrifying us with the sight of grandma without teeth), eye cream, foot cream, Aspercreme, all capped off by several minutes of emptying her bladder.  I marveled that a person who seemed so normal in everyday life could be subject to such odd and extensive bedtime practices.

And now it's all starting to make sense.

My teeth now get more of my attention than any other part of my body. Who has time to worry about muffintops and trendy hairstyles when their teeth are crumbling? I have adopted every practice recommended by my dental hygienist. (I actually have a dental hygienist, which is new.) I floss every night of my life. I use my cavity-preventing, gum-strengthening rinse twice a day. I laid down $85 for a motorized toothbrush. (I love it. I'll never have a $4 toothbrush again.) I rinse after meals. I've been to the dentist four times already this year. My teeth alone require so much more upkeep than I'm used to.

I'm technically not even old yet, but I've already got hair growing where I don't want it to while the kind I'm desperate to keep keeps falling out. I mercilessly pluck one kind while babying the other--more special conditioner to try, a gentler hairbrush, the Mercedes of all hair dryers that supposedly prevents damage and breakage. I've tried them all. Cheap as I am, I'm not willing to be bald until my children are all out of high school.

And then there's the skin. How is it that you go a good 30 years of your life without giving a single thought to your skin, and then it's all you notice about yourself? When did those tiny lines appear around my eyes? When did my knees get droopy? And how did all these age spots get from my mother's hands to mine? How is it fair that I have a zit and a wrinkle within a centimeter of each other?

I actually gave up on my skin at 33 when melasma ("the mask of pregnancy" as it's romantically called) erupted across my forehead during my third pregnancy. When I went to a dermatologist and told him I thought I had it, he said--no lie--"Why do you think that? Because you've got the g**d***** map of Europe across your forehead?" (And that wasn't even the weirdest part of that visit, but I'll save the rest of the story for another day.) The map remains, in all its glory, today.

Of course the good news is that there's a cream for all of this. My bathroom drawers are full of samples just waiting for me to commit: creams and cleansers and lifters and firmers. And an $85 toothbrush. And just like that, I have become my grandmother. We won't even talk about the bladder business and the fact that I'm in bed by 9. Yep, this is me, aging gracefully.

Our New World and Why I Sometimes Love It

Integrity can be simply defined as "who you are when no one else is looking." It's getting harder and harder to find a time when no one else is looking.

A young ESPN reporter is the latest to realize this. I had never heard of Britt McHenry until this morning, but on today's news scrolls and websites, she's the poster child for cruel, arrogant behavior. After having her car towed, McHenry berated the attendant at the towing company in a truly horrible way. Maybe she was late for work or an important appointment. Maybe she'd had some bad news earlier that day. Any one of us can snap in the midst of a bad day, but what that "snap" looks like says everything about who we are at our core. Bad days make or break personal integrity. In this young woman's case, it was a serious break, made public for all the world to see.

Personal integrity has never been so public. Cameras are everywhere. What we think we're doing in private is just a click away from a global viewing audience. This is horrifying--who wants to be featured on an internet montage of humiliated nose pickers? (And come on, don't think it couldn't be you.) But I also kinda love it, especially in cases where people are forced to be accountable for their bad behavior.

You can't cuss out your kid's soccer coach anymore without consequence. You can't sing racist songs on a fraternity trip without the whole world knowing. You can't hit your girlfriend in an elevator without getting caught. Even on your worst day, it's not OK to be a jerk. (One of my favorite parenting lines: Your pain does not excuse your sin.) Now more than ever, people are on the lookout for jerks. Act like a jerk, show up on YouTube. Count on it. And maybe by counting on it, we'll all be a little nicer to each other.

Who we are when we think no one is looking is truly who we are. The rest is smoke and mirrors. What we do and say matters. How we treat people matters. Patience and kindness aren't just biblical words; they're things that make the world a better place for all of us. I have a love/hate relationship with the internet, but if it can help us learn these lessons, then today I'm a fan.

What's with the cross?

The message of the cross is foolish to those who are headed for destruction! But we who are being saved know it is the very power of God. 1 Corinthians 1:18

Amen, and Happy Easter.

Sign-holder Conundrum

Not long ago, I drove by a woman and her children as they sat on the curb at Walmart. At first I wondered if they were doing some kind of homeschool project. They were fairly well dressed and the school-aged kids were hunched over some sort of writing project. As I sat in line waiting to turn, they finished up what they were working on--a sign requesting money. There they sat, in the middle of the day, holding up their sign. I made my turn and went on my way, but I found myself getting angry. Why weren't the kids in school? What were they learning from their mom by sitting on a street corner, begging for money? I know there are resources available to her and her children. Why does she choose this instead of getting some real, lasting help?

It was much later before that ubiquitous "WWJD" thought popped into my mind. I won't presume to know what Jesus would have done, but I'm fairly certain He wouldn't have ignored this family and walked away angry.

Could it be that America is the very worst place to be poor? For the most part, our poor are not sequestered in small villages down dusty roads no one ever travels. Is there any place where the poor mingle so closely with the rich and who beg among those who so firmly believe in the "land of opportunity"? Does judgment come so quickly anywhere else?

How to respond to the poor in America occupies a lot of my brain space. Sending money for children in India and Guatemala and Ethiopia? That's a no-brainer. Helping needy families at Christmas or volunteering at the Salvation Army food bank? Yes, got it. Looking out for the outsiders, poor or otherwise, in my own day-to-day circles? Yes! But what to do with those people who hold up signs on street corners? How can I know their stories in the six seconds I stare at them at the stop light?

For a while, our family kept "homeless bags" in our car. We filled Ziplocs with Bandaids, Chapstick, shampoo, tissues, mini toothbrushes, granola bars, nuts, and bottled water. We made them with enthusiasm; they were received with much less of it. We generally got a weak "thank you," but no one seemed as excited about our bags as we were. One young man stationed outside a Target told us, "Oh, no thanks. I've got all that stuff at home." HUH? Eventually we began breaking into the bags ourselves when one of the kids had a messy sneeze. And was it even safe to hand out water that had been in the car for three months? Eventually the lackluster response and pilfered bags snuffed our enthusiasm right out.

One time we saw a man with a sign that said, "Dreaming of a cheeseburger." I can't eliminate poverty in my city, and I don't know what to teach my kids about any of this, but this simple thing I can do, I thought. This could be a beautiful "God moment" where the kids learn about seeing a need and meeting it in a very practical way. The only problem was that we were about ten minutes away from the nearest cheeseburger. I drove frantically, telling the kids to pray. We drove through the closest McDonald's and bought not just a Big Mac, but fries and a drink, too. If we're gonna do this, let's go big! I don't even think the kids asked for anything for themselves. This was every mother's teaching-moment dream. Except that it didn't pan out. We drove for a half-hour looking for the man with the sign, but he had moved on, taking his cheeseburger dreams elsewhere. I thought surely God would put someone else in our path, someone who needed our thoughtful grease even more. I drove and drove but never found anyone. My husband ate the Big Mac and my kids shared the fries and Coke. While I believe that every moment is a "God moment," they don't always play out the way I think they will.

What do we do with the poor in America? I don't mean the government or the local charities. I mean the moms in minivans, because we're the church, right? What do we do? If we're not supposed to give them money because they might drink it away, and we're not supposed to load them up in our cars and take them for a meal because they might stab us all, if we're sitting at a stop light sandwiched between eight other cars and running late to a soccer game without the time or ability to sit down and hear their story, what are we to do? What on earth would Jesus do if He were the one driving the mini van full of kids? I would love to hear your thoughts on this.

I wish this was one of those times when I could throw out some scripture and bring a nice, tidy ending to my blog. I know what the scriptures say. Widows and orphans. Prisoners and the hungry. Caring for the least among us. Yes, Lord, and if I were in India, I think it would be pretty easy to figure out what that looks like. But I'm here. The poor I've spent time with here have cell phones and food stamps. Some of them have big-screen TVs. And though it may be the exception, some even have all the tissues and Bandaids they need at home. What do I do here? What does it look like to live out your commands with the sign-holders on the street?

My wrestling keeps me praying and asking. And that, I'm positive, pleases Him.

And in the end, there's grace

I got several responses to my last post about this being a great time to be a parent. One of them—because of what it reminds me of and because of who it’s from—should be read by more than just me, so I share it here. My friend David is the father of seven, ranging from a teenager to adult children who are now raising their own kids. He reminds me to always remember grace. On our best day and on our worst day as parents, we can be sure that we are surrounded by the grace of God. David also suggested something I hadn’t considered so succinctly: that previous generations were less intentional because the need was not so great.  

Although our parents may have been less engaged in our emotional and spiritual lives, they raised us in a season of our culture where the vestiges of a godly heritage were more of an asset than what our society offers today. It would have been better if they had been more engaged. But it seems like the need was not as intense. 

All parenting is by grace. That is, we try to be faithful with the tools and training that we have, then God fills in the other 90 percent that's actually needed. When I have moments of regret, I am utterly astounded at how well our children are doing. We've worked hard at parenting well. But we've made horrible mistakes and have often failed miserably to be what our children needed. And we've come very close to losing some along the way. Grace! Grace! Grace!

It's a Good Time to Be in the Parenting Business

I do a weekly Bible study with women of all different ages. We have 20-somethings, great-grandmas, and everything in between. I like this for a number of reasons, but most recently, it's because it's given me fresh perspective and gratitude on my generation. One of the older ladies recently said, with tears in her eyes, how it both blesses her and makes her a little sad when she hears us younger moms talk about the things we're doing with our kids. She sent her kids to Sunday school and church, and that was that. She never would have thought to sit down with them and talk about what she personally was learning about the Bible, let alone her fears or doubts. She just wasn't aware of being that intentional.

I wonder if "intentionality" was even a word people used when I was a kid? My parents, and all the other parents I knew, went to work, put food on the table, gave us a ride when we needed it, and hoped we'd turn out OK. The kids and teens I knew in the 80s knew that Russia was bad, sex would lead to a baby or an STD, and we should "just say no" to drugs. Other than that, we holed up in our own little lives talking on the phone, watching a whole lot of TV, and listening to some great music. (I also spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to make my hair bigger, but that's another story.) Mostly, we were left to our own devices.

We didn't really do family things, other than the occasional vacation. No one I knew was having family talks about values or the culture or anything that really mattered. There was no vision-casting, no deep sharing about the life lessons our parents had learned, and no apologies from parents when they messed up. Our dads weren't in the delivery rooms when we born and didn't take their girls to daddy-daughter dances. Moms in the 70s and 80s were empowered to work outside the home, but that meant their kids had less time with them than ever.

I don't blame my parents or any others of their generation. They didn't know any better. They didn't have Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura, no Love and Logic or Shepherding a Child's Heart, none of the volumes of resources we have today. They also didn't have good modeling from their own parents, the "children-must-be-seen-and-not-heard" generation. I don't blame them, but I do feel bad for them, especially the teary woman in my Bible study who said, "I wish I could get a do-over."

What parent hasn't felt that way? I have my very good share of parenting regrets, but I'm also very thankful for my parenting opportunities--the ones that come as a result of being a mom in this generation. My kids have dozens of adults in their lives who would happily talk about hard things with them. For their 13th birthdays, my two older ones received journals full of handwritten notes from their friends and their friends' parents. These people called out my kids' strengths and spoke words of blessing and affirmation over them at a pivotal time in their lives. I've had the privilege of doing this for many of my friends' 13-year-olds.

We've spent time at family camp learning how to be more intentional parents while doing crazy, hilarious things that our kids will remember the rest of their lives. I watch the news nearly every night with my older kids and talk about the world--why it is the way it is and how we can pray. A friend of mine watched the Netanyahu speech last week with her family, which led to all sorts of discussions about the Bible, values, and politics.Today's moms and dads regularly leave work to fill gyms, bleachers, and auditoriums to support their kids as they run, dance, tackle, sing, and give speeches. Without batting an eye, they take off work to go on 4th grade field trips. They spend hours not only driving, but really talking, in the car. We stay connected not only because we want to, but because we have to. It's sickening that we have to teach our little girls not to send naked pictures of themselves to anyone ever and our boys the dangers of internet porn, but it also opens up the door to a world of good conversation about values and privacy and holding out for God's very best. How many people were having those conversations in the 80s, let alone the 50s?

We hear a lot about how technology and social media have isolated us, keeping family members in separate rooms with separate devices. That's not the world I live in. The families I know are actively engaged with one another, day in day out, for better and for worse. We're in each other's space. We're in each other's business. We're nowhere close to perfect, but we're all in and we're well resourced. People say there's never been a harder time to be a kid. I would argue that there's never been a better time to be a parent.

Middle-Aged Moms and Movies

Last night I watched the Academy Awards and wondered what happened to my 40s. In my 20s and 30s, Oscar night was a big event in my life. I knew all the movies, all the actors, all the back stories you could only read in People magazine. Now I stare at a list of films I've never heard of and wonder where I’ve been. Birdman? I thought he was the overly tattooed white guy who used to play basketball for the Denver Nuggets. And the last thing I remember Michael Keaton in was Batman.

A decade ago, I still managed to keep up with movies. I'd pick them out at my corner Blockbuster store, and then squeeze them in after the kids had gone to bed or in the middle of the night when I was feeding the babies. Still, I had high hopes that some day I would actually go to the movies again. My husband and I would put a Totino’s pizza in the oven, give the kids a few instructions, and walk out the door all by ourselves. And yet here I am in my 40s, with children who require no babysitter, and less time than I’ve ever had in my life. Why did no one tell me about this phenomenon?

Why didn’t someone tell me that once my kids were old enough to leave alone, I wouldn’t really be so interested in leaving them anymore? That they’d become some of my very favorite people to hang out with, and that being at their every basketball game or concert or speech tournament would become our idea of a date night. Because even if they’re losing their eighth straight game in a row, I’d so much rather be there than sitting in a movie theater.

We have friends who are taking their kids on their 20^th anniversary trips, because by the time they hit their 25^th, their kids will be gone. When you’re celebrating your 10^th anniversary by wiping noses and bottoms, this sounds crazy. But ten years later, when you’re thinking SAT tests and college majors, it makes a lot of sense.

If I’m going to watch a movie today, it’s going to be with my kids. I’ll be wearing pajama bottoms and watching something with no nudity or profanity that received a positive review on Plugged In. I may be folding a load of laundry while I watch, and there's a good chance I'll start dozing off before it's over, no matter how good it is. I'm a stereotype. I’m as uncool as I can be. I’m showing my age. (I even cancelled my People magazine subscription because I no longer cared about the 17-year-old “stars” they kept telling me about.) I rarely go out, and I’m in bed by 9:30. My life is all filled up with kids and kid stuff, and I couldn’t be happier.