Maternal angst

I tend to be a pretty laid-back person.  I don't typically stress about things I have no control over.  Erik has been through many tests with his 2 bouts of cancer, and my natural philosophy for awaiting results is, "I'm not going to worry about something until I know there's something to worry about."  The words, "But what if..." don't bounce around my head very often.  My Grandma Dorr was a champion worrier.  While we climbed trees in her yard, she'd warn, "You're going to fall!  I can't even watch!"  I think we were less worried since she was a nurse, and Grandpa was a doctor.  I can still hear her famous warning, "Don't lie down with gum in your mouth!"  And if we had to drive in snow, it was better to just not even tell her, or she'd worry until she heard we got there safely. 

Before you start thinking Bob Marley supplies the soundtrack for my life ("Don't worry about a thing, cause ev'ry little thing gonna be all right..."), you should know that there are exceptions to my no-worry policy.  There are times when I'm totally susceptible to maternal angst.  This upcoming school year has rendered me a melty puddle of Mom jello.

We were expecting Scarlett to be in 4-year-old kindergarten 5 half-days a week.  But it turns out that since they offered a full-day option, almost nobody wanted half-days.  Since she was already counting on going to Sierra's school this year, in the last month, I've had to get used to the idea that she'll be in school all day, a year earlier than I was prepared for.  It's been hard.  I know she'll do fine.  I'm just not sure I will.  Other than missing her joyful energy and her quirky sayings, I think I'm facing a bit of an identity shift.  I've worked 1/2 time since we've served here, largely so I could take care of our children better.  And now they're both going to be in school time.  What am I now?  A half-time pastor and half-time bon-bon-eater?  I have plenty to fill my time, but it's going to feel odd.  I may actually miss saying, "Eat over your plate!"  What will I do without the constant plea for snacks?  I may have to watch Playhouse Disney after she goes to school, just to ease the withdrawal. 

Sierra is eager to begin 3rd grade with the same teacher and many of the same classmates she had in 2nd grade.  The main difference - her class of 18 this year includes only 4 girls.  While that sort of ratio is great if you're a girl looking for a prom date, it's not great if you're looking for a wide assortment of good girl friends.  Sierra's a bit upset.  Her best friend from last year has moved to another school, and another friend will be in a different class.  There are several great boys in her class that she likes just fine, but girls like to have girl friends at this age.  I'm worried.  Girls can be petty and cliquey, even in 3rd grade.  And when there's only 3 to choose from, there's bound to be some problems.  I just want her to have a wonderful experience in 3rd grade, but I keep imagining all the afternoons when she comes home in tears because she was excluded by the other girls, or somebody said something nasty to somebody else.  Sigh.  I know she'll have a great year, but my maternal angst is working harder than it needs to.

I wonder if Bob Marley ever wrote a song for parents to listen to during the first week of school.  Parenting sure ain't for sissies.    

Childlike excitement

We're on excitement-overload right now in the Jelinek household.  Unlike many other school districts, school here won't be starting until after Labor Day.  So the next week and a half seems like an eternity to our girls.  Sierra will be going into 3rd grade and will have the same teacher she had last year, which she's overjoyed about.  She begs to go to the Farmer's Market every Saturday, in hopes that we might run into her teacher there (which we have).  Scarlett will be going into 4-year-old Kindergarten, at Sierra's school.  She's super-excited about being at the big school with the big kids, and though she hardly knows her teacher, she's already drawn her several pictures, making sure to scrawl her teacher's name on the bottom of each.  By Sept. 3, her teacher may have enough Scarlett masterpieces to wallpaper the whole classroom.  This morning, she drew her teacher a crown and demanded that I cut it out so her teacher could actually wear it.  Oh, to be so adored.  :)

There are times that our daughters get so excited about something - an activity, seeing someone they adore, going on a trip, that they simply can't contain their excitement.  They have to do a little dance, sing, squeal, and repeatedly ask, "How much longer?!" just to manage the overflowing excitement.

When is it that we adults lose that sort of excitement?  And why do we lose it?  Perhaps in our teenage years, we think it's uncool to be excited about anything.  Maybe as adults, we figure we should be beyond such childish displays of excitement.  In high school, I remember learning about Stoicism.  I'm sure I missed a lot of the main point of the Stoics, but at the time, I thought it was a pretty smart way to live.  Better to hide your emotions than to let the world see your vulnerability.  I decided to try being stoic.  

I wasn't particularly successful, and I'm glad.  I know now that my philosophy was full of crap.  Why is it better to mask one's excitement?  What good does it do us to hide our pain?  As humans, we need to express our emotions.  We need to feel excited about things.  Showing excitement isn't childish.  It's child-like, and I think it's perfectly okay (and often desirable) for adults to do childlike things.  It keeps us young and helps us appreciate things in our lives.

I must confess that I still get that overflowing excitement feeling sometimes - anticipating a trip to Disney World, the beach or other fun places, jumping in a jumping castle (yes, I jump along with the kids), hearing from good friends, seeing joy in my children's faces, and finding that perfect pair of shoes.  I'm not the most expressive person, but my children have taught me the joy of excitement, and I've resolved to let my excitement shine, rather than hiding it under a serious, grown-up façade.

When's the last time you bubbled over with excitement?  There's nothing quite like it.  Whatever brings you joy and excitement, I pray that you feel childlike excitement again, very soon. 

Irishness

Why is it that Americans are a little obsessed with Irishness?  It's true that there are many Americans with Irish ancestry.  We learned while in Ireland that approximately 2 million Irish folks emigrated (many to the U.S.) during the Irish Potato Famine (including my great-great grandparents). But St. Patrick's Day's is hugely popular, not just for those with Irish ancestry.   I'm not sure many people even think about St. Patrick on St. Patrick's Day.  I think Americans appreciate the Irish spirit - their spunk, their wit, and their love of a good "spirited" celebration.  I mean, these are folks who commemorate loved ones' deaths, not just with solemn reception lines at funeral homes, but with beer and toasts to the deceased.  Guinness, anyone?

I've always enjoyed Ireland for its incredibly green beauty, in addition to how friendly and entertaining its people are.  It's a place that doesn't take itself too seriously, and I appreciate that.

It's Irish Fest in Milwaukee this weekend.  If you're not familiar with Milwaukee festivals - there's a large festival grounds right on Lake Michigan, where they host not just Summerfest (a huge music festival each June-July), but various ethnic festivals, including Irish Fest, Festa Italiana, Bastille Days, Mexican Fiesta, German Fest, Indian Summer, etc. 

Since 2 weeks is a long time for us to be away from all things Irish, we decided to go to Irish Fest last night, to get a fix.  I'm quite certain I've never seen so many people wearing green in one place before.  Nor have I ever seen quite so many men in kilts (and we've had family weddings where the wedding party wears kilts).  No, I didn't ask any of them the question going through your minds right now.  Don't ask if you don't want to know.  There were many music stages with various styles of Irish music and dancing.  There were restaurants serving shepherd's pie, Irish nachos, reuben rolls (think egg roll with reuben filling - mmm), sausage rolls, lamb stew, and every kind of Irish beverage you can imagine.  They had Irish games for the kids, a leprechaun village, and a separate tiny turnstyle for leprechauns to enter by (see the picture at the top).  The Irish parade was entertaining, and it featured a couple Scottish bagpipe bands, so I got to experience that part of my ancestry as well.

We met Liam Lynch, a real-life "super-sized" American leprechaun (his words), who initiated Sierra and Scarlett into the Leprechaun Society with a way-too-long oath and secret handshake.  When Liam heard we'd just been in Killarney, he told us tales of his last time there, when he made it to all 11 pubs in 1 night and had a pint in each.  It took him 2.5 hours to walk back to his B&B, which was 20 minutes away.  He said that unfortunately, there weren't any "lepre-cans" on the way back, so he figured that's what all the stone fences were for.  Gotta love the Irish.

It was a fun way to spend an evening.  I'm quite certain not all those present were Irish (including my English/Czech husband).  But for that one night (in addition to St. Patrick's Day), we were all Irish, celebrating the gifts of family, music, storytelling, celebration, and joy. 

On parenting and pastoring

Leaving on Sabbatical scared the crap out of me.  I knew we'd have great experiences, I knew our congregation would be cared for, but I wasn't sure what it would be like to be away from our congregation for 6 weeks.  When I had my daughters, I was away from the office for 7 weeks, but I was still in worship.  So it was interesting to experience being completely away from the worship life of our congregation.

Erik and I had some hopes and fears when we left for Sabbatical.  We hoped folks in the congregation would be welcoming and helpful to the pastor who filled in for us, and my hopes were fulfilled.  We feared that some people would see our Sabbatical as an excuse to take their own Sabbatical from worship, a fear that was probably well-founded.  We hoped we would be missed, but we feared that we'd return to discover that our congregation didn't quite know what to do "while Mom and Dad were gone."

Leaving our congregation for a Sabbatical felt a little bit like the early days of leaving my children with a babysitter.  Of course, I wanted my babies to be with someone wonderful who would care for them well.  But at the same time, I didn't want the babysitter to be SO good that my children wouldn't miss me at all. 

But over time, as a mother, I realized that the more caring people my children had in their life, the healthier and more confident they'd become.  Sure, there have been babysitters who almost make my kids say, "Mom who?" but as I've become a more confident mom, I've become incredibly grateful for them.  I don't want to be a helicopter parent (a hover-mother who is over-involved to the extent where her children can't function without her), so it's essential that my children spend time with other adults, and form deep connections to people other than their parents.  They learn and grow when they spend time with other people who have different personalities, ideas, and experiences than we do.  I will always be their mom, but I feel blessed that they're exposed to so many other people who contribute to their growth.  Because in the end, what I want most for my children is for them to become compassionate, intelligent, grounded, confident, independent young women.  Now, I've got many years before they'll be leaving the nest, but when they do, I want to feel like they'll be mostly self-sufficient, because we've given them what they've needed to grow up into mature, independent adults.

As a pastor, my calling isn't so different.  The goal of parenting is to raise children into healthy, independent adults.  A main goal of ministry is to help raise people into healthy, faithful, compassionate Christians.  Sometimes, it's easy for pastors to become "helicopter parents" of the congregation, causing members to feel like they can't function without the pastor(s).  I know I'm not going to work myself out of a job anytime soon, but I want to continue equipping the saints for ministry, so they realize that ministry is our calling, not just my calling.

The somewhat selfish part of me is a bit happy to say that we were missed while on Sabbatical.  But the more selfless part of me is overjoyed to say that there are some wonderful people who carried on the ministry of our congregation in our absence.  I may be a pastor, but we are all ministers.  I look forward to continuing our ministry together, making disciples, sharing God's love, and serving those in need.  Because none of us can do it alone.  And it's much more fun to work together anyway. 

Worship

In our 6 weeks of Sabbatical, we had the unique experience of having 6 consecutive weekends off.  I wondered how we'd spend our Sunday mornings while we were off.  It would've been easy to stay home, sleep in, or go do something else we can never do on Sundays.  But we also realized it was an opportunity to actually worship together, something we rarely get to do.  And we just might be fed and inspired in ways that we aren't otherwise.

The first Sunday, we worshipped in Savage, Montana, at one of the 2 churches Erik served when he began his ministry.  It's a cute little church in a town of a couple hundred people, celebrating their 100th anniversary, so the sanctuary was packed with worshippers.  It was wonderful to feel the spark of excitement among them, realizing that these faithful families were largely responsible for the century of ministry that church had done in that community.  While they haven't had a full-time pastor for several years, these are committed people who know that even though many pastors and leaders have come and gone in their 100 years, THEY are the Church and will continue to be.

The next few weeks, we enjoyed worshipping at the congregations of some of our clergy colleagues, experiencing different styles of worship and different ways of doing things.  It was fun to sit in the pews, noticing things from that perspective.  I noticed the family with the 3 little girls under 6.  It was 9:00 a.m. on a summer Sunday morning, and they were a little frazzled, but they were there.  It was a full-time job to keep the 3 little ones happy and relatively quiet, but we later heard from others how much they appreciated that family's devotion to bringing their daughters to worship, even in the summer.  We experienced welcome at all 3 congregations, and Sierra experienced 3 different ways of receiving communion.  Every week, she'd ask, "Why don't they just do it how we do it?"  It was nice to broaden our children's horizons, so they realize that there's no 1 "right" way to do things.

While at a conference in Dallas, we experienced a more evangelical style of worship.  There were praise bands with professional musicians and leaders, hands raised in the air, massive screens with fantastic graphics, and the sense that you can't really have worship without music.  In fact, our worship there was almost entirely music, with perhaps a prayer or two.

How different it was from our final week in worship.  We were in Ireland, so we attended a Catholic Church with hundreds of people.  It was as crowded as Christmas or Easter are at most congregations.  The presiding priest welcomed all of us, and we were swept into the liturgy, which was almost entirely spoken by memory, which left us Protestants at a disadvantage.  I was struck by the fast-paced nature of the service.  Prayers spoken together were done so faster than I could keep up with.  When it was time to sit down, I made sure I wasn't going to sit on any children, but by the time I actually made contact with the pew, I was about the last one to sit.  They stood up as quickly as they sat, as it turned out.  I surmised that the Irish must have better knees than us American Protestants.  There wasn't a single musical instrument used in that service.  The 1 hymn and few sung pieces of liturgy were led by the priest, and the congregation chimed in when/if they knew the song.  It was fascinating to be surrounded by so many voices that have been joining together in that beautiful church for hundreds of years.

Today is our first day back from Sabbatical.  We're preparing for this weekend's worship services.  And as we do, I think my mind has been opened again to what it's like to be in the pew.  I hope to lead worship better after our breadth of experiences, and I can't wait to be in community again with all the people we've served with for nearly 10 years. 

Ireland Part 3

Ireland, Part 3.

There are a number of things I've truly enjoyed while being in England and Ireland - too many to count, really.  I love listening to the various accents - English posh, English cockney, the lilt of the Irish accent, as well as the many accents of other travelers.  It's been really interesting to be in places with people from so many different countries.  I think while we were at our B&B in Killarney, there were people staying there from Israel, Switzerland, Poland, and Canada.  I heard a lot of German, Italian, and Spanish spoken.  And, as I've often heard, almost everybody else in the world speaks multiple languages, while we Americans look at foreign immigrants with disdain if they speak English with their own native accent.  Learning another language is not easy, and I have the utmost respect for people who try.  I appreciate knowing some Spanish, because it helps me pick up bits of Italian and French, though pretty poorly.  Then there's Gaelic, which looks and sounds like nothing I can identify.  Thankfully, almost all Irish folk speak English.

One thing I've missed a great deal is the absence of any sorts of clocks in our hotel rooms.  We're in our 4th hotel in 8 days, and not one of them has had a clock of any kind.  It's a bit disorienting. We wake up, having no clue what time it is, and if we need an alarm to wake up, we generally set our phones as an alarm.  I've wondered why alarm clocks aren't standard issue in the British Isles places of lodging, and I suppose I can only come up with 1 answer.  Time simply isn't the addiction that it is for many of us Americans.  The hotel staff probably figure that we're "on holiday" - what do we have to get up for?  While I still haven't gotten used to having to turn on my Kindle to find out the time in the morning, I have started learning to chill out a little bit.  So what if we wake up a half hour later than yesterday?  As long as we don't have a flight to make, we'll be okay.  So it's been a good exercise in truly relaxing, and letting the time take a backseat to enjoyment and experience.

Don't get me wrong - I'll be very excited to get home.  I miss being at restaurants where you get a glass of water without even asking for one (and conscientious waitstaff who constantly refill your glasses).  I'll be happy to return to "bathrooms" and "restrooms" instead of the somewhat crass-sounding "toilets."  I'll be happy to only have 1 country's currency in my purse, to avoid the embarrassment I had today of trying to pay for something with British pounds, when it required Euros (the currency in most of Europe, and in Ireland).  I know Erik will be happy to return to wider roads, which easily accomodate 2-way traffic, in addition to driving on the right-hand side again.

But I'm so grateful for this experience, both for Erik and me, as well as for our children, for whom this was a whole new experience.  I'm sure I'll have lots more to share.  Thanks for joining us on our Irish journey.  Now it's back to London, then back home again.  I can't wait to have some fresh sweet corn.
 

Ireland Part II

Part II

I'm not sure any of us have slept as well as we did our first night in Killarney.  The windows were open, the cool country air was refreshing, and frankly, we were just wiped out.  We began our second day by touring nearby Ross Castle - a castle built in the 1400s that was largely destroyed over the centuries, but has been lovingly restored in the last 30 years.  We learned that a whole family would typically sleep in 1 room in the castle - the parents in a bed, and the children, servants, and other family members, on the floor, lying perhaps on a thin bed of straw.  The parents would usually sleep sitting up, because they had a hard time breathing while lying down, due to all the smoke in the castle, from the primitive heating system - fireplaces and braziers.  Pewter dishes (tin + lead = pewter) were very fashionable at the time, but what the castle-dwellers didn't realize was that the lead in the dishes was slowly poisoning them.  So if the smoky air didn't get 'em, the trendy dishware would.  On the 3rd level, there was a "toilet."  It was a 4-foot-long opening on a ledge, where up to 3 people could sit and do their business at the same time.  Charming.  Even more charming was the fact that the fumes from the primitive privy would often come back up the chute.  But the residents used that to their advantage, hanging their clothing in the hallway, knowing that the ammonia odor would kill any lice hanging onto their duds.  Clever, huh?

In the afternoon, we drove to the village of Kenmare, which is on the Kenmare River, which is more like a long bay that leads to the Atlantic.  We took a seal-watching cruise with Captain Ray.  We thought it would begin at 3:00 and would be done by 5:00.  In actuality, it began more like 4:15, and ended around 7:45.  It was a rather late dinner, and late night for us early birds.  But we learned a lot on the cruise, and we got to see wild seals in their natural habitat, at incredibly close range.  They were stunning.  Baby seals were born about 3 weeks ago, so we could observe the mamas teaching their babies and even nursing them.  If ever I needed a telephoto lens, it was then.  We could see well, but the pictures we took don't do them justice.

Though we'd dressed for the cool sea air, we were chilled to the bone by the end of the 45 minutes that we watched the seals, so Captain Ray's crew brought out coffee, tea, and "medicine" for the grown-ups.  No, it wasn't Irish whiskey - it was something more Jamaican, with a good seafaring name.  Never had tea with rum, but since I'm not a big fan of tea anyway, the rum certainly helped.  We had some cookies (very needed at such a late hour with no food served), and somehow Scarlett also found the sugar cubes meant for the tea.  Let's just say she had more than 1 lump or 2.  She probably could've pulled the car back to Killarney on her sugar high.

So that was Day 2.  Quite the adventure all around.

Ireland Part 1

I write today from the living room of a lovely Irish family - Maureen & Paudie Donovan.  We've been staying at their B&B which probably accomodates at least 15 people.  The property is just outside of Killarney, right by Killarney National Park, and it's a riding stables, in addition to a B&B.  They have 3 puppies in the barn, 2 pigs, 5 rabbits, 3 goats, a couple ponies, lots of chickens, 1 sheep, and probably a dozen horses.  It's a wonderful place.  Our daughters have so enjoyed visiting the animals.  Each morning, we're served a traditional Irish breakfast - Irish bacon (like Canadian), klonakilty sausage, fried egg, grilled tomato, and toast.  It's a pretty traditional breakfast in England as well, except you might get some baked beans as well, to get your day started off with a bang, I suppose.

We arrived to a great amount of rain, even by Irish standards.  They went nearly a month without much rain, but the last 2 days had made up for it with non-stop heavy rain.  Maureen was rather weary of the rain by the time we arrived.  But in our first outing, the rain stopped for a bit, and there was a beautiful rainbow over the city.  Welcome to Ireland, indeed.  I didn't find a pot of gold or a wee man, but then again, those leprechauns are sneaky, knowing that we're always after their Lucky Charms. And why wouldn't we?  They're magically delicious.  We've seen several rainbows since we arrived - probably more than we'd see in a whole year anywhere else.

That first night, we checked out some of the shops in Killarney, particularly looking at the beautiful sweaters Ireland is known for.  Erik and I spent a night (and a bit of money) on the Aran Islands 11 years ago, a remote location where cars are not allowed.  It's a  region known for its sweaters and for keeping up the traditional Irish way of life, speaking mostly Gaelic and doing a lot of things the old-fashioned way.  We're not going back to the Aran Islands this trip, but I definitely wanted a sweater from there.  After eating a bit of "pub grub", we explored a waterfall not far away from our B&B.  It was simply stunning, and a great uphill hike to burn off some calories.

I'm sure I'll have more Irish adventures to share soon.