Thanksgiving Ham

Sometimes I just hate myself.  

Generally,  I don't have time to wade around in my insecurities.  I have three children, a dog and a congregation full of people to lead and care for.  I'm 55 years old and have had plenty of time for God to help me to get over myself.  I've come to accept that I am not a compilation of accomplishments, abilities and actions.  I'm a person who has been profoundly shaped and transformed by the grace that I have found through Jesus Christ.  

But then I have a day like today and I just have a jag of DESPISING my weaknesses, my peccadillos, the stupid things that I have a tendency to do.  Today is Thanksgiving and I feel like I had almost ruined it.  I have roasted at least 40-50 turkeys in my life. It's not a big deal.  I can totally do it; just pick a recipe and make it happen. 

The New York Times Cooking recipe said to roast the dry brined turkey for 30 minutes at the unusually high temperature of 450 degrees.  I'm guessing that the purpose of this is to do something like a sear to lock the juices in. Then I was instructed to turn the temperature to 350 degrees for the remainder of the time.  It really was an elegantly simple recipe, something that an experienced cook, such as myself, could do quite easily while managing teen aged sous chefs, a hungry special needs young adult who kept emerging from his room demanding food and various side dishes.  

The problem was that when I turned the temperature on my oven down to 350 degrees, I had forgotten to push START! What that meant was that, after having been cooked for 30 minutes, my turkey had been hanging out in a slowly cooling oven for the next two hours.  By the time I checked on it, an hour before we were supposed to eat, I opened the oven door to a very comfortably cool oven.  The turkey might as well have smiled and greeted me with a hello for how uncooked it was.

This catastrophe, combined with the realization that I had forgotten to pick up a splurged order of various breads and baked goods at a local bakery until it was too late, drove me to my room to lay on my bed with the door closed, taking deep breaths. I hate that I am a forgetter. . . and a non-detail oriented person.  

One time, I was in charge of travel to a family cruise in Florida and I scheduled our return flights to be for the day before the cruise returned to port.  In college, I would schedule things so that I needed to be in three places at the same time.  This lack of organization is the thing that I am most tempted to judge about myself. 

Granted, I've come far from those organizationally out of control young adult days.  The years of being a full time mom of an incredibly medically and developmentally complicated child certainly gave me organizational and detail management muscles that I never dreamed that I would have.  I am also a pastor of a church where, together with a multi-talented team of staff members, we function pretty well as an intergenerational, multiethnic community of around 300 people who need to turn a middle school into a place of worship every Sunday.

But every once in a while, I still make mistakes out of my lack of detail orientation and organization especially when I am tired.  No matter how much I've grown and matured, I can't seem to escape this part of my personality.

Two things helped me to pull out of the vortex of self-chastisement.  The first is my amazing husband who did not share my hypercritical attitude.  He just told me that he loved me and drove to KFC and to the bakery to see if he could help save our dinner.  (KFC was out of chicken and the bakery was all closed up.).  Just as he came home, I realized that I had also purchased a small ham to serve at a later gathering.  I threw that into the oven to heat and serve with our stuffing, potatoes and veggies.  Fortunately, Thanksgiving dinner this year was just my nuclear family and my mother so it wasn't a huge deal.  The ham was barely warmed and rather boring but it was fine. 

In fact, the second thing that served to give me perspective and stop being so disappointed with myself was how much Josh loved the ham.  My son LOVED the ham.  He asked for more over and over again.  In fact, at one point, while I got up to get more from the kitchen, he grabbed a slice right off of his grandmother's plate.  My mom reflexes are still pretty fast so I grabbed it right off his plate before he could eat it and made him wait for his own piece acquired in a proper manner.  

At the end of this day, I am choosing to think not about what I did wrong or what didn't go well but about the things that I am grateful for.  The six of us were able to sit together for a nice meal.  We enjoyed the food, especially Josh.  My 83 year old mother was able to spend quality time with us.  We played a little game which had us ask each other interesting questions.  We laughed together about funny stories from our pasts. 

As much as I am a foodie, I have to remember that the food is not the point.  The most important part of any feast is the spirit, the love, the people and what or who you are celebrating.  I hope that I am able to keep this on the forefront of my brain as we enter into another season of food and celebrating.  

Overnight Summer Camp: Pick Up

Yes, I was a bit of a mess while Josh was gone at overnight camp;  not a full blown "can't deal with my life for a while, send out a mass email to all of my friends, stop meeting the needs of the rest of my kids" mess but a more subtle, internal mess.  My thoughts kept wandering toward dark scenarios of Josh getting lost in the woods or crying all night.  I kept having that jolting feeling of realizing that I've left my cell phone somewhere but then I would realize that it wasn't my phone, it was my first born, my thirteen year old baby who NEEDS ME DARN IT!

But surely, they would call me if he was having a really hard time... and they did not call.  So I tried to enjoy my weekend.  I went to my daughters' musical performance that came at the end of their summer day camp.  I helped them run a lemonade stand in our driveway. I took them out to a movie.   Admittedly, all of these things were much easier without also managing Josh.  I tried really hard to let it be a true respite weekend.  On Sunday morning at church, I had someone pray with me so I could let go of my worries and be more of a mom that trusts my son into God's hands.

Finally, after lunch after church, the girls and I drove back up the hills to the respite camp.  I race-walked to the check out station and signed all of the forms.  It seemed to take forever for Josh and his counselor to come out and when they did, my beloved boy had a silly hat on his head and a smile on his face.  "Hi Mama" he said, without prompting.

I asked his buddy how he did and this is what she said, "Honestly, in my three summers of being a counselor at this camp,  Josh was the easiest, most happy camper by far."  She told me that he had not once cried out or gotten upset.

She handed me their schedule/ list of activities and it turns out that Josh gladly participated in the following:

- Rode a horse
- Swam at a pool party with games (where he won the prize for "Best Underwater Dancer")
- Attended a dance after dinner
- Participated in a squirt gun fight
- Made a hand puppet
- Watched a talent show
- Ate a lot at an ice cream party
- Made sand art
- Packed up his own bag
- Enjoyed a slide show of the camp and picked up his camp award.

My relief was like a fresh wind on a scorching day.  What is this new world that we are in?  What is this new reality where I could possibly have a few days off and my son is having fun??!!

As I drove down the hill with my beloved son, who is no longer my baby, I realized that I had a little bit of sadness mix in with my joy.  He does not always need me in the same way as he has.  For all of my talk and goal setting about independence skills, honestly, that's not as easy for me as I thought. I'm used to being the one who keeps this boy alive day in and day out.  I am learning that letting him grow up means getting a chiropractic adjustment on my sense of my own identity as a special needs mom.   It's a little painful but I'm glad and willing.

What if People Misunderstand My Son?

Sometimes I fear that, one day, Josh will do something that gets misunderstood as threatening and that people who are afraid of him will take harmful action.   Because of his disabilities, my son's behavior can seem suspicious and erratic if one doesn't understand what is going on with him.

There have been times when Josh has touched women inappropriately in public contexts, patting their butts or touching their breasts.  Usually this is just part of his flapping behavior, never something sexual.  Some people have been very understanding when they turn to see Josh and discern that he's developmentally disabled.  Some people have gotten very upset and have responded with great hostility.  Josh has picked up food at stores and has started eating it without paying.  He is twelve (and still very cute in my personal opinion) but he is already quite tall for a mostly Asian kid.  When he's wearing a big jacket or hoodie, he looks like a typical high schooler.   I wonder, at some point, are people going to interpret something that Josh does as threatening, dangerous or illegal?  And if that happens, will there be time for me or someone who is with Josh to interpret who Josh is and why he does things?  What if Josh happened to be alone?  Could he have a weird, random or intense encounter with police, a security guard or a neighborhood watch person? Could things go bad fast?

If someone told Josh to put his hands up in the air or to get down on the ground, he is not likely to comply because he wouldn't comprehend what was going on.  Josh does not understand what a police officer is.  He has no concept of legal or illegal.  He is not good about boundaries and social expectations.  Given recent events which have been in the news, such as the deaths of Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown, I can't help but to play a dark scenario in my imagination where a tense situation leads to his injury, arrest or death.

In general, I still believe that police officers are men and women who are out for the good of the general public and I am very grateful for them. I hope and trust that most have been trained well enough to slow down and try to understand what is going on for people when things seem strange. Yet I cannot deny that somewhere deep inside me is a dark fear that is rooted in the reality that the world is not a safe or fair place, especially for young men of color.  My heart breaks because of this. Lord have mercy on us all.

Today I will lift up a special prayer for the mothers of all of the young men who have been the victims of violence.

"And a sword will pierce your own soul too."  Luke 2:35

Lipstick

How could I refuse?  The father of the kid who was hosting my girls for a play date offered to make me a fresh cappuccino on his shiny, new machine that appeared to do hundreds of beautiful things with coffee. They were all hanging out in their driveway with another family who was visiting them when I drove up to pick up my girls.  The father introduced me to his friends as "the mom of the family that we were just telling you about, some of our favorite people!" Dinner was already in the crock pot at home.  We had only one errand left and plenty of time to do it.

"Sure!  I'd love it!  Thank you."  I accepted his offer with gusto and gratefulness.

I looked back at my van at the bottom of their driveway.  I could see from the window that Josh was happily listening to music on headphones.  I left the side door open just in case he needed something or got unhappy.  My girls were elated to have a few more minutes to play with their friend.  The visiting family had just moved to my home town in Oregon so we had a lively conversation about favorite restaurants and pubs in the Portland metropolitan area.  It also turned out that this couple had gone to the college with my husband.  A few minutes turned into forty five with the assistance of a second coffee drink, the sharing of humorous anecdotes and happily occupied children.

Finally, I got my girls and my well-caffeinated, socially satiated self back into my van and headed to the library.  As I unloaded my three children, I realized that the contents of my purse were scattered all over the floor of the back half of my van.  As I picked everything up, I saw that one of my lipsticks had been opened and the contents almost completely missing.  Someone had eaten it like it was a soft, shimmery piece of candy.

I looked at my eldest child and saw that he had Estee Lauder #61 Pink Parfait all over his face and hands.

"Josh!  Did you eat my lipstick?"  I demanded, beginning to panic.

"Yes."  Josh responded, without shame or affect.

"Joshua.  We do not eat lipstick!  Mommy says, 'No eating lipstick!'  What is wrong with you?"  I began to rant at my child who had very little capacity to receive my lecture.

Josh must have been searching for gum or candy in my purse while he was waiting for us to finish our little bonus time in the driveway.  My lipstick was almost new so it looked like he had ingested quite a bit of it.  I had the faint memory of hearing something on the radio recently about how make up was actually toxic.  I was so frustrated with the thought that Josh's habit of eating non-food items was back.

And then I blurted words that should not come into a Mom's head much less out of her mouth.  "God, Joshua!  Why are you so weird?!"

The girls immediately jumped to Josh's defense.

"Well, you might look like you are eating it when you are putting it on, Mommy." said one of them.

"Mommy, that is not a very nice thing to say." said the other, perfectly embodying a corrective tone which I am sure that she picked up from me.  "We don't say things like that."

They were completely right but I wasn't ready to repent.  I was feeling too scared that Josh was going to die and too guilty that I had left him in the car for so long while I had indulged in spontaneous coffee and adult conversation.

I sent the girls ahead to go look for books in the library while I called poison control.  Of course, once I got through to poison control, they put me on hold for about a century.  I put on my headset, wiped off my son's face and scooted him into the library while I waited to talk to a real live person on the phone.  The girls had almost finished checking out a huge pile of books and DVDs each when the person came on the phone.  I explained our situation and asked him what I should expect.  The man told me that, although he doesn't recommend eating an entire lipstick in one sitting, Josh was not likely to have immediate dire consequences.

"The worst thing that you can probably expect is some diarrhea."

Just as the man from poison control was saying this, I looked over and saw that Josh had his hands on either side of a desk.  His back was bent forward ever so slightly and he appeared to be bearing down and pushing.

"Oh my God.  Girls!  Time to go!  Come on, Come on!  Josh, do you need to go to the bathroom?  Are you pooping?"

"No." He said, simply, with no understanding of why I was such a basket case.  He then calmly walked out and found his way to the car, sat down, and buckled himself in.

"Want music."  He said, as if to change the subject.

When the girls had landed in their seats, I took a deep breath and apologized to them about my inappropriate outburst and asked if we could just take a moment before we moved on.  They were already buried in their fresh books.  Josh was calm and happy with the radio on.

I held my head in my hands and poured out my fears, frustrations and guilt to God.  I desperately needed to come down off of the happenings of the past hour.  I asked if He would speak to me and give me some perspective on the situation.

Do you know what I felt like God said?

"Look at your purse."

"O-kay"

 I looked at my hot mess of a purse and this is what I saw:

-lots of Kleenex and napkins both old and new
-6 pens
-4 small toys
-many loose, crumbling M & Ms
-my wallet, bursting with random papers and receipts
-more random papers and receipts loosely floating around
-several small pieces of children's art work
-several plastic items of no discernible identity or origin
-12 lipsticks

Yes, I counted twelve lipsticks or lip glosses in my purse.  And I'm not even a person who wears much lipstick!  Why do I have so much lipstick and, for that matter, all the rest of the stuff?  Because I'm just someone who has an absolute inability to clean out my purse.  It's one of those random, weird things about me.  Try as I might to have an ordered life, you can pretty much be sure that my purse and my desk are going to be utterly chaotic at all times.

Driving home, I realized that the interpretation to the parable of my purse is that we are all weird in unique ways, big and small.  We all have parts of us, our personalities, our choices, things that we do which are inexplicable, idiosyncratic, useless and even counterproductive.  Oftentimes, we are blind to our own oddness.  But part of the meaning of family and friendship is that we love and accept one another despite our unique weirdness.

Why is my son so weird?  Today, that is not the right question.  The right question is "Am I going to love and accept him for who he is, weird behavior and all?"  What helps me to answer that question is another question.  "Do I realize that I am fully loved and accepted for who I am in all of my own weirdness?"

I Don't Know How She Does It

I'm a busy girl.  This is a photo of one month on my dayplanner.  Scary, isn't it?  My husband calls it "scheduling in tongues" because it looks completely incomprehensible without supernatural interpretation.  We do use online scheduling tools and calendars as well but I still can't part with my trusty paper dayplanner to be the central management center for all of my miscellaneous appointments, to dos, and events.  And there are many.  Many.  Many.

For instance, in the month of March, Josh had 5 doctors appointments, 8 autism therapy appointments, 5 adaptive swim lessons, 2 med adjustments, 3 blood draws, 3 special consultations and 24 hours of respite care divided up into 5 sessions.  Many of these appointments were scheduled then rescheduled several times.  This doesn't include appointments and activities for my two other children.  But I did it because it had to be done.

Recently, several people who know how complicated my life is, especially because of Josh, have commented "I don't know how you do it!"

This reminded me of an excellent novel I read a few years ago about the complexity of motherhood by Allison Pearson called I Don't Know How She Does It.  It made me laugh and cry. I really related to the central character who lives an incredibly busy life juggling marriage, kids and job (getting very little sleep) and squeezing a million demanding things into 24 hours (and she doesn't even have a child with special needs!)

I've been thinking about the question, "How do I do it?"  How do I manage all of the really complicated demands, details and dramas of my life?  There are probably many answers to that question but, today, one thing comes to mind.  A crucial part of how I can handle my crazy, "mom of a multi-disabled child" life is that I have to have a a few places in my life where I allow myself to be totally weak and needy.

For example, every once in a while, I make my husband listen to me vent about how frustrated I am with dealing with dysfunctional organizations and systems that are involved in getting proper services for my son.  This conversation usually involves me expressing anger, critical thoughts and despair.  I cry.  My husband listens empathetically without trying to problem solve.  This usually helps me a lot.

I experienced another example of being weak this past Sunday at church.  At our church, we have something called, "prayer ministry".  This means that at the end of every service the pastor invites anyone who has a need for prayer to come up and stand at the front of the church.  You stand there facing the front, with your eyes closed and with your hands held out open in front of you and you wait for a person who is trained in prayer ministry to stand with you.  When the pastor closes the service, you sit down with that person who will listen to you for a few minutes then pray for you.

This week had been particularly difficult so I just knew in my heart that I really needed to get prayer.  I even arranged ahead of time for someone else to go pick up my kids from their Sunday school class so I could have a few good minutes to get prayed for.  I was ready.  But, wouldn't you know it?  This time, when the pastor invited people who wanted to get prayer to come forward, no one went up.  The whole congregation sat in the "one and half minutes that feels like an hour" time of waiting to see what would happen.  No one likes to be the first or only person who goes up front to get prayer-- all eyes being on you.  It feels like you might as well wear a sign on your back that says, "I'm the neediest person in this whole room!"  Plus, I happen to be the wife of the pastor of our church who happened to be leading this prayer ministry time so there's the extra feeling of a spotlight on me.

But you know what?  I just might have been the neediest person in the whole room.  I don't know what's going on in anyone else's life but I do know that there are burdens in my life that I just can't carry alone.  I decided to embrace the reality of my weakness.   I walked up to the front of the room and stood there declaring my need to God, to myself, and to anyone who might have been watching.  Thankfully, many other people followed.  Even more thankfully, I felt that God met me in a deeply comforting way as another woman from our church prayed for me.

I have realized that I have to spend a lot of my day being competent, organized, and strong.  Sometimes I can be in that mode for days on end.  Sometimes I can fool myself into thinking that I have to be like that all the time for the sake of my kids.  However, I am finding that the best way to be a strong person is to find the right, safe places to be a weak person.

When do you allow yourself to be weak?  Do you have places where you can take a risk to declare your need to yourself, to others and to God?