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I’ve had this idea floating around for a while but I’m just now getting around to putting it into action. It’s a blog. About the experience of parenting in faith. Check out the site and tell me if you think it’s a good idea. Even better, write a post.
What do you think? Good idea? Would you contribute?
The more I read about the anti-immunization camp, the more angry the whole business makes me. I started off like every reasonable parent, wanting the best for my child and looking into all the research. All the research says that there’s no link between MMR and autism. Instead, the chances of a massive measles epidemic and the development of a strand of something like polio that becomes drug resistant increase every time a parent refuses to get the shot. So that would be my kid getting a new strand of virus that can’t be controlled.
Just when I’m about to get up on my soap box, when I am about to explode about another irrational, self-centered parent who has convoluted medical information, I’m kicked in the butt. Tonight I’m grateful for Jen and her journey with her autistic son Martin that she so carefully documents. She wrote recently about taking her two year old daughter to the doctor for immunizations:
No matter how convinced you are that there is no basis for connecting autism to shots, no matter how much you trust the process of peer-reviewed science, it’s a big, big deal to think about giving an MMR to your seemingly normal toddler when she has an autistic big brother. I’m fortunate enough to have a doctor who will talk these things out with me. He doesn’t believe there is a tie between shots and autism, but he knows the stakes are high for families with a clear genetic predisposition to the spectrum. He also knows that there’s little chance that Sasha will get the measles in the next 6 to 12 months. So unlike some mothers who’ve had doctors scream at them about immunizations, my doctor said, “Let’s wait. Let’s give it a year until she’s a little more grown up. You have to feel good about what you do with your kids.” It made me start to cry.
I need to be reminded that behind just about every type of reaction, every matter of crazy, every moment of fear, every sin, every pain is someone’s story. Chances are good that I would have been that doctor who railed and spit. I need to be put in my place by stories like this more often.
Glee was up to old tricks last night. The show about a high school Glee Club delves into a lot of hot button issues related to “difference.” There was a show about minority culture, about the outcast Asian student, an episode that hinted at Jewish assimilation and one show devoted to a character coming to terms with his sexuality. It was only a matter of time before the wheelchair story came to the surface.
It did last night, but with a surprising twist. All the Glee kids, failing to see why it would not be okay to make Artie have his dad drive him to a competition because the school couldn’t afford a handicap accessible bus, are put in wheelchairs for the week. Lots of empathy was had and everyone was the better for it.
Fortunately, it didn’t end there. The sub-plot was that Sue Sylvester is forced to have open try-outs for a vacated cheerleading spot. Much to Glee leader Will’s surprise, Sue chooses a woman with Down Syndrome. Will senses something is up and is horrified when he sees Sue yelling at the new cheerleader during practice. He reminds Sue that he needs to treat her differently, a comment that causes Sue to call his bluff. The whole reason she had to have open try-outs was because everyone is supposed to be treated the same, right? Yet, Will still suspects some mayhem behind Sue’s charity. We find out in the final scene that the reason for this unexpected act of kindness is that Sue has a sister with Downs.
It’s rare to have Down Syndrome show up in mass media culture so this was a fairly bold move. Like many people in the advocacy camp, I applaud the effort and the way the writers tried to de-stigmatize intellectual disabilities. As DS babies are aborted at an ever increasing rates (somewhere between 80-90%), we are in danger of losing a sense that these people are with us and have gifts to offer.
At the same time, Glee’s portrayal of Down Syndrome is only partially accurate, and possibly even counter-productive. The student who makes the cheerleading team is extremely high-functioning. She looks a lot like everyone else. Ultimately, we are led to think that her disability is on par with Artie’s, something unfortunate but at the end of the day she’s just like the other kids. I think this confluence can be dangerous. Intellectual disabilities are very different from physical disabilities. What if she was non-verbal and in a sip-puff chair? What if she drooled, lunged at people, was obese or screamed without reason?
It’s easy to change your mind about a woman with Down Syndrome who looks pretty good in a cheerleading outfit. These are what liberation theologians call the “worthy poor.” She can contribute. We can imagine her living on her own, not being a “burden to society.” She might even be able to hold down a low-skill job. At least she’s someone who can be thankful for our charity. That’s not what people have a hard time with when it comes to intellectual disability.
The moment when the trend towards normalcy was proded a bit was when Sue went to visit her sister at what was clearly an assisted nursing facility. Her sister was in bed, looking old and much lower functioning than the cheerleader. It was a necessary moment in many ways. It was a reminder that those with disabilities will require care and family when parents are gone and the school system no longer intervenes. It was clear that it’s not always pretty and nice. It can be hard, a difficult and dirty.
It’s also a hint that Down Syndrome doesn’t necessarily mean you can be just like everybody else. It’s a scene that, in my opinion, helped move this episode from essentializing and romanticizing Down Syndrome to at least pushing the envelope a bit more towards a realistic portrayal of the experience of those living with intellectual disability and those loving and carrying for them.
While I’m not going to hail Glee as a triumph (“The Ringer” did a much better job of working through disability issues), I was still bawling at the end, thinking about how much this episode likely meant to people with Down Syndrome.
Last night as John Muhammad was being led to death I was throwing a pot. I kept my eye on the clock, all the while aware of the strangeness of how much my life was going on normally. It’s a rare moment that we know exactly when someone will die. And it’s this strangeness that I felt deeply last night.
Today I am reading Dave Allen’s short reflection on death penalty and the Christan life. In sum, he asks Christians to interrogate our own participation in the secular-liberal anti-death penalty movement. Can Christians really only say that the death penalty should end because it’s frequently unfair, is unevenly distributed to blacks or even rely on “vengeance is the Lord’s”?
These are the kinds of questions that should have us all on the edge of our ecclesial seats. It’s a lot harder for to cry out for mercy for the “sinner,” the one we know has done wrong. It should also call us to question with greater urgency what are the ends our penal system?
John Berkman has a lovely article in the Blackwell Companion to Christian Ethics on the origins of penance and justice in the monastic prisons of medieval England. Up until only two centuries ago this system of punishment, the model for the contemporary prison system, had a two-fold goal, “the reformation of the penitent and his or her restoration to the community.” Augustine and Aquinas wrote in similar ways about the prison system being medicinal for the prisoner.
How far we have come. The very ideas of prison’s isolation and life behind bars, and ultimately capital punishment are in themselves a referendum on the concepts of reconciliation and restoration. How can one be restored when one is dead? How can a prisoner experience reconciliation if she is not allowed to interact with those she has wronged? The American penal system today, rather than following in the footsteps of monastic prisons has returned to lex talionis with force.
In layman’s terms, revenge. Our penal system has a sole purpose, to inflict like injury for injury. A life for a life. The hope is that we will receive satisfaction for the crime inflicted, although this is rarely the case.
Last night I prayed for John Muhammad’s soul, that through the potential mental illness, the fatigue, the apathy and the despair that the light of Christ would somehow find him. I would have liked to give him more time to know and embrace that light. I would have liked for him to be able to reconcile himself to his victim’s families, for them to experience the virtue of forgiving the unforgivable. But it was not be.
We’re discernment central around here these days. It’s been a period of waiting, thinking, praying and wanting. I’m applying to doctoral programs this year, J is still in limbo about which of his passions to pursue, and if that passion will have a career outlet at the end (recent comment along this line: “Do you think learning Navajo could be considered a move towards creative policy making?” Me: “No.”)
One of the thoughts gathering in the back of my brain for several years now is the pastorate. This a strange admission for me because for even longer I’ve been trying to avoid any thought of leading a church. There are a number of reasons for this. For one, my father frequently counsels pastors whose families come second to their ministry. Their kids are wild, their marriages broken. Sometimes they commit adultery and very frequently they don’t know how to maintain boundaries. He also sees pastors who are the victims of vicious inter-church politics, who end up getting run out on a rail, broken and defeated. In all honesty, the idea of becoming a pastor scares my family.
I also grew up with pastoral role models who made me want to run the opposite direction from any vocational call of that kind. These were men (always men) who had to be above the fray as they were forced to live seemingly perfect lives. Because of my church’s location, they were always involved in ugly Episcopal church politics that left them gray and hollow. Their lives seemed difficult and, most of the time, boring.
I also knew a lot of men from Gordon College who wanted to be pastors. They were such know-it-alls who had a black and white opinion on everything. They were extremely conservative and everything different was a threat. It felt like their main concerns were moralism and doctrine. They were uninspired fortresses and their vision of church was safe and controlled. What they wanted to do seemed insignificant in light of how much suffering and brokenness there is in the world.
But as time went on, I got some new insight into pastoral leadership. I went to Duke where I met women who went on to be pastors and my friend Isaac became the pastor of our small Mennonite church in Chapel Hill. Isaac’s life seems pretty good to me. He reads a lot, writes articles, preaches at different churches, is involved in the life of MCUSA. I have other friends who are at churches that are transforming poverty in their neighborhoods, that are committing to growing their own food or are trying to take the message of “sharing all things in common” quite literally. There are homeless churches, liturgical Mennonite churches.
Perhaps my most formative experience came from participation in the life of Portland Mennonite Church. Here I got to preach for the first time. I wasn’t great at it, but I was told that I had a gift for communicating with our congregation. I got to sit on committees that did seem to be doing big things for God’s kingdom even in small ways. I wasn’t bored to death. This was a church that I actually wanted to be central to my life, not an activity on the side of what I did with the rest of my time. Rod, our pastor is easy-going and thoughtful. He also reads a lot, spends time meeting with people and preaches often.
Of course, a lot has changed in me as well. I have a much better idea as to what the church is and ought to be about. I’ve learned more about the possibility for church to be an agent of God’s kingdom. I’ve learned to love the quotidian of congregational life. Even my interest in doctoral programs has shifted from where it was ten years ago (teaching, academia) to wanting to use my training and gifts as a pastoral presence and public theologian for l’Arche.
All of this is spinning around in my head. Wanting to keep the door open, especially to get myself out of limbo as soon as possible, this year I’m also applying to the MDiv program at Eastern Mennonite Seminary. It’s only two hours from where we live and has a distance learning program so that I could knock out some classes from here. We’ve always said that we want to be open and attentive to God’s call. If the door shuts on doctoral programs, there’s a good chance that the nag of pastoral ministry is actually a for real call. Probably because of my intractable nature, God frequently works in my life through the most obvious method – making an option unavailable. I’ll be interested to see where things land. In the mean time, I pray!
T-Bone said her first word at 11 months after several weeks of animal sounds (mooo. meow. ruff ruff) and “Wow” “Whoa” and the ever popular and oft needed “uh-oh!”
At 11 months we got “dada.” And the flood gates opened.
We’ve been using a technique for language acquisition we read about in NurtureShock. To introduce a new word we take an item we know is within her grasp (b, w, c, h noises are vogue right now) and hold it up. Then I say, in a sing song voice, “ba-be, ba-be, ba-be.” Then the other person, usually my dad, does the same thing. Apparently children have an almost impossible time learning a novel word hearing just one person say it. We then pass it back in forth and say “baby, baby, baby.”
And get this. It worked. She looks right up at me with those huge blue eyes and says, “baby.”
I was lamenting to my sister-in-law that several times I’ve heard T say a word and never use it again. The words “duck” and “yes” came out of her mouth once but that was it. So we are careful to reinforce with books and objects. It’s been fun to transition from care-taking to actual teaching.
Here’s our list so far: up, out, bye-bye, hi, eye, mommy, daddy, mama, dada, hot, ball, belly, baby, apple
Something about Gordon College attracts a lot of Calvinist/Reformists. As a result, a lot of my friends fall into this theological camp. Well, my sweet friends, I found an ode to you. Here’s to you Carla, Jane and Lisa, just to name a few. I love you all. “I didn’t choose you. You chose me.”
Thanks to Ben for passing this along. I laughed so hard I almost lost bladder control.
For the first time in a long time I am experiencing the suburbs. MOPS is by far the most totalizing example of this new life. Mothers of PreSchoolers is a group for stay-at-home moms (it meets on a weekday morning), and some work from home moms, although our group doesn’t have that many.
I came to MOPS out of desperation, the desperation of living in a new town, staying at home with a wild child, having no friends or support and not connecting to a church. And while my feelings were lukewarm and my trepidation great, it has been a very good experience. The women who are there are going the same things I am. We have a common experience and it is good to share that. Plus, there are very few times when I am away from T and even fewer when she gets to interact with other kids. This serves both ends.
At the same time, I often don’t like the camaraderie of MOPS issues. These are upper/middle class concerns: too many activities, not enough time; how to keep your husband happy; how to “get it all done.” This week was especially revealing. We had someone come in to talk about once a month cooking, which is exactly what it sounds like.
The idea is that cooking and freezing all your dinners will save time and money. Outright let me say that at certain times in life this sounds like it would be a much welcome idea. My friend Mandy does this at her home, a home where she is completing a dissertation with a toddler in the house while her husband is in his first year of a tenure-track teaching job. Whoa nelly. Bring on the once a month meals.
But something that concerns me is the disturbing trend of getting us and our kids further and further from the process that creates meals. We’ve seen this gap widen with every generation, from killing animals and growing food on your farm to local grocers to mega-grocers and finally to Costco where it’s often difficult to discern the identity of food unless it’s carefully marked. Once a month cooking made me feel like we were reaching a new evolutionary point – now your children will never see you cook.
I was also shocked at the number of hands that raised when the speaker asked who hated cooking. Almost every hand shot up. While I wouldn’t call cooking my one joy, and I lament that dinner prep comes at the fussiest hour of the day, I do love to be involved in the process of food, to think about where things are grown, to be the next step in turning things grown in the earth into what will actually become the matter that makes up the people I love. It does feel like a miracle to me.
But I should say that my concern isn’t purely sentimental. I want my kid to know not only how to cook, but how to grow, harvest and nurture her food. I believe that our complete liberation from food comes at a price. To lose our connection to createdness, to the earth God made good for our use, to relegate cooking to a hated chore that we simply have to get through, what is life about if we disregard the thing that guarantees that we can live at all?
Now just in case you think I’m going a little overboard let me repeat that once a month meals aren’t the evil. I like the idea of sticking a few pre-made items in the freezer to take out when there’s serious meltdown, we have just returned from a trip or when someone is sick. What concerns me is how cooking, the one part of the process of the food cycle that still demands that we slow, prepare, make time, give room and respect is being usurped by the freezer.
As inconvenient as meal prep can be, I want to change my thinking about it. I want cooking to be a joy that involves my whole family. I want to see it as bound to a process that began with God booming “It is GOOD!” And I’m willing to work hard on myself and my schedule to make that happen.
I have a friend (and probably more than one, though I just don’t know it) who feels like parenting methods that aren’t explicitly Christian are suspect, that is parenting methods that don’t rely heavily on the categories of sin and redemption. The thought is that these secular methods miss the point and are interested in ends that Christian parents are not invested in. (Jump in if I’m mistaking you, C.)
Reading Augustine made me think that this isn’t entirely accurate. He wrote the massive City of God after the fall of Rome to the Visigoth invaders. It’s a tome intended to bolster the Christians of his day by reminding them that they are not of this world. Instead, the church belong to the sojourning City of God that is mixed in with the City of Man.
What’s really interesting about City of God is not how different the cities are, but how similar they appear in terms of the goods they seek after. While there are certainly many ways the cities show themselves for what they are, ultimately they both long for a similar good, a really good Good – peace. One of my favorite examples of how this plays out is Augustine’s description of a ferocious lion who will lay down to cuddle with her cubs. At the end of the day, both cities are looking for the same thing.
What’s different about the two is that the City of Man doesn’t long for the higher good. It wants peace as an end in itself, not the peace that passes understanding and points those within that peace in the direction of becoming citizens of “that heavenly city.” This reminded me a lot of the parenting information out there in the world. I don’t know that there is that much difference between what secular parents want and what Christian parents want. For instance, I think it’s vital that Wild One have good self esteem. I would love for her to be smart and healthy and successful. I don’t know of any parents, secular or Christian who want their kids to grow up selfish, hateful, insecure or self-loathing.
In other words, the ends are the same. What I think Christian parenting does is reframe some of the goals of parenting towards the heavenly country. I want my kids to have great self-esteem because it would be sinful not to accept and cherish one made in God’s image. I want T to be successful by using her gifts to build God’s kingdom.
What I find problematic about Christian parenting methods is that they are all interpretations and sometimes getting the Christian stamp of approval can be deceptive. I’m thinking about the Rich Dad, Poor Dad books, dangerous teachings on money that deeply obfuscate the church’s teachings about poverty, which are marketed as Christian reading. I think about Christian parenting methods that emphasize control and humiliation because they define the entirety of the Christian life by sin rather than by sin that has been redeemed.
While there’s a lot of good stuff out there, it all requires interpretation and assessment. Because of the sometimes dangerous tone of authority, Christian parenting methods may require even more attention. Certainly not every parenting book is going to help us raise the kids God wants them to be. But I for one don’t want to be fooled by the superficiality of secular and Christian categories.
I’m just starting to feel like a human being again. While I love going to Iowa to visit the rowdy Florer clan, its the getting there and back that takes its toll. High intensity kids don’t do well in closed spaces where there are restrictions as to when and where you can move. As if I needed any further reminder of how wild my child actually is, this time I had something to compare her to. I had lots of examples on this trip of children who seemed much more in control of their little selves.
Comparison 1: Plane Ride
Child X: 19 months old. Sits in an open seat next to her dad while her mom nurses her infant brother across the row. Her dad WATCHES A MOVIE on his IPhone the ENTIRE FLIGHT. I am not making this up. Child X plays with no toys. She simply sings songs to herself, plays with the tray in front of her and occasionally talks to her dad. Who ignores her. Because he’s WATCHING A MOVIE. Eventually she eats a snack and goes to sleep.
Child Y: Fortunately nurses on the ascent but shoots out of her seat at the ding of the “you may get out of your seat” bell. Walks the length of the plane approximately 20 times. Finds the bathroom. Talks to self in mirror. Pulls out toilet paper. Flushes toilet 10 times. Walks up and down 20 more times. Knocks on bathroom door, now occupied, and cries hysterically when mama says we can’t go in there. Goes through every book. Rips apart the in-flight magazine, handing each piece to the rather large man squeezed into the adjacent seat trying to play Sudoku. Unbuckles mamas seat belt. Tried to unbuckle Large Man’s seat belt. Is angry when prevented from doing this. Eats biscotti. Crumbles biscotti all over mama and Large Man. Now overtired and angry, cries at the top of lungs for the final 20 minutes of the plane ride. Large Man attempts to strangle self with seat belt.
Comparison 2: h1N1 clinic
Child X: Over the course of 3 hours wait, Child X sits in her stroller for TWO HOURS. She looks at books but mostly looks around and eats her snack. Eventually she gets out and walks around. She then falls asleep on her dad’s shoulder, gets her shot and goes home.
Child Y: Walks through mud puddles and in and out of line looking at all the kids. Dad goes to get stroller and walks baby around for half an hour. Baby pulls out all of her books. Takes books from Baby X. Eats snack. Attempts to eat Baby X’s snack. Walks around. Runs around. Is spun in a circle by dad. Walks outside. Refuses dad’s attempt to get her to sleep. Pushes around her stroller. Attempts to push Baby X’s stroller (Baby X is wondering, “who is this crazy person?”). Massively defecates in her diaper which results in mama to leaving her cell phone in the bathroom. Gets shot and exhausted family goes home.
Welcome to my life.
