on the verge

the other day at sunset, my boys, who are four and five, came bursting through the front door, shouting “mommy, come quick! you have GOT to see this!” i hurriedly put on my shoes and followed them outside. they led me to a certain spot in our yard where we planted daffodils a couple of years ago. we bent down toward the ground in order to see better in the fading light and studied the brand new green shoots and yellow buds of this year’s promise of spring.

one of them said gleefully, “spring is coming!” seth made each of us point out our favorite daffodil bud, and said, “oh yeah, that’s a good one” in response to our selections. we stood there awhile longer, quiet and watchful.

there is the knowledge that at any moment these tight buds will burst open into full flower.

i feel the same way.

gettin' down, collier style

wyatt and seth are dancing to fergie's "here i come." this is what passes for cheap entertainment at our house.

the quality of light

i had a hell of a weekend. seriously. i really cannot think of any other way to describe it than with the words spiritual oppression. darkness, heaviness, confusion, nebulous fear, loss of sleep, all connected to this feeling that i was fighting something or in the middle of some kind of battle. walking around in this weird weirdness, i didn’t really even know what was going on until about two-thirds of the way through it.

by the time sunday morning rolled around, i was exhausted, and on top of everything else, angry. i was catching on to this whole oppression thing, feeling the threat of its evil in my home, toward my family. i was the live example of the saying “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” and trust me, you don’t want to be the brunt of my anger.

naturally, trying to get myself and wyatt and seth ready for church was not a pleasant experience--for any of us. add to that: bad hair, bad skin, bad attitude. the only thing I had going for me as i walked into church were the kick-ass boots I was wearing.

i sang the songs, offered and received the peace of Christ, listened to nathan’s truth-and-hope-filled sermon. somewhere in the middle of all that, some light broke through. the Light broke through. it was almost like waking up from a dream, or rather, a nightmare, this sense of returning to myself and to life as I know it. my mind cleared, the heaviness lifted, i could breathe again.

i was scheduled as one of the four deacons to serve communion. i love serving communion. it is one of my all-time favorite things to do—to participate in this most holy and mysterious of sacraments, to stand and offer each person a piece of bread and to speak the words “this is the body of Christ, broken for you.”

now, i am always near tears when i serve communion. (i cry often, but you already know that, right?) i try to push through the tears, though, so that i can say the words i love to say, and most times, i succeed. this past sunday, despite the raw condition of my mind and heart, i made it through without crying. almost. we were nearing the end of communion; the line was short. but when i looked up and saw my friend erin coming toward me, the dam broke.

erin is hilarious, tender-hearted, full of depth and life. although we are still in the early stages of getting to know each other, we have one of those "connections." there is something alike in us that makes us a part of the same tribe. (this may be news to her, I don’t know. i haven’t really discussed it with her yet.) when I saw erin, something did break in me, or perhaps was invited out of me. i cried for all of the sadness and fear and weariness and disappointment from the weekend. and i cried for the beauty and redemption found in the sacrament of the Eucharist. Eucharist, meaning grateful, thankful.

so, for the rest of communion, i stood in front of the church and cried. in times past, this would have deeply embarrassed me. i would have felt shame equivalent to walking around with the back of my dress tucked up into my panties. i don’t feel that anymore. i’m becoming more reconciled to myself, tears and all. this is who I am: love it or leave it, baby.

last night i had coffee with my friend juli, who is balm to my soul, and i found affirmation and hope in our conversation. now i am reading anne lamott, one of my favorite authors. reading her is like eating my favorite candy (hot tamales or sour patch kids, depending on which day you catch me).

i’m pretty worn out today, and i can feel a headache coming on. but i can see some light, and that’s enough. for now.

breaking bread

i'm making my vanilla challah bread today. since it takes about half a day to make, seth and i started on it after we dropped wyatt off at school this morning.

i love making bread, even though i don't do it that often. i love the yeasty smell of the dough, the feel of it in my hands, and the simplicity of the process: take some flour, salt, water, yeast, and a couple other ingredients, and when you're finished, you've got something wholesome, earthy, and delicious.

i also love the physicality of kneading the dough--you have to put your whole body into it. i pinched off a small piece of dough for seth to have, and we went to work, kneading and kneading and kneading. we danced a little while we did this, listening to shelby lynne's version of i only want to be with you and john mayer's say. when the ten minutes of kneading were up, seth said, "thank God."

now we are waiting. i even like this part. i like that things are happening in that lump of dough, things that i can't see or understand. i periodically lift up the corner of the damp towel covering the bowl, and i can see that change is taking place. it seems so surprising and miraculous. i know there's a perfectly good explanation for this chemical process, but i prefer not to be bothered with the facts. i like the mystery.

in about forty minutes, i will divide the dough into three parts, roll each of those parts into long ropes, and then braid. i'll brush the braided dough with a mixture of egg yolk and salt and slide it into a hot, hot oven. it will bake for about half an hour, rising up even more and turning a lovely golden brown.

this yummy loaf of bread will feed my family tonight, along with the corn chowder i plan to make later. i'd like to be able to say that dinner will be a peaceful, harmonious affair, but i know only too well that wyatt will loudly and obstinately remind me that he, for one, doesn't like corn chowder and then at some point, seth and wyatt will start to argue.

no matter. i revel in these simple pleasures.

ash wednesday reflections

from girl meets god by lauren winner:

"i cried, i think, because i was coming to understand in a new way just how much was required of me, how much God was going to strip away all my everything, like silver polish taking the tarnish off old forks. i cried because i know more and more how chekov was right, how we are all running around desperate to make connections with one another, but mostly we are all just estranged. because i know more and more that this glass here is so very dark, that this really is a long loneliness, that it is both lonely and long.

sometimes i feel God has taken a paring knife to me. i know the way an apple feels."

feverish

wyatt, my five year old, has had a fever off and on for the past three days. he's home from school today, so we are trying to keep things pretty mellow, watching an assortment of animated movies and whatever is on the disney channel while he lies on the couch. seth, my four year old, is the only hitch in the "staying mellow" plan, what with his boundless energy and endless motion.

wyatt is so pitiful when he has a fever. since our thermometer is broken right now, i don't actually know what his temperature is, but i don't have to look at a thermometer to know that he has a fever. one reason is that when he gets a fever, he gets a really high fever. he radiates heat. also, i can just do the "mom test"--feel his forehead with my cheek and look at his eyes. when i was little, my mom could just look at my eyes and know that i was sick. i didn't really understand how she did that back then, but now i get it.

to tell the truth, it's kind of nice when wyatt is sick with a fever virus. as i told winn the other night, wyatt is so tame right now. that fierce, intense energy he carries with him has gone underground, is dormant for however long his fever lasts. instead, he is calm, affectionate, gracious even.

wyatt uses so much of his energy to argue and/or negotiate with seemingly every single thing i say. we gave him his name because it means "warrior," but somehow this kind of "warring" (with me) wasn't exactly what i'd envisioned. i'm hoping this is a stage, that some day in the future, this fierceness, which i believe is a really good thing, won't be directed my way quite so much. but then again, those teenage years will be here before i know it. . .

well, wyatt is asking for food. he's also starting to argue with his brother. that's a good sign.