A Year

I didn't write last week. Oh, of course I made notes during meetings at work. I signed various forms. I answered email and posted facebook updates. It isn't that I didn't pick up a pen or tap on the keys of a laptop. But, I didn't write.

About a year ago I set out to see if I could write a weekly blog for one year. There were a couple times when I took a week off. When I re-read my year's efforts I saw there were weeks that I probably should have skipped. As I started out I set up a few rules for myself: 1. I would never use my blog as a weapon to hurt or lash out at someone. 2. I would never preach at people. I would share personal insights and hope that at least a couple of people might relate. 3. I would be honest. Don't get me wrong, I consider honesty to be one of my non-negotiable character traits. With this blog I set out to be honest about how I was feeling and what I was thinking. I broadly defined "in good taste" and did my best to honor that code. Beyond that, I tried to be transparent with my doubts, my imperfections and my struggles.

What I didn't expect is that this exercise in discipline would force me to slow down enough to be introspective and look for patterns and signs and meaning. Early on the ideas came easily and the funny anecdotes were plentiful. Some weeks I struggled to figure out what all the ideas swirling around in my head had to do with each other. I found that the weeks when I struggled the most were the weeks that provided the greatest "Ah-Ha!" moments. As I moved through those weeks I would spend more time thinking about the things that matter and less about about the daily grind.

This year I discovered that my children teach me more than I could possibly teach them. They teach me about faith and relationships and unconditional love. They expose my flawed ideology and force me to reconsider. While I've known this for quite a few years, I reconfirmed that I have the absolute perfect partner for me. She makes me my best self and there is no one whose opinion matters more.

This year I discovered that I am not as much of a loner as I profess. I've never been one to say that my friends mean everything to me. I'm just not very good at maintaining long term friendships. Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with people from high school and college. Before social media I hadn't spoken to these people for 15-20 years. However, I realize that I have a very good group of friends who are part of my life now. They provide raucous laughter and sanity checks. They support my family and they nurture of my soul. As I re-read my blog I discovered that my friends do play a huge part of my life. I also found out that my friends who read and comment on this blog have very interesting stories and experiences and should be writing blogs of their own.

When I named this blog it was a tongue in cheek reference to our town and the similarities between it and the fictional town in the movie Pleasantville. While we live only 25 miles from the heart of Chicago, we have a somewhat small town feel. At the center of Flossmoor is the commuter train station. After you descend from the train platform if you were to turn left you would enter the heart of Flossmoor. There are a couple of restaurants, a bakery, a couple of gift/clothing shops, a lawyers' office, an eye doctor and a real estate office. We just built a new library and boast to visitors that 98% of residents have a library card. After exiting the train, if you were to walk toward the right you would encounter a park with our little league baseball fields and community tennis courts. They share a parking lot with one of our elementary schools--the original school in Flossmoor.

As I walked home from my first day of commuting from my office in Chicago back to Flossmoor, I saw a family leave the tennis courts and get into a red 1950's style convertible. The woman placed a scarf on her head--the kind that protects against wind-mussed hair. The man tussled the small boy's hair as he helped him into the back seat. As I crossed in front of Western Avenue Elementary School I noticed that traffic had been stopped going both ways. A big, burly man in coaches garb complete with a whistle around his neck held up his hand to stop traffic as a mother duck and her ducklings crossed the road. One of the ducklings struggled mightily to fall in line with his siblings and was weaving from side to side and in circles. As I got closer I discovered that his shell hadn't fallen off of his head so he couldn't see his way. The coach bent down, removed the shell from the duckling's head and sent him on his way. Traffic backed up. A couple of people got out of their cars to watch. No one honked. No one angrily gestured. Pleasantville.

I have discovered that just like the town in the movie, our town has it flaws under the nostalgic exterior. Our small downtown area means there is a limited amount of tax revenue resulting from commerce. The burden falls on homeowners who are frustrated by our lack of street lights and imperfect sidewalks. Our red brick school with the original bell in a tower out front is often a source of hard feelings from those who feel like their elementary schools are not as well-cared for or financed.

This year I learned that in life, like in my pleasant town, there are always things simmering below the surface. Things are rarely as they seem and while joy is bountiful it isn't always complete. I have learned that imperfections add flavor and character and interest. I have learned to love not in spite of the imperfections but rather, because of them. Most importantly I have learned that whether you call it luck or blessings, my life is absolutely bursting with good stuff.

Next week my seminary experience kicks off with a four-day retreat. The following week is the two-day orientation session. Classes start the week after that. Practically speaking, I'm not sure I can continue to blog each week. As I look back at what this year has meant, I cannot imagine giving it up completely. So what I will commit to is to be thoughtful and introspective and to try my best to be honest about this next part in my life. I am hopeful that all of this will find its way to my blog.

If you have ever read the sidebar on the blog, you will notice that I ask the question: is it still a blog if no one reads it? I still don't know. I know of several people who regularly read my stuff but in no way could I be considered a successful blogger. I know that this blog is now a record of one of the most remarkable years of my life. I know it has been my humble pleasure to share it with you.

Gut Feeling

Toward the end of last summer Beth and I decided that our family needed one more weekend of fun before the school year and resultant over-scheduled life of chaos began. And hey, nothing says fun like a trip north to Milwaukee.

We spent Friday night swimming in the hotel pool. My kids, like most other kids, believe that even the worst 6-foot x 6-foot over-chlorinated, murky hotel pool is a little pre-cursor to heaven. We allowed them to sufficiently exhaust their little bodies and tucked them into bed. We spent the next day exploring the Milwaukee zoo. The zoo is about a third of the size of our local Chicago zoos. With less acreage to explore we spent longer periods of time watching each of the animals. A year later Bennett still describes in vivid detail how the big brown bear spent the morning napping in the hammock in his enclosure. Frankly I was disappointed that we didn't see more movement. At one point there was so little movement that I thought perhaps the bear had expired. In Bennett's mind it was worth the weekend trip just to see a bear in a hammock.

As we left the zoo we noticed that we were extremely close to Sprecher Brewing Company. Sprecher is a micro-brewery that is downright passionate about turning out finely crafted German style beer. The realities of shelf space competition and the need for cash flow forced them into also producing a line of premium sodas. Their soda is hugely popular and profitable. The sale of the soda provides enough revenue that they can continue making their beloved yet not commercially popular beer.

For $3 you can take a factory tour that ends up in a kitschy little German beer garden that has been created in the middle of the plant. Our tour guide explained the tasting rules. Adults would be given four tickets that would allow us to taste some of the beer offerings. Kids would be given a plastic cup and could drink as much soda as they could hold. There would be only one rule for them: just don't puke.

We don't allow our kids to drink much soda. It is a treat reserved for birthday parties and vacation splurges. Sprecher root-beer is the ultimate treat. As soon as we had found a place to sit in the beer garden Peyton took off to stand in line at the bar. She was so comfortable approaching the bar and ordering up her soda that I'm pretty scared for what her later years will bring. She downed the root-beer in a couple of gulps and asked for permission to re-enter the line.

Bennett on the other hand sat at our table staring at his untouched cup of root-beer. When I asked what was wrong, Bennett said that he didn't want to puke. I explained that he would only puke if he drank too much. He looked at me with all the earnestness of a boy trying to figure out so much more than appropriate soda consumption and said: "But Mama, how will I know?"

Such a big part of our growing up process is learning to trust our gut. Quite literally, as children we have to learn how our stomaches will react if given unfettered access to ice cream or soda. As adults we have to "learn" what happens when we answer our midnight craving for a Taco Bell burrito with extra hot sauce.

Metaphorically I continue to learn about trusting my gut. I deal in charts of pros and cons. I do research. I calculate costs and risks versus rewards. Trusting my gut doesn't come easily. But trusting my gut has led me to all the best decisions. I allowed myself to fall in love with the right person even though I knew in my head there would be hardship and sacrifice and conflict. It was a gut feeling that allowed me to say yes to parenthood.

This fall I am beginning a Masters of Divinity program at Chicago Theological Seminary. I will be a part-time student for the next several years. I have had a feeling for a very long time that this was something that I needed to do. I have had many reasons not to pursue it: I should be saving for my children's education not spending money on my own; I am a mother and this will mean too much time away from my kids; I have a very good job and this may mean pursuing an entirely different line of work; there are a lot of out-of-work pastors, who would hire me?

This summer the brewing storm caused by me ignoring my gut on this subject erupted in a "discussion" with Beth. In moment of passionate debate she said "Go to seminary like we both know you want to!" I responded with my well-rehearsed litany of excuses. Then this person, whom I have now loved for 22 years said "You will not be happy and you will not know peace until you respond to this craving. Your family cannot be happy unless you are too. We will find a way."

I do not believe that pastors are any more "called" than electricians or teachers or stay at home parents. I believe that when we find a vocation that allows us moments of deep-felt peace and joy, we have found our calling. I am stepping into this journey without knowing the destination. I'm not clear on what this will mean. I do know that I feel a peace that I haven't felt in a very long time.

It is time for me to stop staring at my root-beer. I need to trust that this feeling in my gut is the nudging of the Holy Spirit. Some things that don't necessarily make sense on paper are the best decisions of all.