wedding

Yesterday we were at Rovos Rail, a train company in Pretoria with a high polished, wooden Victorian feel. The event was the wedding of Matt and Joanne, a couple we've been walking alongside through a personalized marriage course.

Their nuptuals were beautiful, their families, warm, the venue spectacular. Every detail was perfect, in place and taken care of.

As with most events of this nature, the heart behind the event was to celebrate and support this young, beautiful couple starting their life together. To see them now, they are the most prepared, stunning kids in their twenties. They're successful, in love, and surrounded by support.

I met Matt's aunt and uncle, married 54 years. Jo's grandparents, in their 90's and still cute and in love.

Mario did the ceremony. He was witty, funny and handsome. Confident in a new role of a preacher/pastor, he effortlessly guided the vows, the scripture reading, the rings, etc. in a way that made me proud.

Twenty three years ago I made this walk with him. Things have not been easy. Years have a way of exposing truth, like how different you are, how you process stress, how you become more territorial and selfish of the things "he should know".... And with all of this said, Mario and I have experienced the 23 years as rich and exciting. The closest thing to heaven on earth.

We are not a perfect match. In the course that we guided Matt and Jo through, we scored very low. Our friends, John and Corrine (a definite perfect match) were shyly approaching the subject of "agreement" in fields such as "Lifestyle Expectations", "Friends and Interests", "Finances and Investments" carefully, as we seemed doomed...and headed straight for divorce (if you believe test results). It makes me laugh. In some things our thunder and lightning sessions (fights) are predictable and lame... and easy to agree about eventually.

Mario is a saver; I am a spender. Mario acts cautiously; I tend to be more impulsive. He is and introvert; I am an extrovert. He values privacy and room to think; I usually hate being alone except at the end of the day. Shall I go on?
Mario parents in boxes -- there are definite rights and wrongs. I want to know every square inch of my children's heads before I say what is right and wrong. Mario has no regrets about our parenting....

I love him. He is, in few words, the best guy I know. He loves me. I catch him listening to a story I'm telling and he's got a twinkle in his eye that can only come from admiration. He loves me... how? After all, I've had moments of tearing him to pieces and being a complete bitch... and he recovers and returns as my protector when I'm a little girl inside, crying hopelessly for my losses and failures and misunderstandings. There's an undeniable love he has for me that everyone can see... that I can see.

Yesterday, at the wedding, there was a cello and violin duo before the ceremony. At one point, from the lobby, involved in a deep conversation, I heard them play a tango. I smiled, thinking of the many tango lessons we've had... and I heard his voice (from the patio)say "Where's my wife?"

We danced in the lobby, a very brief dance... and I love him.

I love him, I love him.

dance

In the film "The Bounty", the 1984 adaptation of the story "Captain Bligh and Mr. Christian" by Richard Hough, we see Lt. Bligh as a sympathetic and competent leader. In previous stories of the famous mutiny of Her Majesty's ship, The Bounty, Bligh was portrayed as a slave-driving egocentric. In this story, he's a cool customer, portrayed by Anthony Hopkins well...English, but with a heart.

To ward off depression and fatigue, Bligh arranged for festive jigs to be played on deck, and encouraged the men to dance. The whole thing sounded strange to me, but after checking it out, I found it was true. YES, Bligh let his men dance, and YES dancing cures depression.

Okay, I'm oversimplifying this.

Let's just say that dancing encourages fun, partnership, movement and art all together. Patterns that take our minds off of what we're into for the moment, except for the dance.

I love dancing. Mario and I can tango...the most romantic dance. We've taught our dog, Zuzu to dance. We love it. For the moments we dance we have joy in each other and in ourselves.

Some people say they can't dance, or they have no rythm. This doesn't matter, especially to your friends or your significant other. One of my favorite scenes in "Sneakers" a Robert Redford film is when Mary McDonnell dances with all of the men at the small party, their dancing showing their personalities, their hearts. It's a great clip... and shows that anyone can dance.

My friend, Terry sent me today a youtube link of something called "The Gratitude Dance" which defies description. One man's desire to go everywhere and dance everywhere. I laughed and cried, then ran to Mario and asked him to watch it. He did, and his face was fifteen years old again.

Today we are off to a wedding.

I hope we dance.

Watch it!! The Gratitude Dance on youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeLbrGspigg

Rome

In its day (about the 8th Century B.C), the Roman Empire became the standard of everything: Government, architecture, family, education, agriculture, conquests, and even storytelling.

For instance, according to one legend, Rome was founded in 753 BC by Romulus and Remus(twin brothers), who were raised by a she-wolf when their parents were killed. Some modified the legend confessing the she-wolf was probably a neighboring Shepherd's mother. In the class system of old Rome, one was closely akin to the other.

By the time the Empire was known to the world as the very first Super-power, it had victoriously conquered agricultural communities surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. Their new subjects were taxed, patrolled with Roman armies and taught to speak Latin, as their new national language. The Empire promised protection from marauding neighbors, and a voice in the government.

In reality, Rome was centered around a controlling Senate, who had gangs pummel the citizens into voting for them, securing the power they craved inside of a bickering Senate. Most of the new members of the empire were not given Roman Citizenship and could have anything, including land and civil rights taken from them at any time, for any reason. Because of this, land reform "bills" pelted the Senate.

Just before Jesus was incarnated, three men, Julius Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus, formed a secret pact—the First Triumvirate—to control the Republic. These men would take the army, split it in three parts, go out and conquer for Rome and eachother, new lands, then come back and gloat and feast together. It's amazing to imagine the bonds and jealousies that were formed between them.

After Caesar's victory of a famous rival- Gaul, a fight between Caesar and other members of the Senate led to Roman civil war.

Julius' ally, Pompey, led the opposition against Caesar. In great determination, Julius ventured against a sworn friend and he and his forces won a bloody and painful civil war. Caesar pronounced himself "KING OF THE WOOOOORLD!!"...ahem, I mean "Emporer for Life".

You all remember the famous line from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, when Caesar is stabbed, he chokes out "et tu, Brute?" ...(You too, Brutus?). It all comes from this next part of Roman History: In short, the Senate thought that Julius Caesar lost his mind. He was drunk with power and must be stopped, or who knows which one of us will be next? Some 60 senators conspired to assasinate the dictator, and Brutus, who was close to Caesar, became one of the leaders of the plot. It would be easy to do, they thought, during a senate meeting, since Caesar had disbanded his bodyguard. If they all acted together, no ONE guilty of murder.

In the wake of his death, Julius' heir, Octavian, took the reigns of leadership and bulked the weary Senate with more Senators. He then formed another alliance, called the Second Triumvirate with Mark Antony and Lepidus.

As it was with his Father's Triumvirate (and most power-sharing arrangements) the three entered into a legendary struggle for dominance.

Lepidus was exiled. Later Octavian defeated his weakening Antony at the Battle of Actium (because he was so distracted by a woman - Cleopatra of Egypt). Octavian, like his father, declared himself to be "KING OF THE WOOOOORRRLD!!!!" ...er, um the undisputed ruler of Rome.

He also named himself Augustus, which means "Bow down to me, underling." Not really...Augustus means "Revered":respect with a little bit of fear.

The decline of Rome so began. From Julius to Nero, 12 men led the Roman Empire. They were fearless in many ways; had the most powerful army, the smartest leaders, the most cultured citizens. Even so, they all fell prey to a classic cliché: Pride comes before a fall. Any super-power can tell you that they were completely unprepared for their fall, even their slow fall.

It was during the Roman reign that Jesus was born, grew up, performed miracles and was crucified. He died and was buried and guarded by Roman soldiers. There is a book of the Bible called Romans, written to the church in Rome that met in the city of the greatest oppressors known to the new church. In the book we are introduced to a brave, new church that is used to opposition. Aquila and Priscilla, a couple who were local business people, are addressed as leaders in this new church...caught up in their new-found love and allegiance to Jesus. Their names continue to appear in the epistles, making them people we want to emulate-- a normal couple with an extraordinary love for Jesus. A couple like Mario and I.

Today was our day off and I IM'ed (instant messaged) with Matt Roome (pronounced like ROME) while I was researching some stuff. He was off to run, but had found us on SKYPE and we "spoke" for the first time in a long time. He chatted about his life, the season, possibly moving back to the USA next year, etc. It was a refreshment to chat, remembering that when I first met him he was a boy inside of his family that had tons of kids. Now he was a man, a young man who had been living in Sao Paolo, Brazil for the last few years. He was speaking fluent Portuguese and bookkeeping....

Todd and Sheri Roome were incredibly good friends of ours in Sacramento. We went to the same church together for years, our kids grew up together. They had decided to move out of the USA to Brazil after we had decided to move to Africa, they just left first! They packed up their house and all of their kids and did it.

I always thought it meant they were gone and would never return. Our friends would be lost to a bunch of nameless, faceless people who were in no position to know who they were. We understood their value, their love, their sacrifice. To hear that they are returning to the States makes us see that their season in Brazil has ended. They've said good bye and left all their friends in the USA. Now they will do the same to their friends in Brazil.

At one point Matt said "I've said hello and goodbye so much it seems normal." I know what you mean, brother.

The Roomes are heroes to us...and their decision is one we support and understand. Their love for God isn't dependent on where they live or what they do. They love people with beautiful, comforting love, and God used them for a season for Brazil. Now Brazil will mourn like we did when they left.

Nothing on earth is permanent.


A good read-- From the Gracchi to Nero: A History of Rome from 133 B.C. to A.D. 68 by H. H. Sgullard, Methuen, London, 1959)

change

I changed my blog again. My goal is to get the most readable inoffensive background so that the story can speak above the din of color and pattern.

So what do you think?

Doing something like this reminds me how much I don't like change. Change makes me feel impermanent...a state that I should be used to by now.

I grew up in a house that was predictable and boring. And safe and comforting. My dad arrived home every day from work at 4:45. There was dinner soon afterwards, where all five kids and my mom and dad would sit at the table. The meal would be a meat, a starch and a vegetable. Milk to drink; rarely e a fancy dessert, but many times a sweet end to the meal.

It was before sports and extra curricular activities threatened families...and our house was untouched by the hustle and bustle of outside. My dad had a wide variety of music he listened to: Big bands, folk, Broadway musicals, classical, Johnny Cash, or easy listening. On a good night he would include someone we knew, like Simon and Garfunkel or Barbara Streisand.

Our kids grew up in a house that was similar until they hit the seven year old mark and they all played sports in city leagues...all of which disrupted meal times. Later (when we got lazy) we began to eat with the TV on. As I look back, our family dinners became filled with tension, and the joy had gone out of having meals together. It became easy to split everyone up and all of us eat at different times.

Looking back, the house was a mixture of silence and music. We were either a happy family or we were a family that was sinking in busy-ness or chaos. The last five years of us all living togehter was busy busy busy....

Change came when the boys stoppped coming out. When Vince moved out. When we moved to Africa. When Alicia left. Change is the only predictable thing in my life.

I look today at myself in the mirror. I am rarely without glasses... rarely at the weight I want to be. I have changed.

I look at Mario (my hunk...I still can't believe he married me)and see the same. He always knows where his glasses are because he hooks them onto the front of his shirt.

So when we meet new people, we never say things like "Hey, we were once cool like you!" or "We weren't always in Africa, we weren't always kid-less." We have changed.

That's not so bad, is it??

How do you like the new layout?

forever

Yesterday was Mother's Day...a traditionally hard day for me. It has become even harder since we've moved to South Africa.

Yesterday in the Diepsloot service I was asked to share the message - the closing on a series on gossip. Diepsloot, as a unit, struggles with the temptations of this world, and the whole of the church can get sucked in quickly. The problem is, Christians are not supposed to gossip about one another...about anyone, actually.

My "preach", as they call it here, was designed to address lightly how this problem falls into the paths of women. Since women like to talk and openly process things (I can't believe I'm making this generalization) the trap is set for us to fall in to.

The whole preach was translated by my friend, Anica, who translated for her first time. In addition, she didn't translate English into her native SisPedi, but rather into Zulu. She did the best she could, but it was her first time. My preach was also my first in a local church context (I have preached in "the bush" before, but only to groups that were LTT crowds).

I struggled to get my point accross, then ended with a story...the story I heard when Vince was in kindergarten. It's called "I Love You Forever" - a children's book meant to make grown people weep.

On Saturday I realized that the whole book could possibly get lost in translation and asked Portia, Darrell and Ebi to translate the book for me into Zulu. I practiced reading it aloud to see (mainly by Ebbi's eyes) if I were getting the pronunciation right.

The story begins with a young mother holding her son in her arms after he was born and singing a simple song, called I love you Forever. It continues on and on as the boy grows into a man, and the mother is still the same mother to him, singing the same song. It's a touching story of how a mother's love endures even when the kids misbehave, rebel, smart-mouth,etc.

It is also a parallel of God's love for us. God sees us as His precious children all the time, even during periods of rebellion. The story makes me cry deeply when I read it...and I did let a few tears roll in the service.

When it was all over, the hall burst into applause, mainly for my attempt at Zulu, but also because the people enjoyed the story. I could see many mothers had been crying.... especially the Zulu moms.

I see the stroy as one that transcends time and boundaries. It grips us to know that Mothers will do anything, absolutely anything for their children.

This is where my heart is, but for many who observe from the outside, it may look like I don't put my money where my mouth is. I love my kids, and would do anything for them. Even so, God is my Lord...my incredible all-consuming fire, who requires everything from me, and I really feel His will here. I will do anything for my God. Anything for Him above anyone else.

He loves me forever...and I can turn and love my kids (no matter what age) with the same love.

Or try to.

It was a great Mother's Day. Everyone called me... my kids that is!!

slipping

The day Alicia was born I had pancakes at Lyon’s restaurant on Clover Road in Tracy.

The doctors had sent me home because the pitossin drip had not worked (could have fooled me, it sure felt like labor!!). Since I had been fasting for a whole 12 hours I insisted that we stop at a restaurant on the way home to the Corral Hollow Canyon. The pancakes were delicious, but I had to stop every five minutes to allow labor pains to pass.

I should have known.

When I delivered her, 40 hours later, she came out “sunny side up” , face toward the sky, like she wanted to see her own birth. At the moment she made her full exit I looked up at Mario, who was nothing but tears, watching his first daughter be born. Our midwife, Arlaine, asked me if I knew what I had delivered...and I guessed a boy. Arlaine shook her head, indicating “no” (she later told me she was waiting for the doctor or Mario to tell me the news...our girl was born, but realized there was only one other option, and she was the bearer of the news) . I instantly hoped for the best. “Did I have a girl?? A girl?? Mario?....” Mario was cying his eyes out, and nodded. His hand was clutching at his mouth when I heard her first cry.

Twenty one years later, I stood in a similar delivery room with Alicia, the girl I delivered sunny side up, delivering her own child. I had watched her go through thirty hours of labor and two and a half hours of pushing . I never thought any birth could be more painful than hers. I was witnessing Harmony’s as she struggled to enter the world. The delivery room had Alicia, her boyfriend Brian (Bud), his mother, Suzanne; his sister Ashley; his step-father, Steve; and Alicia’s long-time friend Patrick...and me. I tried to silently be there for my own baby while she labored to get her own out. She begged the intern to give her a C-section, but she sternly told Alicia to push and stop whining. I could have assaulted the almost-doctor on the spot. I glared heavily at her...something I had saved only for the very worst of enemies.

Harmony eventually arrived, barely breathing and full of “terminal merconium”...and I began rebuking every dark force in the world that would try to steal the life out of this young one that came from my daughter.

My daughter had a daughter. I saw my mom two days later and took pictures of the most amazing sort: Four generations. The whole thing was surreal. The last time I had done this was when Vince was born, and I stood next to my mother as my grandma held the baby son I had delivered just three months before. Now I was the grandma. I have no desire to stay young...you can’t write worth a damn when you’re young...but I did have a desire not to lose my daughter. I felt like day by day she was slipping away.... but when did I not feel that?

Alicia has always been an independent sort.

At four she organized an outing with two girls across the street who were not allowed to go further than their front lawn. I packed a picnic lunch and saw her march across the street with it purposefully, and knock at the door as if she were a Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes rep. The girls came outside for a second, then asked her back inside. She waved at the porch where I stood, and disappeared into the new neighbors’ house. I waited all of ten seconds before I went after her... and when I knocked on the same front door the neighbour answered. She was a small, beautiful Viet Namese woman, and said the table was a better place for the girls to share the lunch. I looked past all of the jade, bamboo and Buddha statues to my daughter, unpacking the sandwiches and handing them out to the girls. She waved me off saying “I’m fine, mom. Go home now.”

I stood on the porch, praying beyond my panic. What if they start teaching her Buddhist traditions?? What if she wants to have lunch there every day??

She didn’t and for a couple of seconds I relaxed.

At eight she had several irons in the fire. She was in a community choir, drama, a play group where she discovered an artistic talent... the other mothers called her “a handful” with smiles and fondness. I still took offense and told them all she was a great daughter, the most stable girl of any one I had seen in any group her age.
The same year she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes...and my heart and life sank. I tried to adhere to the strict eating schedule and program that the doctors had given me. Alicia was compliant until it cam to diabetic ketchup. “There’s no way I am eating that!” She’d say, in a soft but firm voice. “It’s like eating red glue...” I never bought it again. Let her have Heinz, I thought. What will they do to me?

At twelve she was already turning heads of boys. No matter the looks I brandished, some of the boys would not look away. Alicia loved being admired, and didn’t listen when I warned her to “ignore the idiots”. “Mom,” she’d say, “you’re so judgemental!” Was it true? I don’t know, I just thought boys were of the devil...but I felt her slipping away.

The first boyfriend came soon after. The first rebellious talk. The first secrets kept from me. The first friends I didn’t like. Slipping, slipping, slipping.

At seventeen in Africa, a boy of 25 proposed to her. She agreed, and later asked us what we thought. I felt unnecessary...and grieved and longed for my baby back. Where could I go to get her back??

The love I feel for this girl is unreal. It kills me; stuns me; knocks me down from far away.

I think of her and cry. I want my baby back....

Today is her first Mother’s day and I’m not there for her. She loves me and misses me. I see her daughter, the amazing Harmony and I weep for loss. How am I ever going to get beyond this??

My Mother once told me that having a daughter was like seeing a reflection of yourself...but better. It’s true. To see Alicia I see great potential, a beautiful mind, a wonderful mother. I think of her today and think she has three times the strength I do, maybe more.

I should have known that first night when they said that inducing labor wasn't going to bring this baby out that Alicia would be waiting to prove them wrong. She has been the antithesis of pattern and predictability. No one can set their watch by her.

She was born sunny side up. “Came out the hard way,” the doctor said, stitching me up.

I should have known.

How much I love her....

mommies

My friend, Lance asked if I could come and address a group of mothers today at his school (he is the headmaster/administrator). He asked on Monday, and later confirmed that I would come with a message, 15 minutes to encourage the young mothers at his school, Everwood Pre-primary.

The mothers are parenting children between the ages of 2 to 5 (before kindergarten) and are fluctuating between being inspired and exhausted. How familiar their faces were!! I'd seen those faces in the mirror twenty years ago!! As I got to the school I recognized that the event was a big deal. The parking lot was brimming with cars, even overflow parking was accessed. The reception for the school was filled with pitchers of facy waters and barely alcoholic fancy drinks, finger foods, lots of a girls' favorite things.

I had a problem: I had prepared to address a small group of mothers and this was a school assembly. My favorite dream had been realized (I love speaking publically) but I was woefully unprepared. You see, I had come home after the gym and lunch with a friend only to find the computer hijacked (Mario obviously needed it for the meeting he attended) and my notes were on it. I improvised piling a load of books into my arms and took off.

So, my surprise at the size of the group was more than just surprise...it was more like panic. Then a wonderful thing happened. The kids performed before I could have a chance to speak. They sang and danced to oldies from the 50's. It was hilarious fun, and the kids were so beautiful! The mothers sat in the chairs, taping the performance on their iphones, cameras and video cams... I stood back in awe as I was given the gift of watching the most beautiful exchange between mothers and children performing for them.

By the time they finished, I was overwhelmed with love and gratitude. It was just last week (it seems) that Vince onstage hosting his class as they recited poems from Maurice Sendak's "Chicken Soup and Rice" in Kindergarten. Or that Alicia was performing as Alladin in Sacramento. Performing kids and the mothers who watch them have a deep tender place in my heart.

I surveyed the scene. I asked the mothers to turn their chairs from theater seating to a large circle. They obliged, their kids on their laps. I read a story from a book called "Love You Forever", the tear-jerking stroybook about a mother singing to her little boy, even as he grows up. I barely make it through the book without crying, and tell them that they are heroes. Sleep deprived, beautiful heroes.

I encourage them to love their children and their mothers, relaying that I have not been with my own mother on Mother's Day for the last three years. I also will not see my kids (or grandkids) this Mothers' Day either. Still, I am a blessed woman because I adore my own mother and love her so much...and look forward to talking with her on that day. I love my own kids with so much love it feels like me heart contains a moving ocean....

I end with the tale of the single swan feather from Amy Tan's Joy Luck Club. Some ladies are crying. Most thank me for the love and tenderness...and understanding. They turn into sympathizing mothers to me, in the absence of what they would consider dealthly calamity--no mother or children to be with on Mother's Day.

I leave and barely make it to my car when I burst into tears. Filled with emotion, I wonder why I agreed to do this.... my heart is so full. Like an ocean that's moving, love gushing out everywhere.

How much I miss them.....