On Sunday morning, as Atticus snacked on goldfish in the pew next to me, he leaned over and gave me a spontaneous hug. He’s been hugging people with his head for a while but recently learned to add the arms. Now he hugs his friends at school in the morning and at pick-up, and it’s basically the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. (The cutest thing you’ve ever heard is when he tries to say the word octopus, which sounds like op-ah-tee. Hee hee hee.)

I hugged him back, and he did it again and again, this boy of mine. His independent nature is tempered by a sweetness and a happiness that settles him. We hugged and then he kissed me, and I thought about how far we have come, the two of us. I breathed the scent of his hair and the smell of goldfish crackers, and tears filled my eyes.

I have cried a bit more than usual in the past week, dismayed to see my beloved NC the butt of national jokes. Not to mention my own sadness about the vote and its repercussions on my friends and students. It didn’t surprise me when tears stung my eyes as Atticus put his sweet head next to mine. It didn’t surprise me when I cried later in the service, as a friend was singing and the person two pews ahead of me couldn’t stop wiping his own eyes. Throughout many conversations in the past week, the tears have threatened to spill over.

I think Buechner is right about tears being a gift. The tears of the past week have shown me how parenting has softened my heart, and yesterday’s tears were part of Atticus’s Mother’s Day gift to me. Love is always the means by which we save our souls, love that spurs us to action. And Atticus has taught me what that looks like.

We call it communion.

Most Sundays, we stand in a circle and pass the bread and cup around. The body of Christ. The cup of forgiveness. It goes from hand to hand. It’s funny when she has trouble pulling off a piece of bread, or when he forgets what to say. The symbols are sacred to us, but it is also the meal of a family. We smile conspiratorially at one another, affectionately.

As the bread is passed around, I sometimes catch a glimpse of something deeper going on. A flicker in the lines around the mouth. A brief expression of the eyes. A deep inhalation. A signal that this is one of those thin places, where we are closer to God’s holiness. I have seen it before when I served communion, but when we pass it around in a circle, we experience that closeness together. People can see it on my face, too, if I let down my guard enough. When we pass it around in a circle, I am reminded that I am not supposed to do life on my own.

We call that communion, too.

My faith community has loved one another well this week, and I have been proud to be a part of them. This week, what is saving my life has been that communion of the saints.

What is saving your life this week?

Dear Atticus,

We adults remember details from childhood: the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows, summer twilight in the yard, measuring the snow with a yardstick. We forget, sometimes, how scary childhood can be. Even if you feel safe in the home your dad and I have created, you will, one day, learn about betrayal and bigotry. You will feel fear and isolation when you realize how the decisions other people make affect you.

It feels wild, this lack of control.

There are wild things in the world. Sometimes they are monsters that will not be tamed. Sometimes they are as beautiful and free as the wild geese. Sometimes they are both. The wildness can be frightening.

Adults will tell you not to be afraid, because we want to make things simple for you. Instead, I want to tell you to be brave. It’s okay to be afraid. But push back at the fear. Embrace a little wildness. Taste freedom. Recognize that some things are out of your control. Have faith. Know hope. Listen to the foolishness of love. Make mischief of one kind and another. (You are good at this already.)

I can’t tell you that you will be safe, won’t tell you that everything will be okay. I wish the wild things weren’t all around us. I wish we could simply go to where the wild things are and then return again, dinner still waiting. But I will tell you that the feeling you get when you face the wild things, walking (or even rumpusing) through them, is empowering. I want you to taste that wildness for yourself, to learn how strong you can be.

Be brave, my sweet boy. Your dad and I will keep your dinner warm for you.

Love,
Mama

The only problem I have with keeping good things is that good things can’t always reflect the larger heart-changes that are going on. This was one of those months where years of reading and reflection and conversations started to gel. Do you keep track of good things? And what are you reading? Post them in the comments.

April
1 – Easter egg hunt after church.
2 – Our eight-year-old neighbor is so sweet with Atticus.
3 – A couple of stressful days at work end with good news.
4 – Had an especially fun evening with Atticus on the deck.
5 – I got excellent news about a student I am rooting for.
6 – Impromptu outing with Alisa.
7 – Atticus’s first plane ride is a success; I get the best pedicure I have ever had.
8 – Brunch at the yacht club is delicious and I made good choices so I didn’t feel guilty.
9 – Shopping is a major success.
10 – Delicious seafood for dinner.
11 – Atticus slept from liftoff to touchdown on the flight home. Couldn’t have been better.
12 – Labyrinth walk.
13 – Atticus and I went and had lunch with my mom.
14 – Baby shower for my oldest friend.
15 – Bright Sunday at church, and my boys dressed in matching clothes. Adorable.
16 – Excellent email discussion with my friend Brandi.
17 – I never have good doctor’s appointments. Today’s actually went well.
18 – Fantastic discussion about the end of Speak that makes me feel amazing about my job.
19 – Sometimes I am in a meeting and I text the people across the room, just like the kids.
20 – Friday night pizza and Parks and Rec.
21 – BRING IT ON: THE MUSICAL was amazing. I loved every minute.
22 – Mike and I talked about some things from our history we’ve never discussed before.
23 – My mom took care of Atticus even though I was home sick. I took two naps.
24 – Atticus and I had a nice day, even though I was home sick. I sadly got no naps.
25 – Movie and pizza with my girls’ book club.
26 – Eighty-three poems!27 – Worked on some writing for a workshop I am attending. Mike is so supportive.
28 – Atticus’s BFF came over for lunch.
29 – Nice walk with Atticus and our eight-year-old neighbor.
30 – Really nice conversation with my brother.

—

On May 8th, North Carolinians will be voting on amendment one. What will appear on our ballots is this: “Marriage between one man and one woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be valid or recognized in this state.”

It is clear to me that amendment one will harm more families than it “protects.” This amendment will cause some unmarried couples (gay and straight) and their children to lose their health care coverage. Family law professors from every law school in our state believe that the language of the amendment could cause custody issues and problems with domestic violence protections. The state attorney general agrees that this is a strong possibility. If this turns out not to be the case, it will only be established after lengthy and expensive battles in the courts. Even a framer of the amendment believes that, if it passes, it will be overturned in 20 years.

Those would be enough reasons to vote against this amendment, but they are not all of my reasons. I have lived, worked, and worshipped with gay and lesbian friends for all of my adult life, and I believe that they deserve the same rights that Mike and Atticus and I have. Far from threatening my marriage, these relationships have strengthened and supported us.

If you believe that gay marriage is wrong for our state, we can simply agree to disagree. But we are not just voting on an amendment about gay marriage. If it does not pass, gay marriage will not suddenly be legal. None of our laws will change. If it does pass, it will hurt a lot of unmarried people, gay and straight.

There are many different kinds of families in our state. I don’t understand why the kind that I am in should be the only “valid” one. And, truthfully, no amendment can invalidate a family, because families are bonded by more than just legal documents. But this amendment will take away many families’ rights and benefits, and that is wrong. Our state constitution should be amended to expand rights, not to take them away.

We are past the point where it’s okay for me to take my stand by quietly voting my convictions. I cannot tell my son that I stood by and said nothing as my friends’ rights were eroded. That’s not who I want to be as a parent and a person of faith.

I love North Carolina. I was born here and I am proud to raise my son here. I hope I can tell him that we successfully fought against amendment one because we in North Carolina care about the rights of women, of children, and of unmarried couples. We care about the rights of all families.

North Carolinians, please vote against amendment one on May 8th. Early voting continues through this week. If you haven’t yet registered, you can register and vote during early voting.

I spent weeks deciding which poem I would carry on Poem in Your Pocket Day. In the end, I settled on the first few lines of “Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann. I picked it because it says placidly. As someone whose every emotion shows on her face, I like the word placid. I strive to be more outwardly calm.

Eighty-three people brought poems to the library on Thursday. Eighty-three! I didn’t promote it as heavily this year, so I was hoping for fifty. I always love to see what the students find important enough to bring to me. Maya Angelou: “Into a daybreak that’s wonderfully clear, I rise.” Taylor Swift: “You and I’ll be safe and sound.” Langston Hughes: “Hold fast to dreams.” Justin Bieber: “Girl, you’re my one love, one heart.” Robert Frost: “Somewhere ages and ages since.” William Shakespeare: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” There were equal amounts of Chris Brown and Rihanna. One song by Kenny Rogers. Several that they wrote themselves. A student brought “Jabberwocky” because he remembered I said it’s one of my favorites.

Sharing poetry makes it come alive in ways that reading it to yourself cannot. There were shy smiles and excited eyes, the beauty of language and connection. Sometimes when they handed it to me over the desk, they told me what they like about it. They are neither dull nor ignorant, and they reminded me on Thursday how important it is to listen to their stories. Poem in Your Pocket Day is one of my favorite days of the year, and it is what is saving my life. What is saving your life this week?

Two Sundays ago, I picked Atticus up from the nursery and we went out the back door of the church, heading for the car. This was a bit of a miscalculation, because it meant that we had to go by the playground, but I decided not to fight it. He loves climbing up the slide, especially, so I let him do that. This was also a miscalculation, because when he climbs up our neighbors’ slide, I can be right there with him to keep him from hurling himself off the edge. The playground equipment at church is much bigger. There are more edges.

I realized my mistake immediately, but the best way to get him to run away is to desperately need for him to do something. This is where it helps to work in a middle school. I played it cool.

It didn’t work.

He did his happy dance at the top of the slide, then ran across the bridge in the middle of the equipment. I tried–a little too intensely–to get him to climb down on the other side of the bridge. Wouldn’t it be fun! To get down over here! Song and dance! Excitement!

I see what you are doing, mama, and I don’t think that would be very fun at all.

He ran back across the bridge, and as I darted over to the platform, he threw himself down the slide. Face first. My heart stopped for one teeny tiny moment and then he got to the bottom and yelled, “WHEEEEEE!”

No harm done. His shirt was very dirty, but when is it not? I laughed in relief, and he laughed at me.

We have ideals, you know. We have given Atticus dolls and books with lady firefighters and a pink pacifier clip. And he holds the dolls and reads the books and does not yet hate the color pink. But the truth is that his favorite toys are already 1. Balls. 2. Trucks. 3. Trains. He runs and throws and bangs and is into everything. Several times a week, one of us will say, “Where did he come from?” I don’t know exactly how Mike and I could have combined to make such a rough-and-tumble boy.

When he was just born, people asked which one of us he looked like, and his Nana would always say, “He looks like himself. He looks like Atticus.” I thought I would recognize more of us in him, in his looks and in his actions. But it is also good to see him simply being himself. We are trying to listen to that.

I hate all this testing, a student says pointedly in my direction. As if I pursued my certification just to force him to bubble answers for hours at a time. When I offer that it’s not exactly the dream that we all had when we went into teaching, another student asks: What do teachers dream of?

We want to inspire our students, I tell him.

They roll their eyes and then ask me about money, about the bonuses we get when students meet certain goals. I laugh, because there’s no money for bonuses in these tight times, and, anyway, nobody goes into teaching for the money. This is enough of an answer for them, and they change the subject.

In the middle of a week of testing, I sit with four girls in the library after school. We eat chips and drink orange soda and they tell me about spring break and their parents and what they hope for high school. And then we talk about a book. I asked them to read to page 137 before Wednesday, but all of them finished it. Couldn’t put it down, they said. This book is amazing. I am not quite ready to talk about the whole thing, haven’t expected everyone to finish. I get them to talk instead. They tell me about trust and respect and finding your voice. They already know the importance of creativity and expression and they tell me how they love sewing and singing and drawing and writing. They have fierce opinions about double standards. They grow quiet when we talk about the dangers of being a woman in this world.

When Mike asks how the discussion went, I tell him: I am living the dream.

Last week, I needed a little break from my students, so it’s only fitting that this week I was reminded how much they are saving my life. What is saving your life this week?

When I took the first steps along the labyrinth, I realized immediately that you can’t look too far ahead, can’t anticipate the turn of the path. Instead you follow where it leads, taking the next step and then another. It is impossible to walk the labyrinth and not think about how it mirrors our lives: unexpected turns, doubling back, the goal within sight and yet out of reach. Being present where you are, one step at a time. The long outside turn was my favorite, a break from the twisting closer to the center.

A few weeks ago at the beginning of my yoga class, we were instructed to think about someone we love. I happily thought of Mike and Atticus, eating dinner together at home. At the end of class, we were supposed to send that love to someone with whom we have a difficult relationship. I thought of a person and felt my heart turn dark, my chest tighten. I breathed in deep and prayed forgiveness. The yoga instructor said it might be the hardest thing he’d asked us to do. While I hate downward-facing dog, I think he was right.

As my steps in the labyrinth grew more sure, I thought about the journey and the work I need to do. I breathed out prayers for wisdom, for heart-softening, for peace. One step at a time, I breathed the names of people I am angry with, trying to release them from my expectations. In the week since then, I have been able to think of them without quite so much heart-tightening. It is a beginning.

Why do people walk the labyrinth? It was so peaceful there, so intentional. I can be distracted from prayer by the slightest thing, but, alone in the labyrinth, I was able to focus. I imagine that it’s not for everybody, but I think it is for me. I will be going back.

Have you ever walked a labyrinth?

Dear New Mama,

You can look back over old posts and see what Atticus’s first year was like for me. People say you forget, or you look through eyes of nostalgia, but I haven’t forgotten how hard it was. I didn’t fall in love immediately. I didn’t treasure every minute. Even though I am proud of a lot of our decisions for Atticus, those things did not keep me from resenting how tired and spent I was. I did not do everything right. I wish I had been able to be happier and more attached.

Here is what helped:

Believing that Atticus, like all babies, is the least of these. Taking care of him is part of what it means to me to be a follower of Jesus. This bigger picture of who I wanted to be helped guide my decisions when I didn’t much want to take care of him. For me, belief often follows action. I acted like the parent I wanted to be. Bit by bit, my heart caught up.

Knowing that Atticus was born out of a deep love that Mike and I have for each other, love that, I believe, comes from the Source of all love. Even when all I felt for Atticus was resentment, I had eleven years of foundation with Mike that I knew I could rely on. Mike was a rock over the past two years. Watching him with Atticus is truly a delight.

Trusting my instincts. I am stealing this phrasing from my friend Brandi: Parenting books are all well and good, but there is no book on my baby. We broke all kinds of “rules” with Atticus. We coslept, and I nursed him at 4am for a year. We swaddled him for longer than the doctor recommended. I don’t regret any of that, because it was all what was right for our family.

It’s okay to be overwhelmed, to wish, sometimes, for your old life back. It’s okay to take time for yourself. It’s okay not to live up to your own expectations, whether it’s nursing or cloth diapers or making your own organic baby food. It’s okay to make your own path. It’s okay to call a friend and cry. It’s okay to get help if you need it. I did all of those things, and many more.

It is a privilege to help shape a soul. It’s also incredibly hard, but it gets easier and better all the time. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.

Babies seem like they need a bunch of stuff, but they really just need you. And that is how I know that it’s all going to be okay, because you are a person of deep love and loyalty, of wisdom, and of kindness. Your baby is lucky to have you and your husband. I can’t wait to meet him or her for the first time.

Love,
Kari

P.S. Babies also need diapers, but you have that under control.