Stress

Stress is a funny thing. I suppose in the natural, evolutionary, biological, whatever scheme of things it is part of our instinctual mechanism for self preservation: Part of the process leading to fight or flight. But as we are not likely to run into a bear around the corner, I wonder why it is such a very common and overwhelmingly large part of the life of modern man.

What is it that we are preparing to fight or flee? What is it that makes us think we are in danger so much of the time?

I think of the major causes of stress in the lives of those I know. Work is a biggie. I guess this makes sense as our jobs are our bread and butter. Seeing our livelihoods as something to preserve makes sense, but prior to the current economic climate, the stress did not seem to be related to losing one's job but fulfilling it. Was it the desire for preservation of status, respect, power? Is it that we so define ourselves by our work, we fear losing our very selves without it? And so we live in a constant state of stress ready to fight those over whom we have power and flee from those who hold power over us?

Kids are another major source of stress. I think this is in part due to the parent child bond which pushes our self preservation out to include our off spring. We are willing to fight for them or flee with them if we feel they are in danger of any kind. Not just the hungry bear for the modern man, but the demons watching and waiting to steal their innocence are in our sights. The dangers change from a peanut or lego left lying on the ground to a car backing out of a drive or a weak tree branch to the evil lurking yet unseen on the TV and internet or parked in a beat up old truck around the corner. It includes those we know or don't know, those they may like or love. It includes protecting them from their very selves.

I have also seen much stress in the married lives of those around me: Competing interests, jealousies, lack of respect for the contributions of one or the other to the partnership. It can be rooted in deep seeded animosities or simply due to the overwhelming nature of busy, hectic lives. It can result in hostile confrontation or the slow drifting away of a recognized need for the other for one's fulfillment. We are in a constant preparation to fight or flee from he who is central to our own preservation. We are not stressed to fight the enemy, but the friend.

I think that while many of these seem to be a conflict with an outside force or person, modern man's stress is really, in most circumstances, rooted in one singular fear. One thing we are willing to fight or flee to avoid at all cost. It is the desire not to protect our power, livelihood or even those we love. It comes as a shield to protect us from being hurt. And the hurt is not the bleeding wounds of a physical mauling, but the internal wounds of a bruised, broken or shattered heart.

With all of our modern conveniences, our worries would seem simply ludicrous to those who had to fight to stay alive. And too, we fear not just big pain, but little pain. We hope to protect ourselves not just from large scale humiliation, crushing grief and overwhelming evil, but inconvenience, irritation, and interruption.

Our natural instinct for self preservation from the elements and enemies has changed with our cushy pillow life to include an instinct to protect ourselves from dealing with any of life's unpleasantness. We are stressed about putting laundry in a machine, sending a 2 second e-mail, getting the kids' homework finished. We are stressed about putting dinner in the microwave or picking it up from a window, whether our meeting will end soon enough to allow for a round of golf, or how to get two kids to two different places at the same time. We are stressed about having our favorite program interrupted, not having time to get our coffee or being stopped at the water cooler for petty conversation.

I am now, not making accusations, but self reflecting. My stress is really selfishness. My stress is my desire to protect my time, my will, my interests from those around me. It comes from being diverted from what I want to do (important or not) by the needs of another human being: The car in front of me, the infuriating bickering of my children, my husband's travel schedule.

I do not mean to suggest that stress is not real. Ask my body, it will tell you. I do not believe that all our stress revolves around petty things. To desire to protect your heart from being broken or to avoid mass chaos which threatens to engulf your whole world is not a trite endeavour. But the fact remains that love requires pain and sacrifice. If we are to reach our human potential, we must learn to love others more than ourselves. We must be willing to accept pain and suffering. Unfortunately, this means in the biggies and the smalls. We must be willing to suffer heart break and irritation.

Okay great, but how? I keep asking myself this as my stress grows daily to become something too large for my small frame to bear. I could take drugs and function more efficiently, I guess. But it would still be there, silently crushing me, I just wouldn't know it as much.

I didn't know the answer when I started writing, I rarely do. But as I write, I just keep seeing Christ stretched out on His cross. How do I love? How do I love? Where is the Peace? Where is the peace? Is it in our human abilities that were transformed by the Passion and Death of our Savior? Did He change all the rules? Well, not change, but fulfill. Is he saying, "STOP! Do not fight or flee, surrender? Surrender to the daily irritations. Surrender to the daily worries. Surrender the fear of lack of respect, crushing grief, or humiliation."

But to whom, Lord? Where do I wave the white flag? Do I become a doormat, depressed, abused? Do I surrender to those who hold power over me, ignore me, irritate me? Do I surrender to the evil lurking in the darkness waiting to strike?

And then I see myself waving the white flag. Defeated. I can not fight anymore. There is no where left to flee. And the flag swirls from the stick to which it is attached and wraps itself around me as a sparkling garment, and I am raised above the battlefield in a circle of pure light.

"You surrender to me, my child. I am not defeat, I am victory. I make all things new. I turned death into life. Do you not think I can take stress and make it peace? Have more faith in Me."

And so my energy diverts. I will not work on managing, avoiding, anesthetizing the stress, the pain. I will work on having faith. I will not work on pulling myself up and out, but on believing I can be pulled up and out.

Lord, today I ask only one thing, help my unbelief.

I'm Bored!

I am in the process of making the "I'm Bored Box." I would like to take credit for the idea, but it was my husband's.

I am writing things on little cards to put in a box to have my children pick when I get the daily "I'm Bored" whine.

Write a letter.
Read a book.
Vacuum the stairs.
Clean the first floor toilet.
Make a card.
Do a Math Page.
Clean the blinds.
Mop the hard woods.
Play the piano for fifteen minutes.
Make a list of ten things you are grateful for.
Say a Decade of the Rosary.
Do fifty push ups.
Sort socks.
Clean muddy shoes.
You get a Second Chance...This time.

If you have any ideas to add to the mix, I would love to hear them.

The Meaning of Life

At a team building conference, my husband picked out of a hat the question: What is the best advice you have ever been given. With out hesitation he answered: At the age of eleven or so my father told me, the most important decision you will ever make in your life is the choice of your bride.

The answer seemed to have made an impact on at least a few people. One woman asked during the conference if he really meant it as if it seemed a bit of silly advice in the world of a corporate litigator. Another remembered it and told it as a character statement months later when introducing my husband to a client.

My husband was astonished by the first response. He mused, that even if you had made a bad choice, the enormity of that choice should be fairly clear in your level of happiness.

I don't remember ever being given similar advice. I knew inherently that the choice of my husband would be momentous. As a teenager, it helped to keep me chaste. I had very romantic notions about marriage and a high level of self esteem (even if unwarranted). I did not think anyone was worthy of my gift of self. A bit egotistical, I admit, but even at that young age, I somehow knew it was a total gift of self worth saving.

As a high school teacher at an all girls' school, I was asked to give a talk on chastity. As I thought about what I would say, I realized how much chastity had formed my own character. I recalled my first year in college when my high school boyfriend would drive eight hundred miles to visit me. He joked that his friends thought he was nuts for driving all that way "to get nothing in return." We both loved being together and enjoyed the times when he would visit. Neither of us felt that some sort of payment was required on either side.

It made me think about the girlfriends of his friends. When they were taken to a movie or out to dinner did they get a message from these boys that payment was due? Did they think the gift of spending time together with someone you enjoyed required physical payment? My physical relationships that distinguished a friend from a date were representations of how I felt differently about that person in my life in comparison to others. It had never crossed my mind to feel I owed anyone anything (probably my egotism again.) But in part, I think it was the message I got from the boys I dated. They seemed honored to be with me, and I in turn felt secure being with them.

Not sure if it was the chicken or the egg. Did they feel my self confidence and respond or did I feel their chivalry and respond? Or was it that my dad was incredibly imposing and no one wanted to cross paths with him for fear he would send them to jail with one look? Who knows? I just know that my virginity and self esteem, my confidence and relationships were all intertwined in some dramatic way and played an enormous part in creating the person I would be.

Similarly, I have found my husband's choice of his bride (and my acceptance of his offer of love) to be the single most important factor to my happiness. I was told that marriage is work, and of course I understand what this means, but really, I feel daily that to NOT be married to this man would require far more work.

And it is not just in those things "Marriagey". My confidence and self esteem that in the past hinged on previous relationships is now completely centered in him. I am who I am because of him and without him, I would not be the same person. It is love that allows me to be a mother and a friend. Even relationships I had before, like that of a sister and daughter, are impacted by his love for me. He is the glue that holds me together whether he is present or not.

I have contemplated sex, marriage and love many times over the years. I knew as a young girl, young wife, young mother and happily married middle aged (ooh ugh) woman that sex was more than sex and that marriage was more than marriage and have always believed the meaning of life was found in our ability to love God and others. However, I have just read the most amazing book that explains all this. It is Theology of the Body for Beginners by Christopher West.

West has taken the late John Paul II's momentous work and made it accessible to the layman. I implore you to read it. The radically new and different approach of Pope John Paul II to the mystery and meaning of the human body and the meaning of life is too beautiful for words.

We all know how the Sexual Revolution of the 1960's has impacted nearly every aspect of modern culture. We all know the enormous power that sex can have in our own lives. But do we know why?

Theology of the Body is not a work to rehabilitate bad marriage or define the good. It is not a how to for those in the dating scene or for those who have chosen a celibate life. It is a book for every human, in any vocation, at any stage of life. It is a book about what it means to be a human being with a body and a soul. It is about the mystery of love and the meaning of life.

Thank you God for the mind and heart of our late great Pope. Thank you Christopher West for making this accesible to everyone. May your life be transformed by this 'Basic Introduction to John Paul II's Sexual Revolution.'

The Empty Tomb

Holy Week for Christians celebrates the most important events in our faith.

The Tridiuum begins on Holy Thursday with the celebration of the Lord's supper. For Catholics this is where Christ instituted the Eucharist and the priesthood. The celebratory mass includes the ritual of the washing of the feet which symbolizes the Christians' duty to serve his fellow man in imitation of Christ. At the end of mass, the Eucharist is taken out of the main sanctuary of the church and placed in a side chapel. The Tabernacle will remained open and empty throughout Good Friday.

Good Friday is when we remember the suffering and death of our Lord. No mass is celebrated on this day. Holy Communion consecrated on Holy Thursday is distributed. The Stations of the Cross and the adoration of the Crucifix are part of the Good Friday worship. St. John's Gospel shows the Christ of the Passion as a Christ in complete control, even to the point that His human nature may say, "It is finished." And with that He gives up His spirit. For us, we may learn that no matter what we may encounter in our lives, we always have our Free Will. We may not choose our Cross always, but we may choose what we do with it.

Easter is celebrated either at a Vigil mass on Saturday after nightfall or Sunday morning. Here we celebrate the empty tomb: The resurrection of our Lord and our chance at life everlasting with God.

The empty tomb has always fascinated me. The descriptions in the Gospels are detailed and create a mental image of exactly what should have happened. The tomb was not in shambles or completely empty as if Christ's body had been stolen. The garments were folded and the head napkin was rolled off to one side. I heard once that in Jewish Tradition, if a guest left the table, he would roll his napkin as a sign to the servants that he was going to return. I love that.

The Resurrection is both concrete and elusive. The facts of the empty tomb are recorded as a journalist would record events. Yet when Christ appears after He has risen, he is often not recognized at first by those who knew him well. He does not appear to everyone, though he appears to many.

Christ still remains concrete and elusive. God will not force Himself on us, we must choose Him. In order to freely choose, He can not make Himself known to us in His full glory. We couldn't help but choose such splendor. So He whispers to us, speaks to us through others, nudges us, comforts us. For those willing to see, He is also concrete in the ordered world He has created.

May the Empty Tomb speak to you this Easter. May you see in it the sign of a loving God who was willing to take on our nature, to suffer and die. Yet a powerful God who could conquered death to return again to our table.

A blessed Holy Week and Happy Easter to all.

Give 'em a Break

We have adopted before from China but brought home a 10 month old. We have never had any issues whatsoever with her. The neatest part about the whole process was how unconditionally my three bio kids accepted her into their band of brothers.

I expected the same reaction from my children, who were so excited about the rospect of their new six year old brother. However, the transition was not anything close to seamless this time. In the midst of our first three weeks home, the worst three weeks of my entire life I think, my children not only did not make things easier. They seemed at every opportunity to make things worse.

I was so tired and frustrated and overwhelmed, I saw their behavior as only a means to annoy me or to annoy their new sibling or to annoy one another. After some serious soul searching, I realized that I had been so focused on myself, that I had not seen their behavior for what it really was: cries from those I love most telling me to stop looking at myself and look at them.

After homeschooling for five years, I had decided to put them all in school a few weeks after we returned from Ethiopia. The changes (and chaos) in their life that arrived with their new sibling along with all the nervous uncertainty of a whole new school adventure was taking its toll on them. They were not trying to be bad, but they were trying to get me to see their needs.

I was so self consumed, I was expecting way too much from my kids.

The realization made things so much better. I stopped getting frustrated at the behavior and instead tried to tune into what they needed from me: the reason for the behavior.

I had posted on my adoption blog earlier on a discussion about pets not to assume a pet will react in the way you think they will to a new child. Yet, I was not smart enough to realize the same thing may hold true for a child. Especially in the case of an older child who has a personality, strengths and weaknesses. How kids have reacted to a baby or new child in the past may not necessarily be how they react the next time around.

And that is okay. They don't know one another. They are tied by an unseen bond whether they know it or not, and one day they will know it. But for awhile, I needed to give em a break. Not expect too much from them.

After I realized what I had been doing, I went to confession. I took my eight year old along, as he had been unusually unkind to his siblings. When I exited the confessional I was crying. He asked why. I said, "Because I was so selfish, I did not see that you guys needed me. I expected way too much out of you and I feel just awful."

In the car on the way home he said, "Mom, God doesn't just forgive you... I do too and I know the other kids will too."

You can't be forgiven until you know what you have done wrong. It took me nearly three weeks to figure it out. Thank you God for showing me what I was doing wrong.

Help!

I am a very independent person. I am not likely to ask for help. I can think back through my life to some instances where I needed help, and though I didn't ask for it, it came:

When I was in college and in a terrible room mate situation, my younger brother wrote me from home: "You can deal with this, I know you can. For you, I have quit biting my nails. I can now pick up pennies and pop zits. If I can quit biting my nails, you can do this."

When my best friend from high school died in a swimming accident in Mexico, a college friend came over to my apartment. She put my two Adirondack chairs side by side on my deck, handed me a beer and a cigarette and said, "Tell me the whole story, start with when you first met."

Four days after my first son was born, after four sleepless nights, my aunt took me up to my room on Christmas Eve and said, "Let me show you how to breast feed."

A few months before my first son was born, we moved into our first house. I was working and had volunteered to give a speech for a Confirmation Class one night. I was uncomfortable and tired in general. When I came home from the speech, my husband and my sister had unpacked and arranged my whole house.

My most recent example has come in the form of a school community. As I have posted, I have started my kids in the Catholic School down the street. The first day went well, but the second, not so much. When I told the office my newest son was refusing to get out of the car, they introduced me to the behavioral specialist. She explained to me what they needed to do, how they would do it, and assured me it would take time, but it would work.

The principal sat down with me to discuss a plan to try and help make the transition as easy as possible.

The school custodian and office administrator helped implement the first step of the plan: getting him out of the car.

The kindergarten teacher was fabulous.

A little girl in his class stepped in at recess to make him feel at ease.

As I write, I can not help but cry knowing I am not alone. That in my life, whether I asked or not, people have stepped in to help. And of course, there have been so many other examples that I did not share. Some are so built into the fabric or our relationship, like my husband and my mother, that they are like the very air I breathe.

I can not thank everyone in my life who has helped me. But my heart is so filled with gratitude, I think it may burst. I pray that I may never miss an opportunity to help others.

May God bless you for helping one of your fellow human beings today.

ChChChChChanges

It has been awhile since I have had time to think, let alone write. My life has been a crazy whirlwind: some good some bad. The biggest change is that I have enrolled my children in Catholic School after homeschooling for five years. We are all very excited about the new opportunities a Catholic School Culture will provide.

There are darling plaid uniforms, school masses, a lunch room. There will be new friends, fun teachers and recess.

I have loved homeschooling. I have posted before about the strange reason I chose to do so in the first place. I have always felt that being around my children all the time was the best way for us to build our relationship. I think that was true. But things change.

My oldest is ten and I have felt for awhile we are nearing the time when I really need to start cultivating what will be our teen and adult relationship. For me, this must be a relationship based on conversation.

Being around my children all the time can often leave little to talk about. We discuss books or movies, spelling and history, but what happens in his life happens while I am there for the most part.

I think one of the greatest gifts being in school will give us is fodder for conversation; opportunities for him to come to me, not because I will find out or already know, but because he wants to tell me.

I wouldn't trade my years of homeschooling for anything. One of the greatest gifts has been the level of innocence my children have maintained. In many ways, this is always determined by the oldest. However long he believes in magic will determine the length of those who follow.

My mom insisted that I tell him about the Easter Bunny before he started school. I did so. He told me already knew. When he broke the news of our conversation to his grandma she replied, "Oh, really." He then went on to explain that he hadn't yet figured out about Santa. I guess he knows inherently he won't get the answer from me on that one. He knows I still believe in Santa. I told him parents do give toys when children no longer believe because once a house has a child who does not believe, Santa no longer comes.

Being a first child, he is all about coming up with solutions. While my second was upset for years at a brochure with a child with a clef palette, my oldest met one in the flesh in China. Unfazed, he asked the parents what was wrong and how they intended to fix it. The solution he came up with for Santa at age ten is the following:

I figure I will wait until I have kids, give them presents from the parents and see if on Christmas morning they get anything else.

Change is good. Childhood is priceless.