“I don’t think humans would be so afraid of death if they could know for certain what heaven would be like and that they could go there.” LightGirl – this morning as we continue to process the terrible incident at Virginia Tech.

We’re back to hockey. The ice season ended a few weeks ago and now we’re (or rather LightGirl and LightBoy) are playing in-line hockey.

LightGirl is playing on an all girls team called (are you ready?) the Pink Panthers. They wear black jerseys with pink lettering. She is playing in goal for half the games. Today was her first game in goal. She was cool headed and smooth. They still lost, but she stopped 35 shots. Her coach told her she played the best game he’d seen for a first time goalie. It astonishes me all the time that I have such a self-contained and self-assured daughter. I’m in awe of her and her potential.

LightBoy has taken up the sport as well. He is playing defense. He still looks a bit like a misplaced giraffe ended up in the midst of a hockey game. He got a few more shots off today and then took off after them, just like his coach told him to. LightGirl sees lots of big sister coaching potential and she was promptly warned off by the surrounding parents.

There was a game in played in between the two games. So we had a lull. LightHusband and another parent went out to get some lunch and brought it back for a few people. There was a Chick-Fil-A nearby so that was the spot of choice. When they came back there was some discussion of the company practice of staying closed on Sundays. One mom said, “Well, you know it’s a Christian company.” Another responded, “What if you have a Chick-Fil-A craving on Sunday?” “Well … you know … it’s a ridiculous policy.” “Speaking of Christians. My second cousins daughter goes to one of those Christian colleges and she just sent us a letter, because she has to go on a missions trip this summer or something.” “Well, I don’t know why those colleges need more money. George Bush signed that law that gave money to the Christian colleges.” “Well, I guess they have to raise their own money for these trips or something.” “Yeah, I could never be a Christian. They have too many rules.”

Well … how about that?  I just listened … there wasn’t much room for me in the conversation without being rude or defensive.  But it’s stuck with me all day.  I’ll be thinking about for quite some time to come.  By the way, I did a little sleuthing and found out the corporate policy behind Chick-fil-A’s decision to close on Sundays:

Truett Cathy, founder of Chick-fil-A, made the decision to close on Sunday in 1946 when he opened his original restaurant, the Dwarf House, in Hapeville, Georgia.  He has often shared that his decision was as much practical as spiritual.  Operating a 24-hour a day business left him exhausted.  Being closed on Sunday allowed him time to recover physically, emotionally and spiritually.  And, of course, being closed on Sunday aligns with his personal religious convictions and beliefs.

To explain this at our restaurants, a sign states, “Since 1946, it has been our nationwide policy to be closed on Sunday.  Thank for your patronage, adn we look forward to serving you Monday through Saturday.”

Some time ago I discovered a blogger friend. His name is John. John is sort of an outgoing guy and pretty soon we were friend-friends. He told me about some very hurtful things that had happened to him in the recent past. I told him about some things that were happening to me in the present. We held each other up in prayer. We supported each other and told each other some very bad puns to make the other laugh.

Some of the hurtful things that have happened to John include him being separated very suddenly and without warning from his job as pastor of a newly planted church in California. This separation also included a separation from his source of income.

If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. Philippians 2:1-2

Now, Rick Meigs (Blind Beggar), is a bigger and better thinker than just about all of us. He got the great idea to start a Paypal account for John.

Here’s the great thing about John. He did not let any of this stuff get him down. He is starting a great little missional church with, like, NO budget. This is a euphemism for no money.

So please visit Rick’s site and John’s site (SmuloSpace and Missional Apologetics) to find out more about how you can support him and his family during this time of need. He has a heart and vision as big as all California. I’m privileged to call him friend and be united in Christ with him.

It’s a beautiful, if windy, day today.

“The sun is shining.

The grass is ris.

I wonder where all the birdies is.”

That’s the poem my Grammy would say, with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes and a lilt in her voice, on a day like today. Then she’d listen for the birdies.

It’s something of a relief. After the beastly hot weather of Holy Week, and the cold snow of Easter (believe it or not), today was the first day it felt like real life outside. So I got to digging in my garden again. I planted my Easter hydrangeas. I got (for myself) 2 tiny little hydrangea plants for Easter decorations. They each had one bloom on them. I already have one hydrangea bush in my garden but it needs two more for my plan. So now these two will grow into their space. They look sort of sad and deranged out there right now. But some day they will look like this:

I also dug up the numerous dandylion plants that thought my garden plot was a nice place to rest. I don’t mind dandylions per se. But I don’t like them in garden. We have lots of them in our yard. I think the rest of the residents in our perfect lawn neighborhood curse us. But we don’t like the chemicals we have to use to remove them. You see, we live in the Chesapeake Bay Watershed and those chemicals go right into the bay, destroying the plant and animal life there and eventually into the ocean. That seems like an outlandish thing to do so that I can have a dandylion-free lawn. So we have lots of dandylions. Except for in my garden. I pull those.

The other cool thing about not using chemicals is that your dirt gets healthy. Did you know that dirt can be healthy or sick? I think that’s a fascinating concept. But I’m proud to say that I have healthy dirt. My foremost indicator is that I have a lot of worms. Worms love my garden. Which is ultimately good for the plants too. That’s the problem with chemicals as far as I can see. Once you begin using them, you have to continue because you’ve stripped away the ability of the dirt (soil) to maintain it’s own health. It can no longer support the vegetable life it was meant to. It doesn’t have the chemical compounds anymore, nor does it have the internal structures to fight off disease, pests and weeds on it’s own. It becomes sterile; merely an agent in which plants are grown, but everything else must be artificially added. However, if you do a little research and learn how to garden without chemicals, you can have healthy soil which will support vibrant plant life. Here’s the caveat though, you must be willing to accept more weeds than the gardener who uses chemicals. You must be willing to have a garden which is not picture perfect, but looks more natural; sort of fuzzy around the edges, but which attracts hummingbirds and butterflies, birds and perhaps deer.

As I was digging in the dirt and admiring the plentiful golden dots on my lawn, I thought about this. I thought about how this applies to the Church. For many people today the Church is sterile, it has become an agent where people are grown, maybe, but all Jesus-y agents must be added from without. They are learning to look good; as I quoted from Machiavelli yesterday:

“…that he may appear to him who sees and hears him altogether merciful, faithful, humane, upright, and religious. There is nothing more necessary to appear to have than this last quality, inasmuch as men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand,…”

But it is a sterile environment. And weeds are not tolerated. Oh, we’d love to attract some butterflies and hummingbirds on occasion, but they are so unstable and don’t really add anything to the bottom line, err, I mean, contribute to the ministry in a fashion that is acceptable.

I wonder what might happen if we Jesus-followers decided to become natural gardeners? If we allowed our churches to become natural environments, and our soil to become healthy? What would happen if we allowed the weeds to pop up here and there. What if our gardens were specifically designed to attract certain types of life? What if we stopped building walls around our sterile perfect gardens and let in the weeds, the butterflies and the hummingbirds and created some healthy soil for ourselves and everyone else? Now that would be a garden!

I am a Zen Mom …

this, according to a silly on-line test at chatterbean.com. The test was entitled “Are You a Slacker Mom?” I was pretty certain that the answer would be a resounding, “YES!” So I took it to laugh in it’s face (thus anthropomorphizing a computer test … not a productive use of my time). I found a lot of the questions difficult to answer because they didn’t have my precise answer as one of the choices. So I picked the closest one. And here I am, a Zen Mom:

How do you do it? Even when explosions are all around, you are able to take a deep cleansing breath and chant your mantra “this too shall pass.” You are a calming influence on your kids in a hectic world.

That just pretty much makes me laugh out loud.

BlazingEwe’s brother died last night.

He lay down and … just … died.

Thirty-seven year old brothers are not supposed to die.

If they do, we should be able to know how or why. There should be a car accident. Or hunting incident. They don’t lie down on the living room floor and die.

My best friend and I are waiting for that phone call to tell us that this is all a joke. A sick joke, but a joke, nonetheless. This isn’t real. Younger brothers don’t die first. They still have all that uncle-ing to do. And they still have to be a brother as your parents get old. And now who will she make jokes with about dad getting crotchety and mom getting silly? Who will help her remember the pecan tree in the front yard? And picking up sticks in the back yard?

Someone please call and tell her that they made a mistake.

UPDATE:  The phone call came.  There is no mistake.  But now there is a reason.  He died of a massive heart attack.  How does a 37 year old man die of a massive heart attack?  There is barely any solace here.

Yesterday was a marker of two things. One in the world and one in our family, but both were large.

Yesterday marked the fourth anniversary of the war in Iraq.

Yesterday was Lightboy’s tenth birthday.

I hate that war. It fills me with revulsion. It is being fought for all the wrong reasons. We were told lies to make it palatable. We are still being told lies to keep the real issues from coming to the table. If we were ever able to sit down and talk amongst ourselves about the truth, the money would dry up. I hate that war with every fiber of my soul. Men, women and children are dying to keep a few fat rich men fatter and richer.

I hate most of all that it gets discussed, vigils are held, and opinions expressed, etc. every year on the day that I must attempt to be merry and happy for my son. I love my boy and I love to remember the day he was born and all the days he has been with us since (all three thousand six hundred fifty of them). The struggle to overcome that tension saps my strength. I avoid the news and my usual on-line haunts. But somehow I can’t avoid the inside of my head.

Lightboy had a good birthday. He never knew. He never does. Beginning next year, though I will give him the choice. He will be old enough to choose to participate in vigils or stay home. To hear and read the articles or not. It will be his choice.

It was a quiet birthday. Just us. He got his most lusted after gift … Test Tube Aliens (article here). And he got a surprise that he didn’t know existed … the game Zathura. This is a game which is based on a movie that we all love. The game is an integral part of the movie. We played last night after cake. It was fun and we imagined we were in the movie. It was a good day to be 10.

You’ve been warned … squeamish guys … should. not. read. any further. I’m not going to say that this is for women only, but guys … you’ve been warned.

Okay.

I read and contribute to Emerging Women. There was a post on there called TamPontification. Interesting huh?

I thought so too.

It was a post calling attention to the plight of homeless women and their lack of access to feminine hygiene products. Cool. Okay, not so cool in real life. But. Yeah. I never thought about that.
And … lo and behold, there is a company who is doing something about it. Seventh Generation has a site where you can learn more and donate to the cause. For free. It’s called TamPontification.

Here’s the verbiage on the Donate page:

Women’s shelters in the U.S. go through thousands of tampons and pads monthly, and, while agencies generally assist with everyday necessities such as toilet paper, diapers, and clothing, this most basic need is often overlooked. You and I may take our monthly trips down the feminine care aisle for granted, but, for women in shelters, a box of tampons is five dollars they can’t spare.

When you go to the Donate page and click on the virtual donation, Seventh Generation will donate a box of tampons and a box of pads to a womans shelter in the state you specify. And all it costs is two mouse clicks. What could be easier? BrickDude do not answer that!

It was a hockey weekend here at the LightHouse. This was an appropriate end to a hockey week. With the schools out for so much of the week, LightGirl spent an inordinate amount of time at the rink sparring and playing on the ice with her friends. When the kids are out of school, the rink opens up the ice (for a small charge of course) to club members. The kids flock there like lemmings. Don’t mistake me, though, I’d far rather she be there than at the mall or the movie theater.

Friday night she attended something called “Club Sk8”. This is a free skate event for the whole community … well … all teenagers. It was the most teens I’d seen in one place at one time in quite some time. I felt as though I’d stepped into the bar scene of the first (third) Star Wars movie. A brief warning flashed through my mind that I would never ever allow LightGirl to attend one of these events again. But then individual faces began to settle out of the mix and I saw the youth underneath the gloss. She had fun and kept to her friends. She was fine. More fine than I.

Saturday her team played a so-called developmental team one age bracket up. So these 13 and 14 year olds went up against 17-19 year olds. They lost 4-3. But they played hard and fair. Which is more than I can say for the other team; which, despite having more than 3 lines of players, kept their best players on the ice for the entire 3rd period in order to win, while our coach rotated her players according the ethics of the league. Of course, when I say these players were on the ice for the third period that’s something of a misnomer … they were on the ice when they weren’t in the penalty box. This was the dirtiest team I think we’ve ever played. AND … I found out after the game the players complained to the off ice officials that us moms were distracting them with our cheers. That was a first. What a silly game.

Sunday we played against the boys PeeWee Select in-house team. Select means that these boys are hand picked. Our team is come one, come all. They are 11-13 years olds. As the game went on a cheering contest of sorts evolved between the parents. It was good natured, of course, because we all knew that we were part of the same organization. There were cracks made from us about the girls not hurting the boys. There were cracks from them about the boys trying harder to get dates than to win the game. It was fun and funny. The boys won, but they had to work hard to do it. They had to work a lot harder than they expected to. That was funny too. Our girls knocked them all over the ice. Stole the puck out from under their sticks. And raced them from one end of the rink to the other. One of our defensewomen was skating like she was a pro. She was whipping up and down the ice frontwards and back, making it look easy.

While the moms awaited the players, one of the more boisterous of the boys dads came up to us and said, “Hey, I’m the dad of the boys goalie. Your goalie is really good. She’s really good.” He nodded his head and grinned. We all grinned too, because we think DB is fantastic (and she is). Then he said, “You know, she’s so good, she oughta just forget about girls hockey and come on over to the boys.” and he turned around and left, patting himself on the back for what a nice compliment he’d just given us. Nice.

After the game, some of our girls (LightGirl included), went to the boys lockerroom. They poked their heads in and called out, “We’re sorry if we hurt any of you.” and ran away giggling. They’re still laughing about that story. It was all in fun and very good natured. There was free ice time after the game. And, yes, we stayed so that LightGirl could skate some more.

She’s skating again today for about 7 straight hours.

We’re back to real life tomorrow. But it’s been fun.

Child soldiers have been getting quite a bit of press lately.  They are in vogue in Sudan.  This is an especially distasteful practice wherein orphans are used as cannon fodder and bait to be soldiers in wars which they cannot understand.  When it hit the press recently I remember thinking that it sounded familiar to me but I couldn’t put my finger on it.  An e-mail from an old friend was a poignant reminder.  The friend was our best man and has remained in our circle.  He sent us an article which was a memoir of the death of his cousin at the hands of child soldiers in Sierra Leone in 1999.  Ahhhh … before it became vogue to report on them.  That’s how I know.

It’s strange to look at this photo.  To see the line of our friend’s jaw and a shared arched brow and glint in his eye, but yet … overall … a stranger’s face.  A stranger who is dead now.  His mother and father in perpetual mourning.  Murdered at the hands of children the age of LightBoy.

What have we come to?