Ties that Bind

Every interaction with another person is an opportunity to either make a connection or sever one. Just as our brains are constantly making new connections increasing cognitive intelligence, our words and actions can make connections that increase our social intelligence.

The great thing about social intelligence is that it can be taught and learned. Not everyone is born gifted in social skills. Quite the opposite--we are actually born handicapped, thinking only of ourselves and our wants and needs. Any action counter to this innate inclination grabs our attention. The other night, I was eating at Burger King with my two young grandsons. They had finished their chicken nuggets and milk and I bought each of them a warm, double chocolate cookie for dessert. Cohen, 4, took a huge bite out of his (picture: Cookie Monster) and fully half broke off and landed under the table on the dirty floor. He looked at me, cheeks full of chocolate, eyes full of alarm.

"Nema!" he mumbled around his mouthful in desperation. "Get my cookie!"

"Oh, Cohen," I lamented as we both beheld the cookie lying in a muddy puddle from our boots. "It's full of germs now." I glanced up at two year-old Sawyer who was passively observing the drama as he knelt in the booth beside his brother, holding his intact cookie. "Maybe Sawyer will give you a bite of his?"

Sawyer, Chocolate Lover that he is, did not even hesitate. He handed Cohen his untouched cookie with a smile. Wordlessly, he watched Cohen devour half of it in one bite. Cohen kept pushing the cookie past his chocolaty teeth as he watched for our reaction. "Save some for Sawyer," I warned. He squeezed the entire cookie in his mouth, noted the look on my face, and reeled out a half-inch sliver from the edge and handed it back to his brother. Sawyer popped the remnant into his mouth without complaint. This, for the uninitiated, is not normal toddler behavior. This was Heroic Generosity.

My seventh grader comes home with Tales from Junior High nearly every day which I try to use as springboards for discussions about social skills. Victoria was in a play recently where she had a rather large part. It involved weeks of practice, memorizing of lines--a lot of work. She met many new friends as no one in her little network was in the play. She was especially nervous for the last performance as everyone in her school would be attending. When it was over, she texted one of her friends to ask what she thought of the play. "What play?" the friend replied absentmindedly. "The play I was in," she prompted. "Oh, that play...what was it about again?" Victoria patiently explained the plot and ended with her own question. "Weren't you paying attention?" No response from the friend.

Here was a teachable moment: What was Victoria looking for? Simply, "Good job--you did great!" would have sufficed. Why couldn't the friend give that? We talked about what her motives might have been for withholding good. Regardless of whether she liked the play or not, found it entertaining or boring, when your friend does something big you encourage and support them. It's an unwritten rule. Likewise there are a number of things you don't do in seventh grade: You don't trip your friend in choir so she falls flat on her face and then laugh along with the whole class. You don't make comments in the locker room. You don't tell others her secrets. You don't tell her you liked her hair better before she cut it.

If only children were the only ones who lack social savvy! Adults can behave just as badly and sabotage their relationships without even knowing it. Some of my personal pet peeves go like this:

Me: Don't you think that guy over there looks like your brother John?
Friend: No.

Me: I just love the new coffee flavor from Caribou!
Friend: I don't.

These are pretty minor, but basic. Some among you, and I suspect you are lonely, would say, "What? Aren't I entitled to my own opinion? Do I have to agree with everything you say?" And to this, I would respond, "Yes. In matters that don't matter--AGREE. It's polite."

This is something I have taught my children. Is it dishonest? Perhaps. But a little restraint can be a balm in everyday conversation. Everything doesn't have to be a debate where you defend your platform. That makes you tiresome. Sometimes, you have to do more than just be agreeable to protect peoples' feelings and it is called employing "tact." Example:

Me: I got my hair cut.
Friend: (clearly hating the New Do but realizing I can't glue the hair back on) Oh, you are just aDORable. You could shave your head and still be the cutest ever.

That isn't actual lying, by the way. My friend loves me. My friend thinks I'm adorable. Hair will grow back but hurt from too much honesty can cause wounds that fester forever. Tempering your own opinions, curbing envy, and bridling moodiness are very healthy to relationships.

Me: We are going on vacation to Florida next month!
Friend: Must be nice! (jealous) I hate the beach! (more jealous)

There are many variations on the above theme: I got a new job, bought a new house, I'm pregnant--can all be announced to unenthusiastic friends who (apparently) hate jobs, houses, and babies. GET OVER YOURSELVES, I say in my head to these people. Put yourself in someone else's shoes for five minutes and allow yourself to feel happiness for them. Then, speak.

What these insensitive rebuttals are is Conversation Killers. My husband and I have an analogy that we call, "Keeping all the balls." Here's how it works: I say something to you, toss you an imaginary ball:

Me: Hey, did you watch the Oscars last night?

You: (catching the imaginary ball) No, I don't watch that crap! Hollywood is full of a bunch of godless weirdos and I never even go to movies so what do I care about who wins a naked statue?

You kept my ball. You did not throw it back and have effectively shown me you are not interested in playing with me. Or if you are, you will determine the rules. Suppose, even if those were your truest feelings, you had responded with:

You: No, I missed it! Did something interesting happen? Tell me about it!

You have just tossed the ball back like a good sport insuring that the game will continue for some time. For extra credit, you might practice the fine art of The Segue. After politely tossing the Oscar Ball back and forth a few times, you could change the subject and introduce something else:

You: Did you happen to catch the last episode of NCIS?

This is totally acceptable and, with practice, you can get really good at it.

It is impossible to learn this level of social network building unless you develop an Interest in Others. Again, since birth, our primary interest has been ourselves, so this takes some cultivating. Since it is easiest to be interested in those who are most like us, start there. For instance, if you are a stay-at-home mom who homeschools and makes bread every day from scratch, begin with someone in this camp: Practice being interested in her curriculum, her children, her recipes and don't try to one-up everything she does and resist the evil imp in you who wants to turn each interaction into a competition. Once you get comfortable playing catch with people similar to yourself, be daring--branch out: Ask a mom who works full-time and has 4 kids in the public school how she manages to do it all. Compliment a single woman from church who is going back to school on her ambition and inquire about which class she finds most challenging. Engage a senior citizen in line at the grocery store by commenting on the contents in his cart and the rising cost of food. Ask a preteen girl on your block what she thinks of Justin Beiber's haircut.

There are basics, such as smiling and using eye contact to engage others. But relationship building is about so much more. Take turns with those conversation balls. Don't expect the other person to keep lobbing them into your lap while you start a collection. This is no fun at all for the pitcher and, once they run out of balls, they'll find someone more engaging. On the other hand, don't chuck all the balls like missiles at someone forcing them to run in self-defense. Real conversation is a sport, a dance, that requires a lot of practice and good timing.

I'm convinced that all of us long for meaningful connections with others. I work at an elementary school and every day I see things even from the very young that destroy these ties: Jealousy, sarcasm, teasing, ball-hogging, score-keeping, comparisons, pride, gossip, insensitivity. No one has to teach these qualities--they come as part of the human package.

But we are not without hope! New and better skills can be learned to replace the ones we're born with. My favorite building tools are a set of questions which I make a conscious effort to employ every day:

-I was wrong, I'm sorry, will you forgive me?

-What do YOU think?

-How do YOU feel about that?

Some of the best advice I've ever heard on relationships comes from the book of Philippians: "Don't act out of selfish ambition or be conceited. Instead, humbly think of others as being better than yourselves. Don't be concerned only about your own interests, but also be concerned about the interests of others." Phil. 2:34

Lord, give me a humble heart like yours that seeks to serve, not be served; that looks out to the good of others before myself. On my own, I want everything to be all about me. Help me love like you love, Jesus. Amen.

50 Favorites for 50 Years

*porch swings and hammocks *the aroma of line-dried sheets *lilacs in a vase *bare feet in wet sand *textured fabric like corduroy and velvet *music with no words that makes me cry *a cat purring in my lap *red hair and freckles *light through stained glass *minnows that nibble at my toes *the amazing eyelashes of llamas *random acts of kindness *the smell of chlorinated pools *horses' soft noses *a good story *the scent of cut grass *moving water *skipping stones on a smooth lake *hummingbirds *the smell of burning leaves *the sound of rain on glass *a good fire *dark chocolate *small children with missing teeth who lisp *babies' laughter *words fitly spoken *loyalty *bravery *generosity *the colors of fall on a rainy day *the way the air glitters when its really cold *root beer in a frosted mug *worship that makes me forget myself *the sweet smell of babies' heads *a gift for no reason *the color of the sky *down pillows *marine fish and the soothing sound of the bubbler *frost patterns on a window pane *old people who hold my hand too long *sticky-fingered toddlers who think they don't need to hold my hand at all *cotton candy *the companionship of an old dog *the imagination of a kitten *friends who "get it" without lengthy explanations *the last bite of an ice cream cone *feeding ducks *dragonflies *the smell and texture of new crayons *the simple faith of a child

Wisdom Through the Decades/50 Years in Review

Decade 1:
-You can't tie your tooth to a doorknob with string and expect it to pop out.
-Baby robins make lousy pets.
-Gum is really hard to get out of hair.
-Not all dogs are Lassie.
-What goes up must come down only faster.
-Sleep is a waste of time.
-Spinning in circles is fun.
-There might be monsters in the closet.
-A friend is anyone you're playing with.
-It takes forever for Christmas or your birthday to come.
-Grownups know everything.
-You have lots of questions.

Decade 2:
-It's a bad idea to wait until the night before your lesson to practice.
-If your friend jumps off a bridge, you should back up.
-Everyone is watching you. Some are making fun.
-Love does hurt.
-You enjoy slouching and chewing your nails.
-Sleep is a waste of time--except on weekends.
-Spinning in circles is still fun.
-Real Bad Guys are way scarier than closet monsters.
-Don't tell your bff secrets you don't want the whole world to know.
-You are invincible.
-Adults don't know much.
-You know the answers.

Decade 3:
-You can set a child on a potty but you can't make him go.
-People are too busy with their own lives to evaluate you.
-Gum is really hard to get out of hair.
-A chicken doesn't get done if you cook it upside down.
-Watched pots won't boil, but when you look the other way, they run over.
-Napping is a luxury, especially with a toddler.
-Spinning makes you feel sick.
-Church is twice as long when it's your turn in the nursery.
-True friends can be any age and the more the merrier.
-One red sock turns everyone's underwear pink.
-Your children think you know everything.
-You start to question your own answers.

Decade 4:
-The lines around your eyes and mouth are laugh lines.
-Clothing sizes are running smaller so you buy bigger sizes.
-75% of your day is spending finding food and cooking it in mass quantities.
-You pay attention to storm warnings and plan accordingly.
-You wear sunscreen and seatbelts religiously.
-You look forward to going to bed early as much as a night out.
-Watching others spin makes you feel sick.
-Your skin absorbs lotion like the Mojave Desert.
-A few close friends are better than a multitude of peripheral friends.
-You take calcium and load up on fiber.
-Your teenagers think you don't know anything.
-You figure out a few answers only to have more questions.

Decade 5:
-The lines around your eyes and mouth are wrinkles.
-You can't tell if those are gray hairs without your bifocals.
-You don't need cookbooks anymore--the recipes are all in your head.
-Teachers and doctors are all adolescents.
-You grow hair where no hair has ever grown before.
-Hair that you want is less plentiful and durable.
-Sometimes you feel dizzy even if no one around you is spinning.
-You need to stretch before you walk to the mailbox.
-Your best friends are related to you.
-Christmas and your birthday come more often than usual.
-Your grandchildren think you know everything.
-You admit you have a lot to learn.

Five People Who Changed My Life

I am My Childrens' Mother. It's all the title I need. Put it on my tombstone.

There was a day when I aspired to all manner of greatness, supposing my life's path was entirely mine to choose: Should I be a veterinarian? Or an artist? How about a lawyer or a journalist? Motherhood never even made the list. I suppose when I got married at the ripe old age of 18, I must have entertained the thought on some level that, "We could have a baby," yet I was shocked to discover, a mere three months into our marriage, that I was "with child."

She arrived September 15, 1980, red-faced and screaming, sporting a full head of silky, dark hair. We named our daughter, Kimberly Dawn. She looked just like a live doll--which was no help to me whatsoever since I had never played with dolls. I had to learn everything on the real deal. We called Kimmie our experimental child and regretted not having had so much as a chimpanzee to practice on. I studied hard and learned quickly--middle of the night feedings, hours of colicky crying--life was no longer all about me...

Kimberly turned 30 last fall and is married, the mother of three. She is a beautiful soul, living out her faith with authenticity. No one makes me laugh harder or more often than she does with her off-the-cuff (sometimes inappropriate) humor. She is organized, diligent, and incredibly tenderhearted. She serves her family tirelessly and selflessly with kindness and creativity. Kimmie is generous and dependable; when she makes friendships, they are lifelong. She is compassionate and quick to help those in need. Despite her parents' bumbling efforts, God has chosen to show off his amazing grace in Kim's life and she is a living testament to His faithfulness.

July 23, 1982 we welcomed our second surprise child, Amy Joy. (Birth control? What is that?) Her skin was rosey, her tiny head covered in down so fine and blond it was barely visible. We didn't hold her as gingerly and Most Things Baby seemed easier the second time around. Amy wore all her sister's hand-me-downs and played with the toys Kimmie had outgrown. I felt like a full-time mom now, with two little people to keep track of. My days were filled with diapers and nursing and laundry and play dates at the lake with my girls and our friends. I thought these babies would be little forever...

Amy is 28, married, blessed with her own two year-old, mini-me. Amy is probably the most intelligent person I know; an artisan of words with an eye for beauty, and a hunger for the divine. She is fearless in social settings, quick-witted in conversation, and charmingly transparent. She loves order and appreciates quality work, bringing these to any project she undertakes. Amy is passionate and lives large; creatively and with intention. Her worldview is expansive--missions and adoption are dear to her heart. She possesses an uncanny ability to read my mind, and spending time with her is like holding a mirror to my own soul.

The September she turned 6, Kimberly skipped off to Kindergarten, leaving Amy and me home alone every morning. I began to long for another baby. When Michael Alden loudly entered the world on July 10, 1987, we thought our family might be complete. He was a darling, chubby-cheeked baby that grew quickly into a busy, curly-haired toddler who repeatedly lisped how much he loved me and how beautiful I was in his little-man voice...

Michael is 23 and towers over all of us at 6'2." Diagnosed in his teen years with Bipolar Disorder, he has faced challenges that have made ordinary milestones much harder for him to achieve than for many people. I admire Michael's persistence and his honesty, his impartial kindness and his ability to forgive. Non-judgmental, Michael ignores gossip and social status, offering friendship to those who are hurting. My son has taught me to think outside the box, to celebrate every success, and to find, within my mother-heart, a tenacious love I didn't know I possessed. Michael continually amazes me with his unconventional insight and hilarious interpretation of people and events in his life.

In the fall of 1988, both girls were in school and evenings and weekends were filled with spelling lists and birthday parties, swimming lessons and dance classes. From sun-up to sun-down, I chased our energetic son all over the house and yard. When I began to feel particularly run down as winter approached, I made an appointment with the doctor to have my thyroid checked. He told me [surprise!] Baby Number 4 was on the way. I stared at him in disbelief. I was already feeling overwhelmed with my 15 month old who kept me running all day long then up half the night with recurring ear infections. This was not part of our plan! The doctor read my expression and moved toward me. He held his obstetric stethoscope up to my stomach and placed the earpieces in my ears. I heard the familiar gallumping of a baby's heart and tears trickled down my cheeks. Too late for second thoughts--my plans were about to change...

Stephanie Elaine made her grand entrance on May 19, 1989. Even her labor was easier than all the rest and she was Our Dream Baby from the beginning, landing right in the middle of a busy pool of activity with barely a ripple. She arrived ready to wait her turn, grinning at everyone who looked at her. I told people, "If you have 3 children, you might as well have more. You're already out-numbered so it doesn't matter!" We kept her in the playpen to protect her from the others...

Stephanie is 21 and was married last fall. She is still a bright spot in the lives of everyone who knows her. Innately artistic, graced with too many gifts to number, she refuses to be impressed with herself and always strives for excellence. Stephie is fiercely loyal with high ideals and expectations of herself and others. She is the companion I want on long trips because she's as content in silence as she is in conversation. Observant, Stephie notices people and discerns motives that others overlook. Lavish and unpretentious, playful and serious, confident and reserved, Stephanie is difficult to define but genuinely herself.

The next eight years were a blur. We moved four times between two states. There were wrestling matches and baseball games, science fair projects and math competitions. Chicken pox and flu bugs came to call, along with assorted bumps, cuts, bruises and trips to the ER. Tiny fingernails needed to be clipped, faces washed, shoes tied, hair braided. There were broken toys and broken hearts. I spent hours each week hunting; for homework under beds, ticks in hair, car keys in the produce aisle, pacifiers under cushions, and overdue library books that were left out in the rain. Seeing my child successfully plunk through a piece of music at a piano recital far exceeded any joy I had ever felt over any achievement of my own. I mourned each child's disappointment and heartache more intensely than the child did himself. I considered Motherhood my highest calling.

On August 16, 1997, God answered our prayers and granted us a bonus child. Victoria Marie arrived, indignant and perfect, via cesarean section to a waiting room full of thrilled siblings. She came at the peak of familial chaos; two teenagers in the house and two active grade-schoolers with schedules that slowed for nothing. Tori spent much of her babyhood strapped in her carseat or on various laps at basketball games and concerts. She was a baby on the go...

Victoria is 13 and I am thankful for the time she has left in the nest. She is the most empathetic, compassionate person I know. Victoria is a thinker, a processor, a theologian. She is affectionate and expressive, entirely devoted to her family. Raised virtually among adults, Victoria is an old soul and can converse beyond her years, yet innocent in ways that break my heart when I see her startled realization that the world is quite different from how she imagined it. She is the child of our old[er] age, the culmination of what will be nearly 4 decades of parenting before we are done. No child has ever been more wanted or celebrated.

My years of mothering have expanded me in ways I could never have foreseen. Intellectually, I've proofed papers and reports, becoming the human embodiment of both spell-check and thesaurus. I've been study partner, audio book, and driving instructor. Alternately, I've become coach, chaperone, counselor, chauffeur, chef, and cheerleader. Justice system aspirations were fulfilled as I served as parole officer, prosecuting attorney, defense attorney, judge and jury. Needs for artistic expression were met designing costumes and elaborate birthday cakes, and helping with grade A report covers and poster layouts. I know more that most guys on the street about bullies, eating disorders, learning disabilities, prescription drug interactions, and stain removal. I've delivered puppies, kittens, and bunnies who then ate their own babies. I have learned to answer questions about God to satisfy a three-year old that would make theology students stutter. I can debate the pros and cons of childhood vaccinations, cloth and disposable, public vs. private, and contrast several popular reading programs. I have photo documentation of preschool through college graduations. I survived three daughters' weddings and witnessed the birth of one grandchild without fainting. What more could I possibly want from my life?

One snowy day, a few years back, I walked up to the high school with Stephanie for her 7AM Early Bird orchestra rehearsal. She was carrying her heavy book bag and trumpet. I dragged in her violin and her lunch. The orchestra teacher met us at the door, holding it wide as we blew in from the sub-zero temps and exclaimed, "Stephie! Don't you feel bad having your mom haul all your stuff around for you? I'm sure she has better things to do!" I just smiled while Stephie answered for me, "No, she likes doing this." And the truth was? I did. I did not have anything better to do.

All I have ever wanted to do and more, I've done as a mother. Nurturing babies, muddling through teen and toddler angst, seeing each of my children at their absolute worst and shining best culminate in this reward: Intimate association with peers who share an inheritance in the Kingdom, individuals I respect and admire, my very best friends. I am truly blessed for having these five people in my life.

Who's Watching You?

Years ago my two preschoolers and I were the first ones out after a winter storm. Not even the snowplow had been by yet as we blazed our own trail across the pristine canvas of white. I went first and, upon hearing squeals and giggling behind me, turned to see my small son and daughter leaping from one of my large footprints to the next so that the snow wouldn't come up over their boots. I can still picture their rosy cheeks and blasts of frosty breath from a mouthful of baby teeth. The symbolism of that moment was not lost on me and is forever etched into my memory.

These two children are now grown but my days are still full of young people who look at me with sparkling eyes, brimming with hope and innocence. This past week I helped out at our school as they prepared for the annual Christmas musical and was struck anew by the power vested in me as a leader. I was assigned the job of teaching actions to go along with the music. There was a lot of finger snapping, hand waving, swaying from side to side combined with the humor of dyslexic me trying to do everything backwards for the kids to copy. At one point, I scratched my head (because it itched), and a dozen kids scratched their heads, too. I joked with the teacher who was sitting next to me, "Wow! This is POWER!"

Last night was the final performance and all the kids grades 1-6 sang an unrehearsed song for the offertory. The song was familiar to the older kids but somewhat new for the little ones--especially since it broke into parts where the boys and girls were singing different things at the same time. I realized that I didn't know the words all that well myself and was disconcerted to look up and see 40 pound bespectacled Katie in her red plaid Christmas dress staring right at my face from the front row, ready to sing whatever it was that I was singing. I quickly kicked my brain into gear and found the words I was looking for and the towheaded first grader heartily sang along with me. I didn't feel so much like laughing then.

How sobering to realize that everything we do, everything we say is being watched. Not by security cameras and the internet--those are insignificant compared to this. And though it's popular to worry about our carbon footprint, what about the ones that last forever? The way I treat others and the words that come out of my mouth matter. Little eyes scrutinize my every move and take big jumps to land in the footprints I am leaving.

Lord, help me today to walk your straight path and let the words of my mouth bring glory to you and encourage others.

"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him." Colossians 3:17

The Grand Scheme

Age gives so much perspective. We tend to think that, once we're adults, we are done growing but we are always becoming something more, something deeper. Another layer is added to our souls and we don't always even notice. It took becoming a grandparent for me to grasp how much joy I brought to my own grandmother.

Last night, the grandboys slept over. Ron doesn't do well with middle of the night kicks to the kidneys so he headed to the guest room, relinquishing both little darlings to me and the comfort of our queen-sized bed. (Which shrank as the hours progressed: Small children have no respect of personal space when it comes to sleeping.) I awoke many times as they abruptly shifted positions, usually over the top of me, mumbled in their sleep, or asked, "Is it morning yet?" and told me,"I need a drink," every half hour. Once awake, I'd take advantage of the light coming in our window to admire their sleeping faces, long lashes against flushed cheeks. I pushed their hair back from their foreheads and fell asleep closer to them than they ever let me get during the day.

I remember childhood sleepovers with my own Gram. She had a big, soft bed and an old mirrored dresser filled with silky nighties that smelled like Occur! perfume. I would snuggle under the covers enjoying the companionable warmth and weighted dent of a bigger body next to mine. It was luxurious. All was well in my world. On those nights, did my Gram wake up and watch me sleep--damp wisps of hair against sunburned cheeks? I can imagine now what a treat it must've been for her to snuggle with the busy child who had no time for such nonsense during the day. Or the long summer days she must have hidden laughter when I told her elaborate stories or showed her my muscles as she gazed into my serious, sweaty face. I understand, now, how easy it was for her eyes to sparkle whenever I walked into her house, to drop everything and give me her full attention.

I always knew how much I loved her. I am just beginning to realize how much she loved me.

The Transfer of Love

Peacefully she lies cradled in our arms.
Our fingers trace the outline of her face
Downy brow to button nose.
Tears of pain now tears of joy
She is altogether lovely.
She is ours.

Veiled, she appears behind the crowds.
The music swells, all rise to face her.
Tightening her grip on his arm they approach,
Hearts flood with emotion no words can express.

Toddling first steps,
Lisping phrases,
Eyes bright with wonder.
A tooth under her pillow,
A fort in the trees,
Braiding wispy hair.
Wobbling bike wheels,
Laughter rings.
Front row seats and backstage passes,
Childhood is a vapor.

Work-worn hands lift delicate tulle from her face
He kisses her cheek.
"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" the script demands.
"Her mother and I," the thick reply.
Eyes lowered, we step back.
She steps forward
With the New Him.

Her back is straight and confident
Heaven hears their words.
Ringlets of blond frame her face
The same brow, the same nose.
Tears lay heavy on her lashes but she only sees him.
She is altogether lovely.
She is his.