Lenten Musings

We are considered something of an oddity in Ireland for a variety of reasons but a big one is due to our religion.  Not only do we regularly attend church, we do it out of desire rather than obligation (or at least Allen and the children do, I find it to be a weekly exercise in homesickness).  To add to the curiosity we are Protestant and not only that, we are also Methodist- a lesser known variant. We haven't in any way experienced anything but acceptance- no derision, heckling, discrimination or anything of that sort.  But, we are definitely viewed as being out of the norm.

The thing is that I was listening to an NPR show (you can stream them on-line all over the world!) around the time of the election and they were talking about polling.  The part that stuck out to me was about cultural question biases.  If you poll people in the US asking if they attend church on a weekly basis you got some relatively large percentage 40% 60% (?).  If you asked in Ireland you got about 20%.  However, if you looked at actual attendance rolls you find that the percentage in the US and Ireland are about the same- 20%.  The difference is that in the US attending church on a weekly basis is culturally applauded and in Ireland (and most of Western Europe) it is viewed as something you certainly could do, but wouldn't you rather have a nice lie in and a fry up?

There is obviously a great deal of cultural baggage around religion, especially in Ireland.  Not only does the Church of Ireland/Anglican Church historically have close ties with political and cultural oppression but the Catholic Church hasn't done itself any favors.  In between sex scandals, the Magdalene laundries, child abuse scandals, and generally being less than welcoming to young children (which I really can't understand- if you encourage everyone to be fruitful, you really have to be ready for some crying babies and potty training toddlers) I can understand why the current generation has turned away.

The thing is that it just makes me sad.  If you are a happy atheist, go on with your happy self!  But, it seems like a I encounter rather a lot of people who aren't so much happy.  I've encountered a lot of lost souls; a lot of hopelessness; a lot of confusion and aimlessness.  There seems to have been a throwing of the baby out with the bathwater.

The thing that is so easy to forget but is vital to remember is that:

while the heart of the church, 

any church, whatever divinity floats your boat, 

is divine, 

the hands of the church 

are very much human.  

The human hands of the church in Ireland have managed to completely overshadow the Divine for any number of people.  When I talk to others about why they decided to no longer attend church there is a great deal of discussion about the difficulties of getting children to sit quietly during Mass; a lack of bathrooms at church; the lack of integrity shown by the Priesthood; the lack of need for Divine guidance in knowing how people should treat one another; a frustration with many demands with no return- tangible or intangible, or, worse, a squandering of sacrifices.  I hear about people believing in God but not the church.  I hear about and have experienced a reliance on doing things "the way they have always been" without thought as to what the scriptural or spiritual basis may have been or where it may be leading.  There is an over-reliance on the legal strictures of religious observance without the underlying uplift of Divine Inspiration.  While there is something to be said to finding the Divine within the repetition of the mundane, there is also something to be said for not losing the Divine spark within human constructs.

The thing that I have found most notably missing, especially from my Methodist faith, is the emphasis on social justice and personal revelation.  There is a great deal of discussion in every sermon about what Jesus did 2000 years ago.  There is a fair amount of emphasis on "Jesus loves you" theology with a smattering of how you should love Jesus and the occasional fire and brimstone billboard (usually from the Salvation Army).  There is rarely even a nod as to why.  Why does Jesus love us and why should I care and for that matter, very little concrete discussion about what you should be doing now, right here, with all this love you've been gifted with.

I have come to wonder if this might be the end result of 2 elements somewhat unique to this culture.

First, religious instruction is built into the public school system in Europe and especially in Ireland, where most all schools have a religious affiliation.  This means that there is no Sunday School for children and thus, no Sunday School for adults.  The upshot is that the sermon then becomes something of a Sunday School lesson and those lessons tend to focus on Bible knowledge rather than application of principles.

Second, the state has become the main dispenser of social justice and reform.  While I agree with the general idea and feel that there are areas that are more suited to government action than religious (for instance, I don't think a parent who wishes to stay home with their child should have to work outside the home simply to obtain affordable health insurance.  I am quite comfortable with the trade off of paying more in taxes as a preventative measure.), the church has not been nimble in responding to a changing call.  Instead of adapting to changing social needs and filling the crevices that are always gaping between what society needs and what the government can offer, the churches have simply given up and given over.  Their human hands were flawed.  Their endeavours were tainted.  Instead of giving people a reason to come together to try again based upon those very same Bible verses we spend so much time discussing as history lessons, I hear ministers bemoaning dwindling coffers and empty seats.

The thing that motivates me to remain strong in my Methodist faith is two-fold.  First, I believe that there is a spark of Divine in that which the church undertakes and implements with good faith.  I believe that somehow, my not enough becomes plenty when mixed with the hopes, faith, and offerings of others.  Second, I believe that at the heart of the Methodist faith is the belief that all have the Divine within and with it, a calling and responsibility to fight for the weak.  Methodists are rabble rousers, do-gooders, and trouble makers.  While other faiths do similar work, this is the faith tradition I feel closest to.

I can not speak for other faiths within Europe, but I can say that I have observed a notable lack of discussion about the second half of what I consider a key tennet of my faith.  When more time is spent hunting for Bible verses than learning how to apply them to the very important work you are to do during your very precious time on earth, I can see why people are left wondering what all the fuss is about.

Come together, over Me.

Pretty, Funny, Happy, Real

So, this time I can't find a way to neatly divide life into 4 categories so I'm squishing them all together.  :-)

This winter found me at a loose end.  The weather was best described as dark and dreary more often than not and I was quite homesick.  Creative activities tend to help me find my way out of aimlessness but the supplies for most of my old standbys were in the US and I didn't want to take up something new that required all manner of bits and bobs that I would then have to sort out when time came to leave.  So, I landed upon knitting.  Surely if there was only one hobby I should take up in Ireland, it was knitting!

Noah helps.  Without him I never would have remembered to get that yarn on my needle!

Allen performed some google magic and I went from weeping on the couch on a Friday to happily buying needles and yarn on Saturday.  Charlie's scarf came first and took me a good week to manage.  Things started moving much more quickly after we visited the Rock of Cashel.   There was a tapestry on display that had originally been in the chapel? cathedral?  At any rate, it contained intentional errors to emphasise that only God can create perfection.  I decided to embrace the philosophy and completed Megan and Noah's scarves in a matter of days.  I am now on Ravelry as afriendlyface.  I'm trying to decide between making a pillow cover or baby sweater next.

Happily, Ireland is on a definite upswing.  The sun is up around the time I am.  The rain is rain rather than sleet (at least most of the time).  The Celts consider spring to start on February 1 and I can see why.  Trees are blooming, daffodils are peeking up, crocuses dot the landscape.  I am really looking forward the glory of an Irish spring.

We're in the final stages of potty training with Noah.  At various intervals he now runs through the house yelling, "The poop poop is coming!  The poop poop is coming!"  It's like having your very own very small, very cute, and slightly demented Paul Revere.

When not channeling
Paul Revere

Finally, I went out with some of the other mothers from Megan's class for drinks at the pub.  In what is perhaps the capstone of my Irish experience... When Irish women get drunk, they start quoting Shakespeare.

Look Up

A while back, I was reading one of those action adventur-y romance novels and the hero was instructing the heroine that she should always be sure to look up in whatever dangerous situation they were entering.  The point he was making was that we generally look straight ahead, if not simply down.  If we're really on the ball, we might look to our sides or behind us occasionally but that the smart attacker makes like and owl and swoops down on you when you least expect it.

I'm hardly in the midst of Constant Danger but I have tried to take the advice anyway.  Mothers have a peculiar mix of tunnel vision and constant perimeter assessment.  Somehow you have to be aware of the massive puddle your toddler is Just About to stomp in while also being sure that your adventurous and independent 4 year old isn't about to take out any pedestrians 1/2 a block away (or at least manage to holler loudly enough to give them fair warning).  You have to keep a watch on the pace to be sure no one is being left behind while still making it to wherever in a timely manner and then offer a reasonably coherent response to whomever is talking at any given moment.  It's pretty easy to forget to look up.

Cashel

Neglecting the ceiling is a major misstep on a European tour.

Taking a decent picture, with your phone, while chasing children is pretty much impossible but take my word for it (or do a google image search) the ceiling is pretty much always worth a good look.

I'm a Methodist and an American.  On the whole, we don't do cathedrals.  On occasion, we have positively picturesque little country chapels.  The interiors are often nice and occasionally lovely but not so much awe inspiring.  We have a smattering of breathtaking religious architecture gifted to us by other denominations but it's a drop in the bucket compared to roughly 1500 years of European religious architecture.  It's enough to make a girl feel slightly hostile towards the Puritans.  Best of all, Europeans work in stone so there is some real staying power.  That's a lot of abbeys, chapels, and cathedrals, all built for the glory of God and all designed to take your mind to a higher plane.  It's architecture in one of it's purest forms and it makes me understand why creating publicly accessible beauty was a priority for first the Catholic Church and the many other denominations that followed.

Westminster Abbey

When we visited Westminster Abbey I was kept busy dragging Noah off of crypts and Very Historic Chairs when not telling Charlie, Megan, and/or Noah to stop running.  Someday I will publish a coffee table book of pictures of my children playing tag, chase, statues, and duck duck goose in sanctuaries, chapels, historic graveyards, Druid sacred spaces, abbeys and cathedrals.  We always make them stop and explain why but I also sort of think that Someone gets a kick out of the uninhibited joy of playing children as well.

When I finally did get to stop at at the transept and look up, it truly was A Moment.  In the space of a breath I was transported.  In the beauty of the soaring ceiling, the precise symmetry of the supports, the unfathomable effort that must have gone into building this all in a time when by hand was the only option, I saw why beauty and God are interlinked and the why of the toil was clear.

In other places, the vaulted ceiling, joists, and supports have been replaced by sky.  I see the beauty in all it's glorious permutations, cloudy, roiling, gray, alabaster, cerulean, slate, and indigo, perfectly framed by the soaring structures long ago built to inspire hope, reflection, and joy and am constantly amazed that those ambitions are still achieved, even in the ruins and crumbles.

Then I see a very few small people who feel so very moved that the only appropriate expression is a rollicking game of tag.

Cashel

Don't forget to look up.

My Hero

So, this post isn't about our time in Ireland but has been percolating about for a while.  And I never did get Allen anything for Valentine's Day so maybe this could count?  Plus, we've been watching The Big Bang Theory and there are enough echoes of our relationship that it inspires a bit of reflection.  

Megan drawing on chalkboard Allen made

Then I read this post from Grace about how her husband takes care of the children for a few hours after doing his night rotation as a Labor and Delivery resident so Grace can get some blessed sleep.  There's a lot of layers of love there on both Grace and Simon's part.  Grace is offering up some heroic parenting to support Simon's career and Simon is doing some heroic parenting to support Grace.  It's all just impossibly sweet wrapped up in This Is Life.

The thing is that that's my marriage, too.  I talk with other moms and they are so jealous of my relationship with Allen.  He supports me when I need it and how I need it.  He is an active father who changes diapers, gets up in the night, kisses boo boos, and reads stories.  He tells me how much he enjoys the dinners I fix and clearly values my role in keeping our family and home running.  But, it wasn't this mysterious happenstance.  It took time and effort and lots and lots of communicating.

Charlie at 3 months

There was a very clear moment when Charlie was 4 months old.  I was taking a shower and trying to enjoy my 15 minutes when I was Not On Call and Allen came in with a screaming Charlie asking me what to do.  I gave some suggestions but also firmly pointed out that Charlie did not come with a manual.  There was no secret mommy class.  I had not developed some sort of telepathy.  As Charlie's Daddy, Allen knew him just as well as I did and I had confidence in his ability to figure this out and if he couldn't well, that was not unique to him.  I spent a good bit of my days (and nights) holding a screaming baby pretty sure that I was the worst mom ever.  It took small steps.  It took a bit for Allen to stop seeing me as the expert.  After all, I babysat constantly as a teen, worked in nurseries and day care and even got a Master's degree in what was basically babies with disabilities.  But, Charlie, just like all people, was unique.  At first, it was Allen doing baby care while I made dinner then it was Allen taking Charlie out for a walk.  As Allen became more confident, it just became the way we parent.

Allen, Megan, Charlie first day of school

I never looked on my husband's parenting as "babysitting."  I never considered it especially noteworthy when he took the children out by himself.  He wasn't coerced into parenthood and this was what he signed up for.  I don't criticize his parenting.  I don't micromanage.  I respect his parenting decisions and if I disagree with something, we have a discussion where we both have equal weight just like we would about money or what movie to watch.  He, in turn, is obscurely insulted when praised for how wonderful a father he is for doing something I would be expected to do as a matter of course.

As our family grew, so did our skills and our relationship with each other.  We were blessed with fussy, particular, high maintenance babies (who turn into relatively easy toddlers and preschoolers).  It was eminently clear that if we didn't cling to each other, we would sink.  So, we learned how to cling and then how to swim and by this point we are hanging out on quite the lush boat.


I figured out the key to my husband and I sort of think it's the key to all of them so I'm sharing.

Allen wants to be a knight in shinning armor.  

He wants to save the day.  

He wants to be the hero. 

He wants to be the rock.

He wants to get the girl.  

Once I understood that, I understood how to communicate with him.  I could explain that the dragon was not experiencing a REM cycle for 3 months.   I could tell him the monster was trying to change a poopy diaper while in the throes of absolutely mind boggling morning sickness.  I could explain that the building needing to be lept in one bound was my need for 2 hours of silence.  I could tell him that when I called him weeping after one of Those Mornings, I really just needed my rock to tell me it was all going to be ok and that I was, in fact, a Good Mom.  While quests of the Round Table are something of fiction, being a White Knight was firmly in his reach.

Noah and Allen

I do my best to set my husband up for success.  I lay out what I need to feel valued.  At one especially stressful point in our lives, I put "give Becky a gift" on his calendar at regular intervals (Our Sunday School class worked our way through The 5 Love Languages and it was magic.  Nothing suits an engineer's soul quite like his wife taking a quiz that spells out Exactly what he needs to do to make her happy.)  I send emails with gift suggestions.  I give him warning when I can feel myself starting to get overwhelmed and tell him I really need some extra alone time or an extra date night or just some more chocolate around the house.

We talk about ways to meet both of our needs.  I lose my mind around 4:30 (as do most mothers of littles).  We figured out a way that he could get his work done but also get home around 4:30.  When that couldn't happen, we figured out ways to budget to have a babysitter come to help out for the OMG hour.  I tell him when I'm feeling down and could use some extra compliments.

This requires a certain effort on my part in terms of self awareness.  For instance, what I'm reading is almost always a good barometer for where I am in my head.  I read Alpha romance when I'm feeling completely overwhelmed and just want someone to swoop in and tell me what to do.  I read non-fiction when I'm feeling curious and/or understimulated.  I read inspirational romance when I'm feeling as if all is right with the world.  I read old favorites when I'm feeling insecure.

Becky and Allen

I tell him flat out that he's my rock and my knight in shining armor and how much I value him because he is and I do.

And, best of all, 

he gets the girl.

Tower of London

One of the main things we saw on our visit was the Tower of London.  While we were outside we heard a carillon playing Christmas Carols.  Gabriel's Message is quite well suited to the bells.  I've been listening to Sting's version.  I'm convinced that he must have been a Catholic choir boy in some former life.  He does these fabulous renditions of various traditional carols.  To the point... if you haven't heard Gabriel's Message, here is his version.

I have apparently crossed a threshold.  When we saw the Footguard (whom I mistakenly called a Beefeater to the children- oops!) I looked at him as a mother and wished I could offer him a cookie, a hug, and a hot cup of cocoa.  Once upon a time, I would have wondered if he had a girlfriend.  :-)

While we were touring we happened into King Edward the First's bedchamber and got to "meet" Edward the Second.  He asked Charlie if he would like to be a knight but Charlie said he would rather be an inventor.  Prince Edward allowed that there were rather a lot of things that needed to be invented in the 12th century.



Megan spent the entire time playing a rather complicated seeming game involving marbles and dice but we never did get a good picture.

Noah was convinced that the symbol for England was a tiger.  I finally took him over to some of the "servants" to ask them and they confirmed it was, indeed, a lion.  After that disappointment, it was time to talk Christmas.  Noah reported that he was hoping for a red apple.

 Interestingly, in the 12th century, the rules for celebrating Christmas were quite a bit different from ours.  Advent was something of  a mini Lent during which you abstained from sex, meat and various other pleasures of the flesh.  You didn't decorate until Christmas Eve and gifts weren't exchanged until New Year's.  Christmas Day was all about feasting.


We then saw the crown jewels and various armament through the ages.  Of which, there is little to say but that the former was very sparkly and the latter looked very uncomfortable.

London

This post is rather introspective and is mostly about the tube.  I didn't take any pictures of the tube.  However, we do have any number of pictures that really won't make it into any other posts about London and make for something of a counterpoint.  Enjoy!

Riding the London Eye 
(Noah says "Aargh" instead of "cheese" as a matter of course)

We spend vast quantities of time on various forms of mass transportation during our European travels.  I always find myself contemplating who rode this line before me.  In London, it is not hard to almost feel those prior inhabitants of the tube.

Trying to get a picture in front of the Tower Bridge

Of course, I can imagine myself as the turn of the century shopgirl, anxious to get home as I was once one.  The distracted mother of the 50s, wondering how to get both the packages AND the children home, also me.  The punks of the 70s and 80s are only a slight stretch as we make our way through the more eclectic stops where the music has changed but the manic panic has remained.  But, most vividly remain the whispers from those seeking refuge during the Blitz.  The lights flickered repeatedly on of our trains.  Coupled with the screeches and groans from the other trains, holding Charlie's small and slightly sweaty hand as he nervously asks why the lights are out, it is not at all difficult to feel the vestiges of hope, fear, and courage that were once there.

This time with the Whole Family- so close...

As we explored London further, it became clear that this is what New York once wanted to be when it grew up.  The stop names are those of places in America that can only aspire to have a hint of the history and gravitas found in London.  Blackfriar, Westminster, King's Cross, Notting Hill, and anywhere on the anything are the names of malls and subdivisions in the US.  Here, they are where kings are still crowned, cabals were invented and revolution fomented.

Whee!  Everyone actually looking in
same direction but too small to be seen.

I have never really understood how London could have been bombed for so very long.  How was there anything left for the Germans to target?  Clearly, my understanding of a metropolis was far too limited.  London could have been bombed to oblivion and still, it would have remained.  London is clearly past her prime but has grown to be a Grande Dame, gracefully nodding her head toward how to accommodate change while still maintaining your standards.

Ben and Me

Pretty, Funny, Happy, Real

So, this is a bit late as the Christmas posts were to go with the last link up.  But, we spent the first hunk of Christmas break in London and Disney World and Paris.  That was pretty, funny, happy and real but not so much everyday life.  :-)  Since we got home, we've been potty training which is very real but not so much pretty. However, it so happens I also never managed to put up any of our December things which were pretty everyday life-ish.  So...

We started December with neverending rounds of conjunctivitis and a smattering of coughs with the odd tummy bug.  The children considerately spread out the infections by about 5 days each and all spent at least a couple of days home with me.  The loss of those precious hours where you will secretly shop for and wrap Christmas gifts is always welcome- especially when it involves lots of extra laundry!  Happily, my children are ridiculously adorable.

Noah decided to take Duck and Sheep on a boat ride.

The boat needed some repairs

A whisk was the obvious tool of choice

We got a rather sad tree but the children still found it quite satisfactory.  I hadn't really thought through the implications of buying a tree in the middle of an urban setting.  Freshly cut Christmas trees are readily available and not too dear in rural Virginia- not so much in the middle of Dublin.

We then set to making some cinnamon ornaments!

Waiting for them to harden was TORTURE!

Everything is better with glitter!

We only broke 1 while hanging.
(We won't talk about what happened over the next week)

All 3 children were shepards in the Church Christmas play.  The tea towels never looked so good!  All 3 children also were in Christmas pageants for school but we didn't get any pictures.  Noah had the tummy bug on the day of his and while St Matt's Church has a very lovely sanctuary it was not designed for picture taking!  Imagine cherubic faces and off key but heartfelt caroling and you'll have the gist.  :-)

Santa hangs out in grottoes here.  The children visited him at his zoo location.  I guess it's sort of connects with the manger?

The mall had this absolutely wild Santa's grotto with a motorized "Santa" going up and down a rope.  The children watched him for AGES.

The month o'festivity wrapped up with a Christmas fair at the kid's school where they had a magician who also made balloon objects.  Bucking convention, Charlie and Noah got hats while Megan got a sword.