“I had the weirdest dream!”

“What happened?”

“Well, at one point I was trying to steal Ashton Kutcher from Demi Moore.”

“Pretty, that’s terrible! He’s a married man.”

“Really, did they get married? I hadn’t heard…how do you know?”

“Oh I keep up with the news in Hollywood when I ride the bike at the Fitness Center.”

“Are you sure they’re married?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, in my dream, neither of us was married, but I did know he was with Demi.”

“You are a naughty girl.”

“I wasn’t being nasty. I just turned on the charm. And I have to say he was clearly digging my mix.”

“How could he not?”

“I felt a little guilty being the young, hot thing, taking him away from this older woman. In my dream we were contemporaries, and of course, I was a young hot thing.”

“Of course.”

“You know, I think I’m closer in age to her than I am to him! Ouch.”

“I’m just glad it was a dream.”

I snuggled against him for the last little bit of rest before the inevitable entrance of a Bean sucking her thumb and snuffling her nose with the silky edge of her blanket.

Kissing my hair he whispered, “My little Ashton Kutcher thief.”

A package came FedEx from Cochlear Corporation, the company that made C. Riley’s processor. Normally, I handle everything related to that, but Friday I was in the middle of cooking something and asked Paul to call them as we needed to order a couple of parts. Mid order I reminded Paul of an additional piece we needed. Paul relayed my request and was told what we wanted came with what we had already ordered. I didn’t remember it being this way but didn’t push it.

Opening the box, this afternoon, I quickly discovered what I wanted wasn’t included and immediately dialed customer service.

“I just received my order and I specifically asked for the metal piece that attaches the Mic lock to the processor and was told it came with it, but of course you know, it doesn’t.”

“Are you referring to the Titanium Ear Hook?”

“Oh yes, that must be it.”

“Unless, you ask for the Ear Hook, there really isn’t any way of knowing that is what you want.”

“Well, you’re a smart guy, when I said the metal thingy that attaches to the Mic Lock you were able to come up with Ear Hook.” I said this with, perhaps, a hint of salt in my tone.

I can’t remember the next thing he said, but I suddenly realized I was talking to the Not So Smart Guy from Friday. Fortunately I didn’t go on the warpath and he didn’t get all defensive; we worked it out. I do have most of what I need and he is sending me a tiny little cushion of sorts to make it more comfortable resting on Christopher’s ear. I think he glanced at the blinking message on his screen that said, “Mother of child with special needs on the phone – part Lioness, part quivering Jelly Fish. Handle with care to avoid being eaten or stung.” I certainly noted the tattoo on my arm with similar verbage.

There is so much yet that I don’t know, I don’t know.

I got the telegram that my son is deaf, really got it, but would someone please send me one detailing how that changed me? I think I actually could use a tattoo that warns me to breathe deeply and keep my eyes open before doing anything in the capacity as C. Riley’s advocate. I walk around thinking I am OK and wake up poised to sink my claws in a hapless customer service agent, wondering, “Where did I get these sharp things?”

This weekend our church is having a Sacred Assembly based on the call in Joel 1:14

“Declare a holy fast;
call a sacred assembly.
Summon the elders
and all who live in the land
to the house of the LORD your God,
and cry out to the LORD.”

Our congregation has been invited to fast, pray and listen, starting Friday evening at 6 and ending Sunday morning when the first service begins. The church will be open the entire time with people scheduled on the hour to read scripture and lead anyone gathered in prayer.

Sunday, November 6, is the seventh anniversary of Christopher’s surgery. When the fast breaks it will be seven years to the hour that I walked down the long hall, carrying my three year old son on faith. The surgery was extremely risky because of Christopher’s physiology and was not advised, though allowed. Paul and I, who had not had peace to give him even Tylenol up to this point, had inexplicable peace for this surgery. Walking down that long corridor, I might as well have been walking to the edge of a cliff. Christopher resisted the mask and I had to hold him kicking and screaming on the table. I tried to stay calm, speaking gently and praying but tears leaked out of me. Finally he was asleep and I made my way back to the waiting room and Paul.

The surgery was a success and in some ways a miracle. Anyone who understands Christopher’s cochlea knows it is a mystery how the implant has functioned, and yet it has.

………………….

When my father died I learned the value of mourning. His death was the first time I was unafraid to stand in loss and acknowledge it. I didn’t try to pretty it up with biblical promises that were yet unpaid. I stood in the pain and didn’t pretend to have something that had not yet been given; I waited to receive.

With Christopher’s deafness I didn’t know how to hold my pain, my guilt, my confusion and still hold my faith. I wasn’t angry – I couldn’t be, because Christopher was a gift from God and to be angry would be rejecting the gift of my precious son. Or that’s what I made up. I chose to trust and speak faith and peace that I didn’t fully possess. I didn’t know how to stand in the paradox of trust and sorrow, of faith and grief, of love and disappointment.

I have processed and prayed through much of this, but a charge remains as I was reminded this afternoon.

…………………….

In the Bible the passage of seven years was marked to celebrate the Year of Jubilee. A note in my Bible says this:

The Year of Jubilee was a time for freeing slaves and canceling debts. It foreshadowed the time of rejoicing – of jubilee – that enters our lives when Christ cancels our debts and sets us free, and it also reminds us that we are to do for others what Chirst has done for us: forgive.
It is no coincidence that the time my pastor is inviting me to press in to hear God’s voice coincides with this important anniversary. I have been telling people, regarding my writing, “This is my time. It’s my year.” I have committed to writing a spiritual memoir on motherhood because that was where and how God made me aware of my weakness and through it, revealed his redemptive power. Since I made the commitment I have found myself resisting. Where do I start? How am I going to tell my story without it sounding like an after school special or a Sad Oprah?
But I got the telegram. I am going to spend this weekend praying and listening and I am going to mourn and wait to be comforted. I don’t know exactly what slaves need to be set free nor what debts require cancelling, what sins will ask to be forgiven, but I will.
This is the Year of Jubilee.

1. Reading is my drug of choice.

2. I have found that time on the treadmill goes so much faster if I am wearing earphones and watching Clean Sweep. (Fitness Center has sexy equipment with monitors on every single piece.)

3. I have only ever experienced exercise induced endorphins when swimming. When I was a teenager, I would get up in the morning and swim laps. After a while I would lose track of the number and begin to have some sort of transcendental experience. I felt like I was part of the water which was an extension of the blue, blue sky. Felt like I was swimming in the the sky – very groovy. No, I never took drugs but, on occasion, was sorely tempted. Fortunately opportunity and desire never coincided.

Am not in bed. It is very late here. Must add going to bed at a decent time to my list.

Will.

Sweet Dreams.

I mean it.

A went to a training recently where the suggestion was made that the way we live, who we are is an invitation and our task is to decide what we are inviting others to.

Today after MOPS we were gathering to go and a little girl was crying because she didn’t want to say goodbye to Lydia who is a bit of a rock star with the toddler set. I asked the girl’s mother if they could come over for lunch. They could.

They spent five hours with us in our very messy house, for which I did not apologize (OK only a teensy bit) and we had a great time. The little girl played with my kids, her mom and I talked all afternoon and we all loved on their little baby.

I want to be gracious and inviting, but too often I have let the excuses, “The house is a mess”, “I am exhausted” “What will we eat?” get in the way of that. Today the three excuses were there but I did not give them undue power. They could not negate my gracious invitation which was offered without thought, almost reflexively.

I know this, I know this, I know this, but have so often refused the truth.

In my spiritual life I am willing to be vulnerable and transparent. I let others see my dirty laundry. But I hold others back in real life, wanting my physical home to be in perfect order before I let them in. I mean, I’m not going to let you see my actual dirty laundry. But that’s just stupid. I don’t live in squalor, just less than perfect tidiness.

Today I invited my friend over and fed her family lunch, poured her strong coffee and spoke fluent English with her while her little girl played happily and her baby snoozed the day away.

When they left I busted a move and picked up the living room and emptied then reloaded the dishwasher and made a couple chicken pizzas. By the time Paul came home the house, though still not perfect, was in a semblance of order.

I am going to sign off now so that I can get the kitchen sparklingly clean as my gift to tomorrow morning’s me. Won’t I be so grateful.

“Sweet Dreams” as C. Riley likes to say.