today: uncle erin

If my intentions stray I’ll wrench them away
then I’ll take my leave, and I won’t even look back.
-Cave In, Owl City (oh Adam Young, I do love you.)

Tomorrow I will be responding to “Uncle Erin,” thank you very much. That’s what Leslie calls me, and I get to go visit her and her family for a few days of fun and photos.

Here’s Leslie last year:

She concluded that I was Uncle Erin, because she already has an Aunt Erin. Plus, I am her Aunt Bridget’s sister. Logically that makes me, err, Uncle Erin. Proudly. Lovingly.

This kid loves me for reasons unknown to me. I showed up at her house to do her photos back in the day when I still thought seminary was my next step. It turned out photography was my next step. We met at a fork in the road, as that trip, the one where I became Leslie’s Uncle Erin, was when I stopped being shy about calling myself a photographer. It’ll probably be good to revisit the place where that happened. Confidence, long feigned, emerged. That’s all well and good, but tomorrow, I’m mostly looking forward to seeing my little friend and her family.

It still amazes me that this is my life.

today: pages and pages and pages of books and books and books

“Books are humanity in print.”
-Barbara W. Tuckman

This was my Saturday morning. So was this:

Today, Sunday, was one of those days I’ll remember as significant. The Sunday morning routine generally means I wake up too late and rush to be at church on time for whatever meeting I need to attend before the service starts. True to form, that’s how my morning went. And it seemed normal enough as I went through some scheduling details with a few people and met with my boss and reviewed our roles for the morning.

And then church started.
And then the day was songs and prayers and a message.
And then we were gathered at the end of the service to consider some words that had been spoken.
And then I was standing with an awareness: God was there.
And then I was a mess of tears and hope.
And then, two kisses on the cheek and some words that are permission to move on to whatever what’s next looks like.
And then it was time to go home.

Tonight I am sitting here with an awareness: God is here. The contours and shapes that are life right now are about to shift gears so that Saturday looks more like my norm than today. And like Rob Bell in the book I read while waiting on a client on Saturday, I am considering things I’ve seen forever in ways I’d never seen them before. We have so much to see and love and do in these lives of ours. May we run hard after the things that matter and find our lives utterly defined by reality in a world where God is here.

today: this i hope

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age
Your dreams to catch the world, the cage
The highway sets the traveler’s stage
All exits look the same

Three words that became hard to say
I and love and you
-I and Love and You, the Avett Brothers
(Go watch the video. You won’t regret it. Cello? Yes, please.)

Please excuse me while I go a little sappy…

…because Bridget took these photos of me and Pie yesterday, and I looked at them tonight. My eyes watered. This time of year is so busy, and I start thinking about all that needs to be done, particularly with shoeboxes for kids in Mexico. I struggle with trusting that it will all get done. But it does. Every year.

I digress.

My eyes watered, because I love the images. But they also watered, because (cue cheesy music): I hope I am becoming the kind of person who will always stop to dance in an alley with a little girl. Just because. I hope/want/need to learn to slow down enough to choose to be present in these fleeting moments. They are so. worth. it.

Pie and I haven’t hung out much lately, because I work with her mom, and we are busy. But I so love that little girl. And I so love these photographs. And you can so make fun of me for crying about them. That’s all.

today: first, bridget

We wrote a prelude
to our own fairy tale…
-Hot Air Balloon, Owl City

Bridget would be quick to tell you we did not start out as friends, she and I. When our family was just the two of us and Mom and Dad, she made sure the world knew she did not intend to be pleasant about sharing her world with a baby sister. I retaliated by being stubborn and grouchy for the next, oh, eighteen years. We got off to a rocky start.

We did not start out as friends, but we have landed there. Bridget had a birthday yesterday, and Sunday when we gathered as a family, we celebrated the bookends of our family. Bridget is smart and loyal and beautiful. She spends a lot of time- lavishes it, really- on the people she loves. Especially the little people.

When I think about Bridget I think about a fierce belief that everyone should have someone to come alongside them if injustice is knocking at their door. And she will be that person if you have no one else, thank you very much. That’s why she makes a good lawyer. That’s also why it is not a good idea to argue with her.

Bridget loves books more than me, and she can make a mean, well anything-she-sets-her-mind-to, in the kitchen. Her taste in music is, er, different than mine. Her thoughts on Harry Potter match mine. She and I are not the funniest members of our family, but we know how to laugh at? with? the ones who are. Bridget is good at being a big sister.

In the last few years, as our conversations have turned to faith and what matters to us, Bridget and I have found common ground in asking questions around what it means to follow Jesus. Neither of us would say we have it figured out, but both of us would say we have benefited from talking things out. When we disagree, we are learning to do it more lovingly and with (hopefully) more grace.

When families are super-sized, someone could fall through the cracks, I suppose. That may happen occasionally in our family, but it does not happen habitually. Bridget is probably to blame for that. Not only does she somehow manage to be involved in all of our lives, but she’s incredibly adept at inviting others in as well. And that, I think, is amazing. (I could add an assortment of photos of representative faces here, but Amber, as the other half of the photography duo that is ours, gets the honor…)

The world is a better place with Bridget in it. And mine is exponentially better because the force of family relegated us to working it out and finding our way to not only loving but also quite liking each other, thank you very much. Happy birthday, Bridget. Hope this year is the best yet.

tonight: rain

“‘Child,’ said the Voice, ‘I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.’

‘Who are you?’ asked Shasta.

‘Myself,’ said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again, ‘Myself’, loud and clear and gay, and then the third time, ‘Myself’, whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.”
-p 176, The Horse and His Boy, C.S. Lewis

for days falling
drenching cracks and crevices until
soaked shoes forgo steadiness
to leave imprints along slippy paths
lungs sucking air cold and wet
so
satisfied is the need
but everything is messy
everything is muddy
nothing is dry
and then
earth, saturated, yields
sun, hiding, bursts
and slowly, s l o w l y
you see life emerge

today: jacob i have loved

“Please don’t go. We’ll eat you up. We love you so.”
-from Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak

If you are the youngest child in a very large child, you will likely be babied. Forever. If your very first days were spent with lungs that struggled to do their job, that meant your already doting family picked you up whenever you threatened to cry. If that was the beginning of your story, it only served to contribute to the aforementioned over-the-top babying… And that is our Jacob.

We. love. him. so.

And how could we not? Here is a boy full of life and confidence and conversation. He is a salesman. He loves music. He plays baseball with excellence and already shows signs of having a degree of humility, a rarity in an child who excels in a sport. He is happy with the present tense. He makes us laugh. All of us.

It is fitting that Jacob came last. Had Jono, the next youngest, been our finale, he’d have struggled with the constancy of attention relegated to the baby. Jacob, though, he’s made for it. He has a bit of the theatrical in him.

Jacob turned nine yesterday. I remember him as a baby (though he was the only one of my siblings who I didn’t meet when he made his appearance in the family). I lived in Montana at the time, and he was six weeks old when we met. He had a lot of hair…

I remember him as a toddler. He loved Jay most of all, calling him Doh. Bridget loved him most of all, calling him Bean. He didn’t talk as early as some of the kiddos, and I remember him sitting in his high chair speaking gibberish with the occasional word thrown in, “fra fra fra fra fra fra, shoes.”

I remember him the Christmas Mom was sick. He had a double ear infection. Dad and I took him to the ER on Christmas Day. Because Mom was having surgery on the 26th, I slept in Jakey’s bed with him, his feverish, little body curled against mine. In the months that would follow, he’d be the kid we (at least Meghan and I) worried most about (in retrospect, others struggled more). He was so little. Life seemed unfair. We were going to find out, though, that this little boy would learn words like cancer and chemo without batting an eye. This, I suppose, is God’s grace to Jacob. He is relentlessly in the moment.

And we needed a boy who was relentlessly in the moment. We still do.

Sometimes we get annoyed about our spoiled baby brother. So he’s indulged. It’s true, but it’s because we love him. We want the best for him. We find joy in this kid who, when he’s not getting what he needs or wants from a moment, is unafraid to say, “pay attention to me.” Attention has been paid. We are blessed.

today: mom

An ounce of mother is worth a ton of priest.
-Spanish proverb

The above photograph was taken several years ago, and when I think of my childhood, I think of this photograph even though it is of my little brothers and my mom (um and look at Jakey’s chubby little baby cheeks… where did they disappear to?). When I remember Mom when I was small, I remember her reading to us. All the time. It is not surprising, then, that the majority of her children are readers, and voracious ones at that. Some of us prefer books to television any day. Rare is the night I go to sleep without reading away my chance at eight hours. I blame my mom and J. K. Rowling for that.

James and the Giant Peach is the first chapter book I remember loving and before that The Giving Tree stands out. Mom read. She wasn’t one of those moms who played with us all the time, though I do have those memories too. I wasn’t her, um, easiest child, so I think I love all those reading memories a lot, because if she was reading, I probably wasn’t giving her grief.

It was Mom’s birthday this past week, and I have been thinking about what it means to be a mom and to have a lot of kids and to try to instill value in each of them. Something I think my parents did well, maybe their best contribution I can distinguish at the moment, is give us healthy doses of confidence. They are not the kind of parents who cling so tightly to their kids that we did not learn to try new things, to figure out what we love and to go for it. Those of us who are grown have done just that or are walking in that direction.

If you are a parent, and you read to your kids and couple that with giving them confidence, you teach them to both think and dream. My mom also did the risky but invaluable investment in us kids that is this: she taught and teaches us how, not what, to think. We come from hearty stock when it comes to politics and faith, and rather than beating either or both over our heads, for the most part, we learned values and critical thinking skills. And though I think differently than my mom on some things, I think deep down she trusts that I am using my heart and brain to work things out. She taught me that.

Here is something else that is great about Mom. She and my dad are together. They don’t claim a perfect union, and I know they don’t always like each other. But this they do: they love, and as best they can. They aren’t afraid to work on things, and they know how to be friends. They know how to laugh. They know how to be a team. Mom knows how to go to baseball games and violin concerts and doctor’s appointments and the endless array of errands a week brings and somehow connect with Dad and figure out how to do life together.

My mom is worthy of celebration, and I’m thankful for the family I’m in, super-sized and all… I’m glad there are birthdays to make me stop and think about how good it is to have the ones I’ve got. We’re blessed to have each other. And we mostly know it.

today: restless but good

in fits and waves
but still and quiet
internal is this hearty riot

The thing about my life (isn’t there always a thing?) is I struggle with being content when staying put is the present tense. And it is. My eyes drift backwards to all those years of non-stop going and forward to the ellipses point in the future when my passport will see a bit more action. (And that is an if, I suppose, that ellipses point.) In the meantime, it seems like not viewing the present as the meantime is a good plan…

So here are some good things from this week:

-Ben stopped by the office with Sonic drinks. And we visited.
-Running, lots of running, some runs including both rain and laughter
-Shoeboxes, which make me both crazy and joyful
-Skype, which cuts the world down to size via the internets
-Halloween costumes on kidlets I love. Stinkin’ cute.
-The new Swell Season. Oh so depressing. Oh so beautiful.
-Laughing, into tears, time and again, about the fight Meghan and I had last week.
-Lunch with Mom on Monday for her birthday. My mom rocks.
-Boots. Skinny jeans. Boots.
-Habakkuk. I read it this morning. I like that he called God to account. I love that God answered back. Goodness. That’s what that is: goodness.
-Soup. With crusty bread. And beer.
-Steel cut oatmeal. The kind that takes a half hour to make. It tastes like yummy and healthy married. It implies that one woke up early enough to have time to prepare breakfast. Which means there was time to read and drink coffee…
-The people who make me laugh and cry and crazy and better. I have a lot of them.

This? I think it’s the good life. Restless, but good.

today: 3 of the 9 of the 13

“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you, for you are my little bunny.”
-from The Runaway Bunny by Margaret Wise Brown

So I’m a little behind on birthday posts… and since Mom’s birthday was last week, I have intended to write her post… instead here are 3 paragraphs for 3 brothers who had birthdays in August and September and who are worthy of celebrating.

Sam

When Sam was nine-months-old, he came to live with us from Korea. Sam doesn’t walk or talk, and he needs a lot of care. His utter dependence has so grown every person in our family’s capacity to love day in and day out. We wouldn’t have it any other way. Meghan says Sam holds a treasury of family secrets, because he’s hung out with many a sibling as we worked out various seasons of life on the phone or in the backyard with him in his wheelchair beside us. Sam laughs a lot. He cries a lot. He is not always easy, but he is well loved. He loves Bridget and Dad most. And the world is a better place because Sam is in it, for he has filled our lives with fullness and faith, challenge and wonder.

Tater

Every family should have a Tater. First of all, his name… he has introduced himself as Tater since he was a toddler. He is compassionate and funny. His temper and wit are quick. He loves baseball. He loves running. He plays the guitar. He doesn’t mind helping out. Little kids like him. Tater was this rough and tumble little tyke who is growing up to be thoughtful and eager in his approach to life. It is sure to serve him well.

Josh

Josh hates having his picture taken. He always has. Here is what comes to mind when I think about Josh: he always says thank you. If he forgets to say it when you do something for or with him, he calls later. He does not take things for granted. I love this about him. It stands out in our family. It’s not that the other kids don’t appreciate these sorts of things. It’s just that Josh is intentional about remembering. Josh falls on the quiter end of the family spectrum, and he loves to read. He runs because it’s good for him. He is easy to love.

I get busy and forget to be around the boys sometimes, but when I pause to think about them or pray for them, I am always grateful for the value they add to my life. And I am always hopeful for who they are and for who they are becomming. There may be a lot of us, but everybody stands out one way or another. I love that.

today: rain

“It rains. A lot.”
-Rob Bell

I like the nights when rain is the soundtrack to going to sleep. Good thing, because that’s been a lot lately. It makes me think of childhood and splashing in puddles and playing hard and not caring how dirty we got in the process. When I was little, I was always in a we, I think. That’s part of growing up in a big family, and as introverted as I am, I’m glad most of my happiest memories are we memories. Anyways, the sound of rain makes me think along those lines.

Nowadays when it rains, I like pulling on a hoodie and lacing up my runners and being out in it. Soggy shoes and soaked through shorts are a small price to pay for a momentary return to back then as a means of finding joy in right now. Rainy days are almost always good.