The Opposite Race

My boys are always in a race. A race to drink their milk first. A race to get dressed first. The most important race in our house right now seems to be the seatbelt race, as in who gets their seatbelt on first. This is a competition I can endorse because it gets everyone out the door faster and since we no longer live in a town where everything is five minutes away, we are often running late.

But there is a part of me that wants my boys to also learn to let others go first, to serve others. On Friday, I posted the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard. This passage ends with the verse, “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” (Matt. 20:16)

I recently talked to the boys about this verse and about the importance of looking out for one another, helping each other be successful, and allowing other people to go first sometimes.

I thought maybe my message had sunk in a little bit when I saw Middle Man, patiently let his older brother get in the van and then wait to buckle his seat belt.

Turns out he had changed the race to an opposite race once he realized he was going to lose the seatbelt race to Little One. So instead of the first winning the race, the last would be pronounced the winner.

I am not sure that is what Jesus had in mind.

A Days Wage

Last week I took my boys to VBS at one of the satellite campuses of our church. Driving to the church, I pass a place where day laborers congregate waiting for work. It is an ever present reminder of how many people are wanting to work. These men want are willing to do hard, manual labor for a days wage. I don't like having to do too many loads of laundry in one day. I may be able to check off a to do list and keep my family in clean clothes but I have never been accused of being a hard worker, at least not when it came to getting dirty and sweaty. I am happy to do the heavy lifting when it comes to being in air conditioned rooms with a computer screen and books to read.

So driving by these day laborers I am aware of how blessed I am to be able to be with my boys and write a little. I do not understand why God choose to provide me more than I need materially and why other people cannot find work. But I am beginning to see that God's generosity is not in the material provisions but in his spiritual provision. The peace I feel in my life does not come from having, because I felt this same peace when my family lost our home and we had to move in with family friend's a state away. (That story is coming in the My Story series.) This peace comes from following God's lead, wherever it takes me. It might mean moving. It might mean waiting tables to pay for college or making bricks on a mission trip. It might mean giving more or learning to be content with having more.

God's generosity is not in what he gives but in who he is. He is generous. Seeing these day laborers day after day waiting for work reminded me of the story Jesus tells in the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard in Matthew 20:1 - 16. I do not want to be the grumbling one who has worked all day. I want to celebrate God's generosity not matter who is the recipient.

  “For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. He agreed to pay them a denarius for the day and sent them into his vineyard.
    “About nine in the morning he went out and saw others standing in the marketplace doing nothing. He told them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went.
   “He went out again about noon and about three in the afternoon and did the same thing. About five in the afternoon he went out and found still others standing around. He asked them, ‘Why have you been standing here all day long doing nothing?’
    “‘Because no one has hired us,’ they answered.
   “He said to them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard.’
    “When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, ‘Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last ones hired and going on to the first.’
    “The workers who were hired about five in the afternoon came and each received a denarius. So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. ‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’
    “But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’
    “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” 

I am learning that my place in line doesn't matter. I just want to be in the line.

My Story - Lake Days and Campfires

As always My Story is from my point of view. You can read my disclaimer here.

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My niece is getting married this weekend so we are traveling to Michigan, the land of my husband's birth, to celebrate with her and her fiance. We will get to spend time with all my in laws at my husband's parents' house on a small lake. I have always believed that the ocean was the greatest body of water ever. Until last summer. Last summer, I got to sit by shore of the lake, reading my book, watching the kids play in the shallow, quiet waters of the lake. It was warm and sunny. This was where my husband spent his summers as a child. The house was not there, it was just a trailer on a piece of lake front property, but it holds so many memories for my husband. I could get use to life at the lake. 

My childhood summer memories are centered around camping. My family would meet up with my cousins and their parents at Jedediah State Park in the Redwood forest in northern California. We would sleep in tents, walk through the redwoods, swim in the river and take part in the junior ranger programs. I remember washing dishes on the picnic table and then the littlest kids being washed in those same dishpans. I remember having a lot of freedom to explore with my brothers and cousins. Occasionally we would go canoeing or tubing on the river. I learned about ferns and moss, redwoods and cooking on a propane camping stove. We caught our marshmallows on fire because we liked our s'mores crispy. 

I also remember looking for the missing kid, who was always found. My parents having trouble with the air mattress they brought for their tent. The hard ground under our sleeping bags. The rain. Wet tents that kept you dry as long as you did not touch the side of the tent. Being scared of the dark in my own tent. I wish though that I remembered more, that I was able to hold onto more of the memories. 

I have wonderful memories of camping. But at some point we stopped camping. I don't know why. We stopped packing the van and tents and started staying home more. 

The idea of camping seems so romantic and relaxing to me. But the logistics involved, the dirt, the shared bathrooms, the sleeping on the ground, the cost of all the equipment and the fact that neither my husband nor I are the outdoorsy type and I realize that we will probably never take our kids camping. I feel like we "should" take them camping, give them the typical childhood camping experience. I feel a little bad that we are not willing to sacrifice our comfort and clean sheets for tents and camping for our boys. But I am willing to get over the guilt. We can still visit Yosemite and the Grand Canyon, we will just stay in the nice, clean, warm hotels nearby. That is why they built hotels near national parks, right? 

To Work or Not to Work

Recently a friend and I were having a conversation about the purpose of work. It was a text conversation because it appears that is now where we are in the world of communication. We text. We read each other's blogs and comment on each other's Facebook pages. And honestly as someone who moves a lot and therefore has a lot of long distance friendships, I like texting. It lets me stay connected without feeling pressure to find a nice long window of time to talk on the phone. Though I did video chat with a friend last week which was fun, except I kept being distracted by how ugly I looked in my little video window. My friend was as beautiful as ever though. All this to say that I like feeling connected to my friends even if we cannot just show up at each other's houses for coffee anymore.

So my friend was talking about how she and her husband have been discussing the purpose of work, specifically how it pertains to jobs - actually real paying jobs. Unlike the "work" I claim I am doing when I want the kids to leave me alone while I am checking email or playing Zuma on Facebook. Work seems to be a topic right now. Another friend of mine had been planning to go back to college this fall to start a new career but is now postponing that plan for a while. I have noticed that as our kids are all getting older I am hearing the question, "Are you going to go back to work?" more and more often. I am starting to feel like a bit of lone wolf because I don't plan on going back to work, more specifically I don't plan on going back to a job.

It is not that I am not tempted to go back to teaching, if I could find a position. I loved teaching. I loved being in the classroom and working with high schoolers. And I loved bringing home a paycheck and having my own thing. I loved being a professional.

I have a masters degree in teaching and I instead spend most of my days keeping tabs on my kids bodily functions and how many fruits and vegetables they have eaten at any given meal. My life is at the mercy of sick kids, school holidays, and tantrums. And the tasks involved in this job never end. Laundry, meals, pick ups and drop offs. There is always another load, always another dirty dish and always another practice or activity. It is never ending. Just as I think I have made it through the to do list of my day and I am off the clock, Hockey Boy comes out for a drink of water or Little One comes running into my room scared from nightmare.

So the idea of going back to the world of a real job, with real hours and a bit of respect, is very attractive. Especially since I have a real passion for teaching and what I did once upon a time.

But then I look at the actual logistics, the having to get my kids to school which starts after I would have to be at my own school. Then the pick up, the conference days. Not to mention a sick child or a hockey tournament on a non holiday Friday. Most of the time my husband could help with some of this but he also travels sometimes, he has serious commitments at work too and the truth is his job pays a whole lot better than any teaching position ever would.

Just thinking about the logistics makes me tired. I don't like feeling tired. I spent a lot of years being tired all the time. I fought Chronic Fatigue Syndrome for a few years at the beginning of our marriage. Most likely brought on by PTSD and my type A personality stressing over my work and being perfect at everything. I worry that if I went back to full time work, I would fall right back into being stressed and overwhelmed by demanding parents and too many papers to grade in one weekend. And even if I can manage the stress and figure out a good work/life balance, a teacher's schedule is not flexible during the school year. Yes, we get the summers off, but on school days I am expected to be in the classroom, even if one of my kids has a classroom pancake party or another has a overnight field trip.

The truth is I like my life. I like being available to my kids. I like being able to pick them up after school and volunteering at their schools. I also like the down time I get when they are all at school or camp. I like the moments I get to sit and read a good book or write a blog post. I like having time to meet with friends for coffee or be in a small group at Bible study. I like being able to have strong relationships with the women around me because I am not having to rush off all the time. I like having space in my day for the unexpected.

I feel a lot of pressure at times to find a role in life now that my kids are all in school. A title to tell people when they ask. It feels a bit decadent to say I stay home, that I have 3 hours a day that are all mine, and in another year it will be 6 hours a day, 30 hours a week. I start to feel a little guilty about the freedom I have to even choose. The truth is I don't need to a job. We don't need the paycheck. We have created a life that works on my husband's salary. We won't be flying off to Europe anytime soon and we drive our cars for a very, very long time before buying another one. But we are more than blessed and we know that.

For me it is not about the money. I am free to make the choice to work or not. And I know that is a huge gift. I do want to contribute though. I want to be productive. I just don't think a traditional job is the answer.

My work happens every day, without a title, without a job, without a paycheck. I am beginning to think that work is that which you do with intention. Work is where we plant seeds and care for our plants, whatever they are. For my husband that involves accounts and ledgers and financial plans in a world of renewable energy. For me that involves taking care of my three boys, loving my neighbor and using my mind and gifts to serve God however he calls me to. If that someday involves a real job I am ready, if it involves building relationships and haphazardly writing and sharing my stories with people, I am ready for that too.

The great thing about God is that he made us all different. He designed us for different work and different jobs. We all have our part to play. The world needs us in different roles. There is not right or wrong in the work. The right or wrong comes in the intention. Are we serving God with our gifts, our talents our work? But since we can never be all right or all wrong, are we at least trying? Are we at least moving in that direction?