We all want to be part of something big and long-lasting.  Pyramids big in size and forever-and-ever in duration.  I am no different.

My first attempt to achieve foreverness came in third grade, Mrs. Mitchell’s class.  It was a new school, a brand-new school.  Everything was fresh out of the box- new chairs and books and swings and students.  Brand-spanking new.  Even the name was new; it had been chosen in a county-wide contest: Martin Luther King, Jr. Elementary School.  That was a way long name; we called it King School for short.

This new school needed a new school song, an anthem, if you will.  Mrs. Wiggins, the itinerant music teacher, helped each class draft four verses set to a tune she had written out on the chalk board.  Then, in Assembly (you remember Assembly, don’t you), each class sang their version.  Somehow, we voted and a winner was chosen from each grade-level.  Then, the grade-level winners had a sing-off (we were way ahead of American Idol) and a winner was chosen from the whole school.

Wouldn’t you know Mrs. Mitchell’s Third Grade Class won!  To this day, I can still sing it:

King School’s the Greatest!  King School’s the Best!  There’s no school better than this.
Teachers are super; Children are smart; we know that Cobras can’t miss!
Colors of blue and also of gold—they sure make King Cobras hiss!
We’ll always work hard, we’ll never stop.  We’ll keep King School at the top!

Alas, the song did not catch on like I had imagined it would.  It is not sung on national holidays or before major sporting events.  It is not even sung at King School anymore; several years ago they changed their mascot to something else- a lion, I think.  So much for forever fame for me and my classmates.

We all recognize that we should pour our energy into things that matter, really important things, the valuable things in life.  Steven Covey refers to this as the big rocks in a jar- there are other ways of describing it.  I like to think of it as foreverness.

Several years ago, I knew a man who worked as a life coach on the side.  I sat down with him and over the course of several weeks we developed a “Vision Worksheet”.  That sounds very grand.  I think of it more as Post-It notes for my life; reminders of what I want for my life and what is important to me.

Perhaps is sounds kind of silly.  Or redundant—don’t you know what’s important to you?  I have found it to be really helpful, actually, because, let’s face it, this world is really big and busy- it is easy to get distracted or blown off course.  Having something tangible to match my decisions up against keeps me on course. 

A recent example of this as a trip to see Disney’s Princess Wishes on Ice.  That may seem a stretch, but hang on.  A friend had won four tickets and invited me and my niece to the show; however, I already had plans for the evening (somehow Princess Wishes was not on my radar- imagine that!).  My initial response was to decline- I had something else in mind and I wanted to check it off my list.  But then I remembered my worksheet.  On it, I note relationships that are particularly important to me.  My friend is one of these priority relationships for me; my niece is another.  Added to that, this friend has been having a hard time of late and has been a bit isolated.  She is getting help and becoming healthier, and I want to encourage that.  When I paired up my options with my priorities the decision was a no-brainer.  I was off to Princess Wishes.

This time, I got it right and made a choice in favor of foreverness- specifically relationships I value and hope to maintain for the long-haul.  I am sure I will get it wrong again, sometimes, too; it is bound to happen.  But hopefully, with my life Post-Its, I will get it right more than I get it wrong and slowly, over time, my life will fill up with the richness, fullness and satisfaction of those things which matter most to me.

Recently I read about the latest affliction hitting Japanese tourists visiting the City of Light. Doctors have dubbed this psychological condition “the Paris Syndrome”. It was first reported in a medical journal in 2004. Each year it affects about a dozen people. To date in 2006, the Japanese embassy in Paris has had to repatriate at least four of its citizens suffering from this malady.

What is the Paris Syndrome? Specifically, it is the psychological manifestation of disappointment when the idealized expectation of Parisian beauty and grace meets the reality of urban unruliness, rudeness and dirt. The Japanese have idealized Paris as a “dream city”, embodying all that is beautiful, elegant and lovely. When confronted by street peddlers, crowded restaurants, cranky clerks and other grimy realties of life in a city of millions, the beautiful dream becomes a bit tarnished.

We all suffer the Paris Syndrome to some extent (though generally not directly related to the metropolis itself). We experience disillusion when our expectations of life meet with its realities. The disappointment may come from a job, a relationship or a new pair of shoes. We are daily bombarded with ads and images implying that the next thing we acquire will be the key to securing the happiness that heretofore had eluded us. And we believe. And when our shiny new car gets a dent, or a friend forgets a date or a business deal falls through, we are hurt. And then we begin the search again- for the one thing or person that will not disappoint.

Now, I have some good news, and some bad news.

First the bad news. Nothing in this world is perfect. Despite what you see on TV or read in magazine or hear on your iPod, this world is not perfection. Reality (your reality and my reality) is that we live in a broken world. One where friends disappoint, bodies get sick, cars rust, toys break and sneakers go out of style. T’was always thus and thus it shall ever be. Don’t get me wrong, there is a lot good and happy stuff in the mix here as well—crisp fall days, the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies, the satisfaction in a task well done, a hug from a child, hearing the words, “I love you”. But there will always be some sorrowful disappointment marring the situation. That’s the bummer of it all.

Here’s the good news. There is more to life that what we see around us. This is an eternal truth that lives in each of us—some of us deep down; bubbling up to the surface in others. Have you ever walked through a canopy of trees and remarked on the dappled light shining through? What about all the millions of stars you see on a dark, clear night? Has a tiny baby ever curled her tiny fingers over your larger one? Isn’t this amazing? This is God.

I believe in God, a big God. God who created the universe: the light and the trees and the stars and the babies. God who made sound and then gave man an incredible curiosity for it and the accompanying creativity to make music. God who is diverse enough in his creation to make slugs and peacocks. God who is involved enough in my life to give me freckles and a sense of humor while giving another person a strong heart and arms long enough to make a slam-dunk (something definitely not in the cards for me).

Well, how does this all fit together? The disappointment of everyday life (the Paris Syndrome) and this super-duper God? The connection is Hope. God is not oblivious to the grit and grime of our day-to-day lives, the hurt and fear and disappointment. Not at all. He sees it all and it bums Him out. This is not what He wants for us. He wants happiness, satisfaction and fullness. Reality sucks because of the choices we make, not because a fickle God is trying to zap us. If this were a theology lesson we would now go into a long explanation of the Fallen Word, Redemption, Resurrection and Reconciliation. That’s not my purpose here. To sum it up, what we see around us is normal, though not necessarily right.

So leave with this: Big God is out there and He has hope for you. That’s the Good News.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream—Shakespeare; Hamlet III 65-68

Recently, I came across an article analyzing sleep patterns of Americans. Americans, it seems, are getting less sleep, averaging around six-and-a-half hours a night, considerably less than the doctor-recommended eight hours of shut-eye. In fact, our attitude towards sleep has significantly altered. Instead of viewing it as a necessity, sleep is now perceived to be a luxury. And in our full and hectic lives, sufficient sleep is one of the first things to be sacrificed.

At this time, when sleep is suffering, I feel it is important to show my support. I stand up for sleep. Or rather, I lay down for. I support sleep. This leads me to naps.

In my mind, naps are one of the most blissful things ever. I feel that I would be a better person if only I were able to nap more (both in frequency and duration). I would be a nicer person as a result of all that rest. A rested and refreshed me would make me a better worker; new ideas could percolate and develop—my company would reap the rewards. Naps would make me a better person, ergo, naps would make the world a better place.

We napped in pre-school and kindergarten. In addition to being assigned a cubby for our papers and crayons, we were assigned a cot and a corner of the classroom. Each day, the lights were dimmed, gentle music was played, and rows of cots were lined up (far enough from your neighbor to discourage any talking or poking). Each child clambered onto his or her cot for “quiet time”. And if you were feeling particularly restless, the teacher would sit beside you and rub your head. It took about two minutes of head-rubbing before a fidgety child would relax, settle down, and melt into the cot for an hour’s sleep. Later, the lights would be turned up, wake-up music would play, cots would be stacked and snack would be served. Those were the days.

Other nations and cultures still embrace napping. Do you know who the biggest nappers are? The Germans! We marvel at their excellent engineering and efficiency—could it be the result of sufficient rest and rejuvenation? Then there is the siesta or reposa- a most beautiful concept. Close the shop, leave the office. Have a proper lunch with family and friends (rather than eating hurriedly over your desk), have a little rest, and return to work for round two of the day. To me, this seems brilliant.

But there is a larger issue at play here. It is more that just napping. We have forgotten how to rest.

When the government decided to turn Col. Steve Austin into the $6 Million Man, the mantra was, “Better, Stronger, Faster”. As a culture, Americans have taken this to heart. And this sense of urgency has not only usurped naps, but rest as well. Working 9 to 5 has now become 8:15 to half past six (plus taking work home and reading the BlackBerry). Free time fills will programmed activity- from toddlers to retirees: Gymboree, soccer, piano lessons, SAT prep, swim team, scouts, walking the dog and yoga. Rest! Who has time for rest?

It is not insignificant that God the Creator rested on the seventh day. It was not because he was tired after all that creating (as I thought when I was small). He rested to set a precedent, to be example to those whom He created. He did not need to be busy for busyness’ sake alone. Nor do we. He rested. He looked around at what he had done, what he had made: heaven and earth; light and darkness; land and sea; flowers, trees, sun, moon, all kinds of creatures; and man. God chose to rest.

We have the same choice before us. We can chose to be busy, to fills our days with activities, work, chores, and duties. And to some extent, we must be busy—there are tasks necessitated by our various responsibilities. But we can also choose to rest. To break away from life and really live- ironically living by not doing. This is modeled in the Hebrew Sabbath. Understanding that this would be difficult, God provided clear guidelines as to what was and what was not doable. The principle was God’s command, the purpose was to rest, and the result was rejuvenated life- for family and work.

In Psalm 46, we are told, “Be still and know that I AM God.” The power of that statement ever impresses me. It seems so counterintuitive that something so simple should be so difficult. Yet it is. Be still. Stop. Take a break. Don’t do something. Hush. And in that stillness comes understanding. Of God. Who He is and who were are in relation to Him. Comprehension of why we are here and compassion for those whom we are with.

This is rest. Be Still.

The Joys of Aunting

I have been known to accessorize my outfits with macaroni necklaces.  My preference in art is decidedly “pre-school” with an emphasis on crayola and glitter.  I dine at Chuck E. Cheese more often than your average singleton.  When I enter a local primary school, my arrival ranks somewhere between that of the Good Humor Man and the Tooth Fairy.  Am I peculiar?  Very likely—but that is another conversation.  More to the point, I am an aunt.

Like you, I have many roles in life: daughter, sister, aunt, worker, neighbor, dog owner and friend.  But being an aunt is the favorite role I play.  It allows me to be creative, wacky and a little bit odd—I have a reasonable excuse for keeping bubbles and play-doh in my cupboards.  I get invited on great dates—to Krispy Kreme for hot donuts and for Happy Meals at McDonalds.  I am surrounded by purity of heart and innocence.  And an absolute faith that God and a little more scotch tape can fix anything.

I am very fortunate to live near my parents and my sister’s family.  It was not a conscious decision on my part, rather serendipity.  I graduated from college, had no job, and returned home.  Growing up, I did not live near to my extended family; I saw them occasionally on vacations or the odd holiday.  My father was in the military and our orders rarely placed us in close proximity to our nearest and dearest.   As a result, my parents, sisters and I grew very close.  I did not have the model of Thanksgivings a la Norman Rockwell, with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins galore all in attendance.  It was only ever the five of us to celebrate holidays, birthdays, and major life events.  Growing up, imagining what my life would be like, I never factored “being close to family” as essential in the life equation.  Nice if it happened, but never a deciding factor.

To some extent, that is still the case.  I recognize that I am in a phase in my life where I have the opportunity and blessing to live near my family and I will enjoy it while it lasts.  My circumstances or those of my family may change, calling us elsewhere.

It is exciting to be part of a close-knit extended family.  Family life looks very different from how it did during my childhood.  As an aunt, I have special responsibilities; my parents share similar ones as local grandparents.  I chaperone field-trips to the train station and the pumpkin patch.  My parents lead guided tours of local museums and enjoy a lunch prepared by three-year-olds.  My mother and I were able to watch my sister’s children when she and her husband went to Latvia to begin adoption proceedings for another child.  How  many singletons do you know who drive a minivan and listen to Vegetales during the carpool run?  The few, the proud, the modern extended family. 

In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”  I would add that those who are close to “the pure in heart” catch a few glimpses of the Almighty as well. And who is purer in heart than a child?  In the company of my niece and nephews, I witness the awe of seeing the ocean for the first time, care and kindness for all God’s creatures—specifically the hermit crab that lost a leg, and beauty in a bouquet of dandelions.  I hear purity of faith in a nephew’s declaration that his ears are stuck on with “Jesus Glue” and in prayers thanking God for, “Grandaddy, pizza and spoons”.

With these blessings come sacred responsibilities.  I am commissioned to pray for six little souls and watch as God does amazing things in each life.  To talk to them about Jesus and dream with them.  I am able to hold these children and tell them that I love them, but more importantly, that God loves them—tremendously!  I observe their fears, overhear their prayers and rejoice as the know Jesus.  Many times, I think they know Him better now, as children, than I ever will.  It must be the purity of heart.