Soccer-Free Saturday

Since it is a holiday weekend, we had a soccer-free Saturday.  It was wonderful.  I just love it when our kids have large chunks of unscheduled time where they can play and create without adult programming.  The weather was gorgeous, which resulted in lots of quality time in the yard.

Miss Bookworm and Ed making a castle.

Another Day, Another Cause

Mother’s Day, Sweetest Day, Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day – the list goes on and on for the special days we create for the things we care about. Well, May 7th is a day that is close to my heart; it is World AIDS Orphan Day.

It is staggering to try to come to terms with the number of children who are orphaned by AIDS in our world and who themselves may be HIV+. So on this day I ask not that you try to come to terms with all of them, but rather to come to terms with just one story – the story of Tenagne and her nephew.

Tenagne and her nephew's story

In this world there are children who are HIV+ and children who are not, but that is not the divide that I think about. I think about the divide between those who receive medicine and those who do not. When I was in Ethiopia, CrazyMom and I stood in the midst of over 50 children at the AHOPE orphanage for HIV+ children. The children were so full of life as they enjoyed ice cream on a bright sunny day. They also were the lucky ones. Of all of the children in the country with the double misfortune of being orphaned by AIDS and being HIV+ themselves, these few somehow made it to AHOPE. And making it to AHOPE meant receiving life-giving medicine – and the hope of a mom and dad.

Impromptu Togetherness

The other day we were walking back from an ice cream shop when the kids draped their arms over each other and started walking as a group.  There was a lot of fun positive energy radiating from them, which made for one of those common but magical moments.  Sure, the kids can bicker and squabble and all of that, but just as often they create an atmosphere of togetherness that CrazyMom and I can't create on our own.

Made in Pakistan

As a big soccer family, we are in the full swing of the spring soccer season. As I lug a bag of soccer balls to the field and back nearly every day, I have noticed that all of the soccer balls are made in Pakistan. Now I don’t know exactly how the balls were made, but the image I can’t shake from my mind is one that I came across a few years back. It was a photo of a young Honduran boy – maybe 8 years old - who had fallen asleep at a dilapidated worktable as he was stitching softballs. His clothes were indistinguishable from the dirt around him. He was holding a softball in one hand and a needle in another, but he was sound asleep. My heart went out to the boy.

The photo moved me enough that I hung it up in my classroom for a few years. Now, every time I pick up a softball I think about that boy. Did I get a better price on the softball by shifting the cost to that young boy?

But those were softballs, and we don’t play much softball in our house. But tonight I decided to do a quick search about all of the “Made in Pakistan” soccer balls in my home. The top Google hits were not encouraging. It seems like getting children to sew things for us Americans is not limited to Central America.

My searches made me feel uncomfortable enough that I decided to look for some fair trade soccer balls. They were easy enough to find, but they cost more. (At Amazon.com you can search “soccer balls” and compare that to “fair trade soccer balls”.)

So what will I do the next time I need a soccer ball?

I hope I put my money where my mouth is.

Striving

I have been reflecting on the verb “to strive” of late. In part, I suppose, because I find myself striving so much. When my head hits the pillow at night, I simply switch from physically striving to mentally striving as I turn over new ideas in my mind. Now, while the fine line between working hard and being a workaholic is lost on me, I am smart enough to know that it matters what you are striving for. I am one who is not prone to strive for worldly things - gold, glory, and girls as Ray, a missionary in Ethiopia, once told me.

Or so I thought.

On the way home from church yesterday we were listening to “Peter and the Sword of Mercy” on CD. Having spent the morning thinking over my motives, I started a conversation around motives at lunch.

“So kids. What do you think motivates the bad guys in this story?” I asked.

“They want the Sword of Mercy!” K.D. said excitedly.

“But why?”

“So they can get the star stuff,” said K.D.

“But why do they want the star stuff?”

“Because they want to rule the world!” said Little Foot.

“Yes, they do. They want to rule the world. They want the power to make everybody do what they want them to do,” I said.

But seeking power is not my vice.

I have been telling myself, “so whether you eat, or drink, or whatever you do, do all for the glory of God.” If it is for God’s glory, then I had better do a fantastic job, I tell myself. And so I strive to do a fantastic job at all of the things that *I* have put on my plate.

But Sunday morning, as my thoughts on striving mingled with the congregation singing “I’d rather have Jesus,” I was not able to convince myself that my motives were so pure.

“I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause,” we sang.

“Glory,” I could hear Ray saying. One of the three things we men strive for.

So do I strive to do things well for God’s glory or for my own? I fear that is another line that is lost on me.

Lord, help me to live for Your glory and not my own.

Easter

Clutter 2

OK, this anti-junk thing could get addicting. Since it was Easter weekend, none of the soccer teams were practicing. With a chunk of our Saturday morning free, I decided to motivate the kids to reduce the clutter in our house even more.

“Family meeting!” I called out shortly after breakfast. “Let’s go!”

The kids descended on the family room from all corners of the house. “I love family meetings,” Anna said as she found a spot on the couch.

“Here is the deal. You guys have to bring me 100 items this morning to either throw out or give away,” I announced. The moans and questions started rolling in.

“What if I want to get rid of something, but someone else does not?”
“What if a toy has several pieces? Does each piece count?
“Is it only toys, or do clothes count?”

After clarifying some rules, I upped the ante.

“Now, if you are able to find 200 things, I will give each of you a dollar.” Little Foot and K.D. perked up, but the rest of the kids did not really think the extra work would be worth a dollar.

“If you are able to find 300 things, then I will take all of you to Graeter’s.” The kids erupted like they had won the lottery. Obviously, ice cream is a real motivator in our home.

“If we get 400 things, can we go to Graeter’s AND get a dollar?” asked Little Foot, sensing that the time was right to get even more out of dad.

“Sure,” I replied.

So the kids ran off. It was striking to me with the apparent effortlessness that the kids generated well over 300 items. They would have gone for 400, but CrazyMom and I had had enough for the morning. Here is some of the junk.

We nearly filled a large green garbage can as well as a large box to give away. After lunch we headed out to our favorite ice cream shop. Spending $20 on ice cream normally drives me nuts. But this time I was all smiles.

Clutter

Clutter. Stuff. Junk. It permeates our house to the same extent as air and dust. Rather than taking the nuclear approach to clearing it out, I have been trying the lifestyle-change approach. Just about every day I send the kids off to go find three items they can get rid off. Since over the last few weeks I have not been able to discern any difference in the level of junk in our home, today I asked the boys to go find 11 items (the girls were off at a Spanish lesson). Here is what the three boys brought to throw out.



Maybe tomorrow I should ask for even more . . .

Birthday Traditions

“Dad,” Anna was saying, “don’t forget to say what you say on somebody’s birthday.”

I had just tucked Anna in on the eve of her birthday and I was trying to get the door closed so I could get on with my evening.

“OK, Addison. I won’t,” I replied. Then, after a pause, “Can you remind me again what I say on somebody’s birthday?”

“You know, Dad. Like what you said to K.D. ‘Here comes the birthday boy!’”

K.D.’s birthday was just a month earlier, so Anna had picked up on what she perceived as a very important tradition that happens on somebody’s birthday.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s right. And when do I say this?”

“When I come down the stairs in the morning. Just like you said it to K.D.”

“OK, Anna. I won’t forget,” I said, very relieved that she had filled me in on the details.

Now while I would not put saying “Here comes the birthday girl!” on our birthday tradition list, we do have several traditions surrounding birthday events in our home.

First, when the birthday child comes down in the morning (and I greet them with Anna’s new traditional saying) they find the window by the kitchen table decorated.

That night for supper, the birthday child gets to have mom cook the meal of their choice. This year K.D. picked an Ethiopian meal and Anna picked tacos.

When we open presents, the birthday child always sits in the brown chair in the family room. The child who is giving the gift joins the birthday child on the chair when their gift is being opened.

Unless the gift is from mom and dad. Then they have to sit there by themselves. . .

And as if getting to request a meal is not enough, they also get to have mom make a cake of their choosing. This year Anna requested a princess cake, and, as you can see, CrazyMom went all out. It was certainly a stunning cake.

Now those are just the birthday traditions that I can think of.  Maybe I should check with Anna and the gang to see what they would say.  I hate to think about all of the traditions that CrazyMom and I forget to do each year because we did not know it was a tradition!

Bridges to Prosperity

I just came across this. It is one of those great stories about the tremendous impact that people can have when the reach out and lend a hand to others, even if they are as far away as a remote part of Ethiopia.