Traveling over the Sierras can be lovely and beautiful and conversely treacherous depending on the time of the year.
When I worked in Silicon Valley, pre-kids, Monday morning had a completely different context for me. It would set in at about four o’clock Sunday afternoon that Monday morning would soon be upon me. I needed to “shift” modes internally to put on my “kick ass and take names” hat, ditch self-care and relaxation that I tried to embody on the weekends, and get back to work. Most people who work full-time Monday through Friday jobs don’t have the luxury of taking the beginning of the week – the Monday morning – a little easier.
“Dear Cousin, I’m thinking about starting a new revenue generating blog, but not sure I can take this on right now. My current site is working well, and the additional project would be a great income earner, but first I just have to locate and install my mojo – it ebbs and flows quite a bit during basketball season.”
I wrote this to my tech-savvy cousin via email several years back as we were discussing new work projects. Over the years, I’ve joked about losing my “mojo” during intense periods of child-rearing.
Christmas is a complicated season. At the surface, the media sends us the message that it is the “most wonderful time of year” filled with candy canes, happy smiling children, blissful mall shopping, and of course, argument-free family gatherings and copious amounts of leisure time. It’s tough to stomach this rosy view of the holiday season in light of how it makes many of us feel.
This time of year brings with it a mountain of additional stress no matter who you are, but especially for ministry leaders.
There are lots of different “zones” in life, but the zone of motherhood—with all its different ages and stages—is one zone that can never be completely outgrown. Once you’ve become a mother, it’s always a part of you. I really love being a mom with all its ups and downs, exhaustion, joys, and tender moments, however, there is an ongoing tension between the call of motherhood and the call of vocation.
As I pulled into the parking lot of my pediatrician’s office, I paused as three women doing fitness training were pulling tires across my path.
I’ve stopped for ducks to cross the road, I’ve slowed down for wild turkeys and squirrels, but I’ve never had to put on the brakes for three women pulling tires.
My family bought its first Litton microwave in the early-80s. My childhood is fraught with memories of microwave experimental cooking such as monkey bread, spam, and macaroni and cheese in that wonderful large humming contraption that even had its own stand in the far corner of our kitchen.