Category Archives: Thinking

What I learned about myself at VBS this year

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me in Mary costume (aka Mary has an iPhone) for Hometown Nazareth, VBS

This past week, I played the part of Mary, the mother of Jesus, at our church’s Vacation Bible School program. Everyday I told the children a story of Jesus from Mary’s perspective. The birth of God’s son, from far-away Magi bringing gifts, an escape to Egypt, encountering old prophets in the temple, loosing a boy Jesus at Passover and that first water-to-wine miracle at a wedding.

I went to sleep every night with thoughts of how I would tell these stories, getting the words exactly right for the kids. Working into the narrative exactly how I would ask the children questions to pull them along into this imaginary world of ancient Nazareth. We had a script, but I tweaked most of it to fit the needs of our program, taking up a good deal of my mental energy.

Friends, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself more at Vacation Bible School.

Some days I felt I really nailed the story. I remembered everything I wanted to say (I memorized as much as I could, only going up on stage with an index card of key points.) I’ve done little skits and and plays at church before, but nothing like this. Few props, only one other character who popped out at the very end for me to interact with.

Basically, it was just me as Mary with the job of communicating a story. Each morning a monologue.

For the first time – and this is the part I want to express most of all – people came up to me to say how they enjoyed something creative I had done. On Monday, a church elder stopped me as I left the stage to give me a kiss on the cheek and words of well done. All week I heard pretty much the same thing. I think someone may have said “anointed”. I even got a, “Wow, Monica, you have found your niche!”

Never in all my years as a volunteer in ministry has anything like that happened before. I can’t ever recall a time when people expressed strong feelings of “Hey, you do that really well!” to me about anything.

Can I tell you all this without it sounding like I’m bragging? I hope so. I know where I made mistakes and fumbled a bit for the correct part of the words to come out. There were a couple of days when I came away from the children kicking myself for forgetting a part of the story. I wished a few times that I had more than one opportunity to present each story so I had time to get it right with more emotion and better expression.

But it was fun. Even with all the work, memorization, tweaking the script, nervous energy before the performance, it was a LOT of fun. And the children! Sometimes antsy, often distracted, they were engaged and wanting to hear what Mary had to say. I even had one young girl with her Bible open on her lap to show me where exactly she could read the story for herself.

Isn’t that neat?

So, that’s what I learned about myself this past week. It seems I have a knack for oral storytelling.

Dare I say it’s a gift? I would certainly like to think it is.

Another thought: Could it be that my love for writing, especially true-life stories, is directly related to a gift of storytelling?

This past week has given me a lot to think about. Just like Mary pondered all those stories about Jesus in her heart, I’ve now got something to think about too. Like . . . now what do I do with this gift?

Thoughts?

 

What happens when I let my mind wander as I type

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Peter loves raptors like me. Hawks, falcons, eagles. We go out of our way to be close to them. I’ve always been interested in birding, ever since watching the winter Chickadees, Cardinals and Downy woodpeckers at the feeder we could see from my mother’s kitchen window. A memory of third grade: gazing (daydreaming?) out the window to see a bird I’d never seen before. All black with red spot on wing. When home from school, mom and I look up the mystery bird together. Red-Winged blackbird and I are friends ever since.

Did Peter get his interest in the big birds from me? Or is it part of his boyishness to love these powerful birds? They’re killing machines, aren’t they? An eagle swoops, grabs, rips into flesh. You turn away for a moment, you miss it. Unless you have an expensive camera with fancy lens. I have no such camera and even more so lacking: the free time to plant myself outdoors to stalk eagles for pictures.

And I know they are out there, those eagles. The river is prime eagle hunting waters. I’ve yet to see one there, but I hear stories. Perhaps my tribe scares them off. We are too much noise for eagles.

Are Bald eagles shy?

Before Susan turned one year, I dented up the side of our old Sentra on a guard rail because I watched a Red-Tail flying low over a field. Don’t tell my mother.

Doc claims a Bald eagle plucked a fish from the water while we canoed on the lake near our honeymoon cabin. I missed it. I’ve always been jealous he witnessed and I didn’t.

I’m constantly looking for eagles and hawks when outside. I think Peter does too. Susan’s eye is looking for owls. I’ve never seen an owl in the wild. Unless I looked right at a Great Horned owl as it sat in a tree, but too difficult to spot, it blended in well. Owls are sneaky like that.

My sister loves owls and sees them often. I need to call my sister, Thanksgiving is coming; we need to coordinate dinner time, dessert. Feeding of the masses.

I’m thankful for owls, eagles, hawks, husbands with good eyesight, books that give flight to interests like birding and car insurance. The day will come when it will be quiet at the river and I will see that eagle with squirming fish in talons and I’ll turn to my kids to see if they saw too, but they won’t be there. That’s why it will be quiet. They are grown and gone. That’s why I’m alone at last at the riverside; all the quiet I need, yet no one to share the glory of creation.

Just me and the eagle.

Heartbreaking

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Had an interesting conversation with a grandmother in McDonald’s today.

She’s helping raise her two granddaughters, and for the sake of their privacy, I won’t divulge more information. I will tell you that the mother is in rehab, her son is around, but apparently he needs help with two lively young children – understandably. Thank God he has a mother willing and able to help.

We got to talking about homeschooling. How it works, what it is and isn’t. Eventually landing on the topic of her grandchildren and their absent mother.

Unfortunately, I’ve heard her story before. Emotionally and physically absent mother due to drugs.

Heartbreaking.

For all involved.

Especially those children.

Mothers, there is probably nothing I could say that would motive you to give up your addiction. I mean, it’s a real problem. I feel for you. I don’t mean to stand in judgment, but still. . .

You are picking a drug/s over your child.

Heartbreaking.