yes, it counts

This week I attended a training that felt like a turning point in my life. The funny thing is, within moments of the class beginning, I was annoyed. The training was on Project Management; an area of management theory with which I had about zero exposure to. Practical application, however, is another story, and that's where my annoyance came into play. There were interns in the room, and the statement was made that since they were "only students" they obviously had little to no PM experience, and any of us who were not management level likely had a fairly small amount of experience. Mom that I am, I immediately felt defensive for the interns--as far as I could tell, from my fairly recent college classes and watching and guiding my own kids, students use a ton of Project Management skills. Oh, and did I mention I felt particularly Mom-like? I also took the comment a little personally. Isn't raising a family of four children a major Project?

The first day of the class slowly proved me wrong. There are few times when I have dealt with deliverables or work breakdown structures. Unless getting everyone to games/practice/performances/church in one piece, and relatively in a reasonable state of mind counts as a deliverable! The first day also involved group work--not one of my favorite activities!

The second day was more my speed. Scheduling and finding critical paths, slack and float, all added up to the way I have always organized my work, my play, my life. I sent my husband a text: "I. Love. This." And he responded that he was not surprised. He has often told me that he sees me as a business analyst, and in his experience, the two go hand in hand. Quite a few years ago, we had an addition put on the house. The contractor told me one day about the next phase of the project, and the research he would be doing at home prior to getting my input. His wife had recently had a baby, and I knew what it was like to have a newborn, and a husband who had to work after work. I sat at our computer and did the research while he continued to work, and by the end of the day had taken care of the decisions that would have to be made, and had made up a loose schedule of dates that would work, based on what he had told me. At his daily wrap-up, he told us that I would make a fantastic project manager. I've always wondered just what that meant.

While I'd love to get certified, or get a degree in project management, it's likely a dream that will stay more nebulous than real. I'm satisfied--for now--knowing that I not only know the skills and have the tools for project management, but that I've been using them for ages without giving them a second thought. Hopefully, there will be other classes, and practical applications that relate to 'worker me.' In the meantime, here's one more reason why Momming is a valid section on my resume.

I'm not the one that needs convincing, though!

together and apart

All day long, I knew what I wanted to say. Now that I can sit with my laptop, I don't know how to begin. Ordinarily, this moment would have me humming from the Sound of Music, and starting at the very beginning. Trouble is, part of the words that have now escaped me spin the beginning to now, and the now back to before.

Reading Thomas Merton has been an interesting experience, to say the least. Most of the experience has had me looking forward, and there has been plenty of soul searching; all of which I expected. Some of that soul searching has been direct, with essays about finding self, being self, giving self, and losing self. But yesterday, I read something that made me stop and remember. A chapter on sacrifice had me lost until the first steps toward deeper explanation were taken. (Where Ignatius Loyola uses repetition, Merton seems to use spirals, I think.) Somewhere in the explanation, he talks of Baptism, our names, our selves (yet again!), and the way that Baptism draws us in--to faith, to community, to Christ himself.

"But every sacrament of union is also a sacrament of separation." (p. 82). This is where the memory blew into my mind in full color.

When we got married, there was quite a hullabaloo regarding our unity candle. Of all the things that could have caused arguments and/or issues, who would ever have thought such a ritual could be so BIG, for lack of a better word. First, we chose a set of candle holders that were not attached to each other in any way. They matched, but I wanted to be able to use the candle holders regularly and often. To be honest, I didn't understand why we needed a set in the first place. Mom and Dad's unity candle was just one candle. They didn't use tapers to light it; simply used wicks to transfer the flame from the Easter candle to the unity candle. Simple as that. I figured if we were going to use tapers, we might as well be able to burn them, and we both loved eating by candlelight. The idea that I might ever separate the pieces of the set was the first issue.

The bigger problem, though, came with the actual lighting. We said we wanted to keep the tapers lit, having three candle flames, rather than one flame and two dead candles. For one thing, I thought that would look silly, but the more important reason was that we didn't want to extinguish our selves because we were married. This was the point that hit me yesterday, and I hope I can express it. All those years ago, we may or may not have had a memory of yesterday. We were ahead of ourselves: we stuck to our guns and kept three candles lit. In the years since, we have been strongest as a couple when we are both truly ourselves, and when we each have supported the other in that effort of being individuals. Any time one or the other of us (and occasionally both of us) has tried to conform to some ideal we thought the other wanted, the entity that is us has suffered. Worse, there have been times when we've tried to conform to something outside of us; something worldly.

Continuing from the line above: "In making us members of one another, baptism also more clearly distinguishes us, not only from those who do not live in Christ, but also and even especially from one another. For it gives us our personal, incommunicable vocation to reproduce in our own lives the life and sufferings and charity of Christ in a way unknown to anyone else who has ever lived under the sun." I think it's true of marriage, too. My life, his life, our life together--none are like anyone else's, no matter how much aspects of everyone's lives and relationships are similar. No one will ever experience exactly the life--with its ups and downs, joys and sorrows, sufferings and gratitude--that has been set before me. The truest wife, mother, daughter, friend I have ever been has been when I am the me I am meant to be. The more separate I am, the more connected I feel, and in this instance, the separateness I'm referring to is not insular!

There's a good chance I'll spend a few more days on this paragraph, thanks to some good advice I was offered. Although I've moved ahead in the chapter, I have begun and ended my 'reading moments' with that paragraph. It seems to encapsulate the bits of self I've been working on realizing.

faith does matter

Tonight is the last in our current Faith Matters series at church. Although I started going as an excuse to get Mom out around people, the weekly nourishment of my faith has become so much more. Mom knows some people now, it's true.....and so do I. More importantly, we've come to know each other, ourselves and others, too. We've learned about our faith history, the grace of Mary and of Jesus, and about the power of mercy. We've prayed with each other, celebrated, fretted and pondered. We've grown. And by 'we,' I really mean 'I,' but in the process have come to truly appreciate the presence that is always with me, in me, a part of me--my travel guide, as it were.

I find myself wondering where I will go next, though I have no doubt the next steps will be chosen well. As I started to work out the words of the previous sentence, the church bells in town started chiming. "Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name." Tears of friendship (what else could I call them?) Sprang to my eyes, and I heard Isaiah's words clearly in my heart, and I could say confidently, "No fear today, Lord. I trust in you. And in uour plan for me."

Faith does matter. It matters in the needful and fearful times, and it matters in the joyful and jubilant times. But the times in between, the everyday, ordinary times are the beautiful faith building times--when the simple sound of birds singing lifts your my heart, when a smile lights up a face, when the day's blessings are the fact of being.

(These church bells are like a soundtrack to my thoughts tonight! Now Morning Has Broken....)

Wednesday has become a favorite rest stop in my weekly journey, a family gathering with people I hardly knew a few months ago. Thank you, Lord, for leading me there. Please continue to guide me.