So maybe like me, you got the automated notice from the school yesterday that your kids–surprise!–have an extra week of spring break next week, because #coronavirus.
And maybe like me, a member of your family braved Costco this week. Or maybe you now possess a weird amount of toilet paper–which according to a meme I saw yesterday, is now the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
Sitting with my daughter yesterday, she expressed she had a little fear for 2020. It’s a big year, she explained, with some personal stuff, plus elections and Olympics and what-not.
My first inclination–in light of how young she is, of course–was to brush away her fear.
Ever feel like “real” friendships aren’t worth the risk?
Back when I was sporting a baby bump (still in the “Is she chubby or pregnant?” phase)—I found out that my third-born was a girl.
There in my then-testosterone-dominated household, pint-sized males regularly calculated the highest step they could jump from without a trip to the ER. They sprinkled around the sides of the toilet. Children’s books instructed me in terminology for construction equipment I never knew existed.
I kind of hate conflict. With the exception of my anger issues with my kiddos, conflict tends to sideline me in a head-between-my-knees, breathe-into-a-paper-bag kind of way. It’s super-attractive and mature.
Which is why, when it’s over, part of me would opt to skip away with a “tra-la-la” brand of obliviousness. Maybe I would spring to the beach, where I could bury parts of my body in the warm sand. Preferably my head.
It’s a disturbing statistic.
A friend quoted me a study cited in Johann Hari’s Lost Connections: Uncovering the Real Causes of Depression–and the Unexpected Solutions (please forgive me if it’s misquoted).
Ever get that feeling the person in front of you is there-but-not-there?
I’m totally guilty of this–those moments my kids are telling me something and they’re like, “Mom.” Because I’m too often multitasking–probably for their sakes, but still: not present in the moment they care about.
Pray that God will help them engage students in practical, exciting ways that help students become lifelong learners about His world in each subject.
A late addition to this post: There’s another step you can take to stand with refugees. Consider signing the UN’s #withrefugees petition here!
I want to introduce you to my friend Pawad. Pawad is South Sudanese, and he’s from the Dinka tribe. Physically, this means that when Pawad gives me a hug, the top of my head aligns with his armpits. It means that when he smiles with those white-white teeth against his 80% cacao skin, it’s as if someone flipped on a couple hundred watts of electricity. He’s built like a piece of black licorice, limbs long and loose.
Pawad is fully scholarshipped to African Renewal University in Uganda, after which he hopes to become a pastor to his people, many of whom have been traumatized by 35 years of war. Coincidentally, Pawad is also a refugee.
Of all the vibrancy of being in another culture this week, one of my least favorite is the language barrier. It’s as if I’m constantly stopping myself from asking the questions I want to know of people–from relating.
The late neurosurgeon Paul Kalanithi, in his bestselling When Breath Becomes Air, writes of the two areas of speech in the brain:
Today, I woke up in Thailand.
My sister and her husband start their day early on behalf of their community, feeding a bunch of kids breakfast so they can grow up strong. The food is cooked by an amazing local Burmese woman with a heart even bigger than her industrial-sized rice cooker.
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
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