Category: Joy

Baby Showers and Belonging

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My younger daughter is having a baby! We have known for months, but as is usual in this space, I don’t often share specifics about my children. As people who were initially formed in my womb, I don’t go a day without thinking and praying for my adult children multiple times, but I created an unwritten rule for myself a while ago that I would not share my children’s stories. Some of them involve me, some don’t, but either way, there is a sweet, humbling, and critical connection with adult children that must not be severed by any writing ego.

But today’s thoughts are bigger than Stefanie or me, or the beautiful new life that is every day changing inside her.

Yesterday I had the honor of hosting her baby shower. The walls of our small city house expanded to fit two distinct generations of women – my generation and Stefanie’s generation. It was a brilliant, beautiful mix of wisdom and exuberance, of sweet naivete and humorous reality, of skin free of wrinkles and age spots and skin that is marked by time, of bodies that have set into older maturity even as we try to cajole them into something less squishy and young bodies that bounce back from childbirth like Winnie the Pooh’s Tigger.

Because we know her baby is a girl, every one of us opted to go against the trend of genderless beings by reveling in ruffles and pink, bows and the sweetest little socks and shoes imaginable. Why are little girls’ clothes so much cuter than little boys, I ask you?

The food was a an equally beautiful mixture of savory and sweet with chicken salad, hummus, cheeses and dips sharing space with thick, chewy brownies made by Stef’s husband Will’s Aunt Carol, and the most beautiful lemon, raspberry layer cake with the inscription “April showers for a May Flower.”

Beyond the surface was a reality for Stef and Will: they are deeply loved. They have people who surround them with love and appreciation for who they are and what they will bring to this little baby’s life. Over and over, friends and family spoke of the combination of exuberance, kindness, love of life and love of sports that they will bring to their little girl. I loved reconnecting with, as well as meeting for the first time some of Stef’s girlfriends as they surrounded her with beauty and love, as well as a good deal of laughter for her sense of drama and her husband’s calm. They are in the delightful stages of early marriage, pregnancy and forming families of their own. There was an unspoken sense of belonging and security that I could see in my girl, belonging and security that she will be tasked with bringing to the baby that is coming.

Like so many of us third culture kid mamas, I often feel guilt and sadness for the way I have moved my children from the proverbial “pillar to post.” They have picked up and moved multiple times, leaving behind the tangible in dolls, books, dollhouses, Playmobil, friends, schools and more, as well as the intangible gifts of belonging and security that we get when we love a place and people within that place. We moved Stefanie to this area in the middle of her sophomore year of high school. She exchanged the sun of Arizona for the worst winter the Northeast had seen in five years. Thinking back, I feel a bit ambiguous about that decision. But then I think about yesterday and the circle of love that surrounded this couple. Had we not moved, yesterday’s event would not have taken place. I felt the goodness of God in the land of the living, the goodness of God in giving Stef, Will, and their baby a place to come home to and place to share with others.

The cynical may push away the idea of things like baby showers, opting instead for Amazon deliveries to bring the essentials to our doors, but these events are perhaps more important than we realize. In life we need markers and milestones, times of stepping back to welcome a new stage or event, times of being surrounded with belonging and realizing what we have. In a fractured world, it becomes even more important to know that there are places where we belong. Perhaps baby showers are one place that can be, not about gifts or cake, savory and sweet, but about publicly announcing that a new stage of life is coming and that a baby is entering a world where she belongs.

Shielding our Joy During Advent

Published on by Marilyn3 Comments

This past weekend I had the joy of celebrating my oldest daughter at her pinning ceremony acknowledging her completion of a master’s degree in nursing. In a sea of white coats, my daughter wore gold satin, and I couldn’t have been prouder. Annie has worked long and hard for this degree. Prior to even applying for the program, she had to complete a number of prerequisites and she consistently excelled despite the demands of parenthood and more. We celebrated joyously both that day and the following with a party in her honor.

It’s a tricky thing to enter into joy when the world is on fire. There is a sense of guilt and wrong about it, a ‘why do we get to celebrate while others are suffering?’ question in our heads and hearts.

And yet…refusing to enter into joy does nothing for the suffering. It does not bring about a ceasefire. It does not help bury the dead or comfort a mother whose grief is too big to bear. It does not stop the humiliation of men stripped to their underwear and blindfolded and it does not bring back any hostages. Refusing to enter into joy may seem like a martyred response of solidarity, but I would propose to you that it is the opposite.

It was in Pakistan and the Middle East where I learned about joy through suffering. It was in that part of the world where important lessons were lived in front of me, where I first learned that entering into joy during a hard season was not an act of betrayal. There was Alice who lost a baby girl at the hands of a stray bullet. Yet Alice knew how to laugh, knew how to live well in the midst of suffering. There was Dr. Carol Hover whose husband died in her arms in a head-on collision on a dusty road in Pakistan. He was a gifted doctor and they worked together providing medical care to those most in need. Dr. Carol’s joyful spirit in the midst of learning how to live as a widow with four children was a hallmark of her work and life. Even as I write this, I think of my friend Joanna who has been going through experimental chemo treatment that hurts her body in unimaginable ways, and yet every word, every post is written with an overarching theme of joy. There were and are so many others who lived joy out loud in the midst of some of the hardest things in life.

The service of compline in the Book of Common Prayer specifically speaks to this in a line that I’ve written about before. These words are said toward the end of this beautiful service marking the close of the day.

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.

Book of Common Prayer, page 124

Shield the joyous. The words shout at me this Advent season. For despite all that is going on around the world, joy will still be lived out, often by those who are suffering the most. It is a taste of the goodness of God and a testament to the strength that God gives. This joy is a gift to our world, and we are invited to respond by entering into God-given Advent joy. Practicing joy this Advent could be the one of the most important things we do in a world that is burning up with sadness and suffering.

So, I pray for all of us this season, that we will trust our joys and our sorrows to a God who is big enough to take on all the suffering in the world and yet still shield the joyous.

Author’s note: You can read more details of these stories in my book Worlds Apart: A Third Culture Kid’s Journey

Bearing Witness to Joy

Published on by Marilyn6 Comments

It has rained and rained and then it has rained some more this summer. Want to plan an outside event? Sorry – it’s raining. Want to just sit outside for coffee? Nope. Not gonna happen.

Whether it was this or other things, I was in a foul mood yesterday. I felt trapped, restless, and anxious. Low tide was in the early evening so at 4:30 in the afternoon we headed to the ocean. It wasn’t long into our walk when the weather changed. Rain and clouds were nowhere to be seen and the ocean sparkled reflecting the bright sunshine. I found myself breathing easier, relaxing, taking in the rays that brought so much more than Vitamin D to my body.

Soon after we went and sat on a bench by a small, rocky beach just outside the main downtown area of Rockport. Clear blue skies showed no sign of the morning’s downpour. I was the same. There were no signs of angst and discontent, my feelings clearly as fickle and changeable as the New England weather.

As we were sitting, a young couple walked down the path and onto the beach. We weren’t paying much attention until we suddenly saw him get down on one knee. There was an unmistakable red velvet jewelry box in his hand as he looked up at the woman he was with. We couldn’t hear a thing, but the sight before us would soften the heart of the hardest cynic. There in the fading sunlight, a beautiful ocean behind them, a stranger to us asked a question and received a response. He placed a ring on her finger sealing a moment that will define their lives. Body language told us that the man had succeeded in completely surprising his girlfriend. You could see her smile and feel her excitement radiate like the sun.

We, complete strangers to the couple, had the privilege of bearing witness to this joy-filled moment. We felt a bit like intruders, looking in on a deeply significant time designed only for them. As they walked back up the path, we congratulated them. Instead of feeling we had stolen the moment, the woman looked at us and said “I’m so glad you witnessed that moment! I’m so glad someone could see it.” It was lovely.

I’ve replayed the event several times in my mind since yesterday; thinking about bearing witness to joy. There is a set of verses in Compline in the Anglican Book of Common Prayer that speak about shielding the joyous:

Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake.

Book of Common Prayer – Compline

These verses held particular significance to me two years ago. We were in the midst of a crisis and had a family wedding at the same time. The crushing weight of the crisis threatened to overshadow all that was good and holy and right. All that was joyful. In fact, it felt like even attempting to look for joy was a massive risk. In the midst of that time, I sent an email to my son and his fiancée.

“I have prayed much for you these past weeks, mostly that God will shield your joy. So much has happened in our family these past months that could take away joy, and yet, just as God is with the broken hearted so is he also with the joyous. These joyful events are sacred. Life is made up of moments of loveliness and joy, even as it’s made up of moments of grief and loss. 

The line “shield the joyous” comes from the book of Common Prayer and one of the prayers of Compline:

Tish Harrison in the book Prayer in the Night *says this: ‘Just as this prayer reminds us that each night there are people who are sick or dying or suffering or afflicted, it also brings to mind those whose night sparkles with beauty, hope, and joy. Somewhere there is a young couple spending their first evening as husband and wife. There are travelers seeing the northern lights. There are people clinking champagne glasses. There are families curled up happily in pajamas watching their favorite movie. There are friends gathered around a meal, trading stories, drunk with talk, not wanting the night to end.  These moments are sacramental. They participate in a reality that is sacred and sturdy. …. So Christians unapologetically embrace that good, earthy gifts bring joy, even as we proclaim an enduring joy that remains even when all pleasures are burned away. To practice joy then is to seek the source of all that is lovely and bright.‘

So I pray for you, that God would shield your joy and that we will celebrate the “goodness of God in the land of the living.” 

Yesterday, at the end of a day that had begun with a foul mood and equally foul heart, we were witnesses to something good and right and holy. We were in a small way able to shield the joyous, to rejoice with strangers as they came up off the beach. To bear witness to a step that will take them on a sacramental journey.

Often, we feel that when things are not going well, when we are angry about the state of the world or the nation or our families or our own hearts, we think that we are being traitors to the reality around us by experiencing and looking for joy. More and more I’m convinced that keeping our joy, praying for joy, and entering into joy not only keeps us sane, but is a way of shouting back to evil and wrong “You don’t get the final word. That word is spoken, and it is one of joy.”

So go out and bear witness to joy today, because joy will not disappoint.

Quote from Prayer in the Night by Tish Harrison Warren, ch,12 “Shield the Joyous”

Comedy & Tragedy

Published on by Marilyn5 Comments

I’m sitting at a coffee shop in Rockport, Massachusetts. The sky is grey outside, the cold wind from the ocean biting and intense. Inside is warm with low conversation, the smell of toasted bagels and fresh donuts, and a hot eggnog latte. Sometimes the warm conversation of strangers is the best company of all.

I looked back at some of my writing the other day, caught up in the nostalgia of words with memories. 2021 was a rough year on every level. 2022 started out a shade better and quickly took a dark, dark turn. Despite that, daily gratitude, learning about releasing control, and clinging to God as lover of my soul kept joy afloat amidst many tears.

Life is never just tragedy, it is a poignant blend of comedy, drama, tragedy, and joy. And in the midst of this is a God who walks with us, who will not leave us, and who delights to surprise us with good gifts.

Instagram post from 2021

For over 2500 years, comedy and tragedy masks have been a symbol of theater. These symbolic masks began in the city of Athens in 535 BC. The first theater in the world had just been built – Theater of Dionysus. In a much anticipated first performance, the curtain went up and actors stepped onto the stage wearing masks. The masks represented various characters in the play. Masks became commonplace in theaters, often made far larger than life so that they could be seen by the audience. The first theater tickets in Athens were masks carved out of small pieces of ivory bone. Well before the fall of the Roman empire, masks had become a well-known symbol for theater. The only ones that remain to this day are the masks that show happy and those that show sad. Perhaps the happy and sad masks were the only ones to live on because the ancient Greeks favorite plays were, and perhaps still are, comedy and tragedy.

I wonder if it is primarily the western world that expects life to be free of tragedy. When I speak with friends in or from other parts of the world, I don’t get the sense that their expectation is that they will experience a life free of pain, and yet in the west, people often seem surprised at hardship. What false reality or expectation have we created in the west that assumes a life of magic and order, a life of picture postcard images?

These comedy/tragedy masks remind me that life has always been and will always be a mix of both. The more I ponder, the more I realize I would not have it any other way. What is sun without clouds? What is joy without sorrow? What is comedy without tragedy? As humans we are a bit like Sir Isaac Newton’s third law of motion. We grow and learn through opposites.

As we end 2022 and walk into 2023, we can be assured that our lives will not go exactly as we imagine. We can rest in one thing – that whether we can see it or not, the sun will rise in 2023 bringing with it unexpected joys, unimagined tragedies, and a lot of in between mundane.

Through it all, God is there. He will not grow tired; he will not grow weary. He will give strength to our weary souls, rest to our tired bodies. As we wait on him, we will find new strength. We will run and not get tired, We will walk and not grow weary.* 2023 will not overwhelm us but will come as it always does – one day at a time.

For 2023, I wish you the joy of living fully, one day at a time.

*Paraphrased from Isaiah 40: 28-31

The Persistence of Joy

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Last night, on the eve of my birthday, I was celebrated at my younger daughter’s home. The evening was filled with candlelight, white flowers, twinkle lights, and a dinner that rivaled a 5-star restaurant.

It was a delightful and joyous birthday celebration coming after a year that was tear-filled and hard in plain language. I woke this morning, amazed at the grace that touches my life – sometimes as soft as a fingerprint, other times as solid as a weighted blanket.

Joy is so utterly persistent that it can be found, not just at the end of a hard year, but throughout the hard. Sorrow and joy coexisting under the umbrella of grace.* Collectively and individually we know this. Our broader world and our individual worlds may face untold tragedy and sorrow, but we are dishonest if we do not admit that joy surprises us with its strength in the midst of this.

And that’s pure grace. That somehow joy cannot be stolen. It creeps up and surprises us in its delightful resilience. It shouts “I’m here!” And though we may want to push it away, it pushes back – sometimes in candlelight, friendship, and family; sometimes in cards and texts; sometimes in small morning whispers.

Tomorrow I will wake up and it will be a new day on a new year around the sun. Last birthday, if I could have looked into a window and seen the future ahead, it would not have helped me. It would have terrified me. Just as I could not have predicted all that this past year held, this next year too is unknown. The power of God’s grace and comfort is not for our future fears (although it will indeed be available) but for our present realities.

And though there are 365 days of unknown on this blank slate of a year, there is, and always will be, joy. Joy that can’t be stolen, joy that is so much more than mere happiness, joy that comes new every morning, as consistent as the sunrise.

May you discover the Life-Giver of joy,

see your beautiful bloom,

and know that hope is always worth holding on to,

because redemption is coming—and in fact—is already happening here and now.

Can’t Steal My Joy by Bekah Bowman

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”

*I first heard this phrase and wrote about it here: The Sorrow/Joy Continuum

On Duty & Dreaming

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A couple of years ago my oldest daughter texted me with words that were deeply affirming, if a bit humorous. The text said “I am so glad that you were a mother so committed to leisure.”

I started giggling. Committed to leisure? If she only knew the guilt I felt for not doing enough. For not getting them into more sports and more ballet, for not insisting on more piano and flute. For not doing more crafts and music. The one thing I was really good at was reading and resting. I remember being on our front porch in Massachusetts, all of us just sitting, eating, and lounging. I don’t even remember the conversation – I just remember the summer breeze and being perfectly content.

Here she was affirming what I thought I did wrong. Affirming an unknown but fully experienced commitment to leisure.

I’ve thought a lot about that text in the past few years. Unbknownst to my daughter, it was profoundly moving, encouraging me out of a depth of insecurity about motherhood that I didn’t even realize I had.

I entered motherhood in the 25th year of my life, young by today’s standards. I remember the wonder with which I looked at my newborn daughter, her perfect toes, fingers, and truly rosebud mouth pursed up ready to try out the suck reflex. I remember thinking I had never known a love that could so utterly consume me. I remember the well of emotion, knowing in those first days postpartum that the world would have the potential to hurt my little human and I didn’t know what to do with that. All I could do was cry, and in those moments open my heart to God and his blessed mother, who surely knew hurt like few do.

As I walked into those early days, I still remember the lazy mornings of breastfeeding, the moments when only I knew how to comfort her and the infinite wonder of that reality. I dreamt a lot during those days of what our future family would look like. Would there be siblings? Of course! What would our family look like? What would our family be? Would my children be dreamers like I was, losing themselves in books and films, ever searching for beauty, always with a touch of longing? Our daughter was followed by five more children, and the dreaming days were over….or were they?

I found out that a mother’s walk is a balance between duty and dreaming. Duty is what gets you up in the morning when you know you have to get them to school and yourself off to work. Duty is what gets you up in the middle of the night when you realize that the rasping, animal like sound from the other room is your child who can’t breathe properly. Duty is what has you in the bathroom, a hot shower running full force as you anxiously wait for your child’s breathing to improve. Duty is what has you chauffering children to birthday parties and libraries, doctors visits and Sunday schools.

Dreaming is what keeps you hopeful. Dreaming is what you do as you curl up on the couch reading books in front of a wood stove. Dreaming is what has you taking your kids to Egypt to see their childhood homes, to Florida to build sandcastles on the beach, to Quebec City to wander the walled city. Dreaming is what inspires you to create home and place, memories and traditions. Dreaming is what helps you as you ask your child about colleges they are interested in attending or ideas for plays and stories. Dreaming is what keeps you alive as a mom, determined not to slip into a duty only ethos, because what joy is there in that?

Duty is what pays the bills, dreaming is what makes paying the bills worthwhile. Duty is duty. It is necessary and it is what makes dreaming possible. Dreaming is dreaming. It’s what makes duty possible.

I’m thinking about all these things as I go into the new year. About duty and about dreaming. How duty can creep up and before we know it – all of life is just duty. There is no dreaming. There is just drudgery. Hope is lost in the duty of living. And yet if life is just dreaming, then nothing will ever get done, and life will feel just as meaningless. Like in motherhood, duty and dreaming are a necessary balance. Maybe that is what has felt so difficult in this year of closed borders and closed coffee shops – that dreaming feels impossible and duty overwhelming.

In just a couple of days, 2020 will in an instant change to 2021. Duty will have me changing the clocks, making sure my calendar is up to date, that my work schedule is clear. Dreaming will have me curled up on the couch, committed to leisure and joy on New Year’s Day, writing in my journal and looking at airline tickets. Duty will get me up on the cold mornings in the winter when bed is far more tempting and all of life feels trapped in ice. Dreaming will give me the joy I need to see sunshine sparkling on icy trees and know that “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”*

Here’s to duty and dreaming. Like truth and grace, they are an interwined, paradoxical necessity.

Happy New Year from Communicating Across Boundaries. Thank you for sharing the journey.

*Julian of Norwich

A Slice of Life – Kurdistan: Volume 3

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I woke up this morning to bright sunshine creating shadows on the walls. It is almost spring in Kurdistan. While indoors it is still brutally cold because of concrete buildings and lack of insulation, all of nature is breathing signs of spring. From goslings to buds on trees, life is bursting forth.

We have heard that March is a spectacular month in Kurdistan. It is a month long celebration of life and the new year. Nowruz (Persian and Kurdish New Year) is celebrated on the 21st of the month and we have heard that people picnic both that day and all the days surrounding the celebration. Winter has felt long here, even without snow. The rains come and seep into your bones and through cracks in the walls so that your body and your environment are constantly wet. It’s a bit like monsoons in Pakistan. With the dryer, warmer weather all of life feels easier.

A Daughter Visits…

Our younger daughter visited us this past week and in her presence we felt once again the joy of belonging. We rearranged our schedules to maximize our short time together and let her experience as much as possible.

We visited Darband and looked out onto a brilliant blue lake with snow capped mountains in the distance. We hiked up a small mountain behind the university and took in the expansive views of the area. But the highlight was a friend driving us up a steep mountain road where hairpin turns and switchbacks had us gasping and wondering if we were all going to die. We didn’t die and as we stopped to take in our surroundings it was all worth it. The view from above was magnificent. The sun was setting and the entire area was bathed in shades of fuchsia, gold, orange, blue, and grey. We could see where the lake detoured into smaller pools and rivers. We saw mountains beyond mountains and hills beyond hills. Almond trees dotted the landscape, their small pink blossoms whispering the hope of spring. Kurdistan’s beauty was on full display as if to say “I’m so much more than people realize!”

And it is.

In addition we were invited into homes of dear friends who showed Stefanie the warmth and hospitality we have been bragging about since we arrived in Kurdistan. It was an incredible gift to have her here with us and to show her why we love Kurdistan so much.

Beauty & Kindness of the People,
Stunning Landscape,
Generous Hospitality

There are times when I feel like our life resembles a National Geographic magazine article. Surrounded by adventure, beauty, and uncommon experiences as compared to the Western world, we find that each day holds a story or ten. But far more than that, what I long to communicate from our time here it is the beauty and kindness of the people, the stunning landscape, and the generous hospitality that is shown to us at every turn. I long to challenge stereotypes and show people how much they miss when they are locked into media perceptions. This is why these slice of life posts are so important. They are read all over the world and I can only pray and hope that my small words will make a difference.

But my words are inadequate to describe the beauty that we have seen, so I will leave you with pictures. Enjoy and as you look at them, think of Kurdistan.

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Christmas Eve Reflection from Thessaloniki

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Every year I write a Christmas Eve Reflection. Usually it’s in a fully decorated home with Christmas music playing in the background. It’s written in the midst of the frenzied joy of Christmas in the West and I usually have presents to wrap and stockings to fill.

This year I write it from the sunshine of Thessaloniki and a 4th floor apartment. The sun is starting to set and the fading light peaks through floor to ceiling windows. My youngest son is sitting near me in what can only be described as a “companionable silence” – trite except it’s not. It is delightful.

Our Christmas reflects the year we have had. It is unusual but we are grateful. There is little stress as we prepare for a midnight Liturgy and the dawning of Christmas morning. It is a gift.

Earlier today I sat in a salon and got my hair cut. The longer I sat, the more Greek I became and the result pleased the stylist greatly. Later I walked toward Aristotle Square, joining crowds of cafe goers, musicians, and city dwellers. I thought about my family members who are not here and missed them.

I got back to the apartment where we are staying and read about a friend who is dying. She has lived life so well, she has loved so well. Tears and the juxtaposition of the joy of a holiday combined with an imminent death flood over me.

I am so aware this year of the many events in all of our lives that we keep hidden from the spotlight of social media. Despite what the social media developers would like us to believe, we share only the highlights and the well-edited photographs of our lives. But the truly important things we share with those who don’t need edits or highlights, those who walk us through shadows and into the light of grace.

The betrayals and separations, emergency room visits and hospitalizations are left out of the public narrative. We don’t share the trips to the counselor’s office and the hard soul work of confession. We don’t share the nights of tears we shed for those we love or the sadness of a womb that is empty. We don’t share those moments of grace when we have prayed for the impossible and have received.

We share the newborn baby – we don’t share the 35 hours of labor that birthed the baby.

And this is as it should be. We don’t have the capacity to be emotionally naked with everyone, nor should we cast our great pearls of grace before the swine of social media.

Instead we live life in the light and shadows of daily grace, periodically posting snapshots of that grace for the world outside to see.

So as you see my snapshots, and as I see yours, may we not yield to the temptation to believe that these are anything more than snapshots. May we remember that there is enough sadness in all our lives to crush us, and enough grace to raise us up.

Most of all, may we remember that a baby in a manger changed our world and hope was born.

Merry Christmas Eve dear friends!