Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird. Praise for the morning...
The Daily Office this morning began with that hymn. One of my favorites. I think because Cat Stevens recorded it and so did Simon and Garfunkle. It also doesn't sound very churchy at all. The melody is from an ancient Gaelic hymn, I think and I have always had a special place in my heart for Celts. My last name is O'Brien.
I had just ordered my tea and paid for orange scone. I do so love orange. Not the color, I think the color is tacky and I am going to be in quite a fashion crisis next year when my son attends Glenn High school. I don't wear orange well and it always reminds of incarceration. I agree with Sandra Bullock's character in the Blind Side, "I don't care if you play football at UT, but I am not wearing that tacky orange." I kind of said the same thing to my son when he was choosing high schools. I am not wearing that tacky orange. I like the smell of orange and the taste of orange and the texture of orange. Orange smells, well orange. I even like the way it sounds but I don't want to wear it.
I guess by now you can tell I have an emotional response to orange. Back to Panera.
So I was curling up in the window, smelling my orange scone and oh, I had ordered orange tea and I opened the Daily Office on my Kindle. Today's Office began with one of my favorite hymns. You might or might not wonder why I pray at Panera. To be transparently honest, it is that orange scone. Really. Food, great shoes, white blouses and a great manicure can motivate me to do things that would on any given day be impossible. I am not sure, but I am fairly confident that God chose orange, shoes and Vivian(my nail salon) to motivate me to pray regularly. I am the kind of pray-er that has to do whatever it takes to motivate me beyond, "Thank you", "Help!" and "Jesus, what the @#$!?". Funny thing about emotional and physical triggers, they remind you. They remind you.
So, I open the Office, inhale orange, and hum my hymn. And I had forgotten (since yesterday), that the office always begins with prayer of confession. Yep. Every day. Every night. Confession is really good for the soul...it keeps us honest. God really doesn't need our confession, we do.
It begins: "Most merciful Father, we have erred and lost our way like sheep.. We have followed our own devices..."
I stop...It is 9 am...and I have already since 9 pm last night (and really how lost could one get in 12 hours? If you are sheep-like, like I am, pretty darn lost). So yesterday, while running around masquerading as a parent, I took my son to the ball field at 4 pm without food and homework not completed. He hadn't eaten since 1030. I did manage to get a Gatorade (orange of course) in his bat bag. I had not figured on the small detail that the game would begin at 630pm and not end until after 9pm. I had not figured on the small detail that the only source of nutrition at this ball field was Snicker bars, peanuts, popcorn, 3 Muskateers and Skittles. I had assumed his father would pack a cooler and his father had, I just became separated from it. So when the game hit the seventh inning and it was 830 pm and he was brought in to pitch with bases loaded, tie ballgame, three men on and no outs, well I felt like the worst mom on the entire planet. I seriously considered asking the umpire for a time out and running on the field with a candy bar. And I seriously considered asking his coach if he could stretch his warm up pitches to about 30 instead of 10 so I could throw him M&Ms. At about 930 it ended, he drug himself off the field, a wee bit down over the lost (ok way down) and my usual HALT therapy was working, mainly because he was all 4. Hungry, angry, lonely and tired. Pitching is lonely. And HALT only works when you can meet one of the four needs. Two at the most. It doesn't work when you need all four at once- then you SPIRAL. So, I drove him home, had him drink 2 Carnation Instant Breakfast (so I could at least say I fed him something), put the last hour of homework off til the am. Then I couldn't sleep for ruminating about the GAME and no dinner.
He got up at 6 am, finished homework, (I feed him two pieces of cheese toast, a banana, strawberries, milk and juice - and yes I know he is not a camel and can not store food) and we went to school late. I was overcompensating for yesterday's parenting failure. I walk in to sign him into school and was asked the infamous question, "why are you late?" Did you know that homeschooling is not an acceptable tardy excuse? Who knew? Did you know that receiving emergent nutrition to prevent malnourishment is not acceptable? Who knew? And the ballgame went very late is not an excuse either. I think it might be in Division I, but then they all have tutors and the school sanctioned it. I am not sure what constitutes an acceptable tardy excuse, so I lied. Told the very nice lady that we were at the doctor. Then she looked at my son and asked him why he was late. Really! She must have known I was lying, and she was trying to trap my son. I just spoke very loud and very sharply...AT THE DOCTOR!!!. I need to interject here, that in the last 10 school days, he has had legitimate dentist appt, orthodontist appt and another legit dentist appt. I am not sure but I think she might have become a tad bit suspicious.
So here I sit confessing lying before 9 am to God and crying over my inadequacies as a parent and lamenting why can't I have it together like all the other moms who pack nutrtious snacks, schedule perfectly, have clothes all washed and ironed, dinner planned for the week, the house clean, etc. And then I look at my shoes. My Italian loafers. I love those shoes. And then I think about the ballgame and begin ruminating on the ballgame with God, and then I actually ask God to help me fill out my brackets because I really want to beat Vance this year and then I say I am sorry for wanting to beat my husband and then I thank God for letting me find those great Italian shoes (10 bucks for Sesto Meucci- I know my girlfriend with the great shoes is very jealous) and then I apologize for thinking my girlfriend would covet my shoes, and then I think -"did I even feed the cat this week?", and then I thank God for my cat and then and I smell orange and then I see the sunlight dancing on my new Italian loafers and then I see my hands and my legs and feel my breath and then I begin to hum "Morning has broken...like the first morning...blackbird has spoken...like the first bird...Praise for the morning....Praise for the singing...Praise...and then this very lost sheep..gets found again...
And I think that is the point of confession...it stills the mind...gets rid of all the clutter...so the mind and heart and soul can focus on what really matters...Gratitude..
I don't think God really cares if we confess to Him, I do think God would be quite happy and quite satisfied if we just managed to say I am sorry to each other on a regular basis. I really think that is all the confessing God expects. But the church fathers and mothers in their infinite wisdom open the Daily Office with a confession...not because God needs it...because we do...
When we confess, we silence that inner critic. When we confess and pour all of that clutter and ruminating and worry and free flowing anxiety to God...then we still...and then we can be grateful...and that gets us found. Grace and naming graces always leads us home. And I am always, always trying to get home. Naming and praising what we are thankful for really is an antedote for "erring and following our own devices.." When we concentrate on what is good and beautiful and lovely...there just isn't room any our heads and hearts for anything else...there just is not.
With much gratitude for:
sons who forgive errant mothers who forget to pack dinner
orange scones that remind me to pray
the hands that made the orange scones
Italian loafers that remind me I have shoes at all and two strong legs to walk on..it could be otherwise...
my nails that remind me of my hands and that my hands can be used for good...and that my hands touch much good...holding tea cups with sweet smelling orange tea...eating orange scones...rubbing tired pitchers' shoulders...erasing tears...
big, fluffy, fat cats who run to meet me at the door, nap on top of my feet to keep them warm and chase stink bugs...
the singing spring birds....
the gorgeous sunrise...
Vivian who makes sure my nails are ready to conquer the world...
crisp, white, linen blouses that make me feel as if I can conquer the world...and I can...
The Book of Common Prayer for saving me and showing me the way again and again and again...
Sir Thomas Kramner who compiled it.
Cat Stevens...
Simon and Garfunkle...
Sheep...fluffy, white sheep...
And MARCH MADNESS and of course...BASEBALL...
Grace and peace,
Kathleen
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