Chiaroscuro

Pardon me as I digress from Together on Tuesday and indulge my artistic side . . . the missing posts are pending,even partially written, but this is where my heart is now . . .

Palm Sunday in our Lutheran church is so different than when I was growing up. Back then, it was my favorite. It was a party. Celebration, dancing, waving the palms, all of that good stuff. We didn't enter much into the darkness of the Lenten season, but we loved to celebrate. At Bethlehem, the day is Passion Sunday. We begin with celebrations and hosannas and end in somber reflection on the crucifixion.

This year, on Passion Sunday, after opening with joyful Hosannas, my co-soprano and I sang the opening of Pergolesi's Stabat Mater before the sermon. Pastor read the gospel, from the triumphant entry to Jerusalem, through the trial and mocking and torment and misery, to the final breath on the cross. And then, we sang The Mother, grieving, stood beside the cross, weeping, while there hung her Son. 

I don't think either of us fully engaged emotionally with this piece until it was time to sing it in the service. That was self-preservation . . . it's haunting, beautiful, and profoundly, painfully sad. And when we finished, both of us were visibly moved, as were many around us.

What could be more raw and real than a mother weeping . . no, wailing . . . for her son?

Since my brother died, nearly 11 years ago, this story has had more power than ever before.
Since I became a mother myself, I can hardly take it.

But Sunday, I understood the contrast of Passion Sunday, and of all of Lent and Easter, in a new way.

On Ash Wednesday, we say "The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." We then, by choice, walk together in a period of darkness, towards the light.

In art, chiaroscuro is the way light and shade play together to create dimension, contrast. In singing, chiaroscuro is the balance of a clear, bright, bell-like resonance with a rich, warm, velvet tone. Without the dark, the light is strident, white, jarring. You can't even see it, or you don't want to hear it. Darkness is a part of art, and darkness is a part of life.

As a mom, I am still working on managing scary intrusive thoughts about the world and my sweet little boy in it. I wouldn't have considered myself a fearful person before, but on the wrong day in the wrong mood with the wrong input, I find myself deflecting thoughts of all kinds of frightening dark scenarios. I have my tips and tricks for chasing them off, but my experience tells me that darkness is very real and often, in many ways, out of my control. When it shows up, it happens just like Passion Sunday . . . and it knocks the wind out of us, to put it mildly.

BUT. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. And that is the story of Easter. A mother, and a father, loved their son, watched him grow, watched him do amazing things, watched him struggle, watched him suffer, watched him die, and lived without him . . . and then lived a miracle, and watched him change the world.

It's so easy to live in the dark, or to live with a fear of the dark. Lent helps us understand the dark, find the beauty there, and face the ugliness head-on--with our light. And Lent always, ALWAYS leads to Easter. Every time. Even when we can't see how. Even when the worst possibility has happened. The light redeems the darkness. The light was here before, and the light is coming again. The light will win, every time.

So, at Easter, I will celebrate the light in my little one, and in my own soul, and in the hearts of those around me. I am grateful for another moment, day, year of carrying that light to the dark places, and I keep the faith that redemption is stronger than pain. All will be well . . . the light will win.

ToT: RAOK

SO.

Today was a Random Act of Kindness challenge. As in do one, then write about it.

A little background . . .

This one was my idea, for a few reasons. Random Acts of Kindness (RAOK) kind of came back into my view following the Sandy Hook tragedy . . . as in do an act of kindness in honor of each life lost. It's a lovely way to attempt to find the light in a dark situation, I think. It got me thinking . . . I've been doing more than my share of navel gazing over the last couple of years. I'm all for introspection and self-awareness--I believe it makes us better people and therefore makes the world a better place--but the balance has been off. There is plenty of mess and muck to trudge through, and I've made it my career to do so in hopes of making an impact, but it gets awfully heavy sometimes. I wanted to challenge myself to find simple, light-hearted ways to make the world a better place.

I've often thought of little ideas here or there that might be fun, but actually doing them is a different story. Absent-mindedness or laziness sets in, distractions arise, doubts surface, or whatever the reason, many of my so-called good ideas go undone. So what good are they, really? Then there's the whole 'random' aspect. Intentional acts of kindness ring a bit more true to me . . . seeking out a particular person in a particular situation to share a particular something is more my style. And, lots of things people categorize as 'random acts of kindness' seem like just common courtesy . . . you know, like smiling at the check-out clerk.

So, choosing a 'random act of kindness,' meaning some kind of gesture for someone I don't know intended to brighten their day, became the task. If you're an extrovert, maybe this is not daunting at all. In theory, I didn't think it would be either, until it was actually time to DO it. Lots of typical ideas didn't sit right with me . . . I don't go through drive-throughs often at all. Or I convinced myself there were all kinds of logistical reasons I couldn't pull it off, lugging a toddler around. (Again, I just have the one kid--I admire all of you mamas out there with more!) It felt almost awkward, surprisingly, to think about how to do something kind and out-of-the-ordinary without fumbling around . . . Or it just didn't seem special enough, BIG enough, worth writing about.

And then I realized I was doing it again . . . letting the perfect be the enemy of the good. As fellow blogger Danielle's husband (and a stand-up guy from back in high school) said, "Sometimes DONE is better than PERFECT." I could spend days coming up with some elaborate scheme, or I could just brighten someone's day.

You can download free printables at thirtyhandmadedays.com

So, I just looked in front of me and started there. It has been awfully icky outside, and we have a little stash of Starbucks cards inside, and our mail carrier brings us all kinds of wonderful things like magazines and baby shoes and Etsy packages through all kinds of weather, and warm beverages are cozy and comforting. So I fixed up a little thank you card, added a ribbon to hang it and make it kind of special, threw the gift card inside along with one of the cards to the right (thank you, Pinterest and thirtyhandmadedays.com), hung it on our mailbox, and there you have it.

I don't remember speaking with the mail carrier but once previously, as I happened to be leaving for a run as he was arriving. So he was definitely a stranger. And when the card had awkwardly fallen on the ground before he arrived, he had to awkwardly ring the bell and ask if it was for him--to which I un-awkwardly (by sheer determination) said yes, it was, just a little something. He said thank you, something is better than nothing (he meant that kindly, I think), and went along about his day.

Honestly, this was about the lowest-effort RAOK I could have pulled off. Part of me feels guilty about this. Part of me thinks I should have found something spectacular. Part of me thinks if this was so simple, why did it take nearly 8 years of living here before I left the mailman a thank you?

And most of me realizes that is a silly reason to feel guilty--as well as a good reason to change that moving forward. No more *thinking* about baking cookies to take to the new neighbors, just do it! No more hemming and hawing over small gestures because we're not sure how they will be received . . . if they are done in kindness and respect, and the recipient is treated in kindness and respect regardless of their response, that's what matters.

I do have a few more ideas about some RAOKs and intentional acts of kindness that I would like to do moving forward. I loved an idea I read--taping quarters to the children's vending machines at the store. I've had a few ideas on how to brighten the workday at the office. And who knows, maybe I will get a flash of genius about a witty, creative, delightful RAOK to put together with more planning and effort. Maybe I won't. Either way, I believe that small gestures can have a big impact, sometimes cumulatively as the smiles ripple throughout the day, or sometimes all on their own. I want James to believe this, too. So together, as a family, we seek to intentionally share kindness in our world, in the little things every day. It's just good for everyone.

I can't wait to hear the thoughts of the other ToT ladies. Check out the links to the right!

What about you? Have you ever been on the receiving end of one of these RAOKs? Do tell!

ToT: Super Women!

I am fully aware I missed last week . . . it happens. But instead of being perpetually behind, I am just going to jump right in to this week and add last week's topic to the interminable list of 

posts I've written only my mind. One day I will actually write it on this blog. Maybe.

 That's the goal.

This week, in honor of International Women's Day, I had a few ideas . . . writing about women who inspire us, women's issues dear to our hearts, looking back at the women who came before us . . . a few others, too. But instead, we're going practical and light-hearted. Since I find each of our Together on Tuesday bloggers to be Super Women in their own rights, I wanted some of their secrets! And since we're all human, I wanted the shortcuts, too. I'm really looking forward to hearing what these ladies have to say!