Since I last wrote, the world has shifted, rotated, and shifted again resulting in:
- A new school for you (public charter to private Catholic)
- A new job for me (from consulting the past year to full time for one great place)
- Daddy's 40th birthday is tomorrow
- Well, that's about it, but perhaps it's enough.
First, in January, we changed your school. We loved the families and community at previous school, your teacher was wonderful, but ... of course there's a "but," right? We hit our tolerance level for chaos in December when the residential buildings adjacent to the school caught on fire, buildings that happened to be built in the early 1900s, when, as you may/may not know, asbestos was applied liberally during construction. Daddy wasn't convinced the grounds would be clean enough, and although I thought he was blowing the problem out of proportion at first, I later came to agree. Add to that retrofit construction, a parent-run board, a 30-40 minute commute to your school (one way!), and we hit our boiling point.
We showed up at your old school on the first day after winter break, skeptical, and although the inside had been cleaned, the playground was dusted with ashes. Tests were done, asbestos wasn't found in the air, but Daddy said "not good enough" and back home we went, for two. long. looooonnnngggg. weeks of independent study. After the first week, more tests were run at the school, we went back to visit, but still no, we weren't convinced, and began the search for a new school. Public? We pondered. We could chance an opening at a public school, but the lottery system tweaks public school normalcy, and there wasn't anywhere we thought ideal. One we liked, but had a start time of 7:30. We're early risers, but not that early, and that had a 20 minute commute, at least.
We thought of places where you had friends, and eventually agreed, although I swore I'd never want you in a private school, to go visit the school where you already knew 4 or 5 kids. Private. Catholic. School.
We did like it, even the uniforms, the smallness (<300 K-8), the organization. We were surprised we liked it. We came at PE time (another plus, a real, live PE teacher twice a week!), and as soon as they could, three of your friends ran up and hugged you. The classroom layout was typical for my generation - rows of short desks, storage area under the seat. The desks were likely built in the 1960s - when metal and wood were standard materials. At the charter, you didn't have desks, you had seating around tables and "morning meetings" in a circle, sitting with your legs crossed.
It wasn't an easy choice, especially when it came time to fill out the application and I had to write in what religion you, Daddy, and I are.
I haven't tried to summarize my religion in a long time. I don't claim residency in any one religion, but pick and choose my favorite entree's from the smorgasbord. I've kept one foot in the faith healing tradition I gleaned from Christian Science as a child, but liberally apply nutrition and listening to my body (i.e. if I have a headache, I may ask for help from the Divine, but also drink a lot of water, rest in darkness, and take ibuprofen as a last resort). I've also kept the belief in a kind, loving, wonderful Mother/Father God, also thanks to CS.
But I've also practiced yoga for over a dozen years now, and have said often that I find the divine in a yoga class, when all voices are joined in "Om" - the single syllable encompassing all that exists. I find my faith in my breathing, in meditation, and to quote Anne Lamott (hopefully correctly), my favorite prayers are "please help" and "thank you."
When I feel like a problem is bigger than me, my prayers go out to "Those On Duty," meaning any Divine being listening and waiting for my call. Is it irreverent to think there's a call bank up in the sky, with Angels and other dieties poised to answer my silent call? Or is it faith? Sometimes my prayers go loud and emotional, right to God-with-a-capital-G.
And there's Jesus. Yes, I think Jesus is a child of God, but I also think I am. The miracles he did were miraculous, but I've studied enough yogis to know he's not the first. Maybe he's on that call bank sometimes too, and for that I'm grateful.
So I stared at that box, where I had to summarize my religion. I asked Daddy, who gave his standard answer "I am God." I wanted to put something that gave us a decent chance of acceptance, without compromising my all-encompassing beliefs. Christian-ish? Christian-light? I seriously pondered these answers, but finally seceded with a simple "Christian," because trying to put my real answer, as you can see above, won't fit on a line half the length of an 8 1/2 by 11 size page.
We haven't felt the weight, so much, of the Catholicism in your school. You and I, minus Daddy (who was skiing) went to mass at the adjacent church a few weeks back, and after the sit down, stand up, kneel, repeat "Y" after the priest says "X" -- which I didn't know, obviously, you asked me, with more patience than I thought possible, "Mommy, how long do we have to do this?"
"I don't know..." I said, with a glimmer of amusement. I looked up at that big sculpture of Jesus half-dead on the cross, and thought, Really? This is supposed to inspire me? I was reminded of something I read, pardon me for forgetting the source (maybe Chopra?), of wondering why Jesus was portrayed often at his death. Why not sitting peacefully, communing with the Divine? I looked up at him on the cross and felt sad, but perhaps that's the point. I thought, unless Ava really wants to, I don't have a big desire to return. I can love God, Jesus, and everyone else on the rotation as I'm walking the dog through soaring Eucalyptus and evergreen trees in the park, breathing in the smell of fertile, rich earth.
More recently, Daddy and I were shocked as you started reciting a prayer, likely the one you were agonizing about failing to remember for school earlier in the week, the words almost joyfully flowing from your mouth about asking God's forgiveness for your sins, for choosing to do wrong, failing to do good, failing to love God, who you should love most . Daddy and I looked at each other, and I know I was thinking "Holy Shit!" I think it's the prayer for first communion, which if you want to do, it's up to you, in like another 6 years. Mostly Daddy and I were concerned that if you repeated this prayer over and over, you would come to believe you had done something wrong, which in my Smorgasbord Faith, you haven't.
After the shock wore off, and I listened to my meditation the next morning, where the topic was the mantra "Satcitananda" (Short version: sat=truth, cit=knowledge, ananda=bliss), knowing I didn't want to raise a fuss in our chosen Catholic school, but also wanted to imbue your prayer with my truth, that you haven't sinned, and you do love God enough, and you are the perfect, beautiful child of God. In the middle of this meditation, repeating "satcitananda" I thought - that's it!
So you and I chatted. I gave you my view - that just because you are reciting a prayer, does not mean it is the truth, but, I suggested, I want you to think of something that has meaning to you, to add at the end. You can say it silently in your mind, or out loud, whatever you choose.
I suggested, wearing my biases on my sleeve, "namaste" -- or later, even "I love you, God, thank you for loving me." But today you told me what you decided on.
Om.
For now, that's perfect. As you get older, I'll introduce you into other religions, to infuse Catholicism with Hindu, Buddhist, and Judaism, and yes, likely Christian Science with a side of nutrition.I love you sweet girl, you always make me proud.
Mommy
