Ninja Mom

And a few other simple-profound things

I have had the privilege of teaching adult students writing and critical thinking for the last nine years, and perhaps my favorite thing about my job is that while I am the teacher, I am always learning. This week, a student told me about the original meaning of the word ninja, which, having no background in martial arts, I didn’t think I would find all that interesting, but stick with me. The dictionary describes a ninja as, “a member of a feudal Japanese society of mercenary agents highly trained in martial arts and stealth, who were hired for covert purposes.” Or, “a person who is expert or highly skilled in a specific field or activity.” I have often jokingly referred to my son, Beckett, as a ninja because of his ability to scale counters and the pantry shelves in bare feet, retrieve a fruit snack, and climb down all without barely making a sound (except, of course, for the time he fell on the Kitchen Aid mixer and bruised his leg). But his athleticism and stealth have been impressive since he was walking. Ninja-like, as we say. But then I found out that the original definition of the ninja came from the beautiful Japanese words “nin” and “sha”. Nin means endurance or stealth. Sha is the word for person. When these characters combine, they form to mean “one who endures” and I just love that so stinking much, because sure, our kids may have many ninja-like qualities, especially when it comes to finding their way around the limits we try to place on them. But you know who the original ninja around the house is? Mama, the one who endures. 

Back in the summer, I pre-ordered Timothy Keller’s new book, Forgive, because I will read and re-read everything Timothy Keller ever writes. As many of you know, Reverend Keller is inching toward heaven as he battles pancreatic cancer–surely a gain for him but a loss of leadership for our generation I know so many of us will mourn–so this book, which is likely one of his very last, felt even more important to have on my shelf. Well, I had forgotten I pre-ordered it until it arrived in November, and despite my good intentions for picking it up, it has been in my bedside basket since. I finally pulled it out this week and friends, oh friends, if I could put my hands on your cheeks and tell you to read this book, slowly, with yourself at the center of it, as the one not working on forgiveness but the one desperately in need of it, I would. It is slaying me, y’all, as TK tends to ever so humbly do. It’s not a guilt-inducing book. It is simply a reminder that when you look at God, you can’t help but see your need for him. And God’s mercy, friends. I just…If I ever stop talking about it, stop reading my work and move on to someone who does. The most beautiful thing I know about life is that God’s mercy is real. Thank you, Jesus. 

Alex and I are, oh I don’t know, four years, five years, late to the party? (We don’t go to many parties these days so we are out of practice) But we started watching “The Chosen” a few weeks ago and is it dramatic of me to say that this is changing my life? Because it is. As a storyteller, I cannot get over the humanity and characterization shown in this series. I laughed out loud when the disciples found Jesus at Jacob’s Well, having just told the Samaritan woman “all she had ever done” (1) and someone calls out to him, “We brought you food, Rabbi,” to which Jesus responds, “I have food to eat that you don’t know about.” Then Andrew, oh the ever so hilarious Andrew, looks at Jesus like he is a crazy person, and just says, “What food?” I mean, that is exactly how I would respond. I love it so much. Laughing, crying (oh my gosh weeping at times) and generally thankful for good art–and of course, for the best story to tell with art. 

In this week’s edition of “I’m Getting Older,” my dentist (whom I have a major girl-crush on because in my mind she’s actually a counselor who is very adept at teeth-related issues. Love you, Dr. Laura!) recommended I get a mouth guard, for preventative measures. I tend to grind my teeth when I’m stressed and I don’t know why–maybe it’s the few dozen phone calls from school about my sweet Cannon hitting his head so hard he splits it open, or the baby biting his sister again to which she responds by screaming like a high-pitched howler monkey, or the fact that our grocery bill for eight people is now on par with our mortgage each month and I have no idea how this is sustainable–but some days, I am littleeeee stressed. And thus, I grind. No major damage yet, but this mouth guard is supposed to help and full disclosure, I hate it. Waiting for the “you’ll get used to it” I was promised. Sometimes I want to be nine years old again, when stress didn’t show in my teeth or on my hips. 

But then again, when I stop and think about it, what would my life look like without all the stress? What, who, wouldn’t be here?

One day at a time, Ninjas.

P.s. My ten-year-old came home from school this week and was so excited to show me a game she learned at school called FLAME, in which two names are written down and letters are counted and the game tells you if those two people are united by friendship, love, affection, marriage, or enemy status. And I’m like, I’ll see your FLAME and raise you a game of MASH, 1996 style.

I’m excited to start a new series for paid subscribers, the “ask me anything” essays. This is not something I’m doing because I think I am smarter (ha!), further ahead (I’ll point you to my girl, Krista, for real mentor advice), or have anything more interesting to say than anyone else. Rather, since I am not on Instagram these days, and because I truly value connection with all of you readers so much, I wanted to write to you in an even more personal way. If you have a question—about disability or navigating recovery or writing or foster care— you can ask here. I’ll probably answer it with a story, of course.

*The AMA form is open to everyone, but responses will be sent to paid subscribers only. Thank you, again, a million times over, to everyone who is able and willing to support my work. And remember, if you just can’t find the financial margin in this season, send me an email and I’ll add you to the paid subscribers list, no questions asked.

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(1) John 4