For some reason today I found the songs from the “Sound of Music” playing in my head and I have a habit of singing aloud the songs in my head so I suppose they were playing in my house too. I have been told that when my daughter begins to fuss I instantly start to hum without even thinking about it or knowing that I am doing it. I have been singing to both daughters since before they were even born and most of the time a song from me has magical powers over them and they calm down almost instantly and eventually fall asleep. As I walked in loops outside in the cool air singing “My Favorite Things,” “Edelweiss,” “Do Re Mi,” and a litany of other songs trying to coax my teething one year old into a deep slumber I couldn’t help but think of the power of music to move us. The sound of music can lure us towards it, it can captivate us, motivate us, cause us to swoon, be an act of prayer, express emotions deeper than any words, and yes…put us to sleep. I remember humming to my first daughter one time and a friend was in the room trying to do homework and he fell asleep before she did. Maybe some of that is my voice, but I think most of it is the music itself and the magic of the melody which transfixes us. When I was playing sports we would listen to things like “Eye of the Tiger,” and the bagpipes from the movie “Braveheart” as they went into battle to pump us up before games and meets. In worship the repetitive resonance of chant is used in a number of religions to help us enter into a meditative state of contemplation and focus. I could write a whole other blog on the words (and I probably will), but even without them there really is something about “The Sound of Music.” Hmm hmm hmhmhm hmhm hmm hmm hmm hmm

There is something about having or even just being around kids that rejuvenates us and gets us back in touch with the confidence that we once had and the fearlessness to overcome what we know and jump anyway. The belief that my three year old has that I can do anything is part of it, but it’s also watching her and other kids and thinking, “I used to be able to do that.” We all have our lists of “used to’s” and some are legitimate in that we shouldn’t do them again (you are free to fill in your own list here), but some are just because we have become overly rational, developing a fear even of things that we can and have done before. I watched a kid at the park do a flip off the swings some time ago and my response was, “I used to be able to do that.” That was probably well over a year ago and I had kind of forgotten about it until I watched my daughter flip over the swings at the church and instantly my response was changed from, “I used to be able to do that,” to “that looks fun lets do it together.” Sure there is something to letting her learn for herself, but it felt pretty good to release whatever inhibitions had made me say “used to” and simply say, “I can do that.” The moment I hit the apex of the swing, let go of my hesitation and committed to the flip I just knew there were other “used to’s” that I needed to turn into “still do.” I must have done it ten times just to remind myself I really could and each time my confidence built that there were other things I could still do.

People often remind me that I never do things the way I am “supposed to.” I don’t tend to follow the prescribed course and even when it’s one that has requirements along the way I tend to find alternative ways to satisfy them. I don’t believe there is such a thing as a normal way of doing things because every person’s experience even of the same thing is unique, but I was reflecting last night on the fact that I can’t even follow a simple recipe exactly. Never mind things like testing out of requirements or making my own path to a mountain summit. Following a recipe should be simple, but instead I have to add things, use less or more of things and make it my own. Last night it was gorgonzola cream sauce, my version of which turned out great and last week it was snickerdoodles, which I thought were pretty good too. I was thinking about it in terms of architecture vs building. A builder takes a plan and builds it as exactly as they can and it’s good, it’s consistent, they know that it works and we need builders. An architect looks at plans, understands the foundational elements and then creates something new. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but I think for some we just can’t help trying. We need both builders and architects, cooks and chefs, it’s not about one being better than the other it’s about acknowledging that we don’t all fit in the lines and for some there is a creative fire and a refusal to conform even if we wanted to. There is nothing wrong with the lines and beautiful things come within them, but for me I am thankful for the confidence to color outside them even when I fail.

There are plenty of times in our lives when we know what we need and we know what we really want, but we are unwilling, unable, unmotivated, afraid to go out and do it, get it, be it. What we need is a push. We need that something to happen, that someone, that opportunity to knock that pushes past knowing into doing and being. There are special people or in some cases things that happen to special people in our lives which help us to realize that we can’t just wait . Their are those people who give us the strength to act and there are the circumstances that reminds us of life’s fragile nature, and what ever it is we need it sometimes even if it’s hard, perhaps especially when it’s hard. We need a push. We need that thing to get us over whatever fear we have, whatever inadequacy we feel, so that we will take the plunge and dive deeper into life. These pushes often come when we don’t expect them and from places we didn’t even know existed, but they can’t be ignored. Even when the push comes from tragedy we have to see it as a gift because otherwise it can overwhelm us. I guess that’s part of the deal in that if we can find the gift in even a tragedy then nothing can truly overwhelm us and the gift is often the motivation to do something positive. It may not always feel like it’s so positive at first and it’s way easier to intellectualize it than to do it, but the good is out there and so are the things to push us even if it feels like they are a long time in coming.

Six months ago I hiked up to Bridal Veil Falls with one daughter in a front pack and the other on my back. Along the way in addition to all the comments from other hikers about carrying two kids up a mountain, we met a seventy year old dad with his forty-two year old daughter. They were hiking the same trail that apparently they had hiked a number of times before since she was a kid. I couldn’t help but dream that forty years from now I am still going off on adventures like this with my daughters. When I was a kid we would go on summer long road trips, we spent time at our family cabin, we had memberships to the science center, we spent time doing things, and I am close to my parents in part because of all that. That hike six months ago was the first with both kids and I would like to think that it started something special. Today we went to another waterfall and it reminded me of that dad and his daughter and how important it is to me that I be intentional about these trips. It reminded me of that special bond that exists between dads and their daughters and the additional bond of shared adventures. Practically every week we find a new adventure to share as we see new things, tackle mountains, visit places that were special to me as a kid and eat treats we don’t have at home. It has been an interesting thing for me because I am a solitary adventurer most of the time or at least I was with very few exceptions. Somehow having the girls with me just seems like an extension of myself, like the me that goes on these adventures just got bigger when they came into my life. As they become more and more the individuals they will be I know that these early adventures will remain a part of them and I really do believe in the bond they create.

Today was my daughters first birthday and my older daughter decided that we needed a cake. We didn’t really celebrate and we hadn’t planned on doing anything because we just didn’t feel like she was ready for it. When my three year said, “we need a cake and we need the party hats from your office daddy,” it was hard to say no and I think it reminded me that even though she won’t remember and maybe she isn’t ready for cake, we have something to celebrate and we need to acknowledge it. I have always felt like first birthday parties are silly. I get that people have fun watching a one year old eat cake for the first time, rubbing it in their hair and making a fun and sticky mess, but it’s a ritual that doesn’t really resonate with me. What my three year old reminded me of though was that there are sacred conventions to our celebrations and cake at birthdays is one of them (I still think the hats are optional). At one she can’t really handle dairy much yet and most cakes have milk in them so we searched for a non-dairy cake and ended up with a lemon cake with lemon glaze. The batter and the glaze tasted good and it was fun making it with my three year old, but the funny part is that she fell asleep so we haven’t even tried it yet. Somehow making the cake made the day feel more like it was her birthday and we were acknowledging it more properly. Especially for this little girl making it to one is an accomplishment and we needed a cake. I am thankful for both my little girls who remind constantly of all that I have to celebrate. There are times when it just doesn’t feel right without a cake.

The Roberts clan (my mom’s side of the family) is a family that gets together often and when we do we play. Day long games of monopoly, bingo complete with prizes, jeopardy, wheel of fortune, texas hold’um, you name it, as long as it’s a game that you have to think for, we play it (games of chance are not allowed). The point is we like games and more importantly we love each other, which makes playing together that much better. As a kid growing up my family used to go out to our cabin on Dow Mountain and the four of us would play games until the wee hours of the night. On road trips criss-crossing the country we seldom went to bed without a game of cards. My daughter is learning the family passion already as we play game after game of Candyland, Lady Bugs, Memory, Chutes and Ladders and Go Fish. This love of games extends beyond just the times when the whole family gets together too and every member just seems to have it in their DNA. I wasn’t surprised when I learned one cousin has a regular bridge night and whenever I gather like I did this week with my colleagues I make sure that one night at least is a game night.

“Life owes me nothing. Let the years

This past Sunday I gave a sermon about faith as the hope that those things we desire are still possible even in the midst of our deepest despair. I talked about the rainy days we have quoting Longfellow’s poem “Rainy Days,”and about how easy it can be to slip into a form of despair where everything seems bad and we can’t seem to see good.

I have had the privilege of being invited to participate in a sweat on the Northern Cheyenne reservation near Coalstrip MT., the Monument Valley Navaho reservation in southern Utah and the Yakima reservation in Yakima, WA. Each time I was honored by the invitation to participate in something so rich in tradition and sacred for each tribe. The sweat can be a place of intense religious meaning where sacred moments and visions occur and it can also be a place to simply relax and share a time together. The other day I went into a hotel sauna just expecting to release some tension and do some cleansing, but what I ended up with was a sweat experience with a man from the Makah peoples of Neah Bay. Something about the atmosphere with the tension releasing steam and the mind clearing heat and sweat turns even a hotel sauna into that special place where sharing can occur. It’s funny because my experiences have all been in native american settings, but my mind also went to the ancient Roman baths with their steam rooms in which social barriers could be broken down, strangers could be friends and all manner of gossip could be heard. I confess that I didn’t do much sharing, but for the man I was with it was clear that the heat triggered something in him as he shared about the sweat he used regularly up in Neah Bay. He told me about his work since May on boats in the Gulf cleaning up oil and how he was glad to be home with his kids. His work took him away for months at a time and even now, with at least his part in the clean up done, he would be going off again soon to California or Alaska to work on other boats. He told me several times how he missed his kids as he boasted about their sports talent and told me about his wife’s art and how proud he is of her as well. He was clear that he needed to take these jobs to support his family and that a part of him loved it and felt like he formed new versions of family in every place and on each boat he worked, but you could hear some of the struggle in his voice. In the sweat he unburdened himself a bit and shared his pride in his family. In the sweat a sacred moment happened in the sharing. You never know what might happen in the sweat but you have to respect it. It’s good to sweat.