More praise for Stepping on Cheerios
“In Stepping on Cheerios, Betsy Singleton Snyder describes her daily struggles of having four babies in diapers and dealing with a health scare at the same time. Her humorous and inspiring spiritual journey is one of healing and finding grace amid the daily turmoil. I recommend this lovely book to mothers and fathers.” — Ginger Beebe, former first lady of Arkansas
“Warm. Funny. Charming. Insightful. Compassionate. Grace-filled. A book for new mom, grandmoms, anyone and everyone raising kids.” —Bishop Janice Riggle Huie
“Where was this wit and grace when I was a young mother? I would have kept Betsy Singleton Snyder’s book on my nightstand, ready to remind myself that I am a person, a child of God, and a work in progress. Snyder writes with an uncanny combination of objectivity and tender intimacy when she talks about how our own messy faith in Jesus and in our families can be closely related.” —Diana Brown Holbert, MM, MDiv, DMin
“I can easily recommend this book as the thoughtfully clever rumblings of a mind committed to ministry, to motherhood, to being a loving and supportive wife all at the same time. And it is just good fun to read. So have at it, sisters, and may a brother or two join in the fun, too!” —John C. Holbert, Lois Craddock Perkins Professor of Homiletics Emeritus, Perkins School of Theology
“When Betsy contacted me to see if I would do an advance review of her book Stepping on Cheerios, I thought, I don’t have time for this. After all, I too am a pastor, and though I am raising only one boy and not four like she is, I do have two churches, which is like having fraternal twins who are all ages simultaneously. But I have such deep respect for Betsy, I said yes anyway. Then I got my copy, which came when year-end reports are due and new committees are meeting and semester report cards are being released. . . . but I picked it up, and suddenly I had all the time in the world to read it. Funny how your priorities can be so quickly rearranged by a breathtaking book. I say breathtaking because that is how her writing feels: frantic at times, as if you need to gasp for air, and peaceful at times, as if you are listening to your child’s sleep-breathing. In fact, she writes like parenthood is lived. At times her writing is fast-paced, almost chaotic, jumping from moment to moment as if there is not enough time to say all she needs to say, and then suddenly it slows and takes notice of all the beautiful details going on in our blessed and baffling lives. And like parenthood, she seems to exist in the past, the present, and the future all at the same time. In the midst of it all, Jesus is inhabiting. He walks across Legos, sits down at the wrong table, bangs a timpani of joy, all in the name of knowing us and loving us more than we could possibly imagine. That Betsy glimpses this and then articulates it so well and so real is a great gift to us all. It is worth reordering our day to swim in her story for a while, and in doing so, we will swim with ourselves and with Jesus.” —Rev. Dr. Michelle J. Morris, pastor and contributor to the CEB Women’s Bible
“This book should be by the bedside of every mother with small children to be read and reread daily as a devotional to keep connected and ‘find God in the chaos and clutter of life.’ Betsy Singleton Snyder humorously reminds every mother ‘you never get it all done,’ ‘take sorta kinda breaks,’ ‘stop more,’ ‘be just you and nothing else,’ ‘locate and hallow the sacred family portals,’ ‘have family movie night as a spiritual practice,’ ‘bad stuff stinks but it demands notice,’ and ‘move through the earth.’ A must-read for parents of small children. —The Rev. Joanna Seibert, MD, deacon, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Little Rock, AR, author of Taste and See: Experiences of God’s Goodness Through Stories, Poems, and Food as seen by a Mother and Daughter
Stepping On
Cheerios
FINDING GOD IN THE CHAOS AND CLUTTER OF LIFE
Betsy Singleton Snyder
STEPPING ON CHEERIOS
FINDING GOD IN THE CHAOS AND CLUTTER OF LIFE
Copyright © 2017 by Abingdon Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted by the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission can be addressed to Permissions, The United Methodist Publishing House, 2222 Rosa L. Parks Blvd., Nashville, TN 37228-0988, or e-mailed to [email protected].
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been requested.
ISBN 978-1-5018-2725-9
Scripture quotations noted CEB are taken from the Common English Bible. Copyright © 2011 by the Common English Bible. All rights reserved. Used by permission. www.CommonEnglishBible.com.
Scripture quotations marked (ESV) are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25—10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
For the four boys and one guy who’ve made my life a living heaven: Penn, Aubrey, Wyatt, Sullivan, and Victor
For Mom, who taught me about Jesus, being real, and loving when it’s inconvenient and hard.
CONTENTS
1. A Hail Mary
2. My Big Fat Anxiety Attack
3. The Prodigal Paci
4. Legos Are a Means of Grace
5. Whoever the Kids Are, They Are God’s
6. Selfie
7. The Skinification of Divine Love
8. The Annual Sibling Christmas Cocoon Cookie Bake-Off
9. The Wisdom of Albus Dumbledore
10. Dog Is God Spelled Backward
11. Womenade: So That Happened
CHAPTER 1
A HAIL MARY
Then Mary said, “I am the Lord’s servant.
Let it be with me just as you have said.” Then the angel left her.
—Luke 1:38
When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me
—“Let It Be,” The Beatles
I love football because it’s so unpredictable. The weirdest things can happen, right? Such as lateral trick plays in which the chaos of the moment unfolds and the way a running back’s smooth dodge can suddenly bring a team ahead on the scoreboard in the final minutes of a game. And there’s that famous last-ditch effort when the quarterback drops back, his offensive line holds, and he launches that oblong ball spiraling through the air in a lovely, long arc. Wait for it; wait for it as it becomes clear. The ball is finally caught by a young man whose body is hanging in midair. It is a moment worthy of the ballet, when his feet touch down in the end zone. It is a Hail Mary. It appears both crazy and divine.
I’ve met divinely crazy. I caught a Hail Mary and then three more— ahem—quite late in life. I became a mother of four boys, including triplets, in two and a half years when I was forty-sevenish. I didn’t dare drop the extras God had so gloriously and unpredictably thrown my way. I had expected ordinary, and I got extraordinary. Isn’t that just like God and the insanity of football? You may not know what’s coming in life, but it wouldn’t be any fun if you did. Plus, you might refuse to participate because what if you got hurt or couldn’t control most of life, which you can’t? So let’s face it. Authentic, no-holds-barred living creates risk, and there’s no decent spiritual growth without these untamed ingredients. No one grows into mommyhood without her complimentary set of bruises and a strong need for a good age-defying hair-care regimen.
If we bracket the football motif, there are other reasons I’m not your typical mommy, as if any woman’s story is cut out like a cook
ie. No, we women must have a few flashy sprinkles on top of our own lives. Still, my story is, at times, one of biblical proportions. Genesis unplugged, if you will. Thank you, Jesus, for the drama, truly.
For one thing, my perspective on parenthood has been shaped by my marrying someone who is older than me and who waited a long time to get married. Before we met, Victor had done everything, it seemed, except tie the knot and have kids. He’d been a marine, been a hospital orderly, worked with troubled kids, operated a gas station, become a doctor and practiced medicine, served in medical missions overseas, gotten a law degree at night, served in the state legislature, and run for Congress and won. Low achiever, huh?
We met while Victor was representing Arkansas’ Second District. We dated for two years, and after extensive negotiations, I coaxed him into a family adventure. (I was about as subtle as my bird dog is when she drops a squirrel on the floor, all earnest in her pleasing look, not knowing she’s blown it for the cute little mammal.)
I hadn’t misrepresented myself. On our first date, I told him, in response to his question of what I wanted in life, that I wanted to get pregnant, have a baby, and dodge Legos. I didn’t realize when I said it aloud that it would turn into such a whopper of an adventure.
We had our first child when Victor was fifty-eight. For perspective, he was born when Harry Truman was president, and I was born when JFK was president. George W. Bush was president when our first child arrived. That’s some history and frame of reference. But don’t be fooled. No matter how old you are, children keep you culturally relevant. Victor buys indie CDs (yep, he still buys CDs), and I download music by Katy Perry and Adele, which exists comfortably next to the music of The Wiggles and Les Misérables and Hamilton. In seminary, I had a word processor, and there was no e-mail, let alone texting and Tweeting. Cell phones were ginormous and few people carried one. My spouse and I lived through segregation to the Civil Rights Act and the Supreme Court’s ruling on gay marriage. We’re really old, and sometimes people think we’re the grandparents.
That’s not all bad. God has a knack for picking older parents. Take Sarah and Abraham. God promised them children—as many as the stars in the night sky—in a conversation that spans about ten chapters of Genesis. It seemed to take forever, and there were a few twists and turns before they had Isaac, which—get this—means “laughter.” I suspect that the name Isaac was chosen not only because Sarah laughed at the prospect of having a child at her age but also because in the grand scheme of life at any stage, faith is a big laughable leap, like a Hail Mary or, for some of us, a Hail Sarah. I discovered the shocking and glorious truth of funny faith when the doctor told me that my twins had turned into triplets. By the way, I didn’t laugh when I got the news. In fact, I sobbed every night for a week. I’m glad I didn’t know about the pending heart failure that I would have after they were born. I might have held a teeny grudge, but once in my arms, they were just so puppy-breath adorable.
Every future momma is stepping into uncharted waters. I think that’s why I fell in love with Mary, the mother of Jesus, especially after the mission trips I made to Russia. The images or icons that hang throughout Orthodox churches there are painted, carved, and even made of metal. Each icon recalls a story, almost like an old family album kept from before you were born, to show you later, after you’ve matured, who you are. Your story seems minuscule, but God usually works with small, seemingly unimportant humans to change the world.
Why is that?
I think God cares less about obedience and more about imagination. God wants us to have a vision that’s bigger than we are. After all, you can’t get much more modest and less showy than an unmarried teenage peasant girl prepared to live the quiet life in Bethlehem. Mary is a model for pondering what big surprises God may be up to in our lives. She’s a testament to an engaged relationship with the Divine Wrestler, involving the hard and profound work of listening for preposterous whispers from angels (Luke 1:26-38). That’s what Mary did. She listened, pondered, and then let it fly.
And the next thing Mary did was run and tell her much older relative Elizabeth, who was also expecting a boy, this startling good news. Luke says their get-together was like a party, or maybe that’s just how I read the story. They hugged, a baby kicked, and Mary sang a powerful anthem about the ways God lifts up the lowly and struggling. Then, maybe they went to shop for swaddling clothes and have a latte. Maybe that me-time let them know how important they would be to each other. Moms need one another, God knows.
Luke doesn’t give us another story about them together, but we know these two mommas —and their sons—had a special bond. How else could they have made it through parenthood, but for support, faith, and coffee? Through the diapers, the Legos (I feel sure Jesus built with Legos and gave everybody his snack), the splashing in dirty river water (which was John’s favorite activity; along with judging people a little too harshly), and the way those boys brought home just about anybody for supper.
We grown-ups sometimes forget how much childhood matters. It’s filled with the sacred and is not to be missed when it comes around again during parenthood. And parenthood is the time of spirit formation in which we don’t realize until later that everything kid-drenched around us was and is a gift.
Let that Hail Mary of momma-ness sail from your fingertips because blessed are those of us who savor the sacred moments of this beautiful, challenging work known as motherhood, both the boringly simple and the show-stoppingly profound.
CHAPTER 2
MY BIG FAT ANXIETY ATTACK
So, brothers and sisters, because of God’s mercies, I encourage you to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your appropriate priestly service.
—Romans 12:1
Pay mind to your own life, your own health, and wholeness. A bleeding heart is of no help to anyone if it bleeds to death.
—Frederick Buechner
Think about the challenging task of becoming a spouse in the unexpected craziness of this world. When I’ve helped young adults who are preparing for marriage, many of them have been surprised that premarital discussions have brought them to tears. Of course they get weepy! We’re talking about leaving behind single adulthood and the childhood mantle to launch into the “married people universe.” Couples may be excited, even thrilled beyond their wildest dreams, but the unknown of a new, challenging role brings a feeling of loss as well. Whether marriage or motherhood, good and great changes may create not only feelings of sadness but also feelings of uncertainty, imbalance, and questions.
That is the path of this risky enterprise God has created called life. We get to experience and probe the full gamut of so much chaos and creativity, from the bugs my boys offer me for awe and inspection to the struggles I have about whether I’m breaking even on this mom path. It’s a good thing God is so patient with self-obsessed me and my performance issues. I guess that makes me a good test case for how to lean into a motherhood anxiety attack.
My first long-awaited pregnancy was like a delicious drug. It could have been the hormones, but I think the whole experience was also embedded with a spiritual chip. I inhaled basically every minute of the anticipated “baby land,” especially how I felt: thankful, creative, loving, joyful. I wasn’t even sick, although I could not handle coffee—at all. My mom and sister warned me that roasted beans and their delicious aroma might become a smell and taste jettisoned, temporarily, for hot chocolate. They were right; this is a minor inconvenience that apparently runs in the family. Despite a long labor and C-section, after which I was handed a gorgeous, fat baby, I developed an almost immediate amnesia for the birthing discomfort and a new love—baby love—which almost made me forget how blue my husband’s eyes are. Let’s say they’re a nice addition to the gene pool.
Pause the remote on this nearly perfect scene. Most of us know firsthand that life—marriage, pregnancy, children, family—never runs smoothly. As a pastor and a friend, I’ve known lots of expect
ant women who’ve had pregnancy problems arise, such as debilitating nausea, preeclampsia, and gestational diabetes. None of these complications are a joyride because they not only taint the pregnancy experience but also change your life forever. After getting off scot-free the first time, I made up for it the next round.
Being on bed rest may be the closest I’ll ever come to any quiet, contemplative life in a religious order.
I’m not easily scared. I’ve been through political campaigns, including one during which my husband was likened to Pontius Pilate. People may not like him, but I’m the only one who can call him biblical names. (You big strong Samson, you!) Of course, I’m also a pastor—a woman pastor—which is not for the faint of heart either. Thank heavens my Bible has lots of women leaders in it and women whom Jesus loved— women who were accountants, masseuses, chefs, theologians, prophets, moms, wives, brides, widows, students, small-business owners, marketers, and evangelists. Thank heavens, too, for the many devoted Jesus followers who have not been snarky to me, continue to affirm my call, and never say my passionate voice sounds angry. I love y’all.
Politics and church work. I told you I’m not easily intimidated, but my second pregnancy was different, crazy different. Sisters, no one plans to have triplets. I promise that it never entered my realm of possibility. Multiples in threes seem mystical and curious. In my case, the whole event had the Ripley’s Believe It or Not seal of approval because I’m also ancient, and being pregnant with triplets is called a high-risk pregnancy for all babies and moms. Anything can happen, and some very unpleasant things did happen.
First, I developed preeclampsia at twenty-nine weeks, six weeks before I delivered. During that six weeks I was on complete bed rest. To put this in perspective, I had worked outside the home in a busy profession for almost twenty years. Suddenly, I became a human incubator. The doctor ordered me to cease work communication with my church family of almost eight years and stay on my side all day, every day. I always pictured bed rest in cute pajamas, propped up on pillows, eating chocolate, and reading. That wasn’t it. Sitting on the nest is physically and emotionally exhausting work. Go ask a hen.
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