by Erin Robinson Hall | Jun 5, 2015 | Wonder |
The “mom” in me was already excited about this day. A playdate in the park, friends, picnic lunch, fun for the littles that did not require my own Pinterest research, and enough outside play to promise a nap. What’s not to love? The “people person” in me was excited about adult conversation, even if it was interrupted by the occasional “hands to yourself” and “use your nice words” every few minutes. Mostly, the “wondering” in me could not wait to see the owls. I had heard about these owls all week, since they were sculpted by a local artist. There was a massive tree in the middle of the park that needed to be removed. Instead, its trunk became art. A one hundred year old cedar tree that had decayed and been cut to the stump was transformed into an amazing piece of art. Chris Lantz is an artist who uses a chainsaw – a CHAINSAW – to carve and scupt things into beautiful works of art. I’m just going to leave that there for a minute, for you, my preacher-teacher-thinker-artist friends . . . Old tree. Dying. Rather than being removed, it was transformed by an artist with an eye for what could be. Yep. Go right on ahead with your imagery, dreamer friends. It’s all there. Rich history, renewal, artistry, rebirth, wisdom, hope. All of that. And it is the coolest piece of art my child has ever played on. After we marched through the park, our fearless leader Carol had mystified the children with a challenge: “Let’s see if we can find something that used to...
by Erin Robinson Hall | May 22, 2015 | Wonder |
The table is where it happens. It’s chaotic, usually. You grab the dishes, make sure there’s something green (or slightly healthy), you pour the milk and get everybody to sit down. Just pause a minute. After the sixth time we put Little One back in his chair and swat the dog away from the table because she is snacking every time we’re not looking, we stop. We pause. We reach out and take hands because we are trying to make a ritual out of this anything-but-refined meal. We sing the blessing and hold the hands. We were at the table this weekend with more guests than usual. For Dad’s birthday, we cooked for him. Nothing says love to Dad like a home cooked meal, so that is what we made. And like we do, we tumbled into the dining room in a chaotic storm. I don’t know how nice, quiet families calmly sit down to a meal, but we are basically the opposite of them. We are a loud whirlwind of plate carrying (husband), telling (Mom), barking (three dogs), commenting (Sister and Brother), requesting (Little One. And his grandmother), bossing (Me), and spilling (husband). The honored guest, dear old Dad, just sat there watching us whirl around him. And then we paused. We reached out hands and began to sing our blessing, when Little One, shouted, “Wait! Look!” He was so excited to recognize what he saw as we held hands: “We making a circle!” Yes, we are. Around the table, our reach to one another shaped something that even this three year old could recognize. Our circle was...
by Erin Robinson Hall | May 6, 2015 | Wonder |
Around this house, we don’t say “bless you!” when we sneeze. We rarely say “uh-oh” if something spills or slips. If a certain little boy sees you sneeze, drop something or even trip and fall, he has taken to saying “Re-take!” This started because of a video message we sent to a favorite babysitter recently. We were filming him singing happy birthday and he was trying so hard to get it right. Our little production was humming along perfectly until he had a major sneeze in the middle of it. To keeping him from weeping, I said, “Re-take!” with a camera still rolling. And the tradition was born. As he watches this video of his very own self over and over (what, you DON’T watch videos of yourself over and over?) the story has cemented. You mess up, the only proper response is: Re-take! Your perfect, practiced performance gets interrupted by something you didn’t expect? Re-take. This is what I think Church is about. Looking out for one another and remembering to say, “re-take.” Even if the words sound something like “bless you,” the hope behind them is that we are offered and can offer forgiveness, resurrection and peace. We are reminded that second chances and re-starts are available to us. And the reminder comes from someone near to us, unfazed by our blunders, maybe laughing but still shouting, “Re-take!” You might also enjoy these posts...
by Erin Robinson Hall | Apr 3, 2015 | Wonder |
**This is dedicated to baby Julia, born today to our sweet friends, Angela and Adam. ** Dear one, We have waited for you, hoped for you. Your mama, daddy, grandparents, cousins, family, and friends can’t wait to see you and say that because you are here, this is surely a good day We woke up this morning glad that we can mark this day as the one that brought more joy into the world. We know how we have done Good Friday in the past remembering the darkness, remembering the words that we have chiseled down to neat phrases we can handle: I thirst, My God, It is finished. But it isn’t. Not for you, beautiful girl. It is just beginning. And there we are. On this day, when we all look to the cross, toward its rugged vulnerability we also look at your sweet face, tiny and tender. On this day, when so many mothers weep for children around the world, when fathers fear the broken systems that threaten their boys and girls, we hear your tiny cry. And it is a sound that stirs us to forever circle you in peace. We listen fiercely to your whimpers and your wails and we promise, like all the mothers and fathers that everything is gonna be okay. Shh, hush, dear one. It’s all going to be okay. The hush proclaimed by so many faithful folks tonight is about just that, sweet girl. All the wails and hurts and whimpers of brokeness that we see in all the cracks in our hearts and our days and our cities are met...
by Erin Robinson Hall | Feb 11, 2015 | Wonder |
I had not planned on bringing my two-year old into the Vespers service Sunday evening. But plans change, and he ended up with me standing tip toe on the back pew, giving commentary every two seconds: “Dat’s water?” Yes, I told him. “Dat’s the big boys, IN the water?” Yes. We’re Baptists, so we go all in. Chest deep into the pool at the front of the chapel. (He’s a fan of the big boys – 4th and 5th graders mostly) “What dey laughin’ about?” That, I couldn’t tell you, son. The precious boy standing in the baptismal waters was CRACKING up. And I loved it. He got so tickled and couldn’t stop. I mean, lots of people get emotional in this moment of symbolism. But laughter during a baptism delighted me as much as when a couple gets the giggles and laughs during their wedding. It’s just effervescent joy. There was so much joy in the chapel. It so happened that this crew of five baptismal candidates were all related: siblings and cousins. It makes sense, really. As one kiddo begins conversations about their faith journey, the ones listening nearby start to get in on the conversation, too. And once they had each proclaimed to their church that they were ready to go all in and let baptism mark their identity, it was a little hilarious to hear about how they coached each other through the actual event of getting soaking wet in the baptismal pool. Standing in the back, the 6th grade girl turned to Pastor Jake and said, “Can I ask you something?” He nodded and...
by Erin Robinson Hall | Aug 12, 2014 | Archives, Wonder |
Know what this is? It is, according to my two year old, a tunnel. For his beloved choo-choo trains. Know what this is? A choo-choo train, of course. And what might this be? Not, as you might imagine, a mess for mommy to clean up. I was informed, with much excitement, “Yook, Mama – a twack!” (Look, mama, a track). For the car. The car that was his cracker. He had taken his straw full of milk and used it to “draw” a track for his cracker-car to go round and round in. Messy as it may be, my little one is reminding me of the power of imagination. I would say I am surprised by these little sparks of imagination, but my boy comes from a long line of wonderers. I’m a constant daydreamer. Hubby has a tell-tale face that means he is waist-deep in an ocean of thought. Brilliant things often come out of this thought ocean: sometimes sermons, sometimes ways to fix the broken things in the garage, sometimes a random argument in favor of him buying and restoring an old muscle car (Um, no). The Queen of Imagination was my Grandma Gladys. She used to make Brother, Sister and I go “rambling.” Rambling meant that we’d walk with her, along any little sidewalk, in a garden, beside the lake, or in the woods. I make it sound like we had these long hikes through nature. Nope. We were suburb kids and she lived in the city of Lakeland, FL. So most of our rambling happened on well-paved paths that looked a lot like culdesacs and mowed lawns. A few times, she dragged us on nature trails...
