I couldn’t believe my eyes. Walking past a television monitor yesterday, I saw a panel of savvy, sophisticated women clucking and muttering about “poor Sarah’s children”. These same feminist furies who had arugued for women’s rights in every arena, were suddenly worried about a working mom being able to “do it all”.

The truth is, they don’t want THIS ONE mother, Sarah Palin, to be doing it AT ALL.

She scares them. Pro-Life. Pinning her hair up in a bun. Imperfect kids. Working class husband. God forbid. Sarah is one of US, not one of  THEM, so she can’t play.

Too bad. She already took the ball and ran.

Like most women in American this weekend, I have been feeling sorry for Elizabeth Edwards. The bright, talented, loyal wife of the former presidential candidate from NC now battles incurable breast cancer and the fact that her husband of three decades had an affair and possibly fathered an illegitimate child during the past two years. It makes me sad. Another family in the path of destruction and all because a man ( or woman) couldn’t walk away from lust.

Is it really that hard? Or, do we make it too easy? By looking the other way, our society, churches, families, and peers give a tacit nod to the kinds of immoral behavior that ultimately destroy families and communities. Wasn’t there someone close to Mr.Edwards who could have taken him aside and held him accountable before things went too far? Or, would that have been intrusive or, God forbid…..judgmental? Let us never be judgmental.

Scripture says: “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.(  Prov. 27:17) I am calling on men and women of faith to speak up, buck up, and stand up when they see friends and colleagues edging toward the precipice. Though it may seem easier to look the other way, looking in the face of a friend who was destroyed by betrayal is much harder. Mrs. Edwards, we are praying for you.

We are spending two weeks on St. John, USVI and it is a beautiful study in contrasts: wild, windy cliffs, aqua seas, bold iguanas, shy mongoose, frisky, wild donkeys. Each of the dozens of beaches offers unique features. Tranquil Trunk Bay, the gem of the island is cited as one of the World’s Top 10 and rightly so. The sand, rocks, and amazing snorkeling are post-card pretty, but it was far-flung, inaccessible “Drunk Bay” that struck my muse. “Drunk Bay” is not about alcohol. Not at all. The word “drunk” in the local venacular of “Caribe” means “Drowned” and after a tortuous hike over rocky trails to find this spot, one immediately understands. The rough Atlantic here meets a volcanic, pre-historic landscape of boulders, whirpools, and jagged edges that pierce the soul. One can imagine the drowned who met their fate here. Indeed, legend tells that the surviving slaves of the ill-fated rebellion of 1713 hurled themselves from the cliffs at Ram’s Head rather than surrender. The dark, stormy waters seem to speak and the message I found in this rugged spot is this: “Survival isn’t always easy, but it has its own beauty”. The rocks, sea creatures, and indeed those strong and tough enough to make the climb here and through life are often battered and as bruised spiritually and mentally as the black and blue volcanic stones that litter the beach, but they last. Like relationships, families, survivors of illness, those who have been disappointed or who have disappointed others….the ones who press on and are pressed on emerge to walk this beach alive, not drunken nor “drowned” like the “Jumbies” or spirits that are also said to abound here….but mercifully, and through the love of Christ….alive.

I took the Red Eye from LAX this morning. That is, leaving at 9:30 pm LA time and arriving at 9:30 am SC time, the next day. Today. And my 49 year old face shows it. There is no amount of pricey Airbonne toner that can effectively refresh this tired visage. But, I don’t care. In spite of the fatigue and furor of air travel, I do like to get out and go. I like packing the little black rolling bag. I like picking out my Chico’s indestructible, uncrushable travel wear ( blue or black) with some spiffy bangles. I like packing the enormous airline tote bag with magazines, protein bars, dollar bills for tipping, and about 5 pounds of other stuff. I like seeing my old and new friends when I return to a school district to consult or to a conference to keynote. The energy is good. I don’t know all their secrets and they don’t know mine. We are all friendly and professional and on our best behavior for 48 hours and in a way, it is restful. I even like taking a taxi. Why? Because, as my daughter Carolyn the astute new attorney notes: “You don’t HAVE to talk to anyone…..but no, that probably wouldn’t stop you would it?” Haaaa. Fooled you. I sat in quiet retrospection for 30 minutes on the LA freeway on Sunday……thinking…..just thinking…..and it was good. But, now I’m home. Thanks to Delta and Air Tran and the Good Lord. Three loads of laundry and lunch with my sweetie. Also good. Home again. Home again. Jiggity jog. Did I mention that I made plane reservations for Orlando and DC before I took a nap? Can’t let my “skills” as the great Napoleon Dynamite says…..get rusty.

I come from a big Italian family. My four siblings and I have produced 13 children between us and when all the children were little, it was crazy in a good kind of way. Christmas meant piles of crinkled paper, high chairs lined up in a row,  5 pounds of cooked pasta and meatballs, toddlers pushing baby doll strollers, toddlers in strollers, babies napping in carriers, and little boys crawling around playing with trucks and legos. My nephew Clint is one of “the boys” and probably the toughest one. It is no surprise that he is now a Corporal in the Marine Corps who shipped out to Iraq in January. He’s already been under fire and hurt, but bounced right back, much as he used to when he was little and would fall off his bicycle or skates and stubbornly refuse to come inside and “play nicely” with all those pesky girl cousins. My sister and I created a care package for him a few weeks ago, layering tuna snack packs. wet wipes, batteries, cookies, and magazines in careful rows. Aunt Annie cushioned it all with loose handfuls of his favorite hard candies and gum, saying that he could share it all with his buddies in the tent or the tank or on patrol…..whatever it is that tough Marines do in a war zone. She had tears in her eyes when she said it. My students at the university signed a big poster for him and we folded it on top. “We appreciate your service.” “We love you.” “Thank you for protecting our freedom.” Pretty young co-eds, girls whom he might be dating if he were in college instead of at war penned inspirational messages. They really care. His aunts and I care. His mama and daddy care. His grandma is terrified. It was so much easier to negotiate danger when it meant keeping him out of the street when he would chase balls, or out of the doghouse when he would crawl in after our beagle, or out of the cookie jar when he would sneak Oreos. Oh yes, there were Oreos in the package too. I made sure of that. We care about you “Cutest Boy” and  hope to hear soon that you got the package and that it and you are safe.

March is traditionally associated with windy weather and perhaps it is no surprise that the change in season has stirred up some trouble. The holidays are over and in some families, Spring fever is doing some real damage. I have been moved to pray and intercede for several families in which men ( husbands and fathers) have decided to have a full-blown, rip roarin mid-life crisis. Their childish anger, dangerous actions, and selfish attitudes damage and destroy the trust, self-esteem, and security of women and children in their paths. It is so sad, and so futile. This “happiness” that so many of us, men and women, abandon families and faith for is nothing but emptiness and evil. As the March winds blow, I cannot help but seek the scripture: “He who troubles his own house will inherit the wind.” Proverbs 11:29.  Infidelity? Alcohol? Porn? Spending money that you don’t have? Motorcycle or sports car? Fancy boat? Just the wind….empty, desolate, and ultimately destructive.  But, no use in preaching. No time for it. When an evil wind blows it is time for prayer warriors to stand in the gap. I’m not afraid to put my face right into that bitter wind, because HE has my back.  And the hand that is behind me, beside me, and around me is warm, strong, and much more powerful than any wind.

Over the past few weeks, a team of us at my university have been working through a formal training for “Crisis Response”, learning strategies that would enable us to respond appropriately to a REAL crisis on our campus. Eerily,  crisis, in both natural and man-made forms struck colleges not unlike our own, in the days and weeks surrounding the training. It is too close for comfort and too important to ignore. Crisis on college campuses. Terror and uproar. Fear and frenzy. Anger and anxiety. All of these in abundance.  At Union in Tennessee. At Illinois University. Whether a tornado or a terrorist brings the crisis, the outcomes are similar. Loss, despair, and many questions. Were we prepared? Why didn’t we see it coming? How could we avoid it?
I’m not sure that any kind of Crisis Training has helped me to answer those questions and with two daughters of my own at universities, I really wish I could. One thing I know for sure. I see Christ in the Crisis.

Before you dismiss me as some sort of Christian fatalist or assume that I believe God to be an angry source of punishment glaring down on us, let me explain. What I see, what I believe, what I know is true is that in the midst of damage, despair, and danger, the only source of hope and healing is Christ. When the winds blew across Tennessee at 200 miles per hour, God was there, holding onto those college kids. When that shooter in Illinois made up his mind to put the rifle in the guitar case, it was an expression of his emptiness, his darkness, the absence of Christ in his life. Without Him, evil has a free reign, in our minds and hearts. Without Him, there is no hope for healing for those who do survive, who have lost loved ones, who live in fear on college campuses around our nation.

And for those of us who are faculty and staff on college campuses, it is a call to prayer.  For protection within and without. I look at the sky and I pray. Or in our earthquake-prone region, I consider the ground below. And I look out on my students. Looking into their faces for signs of that indescribable anger and despair. And I pray. Quietly and boldly. Because if the Crisis comes or it does not come, only Christ can sustain us.

So, I’m looking over my training notes, practicing my counseling skills, and committing myself to prayer, for Union, for Illinois, and for all the rest of us, who are working on the new battlegrounds of our culture, college campuses.

Reading  Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir Eat, Pray, Love about her year long exploration of self, God, and the journeys involved in finding both, I was struck by her struggles with “Il bel far niente”, the Italian phrase for “The Beauty of Doing Nothing”.

I’m not very good at it. Not at all.

I am pressed on all sides to do something every minute of every day. Nobody tells me to. I just must. I think it might be attributed, in part, to my Italian, Catholic, oldest-child upbringing. Instead of “Eat, Pray, Love”…..my mantra is more like “Work, Worry, Worship”….Repeat as needed. And, it is needed a lot.

I wish I could learn to savor a meal, a moment, a mantra. I want to taste things, not gulp them. See things, not blink past them. Experience emotions, not sit on them.

The Beauty of Doing Nothing might be worth everything if it brings one closer to God, or maybe just sanity. I’m thinking about it, between work, worry, and worship.

I participated in a post-Christmas yoga class yesterday, designed to help diffuse the tension of what should be a Holy holiday. A group of us chatted post class, about the fact that we were almost eight years into the millennium. “Remember how worried we all were?” I asked the folks wiping down their mats. “The computer chip thing, and the prophecies, and the dire warnings?” One of our group, a 60-something aged Presbyterian minister added: “You know, some people actually worried that the world would end that night and were very surprised to still be here in the morning.” We laughed, but a bit nervously.

Even though the dawn of 2008 isn’t as auspicious as a millennium, a new year is a big thing. Metaphorically speaking. So, now that it is nearly New Years, what am I planning?

One thing. The hardest thing. To keep it simple and keep it real.

I have acquired some major complications in my crazy life, and though I have many blessings, they come at great expense to my sanity and serenity. So this year, I want to keep it simple and keep it real. I want to simplify the way that I do the business of living and focus more on what “really matters”.

Spiritual time. It is hard to be complicated when God is in the room. He takes up all the space, so there is no room for distraction.

Physical time. Yoga. Walking my puppy and husband. Biking with my sister, A. Watson.

Writing time. I want to savor the words. Seep in the energy. Play with ideas. Not just meet a deadline or wrap up a task.

Simplify relationships, with family and friends. More time laughing and listening and less time trying to fix people who probably think that I’m the one who needs some adjustment.

So, I’ll make some adjustments. I’ll try to simplify. It is a tough task for a hard-core workaholic. A few “no’s” here and there. Turning off the laptop. Silent on the cell phone. And I’ll relish what really matters…..my family, my faith, my friends. I want  2008 to be the year of serenity, sanity, and satisfaction, no matter what circumstances may bring. Let me know how I’m doing…….

I think it should be a holy day, a day of reverence and contemplation. At least it is for me. The Day before the day before Christmas, December 23rd.  Increasingly, as the years unfold, I find myself cherishing this quiet, unrecognized day, which I now recognize for its simplicity and serenity amid the insanity that has become the holiday season. Today, especially, when the 23rd falls on a truly sacred Sunday, it is just about perfect.

The Day before the day before Christmas is a day to stay at home. I have considered printing up old-fashioned calling cards that announce, “The Bones are at home, December 23rd. Please call. Or not”.

I like to wear comfortable jeans and a holiday sweater on the 23rd and putter about. Yes, putter about. Lighting all the holiday candles. Doing a final polishing and cleaning, in anticipation of guests on the 24th and 25th.

I like to sit with Gary and admired the glowing tree or take a walk with our bouncy pound puppy, T.S. Eliot and enjoy the neighbors’ holiday finery.

I do my final baking on this day. Creating what has become a tradition in our family, gift baskets of homemade bread and jam for brothers and sisters. This year, it is a three seed bread, sunflower, sesame, and poppy seeds sweetened with honey.

It is a good day to sample the treats delivered by neighbors and friend. Cookie Muscarella, who lives across the street, could open her own pastry shop. Amazing stuff!

The Day before the day before Christmas is ideal for the “drop in” guest. My friend Candy stopped by with her beau, much nicer than her ex-husband. My sister and niece come by for coffee, “Vanilla Biscotti”, from friend Candy’s gift bag.

My daughters are both home and take over the kitchen, crafting food gifts for their own holiday visits. I am amazed at how much they actually learned from me over the years. Their tins and glass jars of fudge, candies, and treats are a reminder of how much they have grown up and how generous their spirits are.

It is a holy day, this un-named holiday in the midst of a festive time. It is a gift to be unwrapped every December 23rd. One quiet day to be thankful, to be at home, to putter about and do a few last minute tasks. To be a mother  who remembers what it must have been like for that holy mother, 2000 years ago and to be grateful for her faithfulness, which now allows us all a time of glorious celebration, which shall begin 48 hours from today…..but for now…it is quiet.