Summer Kinard's Blog, page 17
February 27, 2016
Free Progidal Son Hands-On Sunday School Lesson
My godmother called me this morning and asked for ideas on an activity-based lesson for The Prodigal Son. When my godmama calls, I answer! Here’s my pdf offering of The Prodigal Son: A Tale of Two Leftovers, which will be included in the next volume of Hands-On Sunday School Lessons. I hope it builds up the church.
In Christ, Summer
*You can find the first volume of Hands-On Sunday School Lessons: Old Testament Relays and Games here (affiliate link).*
I price these lessons quite low in consciousness of limited church budgets. Please comment if you have a particular need in your church for lessons on a certain topic. My next volume is going to be about Jesus’ parables, but I can add your requests to the list.
February 7, 2016
Stabat Mater
Three years ago on this evening, I made the happy discovery that we were expecting our third child. The baby was a surprise, but very wanted. I started taking prenatal vitamins. I speed walked my first 5k, unable to go very fast due to morning sickness. (I came in 10th from the end.) Around two weeks later, at 2:22 am on February 26, 2013, I woke up with a terrible pain. I knew what it must mean, but I went back to bed, hoping it was food poisoning. The next morning around 7, there was our wanted one, together with her placenta, gone.
I held her in one hand and said what I say to all of my children. “I’m so grateful to be your mother. I thank God for you. I love you, my wonderful child.” We told the older children. We all cried on the bed. I found a beautiful velvet box and placed our lost one in it. I poured in spikenard and myrrh, fragrances the spine knows as grief. And love.
I went to the midwives and stopped by the church to talk to a priest. Good news tucked in bad, a good miscarriage. A complete one. The terrible knowledge of healing. Our older children kept watch and wept. We picked the only flowers in the yard, frost-touched mint and daffodils. The priest came and led us in a funeral, consecrating a tiny plot in our yard.
This isn’t a post about awareness, and I’m not asking you to give me a political opinion. I’m writing to tell you that, as much as any child, our lost Seraphim taught me to be a mother.
People tell you to pray in grief, as though the “please, please, please” of your heart had stopped. Platitudes abound about looking upward from the depths. They are the words of fools.
Grief does not reach up. Grief reaches sideways.
I reached sideways in the dark, and I found the hand of my husband, of true friends, and of the Mother of God. Because she sang it to me, I learned what mothers do. Mothers stand.
The Mother stood at the foot of the cross. Mothers stand. We bend over to make sure the child is breathing through long nights. We stoop to dance our children. We kneel to comfort and listen. We stand.
We stand because you need to see us there with you. We stand because there is grace in the world. We stand, because from the moment the baby came into the world, we saw this coming. We knew the cups of our bellies were cups of trembling. That life is a drink of joy and sorrow. Grief is the wrinkle that lets you see the mother’s smile at night.
Each of us has some way to mend. Hiking, sewing, working with yarn, painting, cooking, teaching a child to read, giving alms, shining tables or shoes. Singing. If you want to know the sound of grief, there is nothing closer:
The [Oregon Symphony translation] is a good one.
Reach sideways, my friends, in the dark night.
January 26, 2016
Princess films as metaphors for middle class success
A friend shared {this article on the linguistic analysis of Disney Princess films}.
I found it interesting, but such analysis misses the point, in my opinion.
I think the Princess movies are metaphors representative of their eras’ upward mobility. Snow White worked hard and was kind and lucked out (Great Depression). Cinderella worked hard but needed external help to class up (Rosie the Riveter gets hitched). Sleeping Beauty had to be raised elsewhere to avoid a family curse (boarding school, war orphans). Ariel had to be remarkably talented and resourceful but behave well and talk little to shift sideways socially. Belle had to make the grades to get the job. Jasmine had to settle for a good guy with a checkered past. Mulan had to act like a dude to be accepted. Tiana worked hard and literally overcame the beastly characterization of racism to achieve her dream. Merida had to defy her family expectations while utilizing the resources and privileges they gave her. Elsa had to overcome bad parenting, isolation, and one heck of an imposter syndrome to find peace. Anna had to overcome a lack of street sense and learn to choose her loyalties carefully.
These are life skills that girls need. Every girl in my high school knew that college was the way to a good job. Every girl today knows that they have to let go of shame and learn to use their talents for good if they want to succeed in the hyper exposed world they’re growing into.
What do you think?
I’ve written before about princesses in “Why There Are No Mothers.“
January 11, 2016
Gluten Free Vasilopita with Traditional Spices
We’re in full Vasilopita season here! Check out the recipe I developed for a gluten free version using the traditional spices.
Happy New Year! Joyous Feast of St. Basil from Summer Kinard!
Every new year, Orthodox Christians, especially Greek Orthodox Christians, celebrate the feast of St. Basil the Great on January 1. The traditional cake that is shared that day and throughout the month of January is called a Vasilopita, or Basil Cake.
The recipes for wheat flour vary froma sweet yeast bread to a cakier texture.
I knew that I didn’t want to attempt a gluten free yeast bread, since the flours and gums for that sort of recipe would detract from the earthy warmth of a good Vasilopita. Instead, I heavily adapted a favorite gluten free cake recipe to make a nutty, rich cake that highlights the traditional mahlab and mastika spices.
Notes on the ingredients:
Because I have hazelnut flour on hand for holiday baking, this recipe calls for some, but a mixture of almond meal and coconut…
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January 3, 2016
Infinity Sets of Infinity
My son loves math. He also asks good theological questions. We hear over and over in church, “now and ever and unto the ages of ages.” The Greek sounds more like “eternities of eternities.”
the older children and my nephew prayed by their Archangel patrons
To my son, the biggest amount is, “infinity sets of infinity.” He supplements this concept by spelling it out a bit: infinity sets of infinity sets of infinity sets of infinity sets of infinity…
When he uses the phrase, I pay attention. Only important topics warrant it.
I try to bless the children every day, using a word formula I’ve repeated since the oldest was tiny. I pull each one close and tell them this blessing. (I even spoke it over the tiny casket of the child we lost to miscarriage.) The past few times I’ve whispered the blessing into my oldest son’s ear on the way to Communion, he has said, “Mom, you’ve already told me that infinity sets of infinity.”
“Good.”
I hope I get to be here to bless him for many more sets of infinity. Staring down middle age is making me a more conscientious parent. If I can hasten the love of God in each child, if I can set up a turning lane on some dark way in their futures, if they remember first of all how loved and welcome they are, I will have made a start in the right direction.
I don’t think in resolutions. To me, there is too much redolent of Robert’s Rules in a resolution. But I like to tweak best practices. I like goals and high fives and kitchen dances when they’re reached.
This year, I will write more. We’re aiming to rearrange the basement to make a better writing space. I want a plotting wall for the twisty stories taking shape.
I’m planning to shift the closets around and get the superfluous piles of outgrown clothes out of the way of the babies who outgrew them.
I’m going to eat more vegetables and try to find 5 or 6 ways to cut back on sugar.
But what I hope for the new year is to love more. I want to find small ways to tuck infinity sets of infinity into the bellies around me.
What do you want to do this year?
December 24, 2015
Merry Christmas!
The children are getting ready for bed. But first, preparing for Santa.
Wishing you and yours a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
December 14, 2015
The Fabulous Reinvention of Mama
Every child shifts my focus. After each pregnancy, I changed. My firstborn made me laugh and sing more. My oldest daughter reawakened my creative urges to crochet and write. The child I lost helped me prioritize compassion. The twins made me stronger and faster and braver. My last little one made me fierce enough to breathe the pure gold of sunlight.
Mothers are chimeras of themselves and their children. I have developed a new superpower with each. Silly songs! Novels! Hand holding! Catching dropped things before they smash! Being in LOVE! Jazz hands in public! Laughing up and down the harmonic scales! Liking my mama legs and belly! Giving everyone a shot at grace! Letting myself be Mothered! Owning the instinct to nurture! Being smart AND tired AND able to speak toddler! Cleaning AND not hating myself when I can’t! Reaching out a hand to my sisters and friends! Pouring tea with one hand and a full heart!
The fabulous reinvention of Mama means that the war with beauty is over. I’ve unearthed the buried treasures and shined them up for hospitality and joy.
The fabulous reinvention of Mama means that I will fight time and sleep and even my own fragile nerves to reconnect with those I love. So what if my older kids and I drifted apart? I have an oar, and I’m rowing back towards them.
The fabulous reinvention of Mama means that the misleading questions of our day– work/life balance? doing it all? gourmet meals and magazine house? fashion model figure? –are trampled underfoot like so many Cheerios. From dust they came, and to dust they have returned.
The fabulous reinvention of Mama means that my eyes and heart are open to the mothering love of God. I learned the joy, the compassion, the open and welcoming hand, the teaching, the dance, the wisdom, from hearing the songs of the Theotokos, of saints and angels, and of the good God who loves humankind. If I’m a mama worth the name, it’s because of the habits of hearing I have learned in the Church.
This Christmas, I’m giving myself and my family the gift of acceptance. Accept the reinvention, and you’re free to rejoice:
Happy Holidays!
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Read Tea & Crumples*, which Texas TEA & TRAVEL magazine called the “uplifting story” that “will warm your heart and renew your faith.”
*affiliate link
November 20, 2015
What to Say When Asked to Pray
If I ask for help praying, here’s what’s NOT happening:
I’m not saying I have a mild case of self absorption that can be cured by looking at the big picture.
I’m not saying I lack peace.
I’m not saying I lack faith or trust in God.
I’m not saying that what I really need is a chipper platitude to get me through a tough time.
I’m not being abstract.
Prayer is practical.
Prayer is work.
Prayer is action.
But too often, we treat prayer requests as invitations for platitudes. We act like our friend just needs to buck up. We act like God isn’t there and assume by our words that our friend lacks faith.
Here’s an example:
Imagine you’re friends with Moses. He sits down for some pitas with your group and goes, “Man, I would really appreciate your prayers for this Pharoah thing.”
One guy goes, “You’ve got this, MoMo! You’re the best, man.”
Another dude is like, “Just think. In a few years, this will all have blown over.”
The lady next to him is all, “The Pharoah thing is totally going to work out. It always does.”
This dude who’s just spent 25 minutes playing “Goat or Sheep,” an impression game similar to Charades but with limited subject matter, says, “Just trust God!”
The old lady next to him looks at him and says, “Goat.” Her husband laughs. Then the old husband takes his old wive’s hand and leans toward Moses and says, “Yes. We will pray for you.” Moses sighs with relief.
Seriously though, I DO trust God, which is why I asked for help moving the mountain.
That’s why the best answer is, “I’ll pray.” (Thank you all for your prayers.)
November 18, 2015
Interview with Summer Kinard
I so enjoyed talking with the insightful Elizabeth Hein at Scribbling in the Storage Room! I hope you’ll read our conversation about work/life balance and the trick to “doing it all.”
Originally posted on Elizabeth Hein - Scribbling In The Storage Room:
Today, Summer Kinard is visiting the Storage Room. Summer and I live in the same city, so I had the pleasure of attending the launch of Tea & Crumples earlier this month. Summer read from her book while the audience drank tea and nibbled on tea cakes. Everyone had a lovely afternoon.
I was intrigued by Tea & Crumples and have asked Summer to chat a bit about her book. I hope you enjoy getting to know her better.
What was the inspiration for Sienna’s journey in Tea & Crumples?
I’m fond of a three-stranded plot. I always knew that Sienna would struggle to get the teashop off its feet and that her husband Peter would have a medical crisis at the same time. I was taken by surprise by the third strand of grief, but it fit. When I was in seminary, I first got an inside look…
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The Courage to Ride
Read this encouraging and very real story from a brilliant homeschooling mom and Harvard grad student.
Originally posted on Notes:
My husband is a cyclist. He wears tiny spandex shorts and rides more than 10,000 miles a year. I have not been on that journey with him; the roads seemed too scary and dangerous. When I moved near Cambridge, driving became much more difficult. I started riding the bike path to the subway to get to HGSE. Slowly my confidence improved, and now I ride directly to Harvard each day through crazy mazes of traffic. I still remember being too scared to tackle the roads, but now I also feel a surprising love for the daily bit of exercise and connection to my new home, thanks to my bike.
Now, for those of you considering Harvard, I’ve got an analogy for you. Let’s get personal for a moment, shall we? I grew up in poverty. There is no father on my birth certificate, but there were a string of “dads” that…
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