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About Elea Lee

Foster parent, adopting parent, family advocate, educator, homeschool parent

Cool

Being cool.

It was the first illusion I left behind 14 years ago when I became a foster parent. There is no way to be cool when a small irate child is freaking out in your direction.

Now that she is older my adopted daughter’s preferred term for women is b!t?h. When she was mad at me as a child it was bad mommy.

No way to look cool when a small red-faced human is screaming that atcha.

But the truth is: cool is an illusion. Sure you can look great in skinny jeans. Sure you can own a hot tub. Sure you can buy a car, house, watch that defines you.

But make no mistake. Cool is an illusion.

There are no cool ICU patients. No cool nursing home residents. No cool corpses.

We humans are frail, helpless and bound to our mortal ends.

Cool is an illusion.

So if you love cool, if you crave cool, remember this:

There was a guy once who was cool. He was that Guy, the one who said–

Matthew 5:5-7 (NIV)
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. [6] Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. [7] Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Nothing cooler than Jesus.

Because let’s face it. It is easy to say,

greater love has no man than he lay down his life for his friend

Easy to say it. But if you can do it? If you did do it? If you did it for me?

Freakin’ cool.
Because it cost Him everything
And He didn’t even blink

Homesick Christmas

So. Being an army brat; homesickness was a big issue. Nothing in the routine ordering of life’s calendar evokes greater nostalgia, more intense pathos than the hoopla of American Christmas.
It can make us feel homesick.

But none of it is real. All the flashy lights, saccharine music, bubbly party dresses in the world cannot begin to fill the void of the solitary manger.

We need that baby.

We need Him because He is hope. He is the inexplicable star in an inky dark sky. He is our Ransom.

And all we do to “celebrate Christmas” can make us feel that much more shipwrecked if we don’t cut through all the noise and plastic.

And push toward the quiet winter manger. What God in His right mind puts His Son in the arms of a girl in the smelly dark of a stable?

Jesus was born homeless
Because He is our home
And we are sick without him

December 3

Imaging a group of shepherds, young, poor, smelling a bit gamey.

They are discussing something in a rushed, exhilarated way

S1: so it was night and things were quiet and then there was a….

S2: no, no, no…it was night and things were quiet and then…then there was a

S3: an explosion!

S4, s1, s2: yeah!!! An explosion!

S5: freaky man!

S2: yeah…and then there was a…

S1: an angel!!!!

Tomorrow–the chick flick version:-)

December 2

I am stealing this conversation from my daughter.

She was at a youth camp and she overheard a conversation among some boys about her age. It went something like this:

B1: so then the car hit the…and there was an explosion….

B2: no, no, no, no…then there was an…explosion!!!!!

Overlapping with the other 2 boys–

B3, B4, etc…
No!
No!
No!
Then there was an….
Explosion.

End of part one.

December 1

Yesterday was the first day of advent and I am catching up.

When I was in China I remember the lights. Many little (delicious) restaurants adorned their awnings with Christmas lights. These lights, like the ones that adorned the outdoor dance floors or the western-style clubs were festive but unconnected to Christmas.

And there were tons of Christmas cards, hundreds of images of Santa Claus. The imagery of a de-Jesused December holiday coexisted benignly with a government anxious to attract foreign money and commerce.

Without our mad rush for slankets and computerized ear warmers, where would China be?

But that story? The strange one about the God-king’s infant son born in a barn?

Never heard of it.

Christmas Stories

I truly believe Christmas is the hardest season of the year. It is a characteristic of humans–our ability to make the most joyful event in human history into a frenetic, stressful, lonely race for the trappings of glee without the core of joy.

So this month I am giving myself the gift of stories.

My favorite storyteller was my paternal grandfather whom we called Papaw. My favorite thing about Christmas was his stories, his kitchen. For a nomadic military brat, his house, his kitchen was home.

Flawed, aging, ordinary home. But something about the combination of warm food aromas–coffee, pinto beans, brisket, pies–still comes back to me through all these years.

Home. The very place Jesus left to save us.

Cover

It is a simple enough word
Cover
A blanket over me
The cleft of a rock
A bit of plastic tenting
as the storm blows in
.
These angels,
Fierce angels
Stretch wings of splendor over our history of blood

Turn your head to the side little girl
To the past where we both came from
And imagine for a minute
A world without cover
The shadow of majesty
Passing over us
Leaving us all
alone

The Standard Predator

He worked with children in a job that was focused on children.

He worked with child advocates or at least people who have been educated to educate children.

He hid his sexual preferences/behavior.

He has never admitted he molested children.

He is not Kevin Clash.

He is a (former) coach and trainer i know who molested at least half a dozen children in conjunction with his job/coaching.

His victims have told the truth about abuse. He still denies everything.

Sesame Street needs to face this one straight. Let’s talk about child sexual abuse (allegations) and what it does to all of us.

Now.