Blogging badly and getting unstuck.

I have something to do. It's something that I need to do, or something that I want to do. I want do it well. I want to be able to look at what I've done and say, "Good job." I might even want it to be brilliant.

And then whatever I have to do becomes scary, because in the end it might not be brilliant, or very good, or even sort-of-good. Sometimes I can push through the fear. Sometimes I put off doing it for as long as possible, and sometimes I don't do it at all.

Does anybody else have this problem?

I'm nervous every year when I plant my vegetable garden, because I might plant the seeds wrong.

I don't like setting goals, because I will probably not meet them.

I hate organizing stuff, not so much because I'm lazy, but because I'll probably do it wrong. I've never been good at organization.

But when the task at hand is an area of strength for me, I'm even more afraid of failure.

I didn't audition for any college choirs until my junior year, even though I'm pretty good at choral singing, because I couldn't face the possibility that I wouldn't make it in.

I always wanted to be on stage, but I waited until 11th grade to try out for plays. Not because I didn't have any talent, but because I was pretty sure that I did, and I couldn't risk finding out that I didn't measure up.

When I took the GRE in my 30s, I was nervous. I'm good at taking standardized tests, and my graduate program only required moderately good test scores. But I had done well on the SATs in high school, and I was afraid that I wouldn't do as well on this test.

I'm a blogger who hates writing, not because I'm a bad writer, but because I want to be a good writer, and I think that I should be a good writer, and it's hard to be a good writer, and I'm afraid that if I start writing it will be garbage, junk, bleck.

So I'm stuck. Totally stuck, and I'm in a bad mood because of it. (This post is an attempt to get myself unstuck.)

I live with a perfectionist streak and a fair amount of anxiety. Since I'm in favor of demystifying and destigmatizing mental illness, I'll go ahead and say that I've been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder. It goes up and down, and the extent to which it interferes with my life fluctuates. When my anxiety level rises, a bunch of stuff that I should be doing, stuff that would make me happier and healthier doesn't happen. It's just too scary to try it.

I don't know if casual acquaintances know how scared I am most of the time. Does it show? Do I come across as someone who functions normally?

Wait, don't answer that.

I don't want to be stuck in fear that what I write isn't good enough. I want to blog badly! I don't even know if "blogging badly" is grammatically and stylistically correct. If it isn't, so much the better. How liberating to scrap concerns about word choice and usage! How freeing to write inelegant sentences and lousy paragraphs!

I could start a post like this:

Since the beginning of time, man has longed for nature walks. It is with a joyful heart that I go on one today. I walk for three reasons: a) love, b) beauty, and c) I want to take photographs for this blog.

Or this:

I dislike the straw man fallacy and I think that it should be outlawed in writing and speaking. It is bad. It hurts our society. Please consider.

I also want to sing badly, dance badly, garden badly, pray badly, exercise badly, and play the piano badly. That's my plan: just to do stuff without wondering whether I'll achieve excellence or meet expectations. It's a good plan, but I'll probably execute it poorly. I'll be bad at allowing myself to do things badly. I'll be bad at it, and that's okay.

 

Missed connections and the kindness of strangers.

The New Yorker blog recently published a humorous piece, "Missed Connection for A-Holes." It's both sardonic and silly, and I thought it was really funny. But then I thought of the hundreds of strangers who have been kind to me at just the right moments. So here are the missed connection ads that I'm sending out to the universe.

I was the woman at the Cheverly Aldi who forgot to bring a quarter so that I could get a shopping cart. You were the cab driver who gave me a quarter and then got in your vehicle. I wish I could let you know how much that quarter helped my day to go more smoothly.

______

We were new parents in our mid-thirties, waiting in line with our baby at the Kaiser medical center. You were a man with white hair and a plaid shirt, probably in your eighties. In the first few weeks of our son's life, we had already been to a dozen doctor's appointments. My recovery was complicated. The baby wasn't gaining weight. We were exhausted and insecure. You stopped and wanted to see the baby. You said slowly and solemnly, "You are lucky. You are lucky." You changed my perspective on our situation and somehow imbued that moment with love and beauty. I wish that I could have gotten to know you. I'm sure that we would have been friends.

______

It's 1992, and we're at the Wendy's in Germantown. You're a well-dressed middle-aged couple coming to eat a meal during the slow period between the lunch rush and dinner. I'm the 18-year-old employee behind the counter who helps you with your order. It's the fall after my high school graduation, and my classmates have already started college. I'm not in school, I don't have a social life, and I don't like my job. I feel out-of-place and left behind.When the two of you leave the restaurant, you drop a customer comment card in the box. We rarely get comments, so my manager immediately unlocks the box and reads it, then shows me the card. You haven't just circled the numbers indicating your level of satisfaction. You've written a glowing review of my performance, commending me for being helpful, polite, and smart. Thank you for noticing me and for spending a few extra minutes writing those words of encouragement. They made a big difference that day.

______

I bought too many books at the library book sale, and you offered to walk me to my car so that you could help me carry everything. My car was parked at the far end of the parking lot. Thanks.

 _____

It was January 1996, somewhere along the Missouri stretch of Interstate 70. We were three college kids driving a 1979 Mazda hatchback across the country. It was the middle of the night, and all of a sudden the road was icy. We spun off the highway into a snowbank in the median. We didn't have cell phones, and we were stuck there until you came along with your truck and your chain and pulled us out. We didn't have time to have a conversation with you. And it was dark, so I don't really know what you look like, except that you looked kind of amazing, kind of like a hero.

_____

I'm in the supermarket and my two-year-old has a meltdown. Before I can stop him, he grabs a jar of pasta sauce and throws it on the floor. Shards of glass and red sauce are everywhere. You're the employee who has to clean it up, and I'm really sorry about that. You soothe my embarrassment and cheer up my little boy, even when you have every right to be annoyed with us.

______

This was about ten years ago, and I had just broken up with my boyfriend. I wandered into a strip mall, feeling bereft and hopeless. My glasses needed repairing, and I went into your store. You insisted on fixing them for free, even though I told you that I hadn't bought the glasses from you. Maybe you were hoping to gain a loyal customer. Maybe your motivation was profit, not kindness. But it felt like a little bit of grace, and I really needed that right then.

______

I'm at the Beltsville Costco, waiting in a long line, antsy because I don't want to be late picking up my son. When I'm almost at the front of the line, I notice that the sign says, "This register is closed." I say something surly and am immediately ashamed of myself. I look around for another long line to join, and I notice you in the line next to me, gesturing for me to go in front of you. The man behind you smiles and nods. You two are making the offer together, and you both wear the expression of someone who is presenting a lovely surprise to a child. I protest. You insist. I say, "Thank you," trying to acknowledge with my body language that I know I don't deserve kindness like this after my grumpiness the moment before. You beam at me and say, "To God be the glory."

______

I was having a particularly  horrible morning with the boys that had had practically unhinged me. You worked at my son's school and were helping with the morning drop-off. I was inexcusably rude to you, and I was mortified by my behavior later. I wanted to apologize, but it was easier to avoid you instead. After two or three weeks, I finally approached you to say, "I'm sorry." Your graciousness amazed me. You insisted that I had nothing to apologize for (not true) and tried to take part of the blame (which was not warranted — you were just being nice). Before I left, you told me that this was your last day working there before you started your new job. I went home and cried because I had almost missed my chance to make it right. I cried because it was a tiny, perfect moment of mercy.

A question for my kids: What would you like to do about that?

Several years ago, when my first son was a toddler, I was at the playground with a few friends and their young children. One of the boys, who was about six years old, ran up to his mom and said something like, "I'm thirsty," or "The sun is in my eyes," or, "I'm hot." His mother's response impressed me.

She did not say, "Go get a drink of water from the water fountain," or, "Put on your hat," or, "Rest in the shade." Instead, she said, "What would you like to do about that?" Her tone was not sarcastic or off-putting. It was matter-of-fact with a nice undercurrent of warmth. Her son thought for half a minute and then figured out a solution to the problem.

When my son was old enough, I started asking him that same question. I want him to be independent and resourceful, and this is a small way that I can help him develop those traits. Here's an example of how I use the question: Yesterday, when we were walking home from school, he told me that he was thirsty. When I asked, "What would you like to do about that?" he remembered that he had a bottle in his backpack with water in it left over from lunch. The problem was solved, and more importantly I didn't have to solve it for him.

Of course, this question isn't appropriate for every situation. Sometimes my son needs me to give him an immediate solution (e.g. somebody's bleeding), sometimes I don't allow him complete autonomy (e.g. he's hungry, but he can't have a snack an hour before dinner), and sometimes he just needs a hug and a kiss. But there are times when this approach is effective, and it encourages him to figure out how to solve the problem himself.

Even if my son still needs my help with the problem, the question allows him to think about his options and what assistance he needs. It helps him to be more of a self-advocate and less of a whiner. And when the problem can't be solved immediately, my question helps him to process the situation and understand that I am not a magician who can teleport him home immediately or produce a treat out of thin air or make Daddy come back from work sooner.

Mothers in the scriptures: Looking beyond the stripling warriors.

Eve Naming the Birds (detail), William Blake

        
For Mormons, the classic Mother's Day scripture is Alma 56:47-48. These verses praise the mothers of the stripling warriors, an example of successful motherhood that has been referenced in countless sacrament meetings, lessons, and church publications.

If you're not familiar with the story, here's the background: In the Book of Mormon, a group of people found God and became pacifists, taking a solemn oath against violence. Years later, those men would have rather died than defend themselves against the invading army. But their young teenaged sons had never taken the oath of non-violence and so they went to battle to protect their families, trusting God to deliver them.

The young men believed that God would protect them because of the faith of their mothers, saying, "We do not doubt our mothers knew it."

Why does this particular passage of scripture get so much attention? These nameless women seem to represent our Mormon ideal of motherhood: As the behind-the-scenes force for good, they are powerful in their faith and beloved by their children. They inspire their sons to be courageous and righteous, and they inspire us to create a legacy of faith for our own families.

But what can we learn from other mothers in the scriptures? We have many stories in the scriptures of women bearing, raising, and influencing their children. Some are substantial narratives, and some are only brief glimpses.

In the New Testament, Timothy was influenced by his mother Eunice and grandmother Lois, both Christian converts praised by Paul for their "unfeigned faith."

In the Old Testament, Naomi, bereft of children and husband, had such a close bond with her daughter-in-law Ruth that their relationship was immortalized in these poetic words, from Ruth 1:16.

Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

Eunice, Lois, Naomi, and the mothers of the stripling warriors are inspiring examples of successful mothers. But we also find women in the scriptures whose experiences with motherhood were complicated, painful, even tragic.

There is Sariah, the first woman mentioned in the Book of Mormon. Sariah, who was overwhelmed with anxiety for her sons when their return from Jerusalem was delayed. Sariah, whose older sons repeatedly tried to kill their brother. She had two more children in the wilderness when she was old enough to be a grandmother. Later, she was so devestated by her sons' abuse of their brother that she fell ill and was not able to care for her youngest children.

There is Eve, the "mother of all living." At her first son's birth, her words expressed the universal sense of awe at holding a new child, a new person: "I have gotten a man from the Lord." As an adult, that son murdered his brother.

There's Rebecca, whose twin boys were rivals, even in the womb. Rebecca, who was inspired to help her younger son trick his father and cheat his older brother out of the birthright that would have been his.

There's Hagar, Abraham's concubine, who was banished from the home with her child after Sarah (Abraham's first wife) bore a son in her old age. Hagar, who wandered in the desert with her son until they ran out of food and water. She could not bear to watch her son die and left him to take his last breaths alone, or so she thought, before an angel saved them both.

There's Leah, married to a man who loved her sister Rachel, whose saving grace was that she was able to bear children, even when her sister was barren. But her sons sold their half-brother into slavery, and lived lives full of moral and sexual scandal.

There's Rachel, who was able to have two children after years of infertility, but died giving birth to her second son. There's Bilhah, Rachel's handmaid, who was given to Jacob as a concubine in order to bear children upon Rachel's knees, children that Rachel would count as her own.

There's Hannah, who brought her son to serve at the temple as soon as he was weaned. There's Jochebed, who put her son Moses in a basket into the river to save his life. There's Elizabeth, who gave birth to John the Baptist in her old age and then had to raise her son as a widow after her husband was murdered.

There is Mary, mother of the Lord. We read about the annunciation, her pregnancy, and the miraculous virgin birth. We see her again as Jesus turned the water into wine at Cana, and later at the crucifixion. But the only glimpse we have into Mary's experience actually parenting her son in his boyhood is the story of Mary and her husband mistakenly leaving him behind at Jerusalem.

The family had gone to Jerusalem for the Passover feast. When they started home, Mary and Joseph did not realize that their son had stayed behind until they had already traveled a day's journey. It took them three days to find him. He was "in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions."

And when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing.

And he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business? 

And they understood not the saying which he spake unto them. Luke 2:48-50

This passage contains the only words of the young Jesus recorded in the Bible. And in this moment, mother and son seemed to be talking past each other. Mary had seen an angel, she was raising the Son of God, and yet she did not fully understand her child or his remarkable mission. As a mother myself, having experienced the miracle of giving birth and the frustrating realities of parenthood, this story is particularly poignant for me.

In the scriptures, we see mothers suffering through infertility, mothers who are widowed or abandoned, mothers who witness rivalry and violence between their sons, mothers who lose their children through death or separation. Mothers in the scriptures were sometimes confused, they were sometimes depressed, they sometimes feared for their children's lives. They inspired their children, but they also failed them. They raised prophets, but they also raised scoundrels and murderers.

This is the complicated picture of motherhood that I see in the scriptures. This is what helps me get past the idealized expectations that we mothers in Zion sometimes have for ourselves. Motherhood is glorious, but it is also painful. Success in the home is mixed with failure; joy is mixed with sorrow.

Blooming plants at Buddy Attick Park.

Late April is a lovely time of year to see blooming things at Buddy Attick Park in Greenbelt, Maryland. I wanted to document the blossoms I've seen, along with a few non-blooming plants or soon-to-be-blooming plants. All of the photographs in this post were taken at Buddy Attick park in the last few days. (I am not a horticulturist or a botanist, so you are welcome to comment on or correct my attempt at plant identification.)

Growing near the East entrance are these beautiful Virginia Bluebells, or Mertensia virginica. There aren't very many of them, perhaps because they are competing with non-native invasive plants in the area. They were originally planted here by Greenbelt Public Works.

Mertensia virginica  (Virginia Bluebells) 

Nearby, I found a few Wild Geraniums, also called Crane's Bill. There are hundreds of species in the Geranium family, so I'm hesitant to make a definitive statement about the Latin name, but this one seems to be Geranium maculatum.

Geranium maculatum (Wild Geranium, Crane's Bill)

Growing close to little bridge near the East entrance, the Mayapples (Podophyllum peltatum) are plentiful. The flowers aren't quite open yet, but if you look carefully at the photo below, you can see a round bud hiding under the foliage. It will open into a nice white blossom.

Podophyllum peltatum (Mayapple)

If I were a small elf, I would want to take shelter under the umbrella-like foliage.

Also near the small bridge by the East entrance is this wonderful tree. It has dainty white bell-shaped blossoms.

My best guess is that this is one of the Silverbells, a small genus of several species. I'd say that this is the Carolina Silverbell, but I'm not sure. If you know, tell me in the comments.

A Carolina Silverbell?

Another tree that is in bloom now is Cercis canadensis or Eastern Redbud. I've always thought that these trees have a funny, charming shape, with their sort of stringy looking branches.

 Here's a close-up of the blossoms. Redbud leaves are heart-shaped. Of course, they're tiny at this time of year, while the trees are still covered in blooms, but they'll get bigger as the season progresses.

Cercis canadensis (Eastern Redbud)

On the peninsula are several Sweet Bay Magnolias. They are not in bloom yet, but when the blossoms open in a few weeks, you'll want to stop by just to smell them. They are extremely fragrant, with a scent that is lemony and sweet and spicy all at once.

I'm getting a bit giddy thinking about the fragrance. I hope that I don't lose my sense of smell anytime soon.

Magnolia Virginiana (Sweetbay Magnolia)

The Flowering Dogwoods are in bloom now, and they appear to be near their peak. Except that they're not really in bloom! Technically what we think of as the flower petals are bracts. The true blossoms are those little greenish things in the middle. In this photo, you can see that those are not open yet.

Cornus florida (Flowering Dogwood)

These wild azaleas just coming into bloom are Rhododendron periclymenoids, sometimes called Pinxter Flowers. 

Rhododendron periclymenoids (Pinxter Flower)

Buds on a Rhododendron periclymenoides.

The mountain laurel is not blooming yet, but it will probably start blooming in a few weeks. They are plentiful near marker nine on the trail. When they're in bloom, they have clusters of wonderful pentagonal blossoms, pinkish white in color. Here's the wikipedia article, with a photo of the blooms.

Kalmia latifolia (Mountain Laurel)

The Iris pseudocorus, or Yellow Flag, will also bloom later in the spring. It loves very wet conditions, so it grows at the edges of the lake. This is not a native plant, and it's considered invasive in some areas. At our lake, it doesn't seem to be a problem, at least to my untrained eye.

Iris pseudacorus (Yellow flag)

But the park definitely has a problem with some invasive plants, like the ones below:

Vinca minor (Periwinkle) 

Alliaria petiolata (Garlic Mustard)

A large group of Ranunculus ficaria (Lesser Celandine)

The invasive Lesser Celandine, shown here, is easily confused with Marsh Marigold, a non-invasive native. An easy way to tell them apart is that the Marsh Marigold has five petals, compared with Lesser Celandine's eight.

A Japanese Honeysuckle vine (Lonicera japonica) taking advantage of a tree.

                                        

Hedera Helix (English Ivy) is an enemy of the park.

And, of course, Poison Ivy is a native plant, but it makes the woods a land mine for super-sensitive people like my husband. In this photo, the new leaves are shiny and reddish. They'll look greener and less shiny later in the season.

Toxicodendron radicans (Poison Ivy)

This tiny blue flower grows in patches as a delightful weed. It's commonly called Bird's Eye Speedwell, and I am almost confident that its Latin name is Veronica persica. The Speedwells can be confusing because they have so many common names, and more than one species share the common name of Bird's Eye Speedwell.

Veronica persica (Bird's Eye Speedwell)

You likely have Ground-ivy (Glechoma hederacea) somewhere in your backyard. It's everywhere. The scalloped leaves have a yummy spicy scent, and its blossoms are so tiny that it was hard to get a good shot with my camera. Here's a link to the wikipedia article if you want to see a better close-up.

Glechoma hederacea (Ground-ivy), shown here with English Ivy.

And I used to confuse Purple Deadnettle, shown below, with Ground-ivy, though they're clearly different. (Ground-ivy also resembles Bugleweed, of the genus Ajuga.)

Lamium purpureum (Purple deadnettle)

 Here are two species of the Buttercup family:

Ranunculus acris (Common Buttercup)

Ranunculus abortivus (Kidneyleaf Buttercup, Small-flowered Buttercup) 

I'm guessing that this is Daisy Fleabane (Erigeron annuus), though I can't be entirely sure it's not Philadelphia Fleabane.

  Erigeron annuus (Daisy Fleabane)?

This almost looks like a photograph of trees in fall color, but it was taken yesterday. Brightly colored seeds give some trees a red or orange glow.

Here is a close-up of seeds on a Red Maple tree. If you look carefully, you can see the last little bits of the red flowers that were in full bloom a few weeks ago. The Red Maple, Acer rubrum, seems to be the best represented species of maple in the woods around here.

Acer rubrum (Red Maple) seeds.

Here are some Skunk Cabbages, Symplocarpus foetidus, which thrive in wet places. The Skunk Cabbage flowers are also finished now. The blossoms are odd looking things, spotted brown and purple, and they come up from the ground before the foliage appears. You can see a photo of a Skunk Cabbage blossom in the link here.

Symplocarpus foetidus (Skunk Cabbage)

This thornless shrub is Jetbead or Rhodotypos scandens. (In the original post, I was unable to identify it, but a friend posted it on the Plant Identification facebook group.) It is non-native, and it can be invasive. 

Rhodotypos scandens (Jetbead)

This tree, growing on the path that leads to the peninsula, is still unidentified. It looks like a Cherry Tree to me, but I'm not sure. If it is a Cherry, I don't know which species it would be.

A Cherry Tree?

The bark of the mystery tree.

Buried treasure birthday party, with map.

The treasure box.

Complicated birthday parties are not my forte, but when it occurred to me that my five-year-old would love a treasure map leading to actual buried treasure, I couldn't resist. So we had a buried treasure birthday party last year.

I kept my preparation time reasonable by avoiding things liked decorating a cake, mailing invitations (I just emailed people), or anything fancy besides the treasure hunt itself.

I told all the invitees to bring shovels.

My mother gave us an old hinged wooden box. (Key point: It got really dirty, so it wasn't something she was attached to.) I filled it with foil-covered chocolate and a few cheap plastic beads.

I bought the chocolate coins in the bulk candy aisle at Wegman's. They have the advantage of being real chocolate, unlike some other candy money, and they're less expensive per pound than the little individual bags of chocolate-y coins for sale elsewhere.

I kept the treasure box hidden from the birthday honoree, but I let my two-year-old sample the treasure the day before. He was truly delighted.

 

In advance, I made a treasure map that roughly represented our backyard. I decided to locate the treasure near the badminton net, so that it would be easier to find. There are all kinds of neat ways to age paper, but I didn't have time to do more than singe the edges with a match and sort of rumple it.

We were perhaps a bit too ambitious and decided to bury the treasure box (wrapped in a scrap piece of cloth to protect the wood) about a foot deep. We wanted to make the kids work for their treasure!

The treasure map. Naturally, X marks the spot.

 

I wrote a few clues and hid them around the house. They were simple clues like, "Look in the coldest place in the house," or "Look under the couch cushions." Each clue led to the next one, with the final clue leading to the treasure map. 

Once the treasure hunt started, the kids were excited as they raced around the house looking for clues. Since some of the children could read, they didn't need much adult help. They found the map under the fruit bowl. 

That was a good moment.

Finding the map.

Then they ran outside with their shovels! Fortunately, the kids were able to figure out how to interpret the map, more or less. There may have been some adult guidance here, when we realized how unfortunate it would be to have a bunch of extra holes in the backyard that didn't yield any treasure.

Following the map.

Starting to dig.

There was a lot of digging.

As I mentioned it before, we probably dug the hole a little too deep. At some point, my husband started scooping out big shovelfuls of dirt, because the digging process was taking so long. In the end, the difficulty they had digging down to the treasure probably added to their excitement when the box was finally unearthed.

That was a very good moment.

At last!

At just five years old, Johnny may have already peaked as far as birthday party fun goes. I can't see myself doing something equally cool in the future.

Abraham, Hagar, and the God who sees me.

Il Guercino, Abraham casting out Hagar and Ishmael

Few stories in the Old Testament are as dramatic as Abraham's sacrifice of his son Isaac. The story is troubling, moving, confusing, and compelling. We can't help but imagine ourselves in Abraham's place — or in Isaac's. We can't help wondering how God could require such a thing, and how Abraham could dare to tie his son to the altar and raise the knife. We feel immense relief and release when the ram in the thicket takes Isaac's place. And the sense of relief is real: we too have been spared by a Lamb that God has provided.

When that lesson comes up every four years in the curriculum cycle, it makes for a rich discussion in Sunday School. Some class members are genuinely inspired by Abraham's faith and subsequent deliverance; some draw from Abraham's example the courage they need for their own tests of faith. I appreciate hearing how others find meaning, but I always seem to come to the story in a state of emotional conflict, a state of protest. I am reluctant to celebrate it as a great example of obedience and sacrifice. It's just too disturbing. Does God really test people by telling them to murder their own children? That question looms large for me, and pretending that everything makes perfect sense is not helpful. In fact, it's impossible. Hearing from other members of my faith, those with different viewpoints, gives me balance. Our collective grappling with the story adds depth and perspective to my private struggles.

As showstopping as the near-sacrifice of Isaac is, this time through I found myself focusing on a part of the lesson that is usually not given much attention: the story of Hagar and Ishmael. Maybe it's because I have two boys of my own now, maybe it's because oppression is on my mind, or maybe it's just that I'm paying closer attention this year. Whatever the reason, Hagar's and Ishmael's story wrapped itself around my mind.

Hagar is Sarah's Egyptian bondwoman. She is owned by Sarah¹, and when Sarah can't conceive, she gives Hagar to Abraham as a second wife or concubine. When Hagar gets pregnant, "her mistress [is] despised in her eyes." Sarah, blistering at Hagar's disrespect, responds so harshly that the pregnant Hagar runs away. But Hagar sees an angel who tells her to turn back and reassures her that she will have many descendants through the son that she is carrying.

Years later, when Ishmael is probably in his teens, Sarah bears Isaac, the promised child of the covenant. And then comes the abandonment. This is the first time I've pondered the story of Ishmael since having children of my own, and I almost can't bear the sadness of it. Sarah sees Ishmael "mocking²." She tells Abraham to banish his own child, saying, "the son of this bondwoman will not be heir with my son." Incredibly, God commands Abraham to go along with it. Hagar has to leave her home. Ishmael has to leave his father. Abraham loses his son.

With all of the drama of the sacrifice of Isaac, this earlier sacrifice of Ishmael is understandably overshadowed. But this time, Abraham and Ishmael are not spared. There is no ram in the thicket. Ishmael is gone.

We know that Abraham loves Ishmael. After God tells Abraham that Sarah will bear a son and become the mother of nations, his joy is mixed with concern for his first son. He cries, "Oh, that Ishmael might live before thee!" I imagine that Abraham is saying, "But what about Ishmael? Can't he be a covenant child too?" Indeed, it is a mystery to me why Ishmael and Isaac can't both be part of the covenant. Maybe Ishmael and Hagar are not willing to follow God's laws. They are both depicted in the Biblical account as lacking respect, at least on occasion, either for Sarah or for her son. We might describe them today as having "bad attitudes." Given the family structure that they are part of, I can hardly blame them.

So Ishmael and Hagar are cast out from the household and left to wander in the desert with bread and a bottle of water. When the supplies run out, they almost die, but Hagar again sees an angel, and this one saves her life. He shows her a well of water and tells her that Ishmael will become a great nation. We can take some solace in the statement that God is with the lad as he grows up, and perhaps in the fact that much later, when Abraham dies, he is buried by both Isaac and Ishmael. (I wish we knew more about what must have been a poignant burial and family reunion of sorts.)

In this deeply disturbing story of family dysfunction and cultural oppression, there is one passage that particularly touches me and offers a glimmer of hope. When Hagar runs away from Sarah, the angel of the Lord appears to her in the desert. Before giving her instruction about her future, the angel address her: "Hagar, Sarai’s maid, whence camest thou? and whither wilt thou go?" I find it significant that Abraham and Sarah refer to Hagar as "my maid," or "thy maid," or "this bondwoman," but that the angel of the Lord calls her by name³.

Hagar is evidently moved by this encounter, and I am moved by her words:

And she called the name of the Lord that spake unto her, Thou God seest me: for she said, Have I also here looked after him that seeth me? Genesis 3:16

I find it striking that Hagar calls the name of the Lord, "Thou God seest me." Other translations give her these words: "You are the God who sees me."

You are the God who sees me.

The concubine, the runaway bondwoman, the person with the least social standing in the family, living under the weight of oppressive cultural traditions that rob her of her dignity, is twice visited by an angel.

She is seen by God. And in the end it is God who saves her.




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¹For simplicity, I am using the names Sarah and Abraham here even though at this point in the story, their names are actually Sarai and Abram.
²An interesting detail of this story is that the name Hagar means "flight," giving rise to speculation that this was not her personal name, but a descriptive name used later when the story was recorded. Read more about the name here.
³The word "mocking" is loaded with connotation, including possible sexual overtones. Click here and scroll down to the comments to read my questions and discussion about the word with the author of the blog Benjamin the Scribe.

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Bonus Material:

If you stuck to the assigned reading, you skipped Chapter 20, which wasn't included in the lesson. Here, Abraham's story takes on an almost goofy absurdity. To my weary mind, it was a welcome change from the gravity of the other chapters. Here is a summary:

When they journey to Gerar, Abraham tells everyone that Sarah is his sister so that King Abimelech won't challenge Abraham to a duel (or whatever they did in those days) in order to win Sarah for himself. This is the second time Abraham has pulled that trick (see Genesis 12 where the same thing happens in Egypt), and sure enough, Abimelech takes Sarah into his household. As a punishment, God makes the women of Abimelech's house infertile. Luckily, before Abimelech gets a chance to have his way with Sarah, the Lord explains the situation to him in a dream. So he returns Sarah to Abraham, along with a bunch of extra servants and livestock and stuff, to make up for taking his wife. Abraham explains that he technically wasn't lying, because Sarah actually is his sister — same father, different mother! The story ends happily with Abraham healing Abimelech's household.

If we read these chapters chronologically, this episode happens when Sarah is pretty old. It comes after Ishmael's birth, and after Abraham is promised a son through Sarah and responds, "Shall a child be born unto him that is an hundred years old? and shall Sarah, that is ninety years old, bear?" This is probably a good example of the need to take Bible chronology with a grain of salt. On the other hand, I kind of like the idea of an ancient, white-haired Sarah being totally irresistible to Abimelech, king of Gerar.