“Being intentional” about building traditions


As home schooling parents, it was always important for our sons to understand historical context and the meanings behind places, things, and ideas. We have spent many years answering our sons’ WHY questions, and there are few times of the year that those questions are as intense as they are at holidays/holy days.

Some of the greatest discoveries have been made, cures have been found, and ideas that led to resolutions have been developed because individuals have been willing not only to ask WHY, but also WHY NOT. We encourage our sons to be critical thinkers and to ask questions about whatever does not seem to make sense to them. If we do not know the answer or have an answer that quenches their curiosity then we explore those topics together.

We came to one of those moments during this year’s Passover/Resurrection/Easter time.


The emergence of Spring overlaps various traditions to create a composite of celebrations. It is similar during the Winter holiday season when Jewish Hanukkah, Christian Christmas, and [pagan] Winter Solstice coincide. (Note: Pagan is used by some to refer to any religious practices and beliefs that are not a part of the world’s main religions).

At Passover/Resurrection/Easter, there are remembrances for the Jewish Passover that commemorates the Israelites’ emancipation from the Egyptians; the Christian Death/Burial/Resurrection of Christ; and [pagan] Easter celebrations named after Eostre/Eastre/Oestre, the Goddess of Spring representing fertility and new birth during Spring Solstice. Our family had a really interesting conversation about how the bunny rabbit became a part of the festivities. You can read about that here. The author offers this summary:

Easter eggs, the Easter Bunny, the dawn that arrives with resurrection of life, and the celebration of spring all serve to remind us of the cycle of rebirth and the need for renewal in our lives. In the history of Easter, Christian and pagan traditions are gracefully interwoven.

A Facebook friend mentioned attending church last Sunday where they would emphasize all three observances. Some churches observe Passover and have Easter egg hunts with a bunny rabbit and take pictures with the kids in their brand new outfits carrying Easter baskets full of candy. To each his or her own. It’s all so interesting…

I have been thinking about the diverse interpretations of these traditions. I said to myself again (just as I had done during the Winter holidays), “Drea, people are just kinda celebrating whatever they feel like… however they feel like. What will the Little Masons be doing this year?” Gene and I have been considering the legacy we are leaving to our sons around beliefs and traditions. We want to make sure that our family’s observances are intentional and serve a purpose toward our larger goals for legacy with our sons.

So we went to the labyrinth in our city.


Labyrinths are pretty amazing. They have been used to symbolize the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ since well before the 5th century BC when the Greek historian, Herodotus, gave an eye witness account of the Egyptian labyrinth of Pharaoh Amenemhet III from the 19th century BC. Though this site has met the fate of many other locations that have been pillaged and plundered across the primogenitor continent, it was described as being a structure whose wonder eclipsed that of the Pyramids at Giza.

Our local labyrinth is located outside of a church in our city, but that morning it was not an ideal situation. When we got to the labyrinth, we saw there were areas that were flooded. The guys had on gym shoes, but I had not worn shoes equipped to handle water. We could not NOT do it just because there was water though, right? I decided I would try to walk where I could and walk on the stones when the water became too high. Eventually, I took my shoes off to maneuver the labyrinth more easily.

labyrinth
Labyrinths are fun to make on paper, walls… anywhere…

Most often, the labyrinth is intended to be a place of quiet contemplation, meditation, and prayer. It was that for us, but it was so much more. It became a teaching time about life… Understanding the challenges involved in making a journey and the triumph that comes with completing it; how we can feel like we are close to God, but still have to journey to connect at the Source; how we can feel so far away from the Divine, while being only a few steps away…

Our journey through the labyrinth wasn’t quiet. There were moments when we were sharing our thoughts or encouraging each other. At one point Andreu said to me (I was the last to approach the center of the labyrinth), “Keep going, Mom, you are almost there.” All I could manage was, “I am? Thank you, Andreu… I was starting to wonder when I would get there…”  I told him that was exactly what I do for women as a birth mentor and doula as they are journeying into motherhood through birth.

Personally, I was at a place where I had begun to regret my suggestion to walk through the waterlogged labyrinth and was irritated that it was not as AMAZING as I had fantasized it would be when we planned it.

The guys all seemed to be getting “revelations” about the water. Gene mentioned how our perspective about the water would shape whether we saw it as a challenge or something that provided the opportunity for cleansing or renewal. All of them had something “insightful” to say about the water… But I was not impressed, because they all had on gym shoes… I was walking with bare feet.

At a certain point, I told Gene, “I keep hearing one of our songs, ‘When you go through the water, and through the flood you will not drown, when you go through the fire, remember I’ll always be with you…'” I started singing it as I walked… As I got closer to Gene I heard music for I Will Be With You. He had found the song on iTunes and handed his phone off to me with a quiet cheer, “Go, Momma, Go…” as he walked away.

Was it that obvious to my guys that I needed some inspiration and encouragement? I continued to walk, avoiding the water when I could… I mean, you never know what’s in the water, right?  As that thought and others like it were rolling through my mind, I heard a question that turned into a rebuke from within:

What has happened to you? You are the little girl who ran around with bare feet on red dirt roads in Alabama. You all walked those roads at night without fear of anything. You swam in a lake with frogs, lily pads, and dragonflies for a swimming pool during your summers. You are the woman who was not scared to do something different and stand out, even when you stood alone. You resigned from your job to home school your children even when on lookers suggested you were not being a helpful wife because you were not using your education to “help” your husband support the family financially. When people said you would surely cause damage to your sons by not allowing them to experience “real life” as black boys you continued to follow your inner promptings. You followed your intuition even when there was no road map laid out for you or tangible proof of your actions leading to inevitable success in the future. You have always been willing to take the plunge and step out into deep situations into the unknown. And look at how I have taken care of you. Look how you have been sustained. Why are you so afraid now? Get off the stones and walk through the water…”

The song was still playing in my ear and I was in tears… My fear of the water was reflecting internal fears I have been dealing with about other situations in my life.

Andreu had already finished and exited the labyrinth, but asked if he could take his shoes off and walk the rest of the way with me. His intuitive soul and keen spirit reminded me of ME and was inspiration for the rest of my journey through the labyrinth.

Gene always admonishes people to “be intentional.” We have such gratitude for the sons we have been blessed to steward and nurture toward adulthood. We are always humbled by the work involved in parenting and preparing them for the world they will have to navigate. It was fulfilling to hear their thoughts about our newest family experience.

Safety and sure footing in the shadows…


I woke up at a little after 4am this morning, looked around me and in the shadows of my room, I couldn’t quite figure out where I was. It is hard to explain. For about 30 seconds, all I saw was shadows and figures and I was trying to figure out where I was. I sat up on the side of the bed for a better view and couldn’t figure out what house I was in.

I had the pleasure of being welcomed into several homes and hosted by several families during my stay in South Africa. In each of the homes I felt safe. Whether I was in a home in a gated community in a suburb of Johannesburg, a well-secured gated home in a suburb outside of Pretoria or homes in townships outside of Duran, KwaZulu-Natal, I always felt safe.  (They call it KZN. It is pronounced like /kay – za – REN/ with a roll on the R sound.) 

So when I woke this morning, I wasn’t concerned about my safety as much as I was with knowing where I was.

Then my feet touched the floor and I heard the squeak of wood. My sight had not been able to ground me and now my hearing was struggling to adjust as well. Why? Because in the areas of South Africa I visited – from Johannesburg to Pretoria to Durban – I do not recall seeing wood being commonly used for floors and I never heard a floor squeak.

tile floorsEvery place I went – from homes to grocery stores to restaurants to wherever – had beautiful ceramic tiled floors or some other stone flooring. There was so much tile. Someone always seemed to be cleaning the floors, so they were extremely clean as well… So much so that in some places people walk around without shoes. Ceramic tiles even beautify outdoor spaces.

I accidentally hit my head on a few walls while I was there as well and found they were made of strong material as well. But I don’t remember wood. The floors never squeaked. The ground beneath my feet was always solid, sure, and unwavering…

I guess Gene heard me shuffling around and woke up. He got out of the bed and asked if I was okay… I didn’t want to alarm him, so I just said I was gathering my bearings. His voice and presence helped ground me and remind me of the familiarity of my home and bedroom and squeaky floors.

And the shadows began to make sense again… and then I remembered and the familiarity of my home came flooding back to me.

I’ll have to ask Coach Green Gene about how the differences in building and construction materials affect the environment and why people choose to build and develop differently in different environments.

Now, if I my body could just remember when it should sleep and when it should be awake…
Oh, why fight it? Maybe I’ll just use those off-schedule waking hours to get caught up on some work and reflections about South Africa through my blog posts until things get back to normal.

Being seen but not heard…


As I have walked around in Johannesburg, Soweto, Centurion, and Pretoria no one has given me a second glance. Not my hair… not my clothing… not my complexion… Okay, wait… I take that back because clothing and hair can say a lot about where you are from and your ethnicity. What mean is, I blend in here. Nothing about me really stands out… except my American accent.

Because they get the same satellite television stations over here that we have in the U.S., people are watching many of the same shows and they are very keen on what an American accent is.

I have had a great time exploring this… I am continually AMAZED… There are so many characteristics and unique attributes that allow Africans to identify one another’s ethnicities. The way each wears their traditional head wraps and clothing often differs. Some facial and body characteristics allow them to identify one another’s ethnicities.

In our time with the United Nations delegates from South Africa, my host Zee was questioned several times about where she was from. Probably because she is fluent in seven languages and her accent is not distinct. Meanwhile, people begin speaking to me right off. And they look at me in disbelief when I tell them I am from the U.S. “Really?!” they say… I am not sure why…

I will be honest, I have softened my English a little and that helps me maneuver a bit better. For me, this means considering how I would pronounce words if I used single sounds for a, e, i, o, and u instead of long and short vowel sounds. I already prefer to pronounce “t” sounds in words like better, little, and water that we commonly pronounce as the “d” sound, so that is helpful.

Why is it helpful? Because if my American accent stands out as much as other Americans I hear in passing, then it stands out a lot! There are Africans from all over the continent here and South Africans have many different accents. I appreciate having the vantage point of one who blends in, so I am working to maintain that position.

imageI have been practicing my Zulu words with a young one in the house and an older family member who has been great about helping me learn and I ask when there is something I cannot figure out.

To be honest, because there is such a diversity of people, culture, and languages, there appears to be a great tolerance and respect for the differences.

I have had the honor of spending time with family where there were three languages being spoken. While there was not clear understanding by all of the verbal communication, we all managed and we were able to manuever in each other’s space even with the language barrier… most notably mine.

If I am honest again, I feel a little cheated to not have had the opportunity to grow up with many languages around me. I think I would have caught on to them well. I believe my reading and writing communication skills are pretty keen. Still, African people have always been an oral people and the ability to hear and speak has always been important.

I am practicing and listening… one day at a time…