School Supply Shopping Tips for the Uninitiated

School supply shopping can be stressful for everyone. If you're new to the game, or just looking for some hacks to let you end the experience without in-patient hospitalization, here are a few tips from a veteran that will hopefully help save both your sanity and your budget.

1. 1-inch and 1½-inch binders can be had for a song, but a 2-inch binder costs $7.84.

2. Two 1-inch binders are not the same as a 2-inch binder, but a 1½-inch binder is close enough for rock and roll.

3. Don't buy some of the things on the list that everyone's supposed to bring a lot of and will not last all year, like Kleenex and tape refills. Believe me, the teacher won't remember that your kid didn't bring Kleenex on the first day, but later in the year when she sends out an email saying they are out, and you send them then, she'll appreciate you more for going above and beyond.

4. DO NOT TAKE THE CHILDREN WITH YOU.

5. In the electronics department, where they sell earbuds, earbuds cost $10. In the lane by the cash register, where they sell beef jerky and dog treats, earbuds cost $5.

6. Plan and budget some rewards into your shopping trip, especially between stores if you need to go to more than one.

7. It's probably not a good idea for the rewards to consist solely of alcohol consumption, especially between stores if you need to go to more than one.

8. DO NOT TAKE THE CHILDREN WITH YOU.

9. Do your homework and know where you can cut or substitute. Rose Art is not the same as Crayola, I don't care what anybody says. Don't send your kid to school with the crap crayons. On the other hand, nobody needs 72 pencils. Give him 24 and tell him he better make them last.

10. Hypothetically, if the supply list asks for a clear plastic 6-inch ruler, a clear plastic 12-inch ruler from last year that's broken in half should suffice.

In The Shadow Of The Giving Tree

Lately, I've been doing some difficult thinking about why relationships fail. Now, we all know why some relationships fail. For better or worse, it is simply true that some relationships are ill-advised, ill-executed, and ill-fated from the beginning, for a variety of reasons. But there are others, relationships between people who are seemingly mature, emotionally capable, strong and stable, who have a good foundation and a high capacity for love, and I think we are all more puzzled when these types of relationships don't succeed in the long-term, both for those we know, and even for ourselves. Honestly, some of the divorces I know have shocked me to my core, and none more than my own. And an over-analyzer like me has to stop and wonder--is there a common theme? A reason that is more than just individual circumstance, why so many seemingly solid relationships eventually founder and fall?

Obviously, I don't have the answer. But there is something I've observed that is at least common to many of the relationships that are close to me, and I believe it is relevant to many more. It goes back to something I have spoken and written about many times, both here on this blog and elsewhere, a thought from theologian Henri Nouwen, about how the identity of every human is as the Beloved of God. I've mentioned before that Nouwen even goes so far as to call this the "core truth of our existence".

In his powerful essay "From Solitude to Community to Ministry", Nouwen says that being able to hear the voice that calls us Beloved comes from practicing the discipline of solitude. (If you haven't read this essay, by the way, please do. I don't care who you are, or whether you believe all this God stuff or not, just take a few minutes. I think you need this in your life.) Solitude, Nouwen says, does not equal loneliness; knowing yourself as the Beloved is solitude, holding that knowledge at your core, not needing to have it supplied from an outside source. Holding onto that truth, listening to that voice before all others, is what enables us to enter into community, into relationships with others, without having to expect others to provide this for us. Rather than loneliness grabbing onto loneliness, for those of us who truly know ourselves as the Beloved--in the center of our being, our guts, resounding through our whole being, he says--we can enter a relationship prepared to give without reservation, without expectation, without keeping score. We will be giving out of our overflow. We will be able to forgive others for not loving us perfectly, unconditionally. We will not need them to do this for us, because we are filled up inside, in all the places that matter, with the knowledge that we are God's Beloved daughter or son, that no matter where we have been or what we have done, we remain in His favor.

NOT knowing yourself as the Beloved, however, is a vacuum inside.

In the well-known children's book The Giving Tree, author Shel Silverstein tells us the story of a tree who loves a little boy, and as the Boy grows up through every stage of life, the Tree is there to give whatever the boy needs. The Tree, deeply rooted, drawing its sustenance from deep within, has much to give, and is made happy by loving the Boy, and by seeing him happy. The Boy, however, is always roaming, looking for fulfillment in first one thing and then another--at first finding it in the simple pleasure of being with the Tree, but when this proves inadequate, seeking it in young love, then a house of his own, then a wife and family, and at every turn coming back to the tree in sadness and dissatisfaction, asking always for the next thing he believes will fill the void. In the end, after the Tree has given everything--its leaves, fruit, branches, and even its trunk--and has nothing left to offer, the Boy returns as an old man, looking only for a place to sit and rest, and sits down, satisfied, on the withered stump that remains.

This story is often lauded as an example, a model of selfless giving to be emulated, which I don't believe it to be. Yet even if the ending of this tale was a desirable outcome for both Tree and Boy, in my experience, this cannot be how the story ends in life. Every time, I am surprised that the Boy-turned-man does not douse the stump with gasoline and set it alight, crying out over the crackling flames in his pain and emptiness, "I need wood to make my cane! YOU NEVER LOVED ME!" Because a person who needs a partner to fill them up can never be satisfied; this is not work that can be done from the outside. The Tree will give and give until it is nothing but an old, barren stump, this much is true--but even then, the Boy will never truly feel loved until he knows he is Beloved, and this is not something that can be given to him by another.

So on this the relationship founders, and ultimately falls. One who does not know himself as the Beloved can never forgive our failure to love him perfectly. And there is much--so, so much--to forgive, since none of us, no matter how well-equipped to love, can ever love perfectly. And every one of our many failures to do so is seen by our loved one, that unknowing Beloved, as a rejection, an insult, an abandonment, a wound. Our failure to love him as he deserves is a failure to confirm that he is worthy of love.

As a result, every action of our unknowing Beloved in the relationship can be justified by this, our failure to love adequately. To me, the most poignant and true moment in the Giving Tree story is when the Boy comes to ask of the Tree nothing but wood to make a boat "that will take me away from here", demanding the Tree itself to help him find happiness far away. After all, when we fall short of what is needed, what is left for our loved one to do for their pain but punish us with silence, treat us abusively, seek better comfort in the arms of another lover, a companion, a friend, or a find a new life far away? We were those who were supposed to LOVE them, love them in the way they most deeply needed, that affirmed their worthiness of love and belonging, in the way that made them truly know themselves as Beloved. And we accepted this--this awesome, terrible, impossible responsibility. But there is only One who can call us Beloved, so in doing so, in taking this responsibility that was never ours, we have made a terrible mistake, one with the most serious consequences for both us and the ones we love.

On the front flap of the book cover on my copy of The Giving Tree, the publisher describes the role of the Tree in the story as "a serene acceptance of another's capacity to love in return".  And perhaps this is where the trouble lies. As we enter into relationships with others, do we look for solitude that can join with solitude? Or do we blithely attempt to create in ourselves the solution to another's loneliness? Are we drawing, always, back to the only one who calls us all Beloved, inviting others to join the Beloved community? Or do we rush into the breach, giving, giving, giving, leaving nothing but a withered, barren stump of ourselves, the memory of Beloved community only a wisp of smoke in our wake, serenely accepting our loved ones' inability to give in return, bereft of the knowledge of themselves as Beloved like us? We have contributed to our own downfall--to ours, and to theirs. It's time to stop. For ourselves, and for the ones we love, we must find the strength to swallow our pride, embrace the limits of our purpose, step out of the shadow of the Giving Tree, and into the surrender of community as it's meant to be. Only then, as Nouwen says, can we create space in which God can act and speak; and then, he assures us, something surprising will happen. In our total surrender, he tells us, God will act to make us, not accomplished, but fruitful, as He acts through us to call others back to Himself. And in the end, only that will make our joy complete.

10 Unnecessary Items In The Work Refrigerator

1. Bag of potato chips
2. Package of Hostess cupcakes
3. Plate of graham crackers with frosting
4. Open, half-empty bag of potato chips
5. Plastic tub of sour-cream-and-onion-flavored crackers
6. Snack-size bag of white cheddar popcorn
7. Crumpled, empty bag that used to contain potato chips
8. Large, zippered insulated cooler--also empty

9. Open pack of half-eaten oatmeal cookies

10. Jar of peanut butter