Faith: The Ultimate Weapon

I wonder if I’m the kind of mother that would take a bullet for my children.  The movie Eleni with Academy award winner John Malkovich haunts me from time to time.  He plays a journalist who investigates the death of his mother thirty years prior during a civil war. He discovers her commitment to her children when he learns that when she is about to be shot in a lineup, she raises her hands up in triumph and shouts, “My children!”  Somehow I just don’t think I’m up for a bullet or an award.

I love my daughter.  She’s so beautiful, inside and out.  She’s twenty-one now.  But she was fifteen not long ago enough.  I would give you the highlights of our relationship back then but I’d be sure to lose all respect from you.

I had no idea how to take care of her and me at the same time.  Motherhood and self-care were at war.  I tried so many tactics and kept thinking, if I can just find the right words, she’ll come around. With guilt and hopelessness, I surrendered; she moved out to live with her dad.  I never in a million years thought I would be the kind of mother who would let her child live elsewhere.  I failed as the mother of my daughter. 

My misery was compounded by my job change from teaching little fourth and fifth graders who still wanted to please me to working with teenagers in a Chicago Public School who wanted to kill me.  My days and nights were filled with kids who more than anything wanted power and validation.  But wait!  That’s exactly what I wanted.  I was no more effective at it than they were.

I wanted an advocate who would follow me around all the time and whisper in my ear the right things to say and do.

Luckily for me I found the support of others who understood and offered strength, hope and tools for recovery from the uncivil war.  I also came to believe in a power greater than myself.  At first I called it a beneficent committee and visualized a group of old, wise people smiling at me, nodding heads when I get it right: “That’s right, Zuzu. That’s right!”  My understanding of a higher power has changed since then.  The most important part for me now is the belief in Goodness. Like bubbles rising to the surface, Goodness naturally is rising in the universe. Two great changes have happened because of this.  The first is I have come to feel that I have an advocate now who whispers in my ear.  I just have to be quiet and listen.  That’s the hardest part, but I work on it most days.

The second huge change has far reaching effects: a sudden faith in all that I taught my daughter and all that she was—delightful, conscientious, creative, smart, loyal and compassionate.  Even though those qualities weren’t visible, I had faith that she would come through the dark tunnel of adolescence and shine again.  I could feel that faith spread out like a cushion softening falls for both of us.  It guided my words of comfort, allowed me to let go of trying to tell her what to do and not to do because she didn’t listen anyway, and it started the change in our relationship.  At twenty-one and fifty-six, my daughter and I commiserate over the trials of being women.  We share and celebrate our creativity.  We show care by asking each other how life is going.  We listen and laugh.  I have made amends to her for some of my mistakes.  Each amends she takes to heart and we continue to grow.  I have many more to make and have faith and peace knowing I will when we are ready.  And she, by being kind, attending and really being present at family celebrations and reaching out to me for support, is making amends in a genuine way.  Our war is over and peace prevails.  I thank Goodness.

But of course, the war zone continues in CPS.  Daily I have to put on my bullet proof vest because I’ll be damned if I’m going to take a bullet for those punks, but I continue to have faith in Goodness rising in the classroom.  I know that eventually I can find ways to connect to the thugs, the painfully shy, the autistic growlers.  I give myself a pat on the back, in lieu of a Golden Apple award, for moments when I can see a smart young man flickering inside a dopey, disruptive kid.  I’m sure at that moment of clear vision he can see what I see.  Sweet!  And I thank Goodness.

I also thank Goodness for cake!  Very sweet!

Italian Cream Cake (award winning)

1 c. butter softened

2 c. sugar

5 eggs, separated—I hope you know that doesn’t mean keep each egg away from the others.

2 c. sifted flour

1 t. baking powder

1c. buttermilk

2 t. vanilla

2c. coconut

1 c. chopped walnuts

Cream butter.  Add sugar and cream again.  Notice how fun it is to see how your effort smoothes out the lumps.  Add egg yolks one at a time, stirring after each one.  Sift dry ingredients together and add alternately with the buttermilk. Stir in vanilla, walnuts and coconut.  Whip the egg whites with a beater until soft peaks form.  Gently fold in the egg whites.  Patience wins the race here.  Pour evenly into three greased and floured 8” round cake pans.  Cook at 350 degrees for about 35 minutes.  Do the spring test or the fork test.

Top each cooled layer with cream cheese frosting. If you’re good with a knife, frost the sides too. 

Cream Cheese Frosting

½ c. butter softened

8 ounce package of low fat cream cheese (Don’t use fat free.  It’s a disaster.)

1t. vanilla

Powdered sugar—about 2 c.  Keep tasting to make sure it’s not too sweet.

After the first piece your mouth and stomach will be at war with each other.  In this matter I can’t advise you.  You’ll have to listen to the whispers in your ear.  Or not.