The Holiness of Burberry Pajamas

Marriage is hard--sometimes really hard.  For me the hardest part is

not when my beloved and I disagree about something concrete--how to spend that extra money (okay that doesn't really happen; seriously you thought it did?  Extra money??!?!  We have FOUR children!).  For us concrete is more in, should we extend curfews; do we really need that new appliance (the answer is always yes if it's an iron); who's picking up which child from where and missing something to do it.  You get the picture--the things that have a conclusion; the things you can wrap your head around, pro and con (and color code)--the things you can eloquently and enthusiastically express in an argument--the things which after discussion can result in compromise.

No, those aren't the times I find marriage the hardest--for me the hardest times are when I can't articulate what I'm feeling, and possibly that's because I'm semi scared that what I'm feeling is semi crazy--and sometimes it is; the times my heart and soul hurt and I can't explain it; I can't find the words. The times I feel hurt and don't totally understand why, so how can I explain it? Words are my refuge and when I can't find them, when no matter how hard I try to explain I can't, then I feel disconnected and isolated and alone, and then I'm terrified. And sometimes my mind goes to a dark place where I imagine the worst case scenario...

And so I put on my burberry pajamas....

Christmas 2006 we lived in England.  One afternoon I rang Chris at work to tell him about the Christmas pajama debacle (it's a great story I may tell you one day--let's just leave it that there is an amazing customer service rep at Old Navy who took pity on my 8 and 9 year old boys--I had ordered snowmen pajamas--after much debate with Chris (you know the easy part of marriage) and several weeks later, this man emailed me a prepaid return address label for the already shipped precious pajamas and waived the fee for expedited shipping so my boys could have skull and crossbones with Santa hats instead--I still contend they would have been adorable in the former....). Anyway, I rang Chris to tell him I had it sorted and Christmas was saved (I can be dramatic) because the tradition of Christmas Eve pajamas would continue for the O'Doyles.

What I now know is that after we hung up Chris realized the Christmas Eve pajamas he had ordered for me had yet to arrive.  He checked the order and found they had not shipped and Christmas was two weeks away.  He called the company and while they said they were shipping that day and would probably get there in time, they didn't offer free expedited shipping (perhaps they were not as concerned about my mental health and the damage pajamas can do in the same way the Old Navy rep was for my boys.) As opposed to how I would have reacted, he didn't panic; he trusted the postal service...

Fast forward to Dec. 23--the pajamas were not there.  At this point Chris was VERY worried about my mental health.  He made up some excuse and out he went to the shops.  (Keep in mind we lived in a small village--this was not a hop, skip and jump away)  I had no idea where he was going or why--I really hope I wasn't ugly...hope does spring eternal--and I've blocked out that part---denial and selective memory are not always bad.....

The next morning after decorating the tree we all opened our pajamas--the boys were thrilled, can't remember what the girls got (depositing money into their therapy accounts now), Chris liked his, and I opened a beautifully wrapped box (Burberry offers free wrapping--at their prices they should) and found my pajamas.

Ever the pragmatist, my mother said, "Oh my!  Those must have cost a fortune.  Why did you buy those? Surely you could have found some cheaper." At this point my non defensive, patient, non judgmental husband replied, "Christmas Eve pajamas are a tradition in our family.  I searched and searched and these were the only ones I could find I liked.  Yes, they were expensive, but it doesn't matter. I wanted her to have them."

It's been almost 10 years, and I still own and wear those pajamas.  They are tattered and torn; they are incredibly soft; I have to focus when putting them on because the collar is tearing out and I have been known to put my head through the wrong space, and when I wear them I remember. When I feel scared and so incredibly lonely, when I feel like my words can't reach Chris and his can't reach me, when my mind goes to scary dark places those pajamas remind me...they remind me of Chris's love for me; they remind me that he does understand me even when I can't articulate, and they remind me that even if what he understands is I can become semi-neurotic and overly emotional (definitely dramatic) that his love doesn't stop; it isn't contingent. When I wear those pajamas I am engulfed in well worn, tattered soft fabric that has sustained the test of time--and I am reminded that like those pajamas, marriages can become tattered and torn, but that doesn't mean they fall apart...

I wore those pajamas last night.

As I think about those pajamas, how I received them, how long they've lasted and what they've come to mean to me, I think about incarnational living, the importance of ritual, and the Eucharist.

Incarnational living means to live in our bodies as the body of Christ. For me it means to stop separating the sacred and the secular and recognize that everything is holy.  It means to live so that we find the holy using all of our senses, all of our bodies, all of ourselves.  It means to live as Christ lived....loving and forgiving.

Christmas Eve pajamas are a ritual in our family--rituals give us connection and meaning.  Rituals and our senses remind us of those things we forget in our messy messed up minds that sometimes go to dark and scary places. Rituals give us comfort and security. I've written about it before explaining (read defending) why I start my children's cars on cold mornings. (Read Here)

When I wear those pajamas, I don't just remember the sacrifice Chris made for me--going out the day before Christmas Eve (probably enduring my wrath that he went out the day before Christmas Eve instead of staying home and doing my bidding), spending an exorbitant amount of money that we didn't have to express his love, his loyalty and his commitment to our rituals (reminds me of John 12:3-5).  No I don't just remember; I am re-membered just like what happens in the Eucharist.

To remember is about memory and knowledge; to re-member is about bodies and relationships. Remembering is about the memory of the good times and the bad--the events. Re-membering is about mending relationships--keeping the body living, connected and whole.  When we come to the Eucharist we both remember how Jesus lived and how he died; we remember the resurrection and ascension and what it means for us today AND we re-member.  We bring ourselves, our souls and bodies--we bring our brokenness and we enter into the Paschal mystery--we become part of the story--we are re-membered into the body of Christ. It is not just the elements--the bread and wine--that are the body of Christ.  It is all of us gathered--gathered to be fortified and mended so that we move into the world strengthened to live as the Body of Christ.

In the Eucharist bread and wine--the ordinary become extraordinary; they become holy.  They help us to remember and to re-member; and so can Burberry pajamas.

Annoying Apologies

It has recently become very clear to me that one of the things I'm best at is apologizing; it's also one of the most annoying things about me....

Before I hear, "Not true; the world needs people who take responsibility for their mistakes and apologize." let me clarify.  I'm not particularly good at that kind of apology (although I'm working on it); no, I'm really good at a different kind of apologizing.

You know the kind of apologizing (and these are true examples) that go like this:

Calling a doctor's office:
Me, "I'm really sorry to bother you but my child has a 104 temperature and doesn't seem to be breathing well..."

Calling a friend at 9 o'clock at night and being told their eating dinner: (the time is important--who eats dinner at 9 o'clock at night?!?!? well other than us...)
Me, "I am so sorry.  I am really sorry." Friend, "It's fine just can I call you back?" Me, "I am so sorry, please don't..it's okay; it's nothing.  I am so sorry."

Calling the contractor: (who STILL hasn't completed the job or returned my calls--this one may end my apologizing)
Me to answering machine, "I'm really sorry to continue to bother you, but I'd really like our window treatments hung back up."

And the list goes on including apologizing for global warming, outbreaks of malaria (The most famous when Caroline lost her pinky and I asked for help--the Southern SOS. (Read here)

So why now?  Why is this becoming clear and why am I obsessing over it and what it means?

Recently a new person has come into my life.  She is kind and generous and vulnerable and has an open heart and a mind and soul that is introspective and searching.  She gifts me daily AND SHE APOLOGIZES ALL THE TIME!!!!!  

Over the past few days I have been in hyper apology mode (as has my friend), and one particular person to whom I keep apologizing keeps saying to me, "No apology necessary." And I do believe she means it, just like I do when I tell my friend.  I also suspect she is becoming annoyed--did I mention I'm also a mind reader? Nonetheless, I realize I need to get this habit under control, but I'm not really good at just stopping something, I have to analyze it, understand it, and so I've been thinking (blame the snow days)

First thinking about me--
Why do I do it and what does it mean? My first step in thinking was to consider how being an adult child of an alcoholic plays into this (which I recognize may indeed be a cop out).  (Traits of ACOA) But there is something to it...

I apologize because deep down I am so afraid of offending someone, doing something wrong, over stepping bounds, and ultimately losing a relationship.  There I've said it...and ironically I am afraid I will become annoying to someone by bothering them--instead I become annoying by apologizing...

UGH, there's more--perhaps, just perhaps I don't feel important enough for someone to take the time to interact with me, to spend time with me, to invest physically, emotionally or any other way with me.  I don't want to be a bother...and yet I'm beginning to realize that having to reassure me constantly no apology is necessary is a bother...

And here goes a truth I really don't want to say--this constant apologizing is in some ways manipulative (unknowingly, unintentionally, but still).  It puts the other person in a position of having to care for me, to reassure me instead of allowing the person his/her own voice--instead of allowing the person to decide what he/she wants to share with me, what time they want to invest in me. It could possibly be a passive/aggressive way of saying, "Pay attention to me now" instead of allowing the person to respond on his/her time. It robs us both of our individual personhoods.

We are all created in the image of God.  We are all worthy of time and attention AND we are all allowed to say we don't have the time right now...constant apologizing reinforces feelings of not being worthy and puts unnecessary burdens on others.  It just hit me (literally this very minute as I was typing) that hearing "no apology necessary" may very well be the voice of God reminding us that we are indeed worthy, that we are enough.  Maybe it's time to listen....

Disclaimer: I usually don't blog until I've sorted everything out--until I'm on the other side. I'm not yet.  Thank you for giving me this space to get there...and guess what?  I'm not sorry....

Children Leaving--Transitions, Identity and the Paschal Mystery

Bringing Caroline home

In my imagination

Last week I wrote about our not so perfect Christmas. (read it here) As I thought about the children having their own personal inside jokes and how I felt left out, I wrote without thinking, "But I missed being the center of their worlds. I missed Christmases of the past; Christmases when I felt I was in control." I froze (not because the temperatures had dropped). I froze because they sounded very much like the words, "I make everything about me." These words are huge triggers for me (just ask my therapist, she may retire on my issues with these words).  I've never written totally about why I hate these words and thought of being someone who makes everything about her, but I've alluded to it. (Why I Start Their Cars)

"NOOOOO!" my body screamed, and I put my finger on the delete button. I froze again; I believe I am called to be honest, to be transparent, to write and live my truths even if their ugly, so if that's what I wrote, I thought, that's what stays. But I hated it.

Not neurotically (therapy is helping some), but over the past few days I have thought about these words, and I realize there is some truth in them.  Maybe I have made some things (no comment from my children here would be greatly appreciated and will keep you in the will) about me.  (For example, over Thanksgiving Boss said he didn't want a graduation party with all the hoopla.  SK and Chris responded, "Um, it will happen. Make no mistake; this isn't about you." We laughed--fast forward, I have agreed to not do it. I do want to honor his wishes...) Back to me....

"Center of their worlds"--that indeed is what I wanted to be because that grounded me--that gave me purpose, that gave me identity.  I loved and missed them running in and grabbing my legs almost knocking me over as they got home from school.  I missed
snuggling with them at night when one son would say, "Will you tell my wife what perfume you wear so she'll smell like you?" and the other would say, "Can I just live with you forever?"  I missed the girls saying, "I want to be you when I grow up." and "Mommy, you're my favorite mommy in the whole wide world."

And I loved hearing about their hopes and dreams; what they wanted to do with their lives.  I was and am so proud of all they've done and continue to do. But now...now I wasn't just hearing about them. Now I was watching them; now they weren't just hopes and dreams but rather reality. They have overcome challenges (not just the challenge of me as their mother); they have worked hard; their dreams are coming true; my heart bursts with pride while my eyes erupt in tears.

"Gosh darn it," I thought. I really want to do this children leaving home thing gracefully.  I don't want to make it about me. I want to take my courtsey and exit stage left where I will lovingly watch from the wings as they became stars of their own shows.  I don't want to have to be escorted off kicking and screaming. I picture myself  elegantly gliding off and standing in the wings applauding--sometimes quietly and sometimes robustly. And I don't even mind the children might make fun of me for my facial expressions and for clapping....I want to be the mother that lets go "right."

I might make this face

If it were only that easy.  Perhaps it's because I'm also in transition in my vocation (I'm going to at least blame that a little..), but transitions have never been easy for me, and I have loved being Mommy/Mama/Madre even Mother.  (What's in a Name?)  I guess in some ways it has been about me. It has been my identity, my grounding, and without it I feel shaky and lost and afraid.

This weekend I preached on Jesus's baptism, and I told the congregation that just as God said to Jesus, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." (Luke 3:22), God says that to each of us.  "We are all God's beloved," I told them, "Our identity is not what the world tells us it is but rather what God tells us, and God tells us no matter what, no matter who we are told we are, who we believe we are, we are first and foremost God's beloved children of God." but could I believe it for myself?  Could I believe my actual identity is a beloved child of God? This letting go thing is so hard....

And then I remembered, God never promised it wouldn't be hard.  "I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you." (Isaiah 43:1b-2) God called me by name long before I was Mommy and God is with me through the waters, through the raging rivers, even rivers of tears...

Life is about transition.  It's about loss and renewal--that is the paschal mystery--a concept that seems hard to understand and must be, we often believe, something drastic. But I have always believed we are constantly living the paschal mystery. This morning I read Richard Rohr's words, "Christians speak of the "paschal mystery", the process of loss and renewal that was lived and personified in the death and raising up of Jesus....until we have personally lost our own foundation and ground and then experienced God upholding us so that we come out even more alive on the other side, the expression "paschal mystery" is little understood and not essentially transformative." (From Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality, pp. 62) As I read these words, I reminded myself, the paschal mystery is not just the "big" things, but life in general, the stages, the transitions...

When I took SK back to school this week I saw her face (and I even at the time thought the word "countenance" a biblical word) begin to shine.  I could hear a lifting of her voice, a calmness in her tone, and see an excitement and a peacefulness in her body.  She went out with her friends; I stayed in her apartment, drank wine, watched movies,  and thought, "She is home. This is exactly where she should be."

I left C'ville the next morning and for the first time ever I didn't cry...I'm not on the other side yet, but it's a start.

Maybe I won't let Caroline go...

It Wasn't a Perfect Christmas

It was not a perfect Christmas.  There I've said it.  It was not a perfect Christmas, and in fact, there were times it down right sucked (a word I HATE, but I honestly can't think of a better one to use--please don't tell my children.).  Oh there were times that were wonderful, Norman Rockwell worthy times--times my heart was bursting with love, joy, and peace--times I couldn't wipe the goofy smile off my face. But there were also times when my heart seemed to be breaking into thousands and thousands of pieces--some splintered so small they might never be put back together--times I hid in my room, buried my face in the pillow and sobbed...

It all started when I received a call from SK the Saturday before she was to come home.  "Mama," she tentatively said (she knows me well), "Will it hurt your feelings if instead of coming home Tuesday when I finish exams, I come home sometime over the weekend?"  I took a deep breath before I answered--and for the record, there is no good answer to this question.  If I said, "No it won't hurt my feelings." she might hear, "I don't care if you come home." but if I say, "Yes it does" she might hear "I don't care."  I can't remember what I answered, but it was received well, so I assume I did okay.  And I was okay (sort of); yes I wanted her home, but I love she loves where she is, has amazing friends and just wants to spend relaxing time with them. But it was the beginning--the beginning of knowing life was changing...

If that was the only bummer moment, that would have been fine, but it wasn't.  That same week I

looked at the Christmas count down calendar realizing the only reason anything had been put up was because I did it.  Gone were the days the children "fought" over who got to go first.  And so I stopped...We went to get a tree the day before Christmas Eve, a usual tradition, but not before there was yelling, threats and tears.  Once we got there we had a great time, as usual, except for the fact Boss had to leave early for basketball AND three days later he missed Boxing Day because of basketball.

We did cut down a tree--a God awful tree--it took up 1/2 the living room, the angel couldn't fit on the top and instead was skewed to the side as though she'd had one too many, the lights only worked for a very brief (read 2 days) time, and there was more fighting (more than the usual, "Boss you have to at least put one ornament up) while decorating.

It wasn't just the "things" of Christmas.  There was tension--seemingly constant tension.  The big kids fought and they NEVER fight.  The babies hid (and claimed they didn't) in their rooms and the basement. There was talk about not coming home for the holidays next year; there was crying and yelling and hurt hurt feelings.  And I was sad....

I knew in my head this was transition.  We were finishing the worst year ever, SK is in the middle of her permanent leaving, and Boss is a senior ready to start his leaving.  (And the babies are just a year behind...) I remembered Christmas 1985 when our family went through the same thing--Meredith was home second year of college, I was a senior, and Dritte a sophomore, but still my heart was heavy. I kept thinking things like, "What if it never gets better?" and worse, "What if they never want to come home again?"  Deep breath and full confession...I didn't handle everything well.

There were times the children were getting along great, and I felt left out.  They told jokes and made references to things I wasn't a part of, and they wouldn't explain them to me (I suspect I'm probably glad now but I wasn't then.) Again I knew in my head this was normal, developmentally appropriate, and good for sibling relationships, but I missed being the center of their worlds.  I missed Christmases of the past; Christmases when I felt I was in control...

New Year's Day I was even more sad. I looked at the dining room table covered with crafting stuff and thought, "We can't even have a family dinner at the dining room table--it's not like we even want to."  In that moment, looking at that table instead of thinking of how grateful I was SK was home with her artistic talent, her love of life, her joy and her wisdom, I thought the table was just a really good metaphor for our family life--one big mess that keeps us from being together.

I was so grateful my dear friend Jenifer admitted she too felt melancholy (a much better word); that's helped me have the courage to admit my truth, and it's kept me from feeling alone.  Yet, I still wallowed... Instead of looking at 2016 with eyes shining with hopeful anticipation, I was still looking back at 2015 and thinking about all the mistakes and the pain. I moaned to Chris, "Nothing good happened in 2015." to which he wisely and calmly replied, "After all we've been through, we're still married and stronger than ever. I'd say that's one pretty good thing."

I spent the day with good friends and then grudgingly went with Chris to a Townes Van Zandt tribute concert.  As I stood there complete happiness flowed through my body.  I was listening to the music (maybe even dancing a little)  and I thought, "Twenty five years ago I would have never dreamed I would be here on a New Year's Day night having a great time. In a bar, in Louisville, listening to music that 25 years ago I'd never heard.  It's not at all what I planned or even what I would have thought would make me happy..." And it hit me.  I'm not in charge. Life happens in ways we don't plan and that we can't control, but if we just hold on, if we just ride out the bad and bask in the good, everything will be okay.

The next morning the New Testament reading for the Daily Office was Colossians 3:12-17 which was the NT reading at our wedding.  As I read the words, "Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience.  Bear with one another, and if anyone has a complaint against one another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." tears--but this time tears of joy--poured down my face. I remembered the words of The Rev. Donald Fishbourne's homily and how he said, "Not if you hurt each other, but when you hurt each other" and I knew this is it.

Living these words has kept our marriage strong even through times when many marriages break, and living these words is why I believe our family will stay strong and together.  We will be different; we will change; but our love will bind us together forever.  "Who knows where we'll all be in 25 years," I thought, "But I know we'll still love, we'll have lots of memories some bad but mostly good,  and we'll still be the O'Doyles."

So no, it wasn't a perfect Christmas.  It was probably a Christmas like others sometimes have--a Christmas of transition, a Christmas of hurt, a Christmas of grief, but it was still Christmas, and God, the God of love, still came and that same God still stays--will always stay.

And now I am looking with great hope into 2016...bring it on!