28 May, 2019

Playground Friendships in the Adult World

Several years ago my Godchild and I were at the playground. She
had just turned 2 and was becoming very independent. 

As we were playing another child, close to the same age, and her father arrived. The two girls were instantaneous friends and ran and giggled as only carefree 2 year olds can do. The father and I watched and smiled. For several minutes we took turns catching the girls as they came down the slide with shrieks of joy and delight repeating, "Don't let me fall." Before long they lost interest and ran to another area. We sat down and watched.

All of a sudden both girls were again at the top of the slide--we were a good 25 yards away. We hollered (he hollered, I screeched) for them to hold on as we raced across the playground. They didn't wait and they didn't yell, 'Don't let me fall." Instead they slid down one right after the other their giggles echoing off the playground equipment. The sound was clearly shrieks of joy tinged with slight fear. The joy won--and the girls repeated their independence over and over and over eventually clasping hands and running to the swings beaming with their newly independent pride.

While walking home my sweet girl said, "Tant Kafrine (I so miss how she said that) that was my bestus friend. What's her name again?" I knew good and well she had never met this child and because I'm the old Godmother I couldn't remember the child's name. I laughed to myself and laughed again as I told her mother later--her bestus friend. HA HA--how could it be her bestus friend when she had seen her a total of one time for a mere 45 minutes? Isn't it cute to be a 2 year old? How simple and naive....

Fast forward 4 years....

I was having a conversation about friendships. I was asked how it could possibly be I was as close to a particular person when we hadn't been in each other's physical presence more than once or twice. My response went something like this, "Well just because we've only been in each other's physical presence a few times, we have much in common and our relationship has developed through texts, emails, social media posts, phone calls and shared experience." Gotta admit I was also a tad bit defensive--practicing the unfiltered 2 year old talk here.

I sat back, stamped down my defensiveness and thought about the question just asked as I scrolled through the names of people I consider my closest friends--those friends I call my "call in the middle of the night and tell them to meet me in Boise Idaho stating, I can't tell you why, and they go no questions asked." Over and over names appeared of people I have had limited in person time with or people I used to see in person a lot but haven't for years--the common thread? Our shared values, experiences, vulnerabilities, challenges, and repeatedly our faith.

I haven't stopped thinking about that conversation and about my Godchild's time at the playground. I now regret my laughter relaying the story of the bestus friend from the slide. In that moment they were bestus friends. Why? Because they had achieved something together. They had together overcome their fear; they had a shared experience that will never be repeated--they won't have another "first time down the slide alone" experience with anyone else. For that afternoon, they were bestus friends. Who knows, maybe they'll meet again some day.

So I guess the answer to that specific question I was recently asked is because when I needed to be brave, when I needed  someone to make sure I didn't fall, when I needed someone to shriek with joy and to share my fears, when I needed someone to hold my hand even virtually, she was there.

Friendships can develop quickly and intensely and virtually--it doesn't make them any less real. My sweet Godchild taught me that.

(And for the record, I suspect she'll be teaching me many more lessons throughout my life....)

23 May, 2019

Facebook Brought Me Back to Prayer

I am a social media over poster, over sharer, over user--just say it
over the top. 

Except when I'm not.

Then I scroll through memories and post some of those frankly in order to keep my wise friends (one in particular all the way down in Georgia who I neglect often but who always knows how I am because of my facebook habit) from texting me to ask what's going on. They know me well...too well

What's going on? I've been feeling down and useless and unproductive and boring and so I scroll through facebook memories.

Okay being honest here---over the last few weeks I've been scrolling through the memories and laughing and crying and feeling sad (you can read feeling sorry for myself if you want to) and feeling angry--so very angry.

I'm laughing at some of the things that have happened over the years; I'm crying missing those who are no longer with me or for the memories, the times, the fun. And I'm angry EVERY time a post about running pops up in the memories.

Four days ago I had a reality check--a slap my head and call me silly moment--The Rev. Laurie Brock might have been a part of it. I honestly can't remember what the whole theme of her talk was (sorry Laurie--see above--I've been a little self centered and morose), but I "heard" her talking about different ways we connect with God --ways we pray. And I'll admit it--I got angry--really angry.

But I was in public...

So I sat down on the floor pretending I had to do my knee exercises (well I did need to do them, but I also didn't want everyone there to see the red flush creeping up my neck and the tears in my eyes. I didn't want them to see me throw a full blown overly tired toddler hissy fit). Over and over I thought, "I had a GREAT prayer life!  It was running, and now I can't do it--any of it! I can't run and I can't pray!"

The next morning I was still madder than a wet hen. I mean mad enough to chew up nails and spit out a barbed wire fence. (Also really really happy I had finally met Laurie--who totally understands these expressions to know how mad I was.) I sat in the same spot of the sofa where I've been sitting for five weeks; I completed my exercises and started the icing; I scrolled through facebook memories; and for the first time in weeks, I prayed.

I prayed for the posts from others and for the people in my newsfeed.

I prayed for the people in the memories.

I prayed prayers of thanksgivings for the times of joy and fun and laughter.

I prayed prayers of grief over those who no longer are with us, over the memories that reminded me of hard times and struggles and thanksgivings for those hard times that are behind us.

I prayed prayers of thanksgivings for the lessons I learned from people and places and experiences.

And I cried out in anger and grief over the memories that came popped up about running.

Every morning since I settle in for the first icing of the morning, open facebook and begin my prayers....


06 May, 2019

Pastoral Needs: Grace and Space and Love and Community

A week ago Sunday I cried. 
Face turned away so you can't see the tears


That may not sound like a big deal; and actually, if you know me you're probably thinking, "you cry ALL the time!' That's true; I cry a lot--but mostly it's because I'm happy or proud (particularly of my children) or sad for someone else. I even cry when I'm mad, but this time it was because I hurt physically, and I was frustrated and tired and overwhelmed and embarrassed--it's a different kind of crying, and I hate it.

Long story short; I was 2 1/2 weeks post knee surgery (a surgery I have since learned was the "most challenging complex" surgery my orthopedic surgeon had ever done--he might even write about me in a medical journal--wish that made me feel better), I had gone to Virginia for the weekend to see my son play his final lacrosse game of the season, gone to a fundraiser, and had dinner with Chris. I couldn't get out of the restaurant fast enough and I was embarrassed. One of my parishioners works there, and I knew she could see it. It made me feel weak. I could see the concern on her face (she really is amazing and loving and kind), and I felt horribly that she was worried about me.

When we got home I curled up (well as much as I could with a knee that couldn't bend all that much) on the couch with my back to Chris and my face buried in a pillow, and I sobbed gut wrenching sobs. Chris came around and tried to put his arms around me; he said all the right things. I just wanted to be left alone and I told him so.

The next morning wasn't any better. I put a notice on my email I wouldn't be able to answer quickly knowing I really just didn't want to interact with anyone. I wanted to isolate.

Throughout the morning I thought about the difference in how I was responding and perhaps how others respond. I thought back to that horrible day years ago when Caroline lost her pinky and how Chris and I reacted--he needed comfort; I needed to be left alone. My response or lack of response to Chris's needs still haunts me, but that's another story--(Caroline lost her pinky and I got a deeper faith)

I struggled through my physical therapy exercises thinking about all the people who have done the same. My mind then went to so many people who have gone through struggles--particularly health ones. I thought about how sometimes I call someone and ask them if I can come visit and I'm told no. When that happens, I reluctantly admit, I sometimes make it about me. Why don't they want me to come? Are they mad at me? Don't they know I just want to help?

And I thought about people who want me to come every day and how I don't understand that and sometimes it feels suffocating and just too much. (I cannot believe I just wrote that....)

Here's the thing. People respond differently. What people need during crisis or times of struggle and pain differ. It's a time we have to acknowledge we are looking at and responding through our personal lens of what we would want, and instead respond to their needs.

But wait there's more....

Left to myself I would have isolated all week. I didn't want anyone to see me the way I was, and I didn't have the energy to pretend. I didn't post all week on social media--for this over the top poster that's kind of a big deal; I didn't feel like writing thank you notes and I LOVE writing thank you notes. I just wanted to watch tv and do my exercises and be frustrated and sad. I didn't want to talk to anyone because I didn't want to put on a cheery positive attitude, and I believed that's what I had to do. I do think my preference needed to be honored, but I also know I would have slipped further and further into a funk if others hadn't stepped in.

I received text, email and phone messages. Some I even responded to. Those messages, whether I responded or not, gave me a life raft--I felt buoyed--held up and together until I could do it myself. No one seemed to get mad or hurt I wasn't responding (if you were please forgive me). A couple of people stopped by for quick visits and to drop off meals. They didn't stay long; I think they knew. I was given grace and space.

Tuesday night I received a text. A friend and I had plans for Wednesday. I told her I wasn't really up for anything. She responded, "If you want to cancel that's fine, but I can also come and just sit. You don't have to say or do anything." Wednesday came, she came, she took me to PT. She sat for an hour with me and then she took me home. A couple of days later she sent me a picture of me during PT with these words, "I was going to snapchat this to your girls with a smart ass comment, but I could tell you were in just too much pain and even I the smart ass of all smart asses couldn't stand to do it."

Yep, I cried. That was a testimony of pure love and friendship. It said, "I see you; I hurt for you and right now your needs are more important than anything I want to do. I can adapt for you."

So here's what I've learned and I hope I can remember. We need to respect the needs of others--and to do that we might have to actually ASK what they need/want and not put what we would want on them. Even more difficult is we can't make it about us. AND we need to respond as a community of love in ways that continually let others know we care, sometimes that means pushing them a little and sometimes it means backing off, sometimes it means wrapping our arms around them, and sometimes it means resisting even when our arms ache to hold them.

Grace and space and love and community--