What Message Do You Have to Share?

I love running and listening to A Morning at the Office an Episcopal Morning Prayer podcast by Forward Movement. It has truly changed my spiritual life. I listen to it for the first mile and a half of my run (now you can figure out my pace...slow). Without fail one or two verses always jump out at me, and I spend the rest of my run thinking about them and trying to hear what God is saying to me.

This morning the first verse was Mark 9: 32 "But they did not understand what he was saying and they were afraid to ask him." Jesus was teaching the disciples; they didn't understand; they were afraid to ask him. What are we afraid to ask God? God wants to hear our questions, our cries, our thanksgivings, our joys, our doubts. Why? Because God wants to be in relationship with us--deep relationship. And the way to deepen our relationship is to be real, to be honest, to be vulnerable.

During this time, we are all facing fears, anxieties, frustrations, grief, and a myriad of other emotions. We want answers; we want to know where God is in this pandemic. My faith tells me God is right in the middle of it all--not causing the pandemic, not choosing who catches the virus, but rather weeping with us when we weep, raging with us when we rage, and holding us in the palm of his hand.

All of that was going through my mind when this verse was read, ""Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us. But Jesus said, 'Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me.'" (Mark 9:38-39) I believe very strongly in the ministry of all the baptized. I try very hard not to fall into clericalism. I believe right now, during this time (well really all the time), the world needs to hear all our voices. The disciples didn't want competition; they wanted to be the "in crowd." This is not the time, no time is ever the time to decide whose in and whose out. Being a disciple of Jesus is not about setting ourselves above, it is not about hierarchy, power, and position. It's about love--mutual life-giving love. And the world needs a chorus.

"No, not just the world," I thought, "I need to hear other voices. I need to hear voices of hope. I need to hear voices that point to God and to God's love. I need to hear voices that remind me we are a community of faith."

We are all living in a time most of us have never experienced. We need to not be afraid to go to God with our questions, our emotions, and our fears. And we need to all respond to one another as God's disciples--lay and ordained. The world needs us all.

Yesterday afternoon I texted a friend after our service. She is one of my go-to people not only because she is encouraging, but also because she tells me the truth. (And because like me she loves Jesus but cusses a little...a whole other story). "I don't know how to preach in a pandemic." I texted her. Her response
, "You did a great job, trust yourself, you have a message to share."

Today I want to hear from others. What message do you have to share? The world needs to hear it.

Name Your Grief

I was fine yesterday. Well, I was fine yesterday until I wasn't.

And here's the thing. I thought I was ready to not be fine, but I wasn't.

After a run and multiple zoom meetings, around noon I headed over to the church to consecrate more bread. For a number of years St. Thomas has been serving the memory care ward of an assisted living home twice a month bringing Eucharist. Each time I go I am amazed at the comfort the familiar prayers bring to people who cannot remember many things but recite the prayers with me. Their faces light up as I distribute communion recognizing their bodies crave the Eucharist.

Last week, as the building was shut down to outside visitors, I took a communion kit to my friend and parishioner, Amy (whose father was an Episcopal priest) who works there. I dropped it at the door; she sanitized it and took it in. Today I was going to replenish it. I also realized it was probably the last day for a while I was going to be able to do that, so I wanted to make sure I brought enough for several weeks.

Truthfully I thought I was going to be incredibly sad doing this and that I would probably cry. But I didn't. Yes, it was hard to see Amy through the glass and not be able to hug her, but I felt a sense of peace. On my drive out to the facility, I was listening to one of my favorite radio shows--The V Show on ESPN 680 (and yes Bob, the host, and Nick, his son, the producer are also parishioners and friends). Not only is Bob awesome to listen to as he talks about sports, but he also talks about and writes about life and living. He is calming, compassionate and reassuring. He reminded us to follow the guidelines put out for social distancing and self-isolation because it would help and we would be able to return to "normal" one day.

As I drove away I decided to go to the jewelry store where my grandmother's charm bracelet had been repaired. It wasn't going to be cheap to pick up, but I really wanted it. I was thinking about how Gangan lived through the depression, at the age of 64 she buried her mother and her husband within 3 weeks of each other, a month later she sold her home and yet continued to live for another 30+ years. Not only did she continue to live, but she lived a life full of love and joy. I wanted to wear her bracelet to remind me of her strength, to remind me of how she modeled living even with great loss. I just wanted the bracelet.

I knew there was a chance they would be closed. Well, my head knew it.

I drove up and the lights were on--SCORE (still listening to ESPN) one for me! I got out of the car and there was a sign on the door. They were closed. I thought about banging on the door. Instead, I got back in my car as tears seeped out of the corners of my eyes. I didn't like it, but I respect Royal Jewelers for doing the right thing. I started the car and then looked left. Nothing Bundt Cakes was OPEN! I felt a little joy returning as I jumped out of the car and headed over. I would bring bundt cakes home to my family! YESSSSS!

But the door was locked. The woman behind the glass door that was keeping me from bringing joy to my family motioned I needed to call. Back to the car, dialed the number and the message said, "You have to order online." (Guess she wasn't able to pantomime that.) No problem, I'll pull up the website, order, have them bring them out to me and shazaam, on my way home to spread joy. Except....

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! YOU HAVE TO GIVE THEM TWO HOURS NOTICE!

And then I did start crying out loud--really loud. I was sobbing and shaking and beating my steering wheel. This went on for a good while. (I might have scared the woman in the car next to me who WAS getting her order of bundt cakes.)

And I realized right then. It wasn't about the charm bracelet (although I still want it) or the damn bundt cakes which I also now wanted.

It was about my aunt dying in Charlottesville, and I was planning to visit her this summer. That might not happen.

It was about not being able to worship in person. It was about no March madness. It was about seeing one of our Godchildren and having him blow kisses to me instead of wrapping his arms around me. It was about not being able to see friends and family. It was about no wonderful Wednesday. It was about anger at those who weren't following the recommended guidelines. It was about loss--some temporary, some permanent. It was purely and wholly about grief.

This morning I am sitting at Gangan's desk getting ready for more zoom calls (bet she never thought that would happen from this desk). I am reading psalms of lament to honor those feelings of grief. Yes we can do hard things; yes we can get through this; yes God is present in our sorrow, and yes we can name it. We can name our loss. There is power in naming. And grief, well grief is part of living and it can be and is holy. Grief is part of living; we are still living.

Name your grief, own your loss and keep living.

Oh, and I just ordered some bundt cakes--

#wecandohardthings #bossgoals

So yeah, I have had a goal that was only semi-public--until now. I posted a little about it in vague fashion using hashtags such as #bossgoals #funrunfriends #icandohardthings and #runningwithegc --the last when a very dear friend who has been a part of my journey joined me in training (virtually).

Some time ago my son started his journey of addiction and recovery. When I joined his journey, I told him if he could stay sober for a year I would run a marathon. (That was pre-total knee replacement.)

The truth is I wanted to run a marathon, and I needed an incentive. He didn't. He didn't like to run, and he never really responded to my challenge (which is another lesson learned--getting into recovery is not about someone else and what that person considers incentive, an important consideration, but I digress from my particular point). Fast forward and I'll say it in a nutshell--I had total knee replacement; I believed I would never run again: I started running again but it was very slow going; Boss started running; Boss started liking to run; we started talking about running--we agreed to run the Derby Half Marathon together at the end of April.

That was five weeks ago. At that point I had not even completed running a mile. I dug in and started training. There were days I really didn't think I would be able to continue training, and I was discouraged. I had to remind myself this was a mini marathon and not a sprint. People reached out to me and offered encouragement--people who didn't even know this story and why I was doing what I was doing. They just knew I was trying to reach a goal. It didn't matter what they knew or didn't know. How they responded, that's what mattered. Just like there have been people who have reached out and supported Boss on his journey that is a marathon and not a sprint. Last Friday I ran (with a few walks thrown in) 7 miles, and people celebrated with me. Today Boss celebrates an anniversary.

Today is also St. Patrick's Day. Today the world is living through unprecedented times brought on by a pandemic. Today I know the half marathon won't happen in April--it's been cancelled. Today I've had to rethink what that goal looks like. Today I have been sad and angry I won't get to run on April 25--or rather I won't get to run in the actual race--I mean I already had the instagram post planned in my head of Boss and I crossing the finish line (or him waiting for me to cross the finish line) with big smiles and a great big hug. And today, just a few minutes ago, all those things converged.

It's St. Patrick's Day--how many times have you heard or read, "Luck of the Irish?" Well I can tell you this--training to run a half marathon in a short time and more importantly living a life of recovery takes anything but luck. It takes hard work; it takes sacrifice; it takes commitment; and it takes a community of support.

Right now many of us are dealing with many disappointments and hardships resulting from this coronavirus pandemic. Events and schools and churches and businesses are closing. We are socially distancing. Anxiety rises and falls with no warning. This is all SO. FREAKING. HARD--just like training for a mini marathon less than a year after knee replacement or being in recovery. We don't know what we're doing from day to day or what we will be thinking or feeling. I believe it's okay to name and honor those things we have lost or are having to delay and the feelings we have around them. I believe we are going to be required to do really hard things and there will be times we feel defeated and discouraged. But I also believe we can do it. I believe we can come together to sacrifice, to challenge, to support, to encourage, and to love. I believe each day we will get better, we will be better and the way we respond and love each other will outlive this virus. I believe Boss and I will run a half marathon someday. We're still training.

But here's the other truth--there are people who will struggle more than others, who will face more hardships, more challenges, and that is a hard reality I don't want to face. I don't have an answer but I have to face it. And I what I can do is this. I can promise to love and respect and value others. I can promise I will treat others fairly and compassionately and recognize I don't know their story and that's okay--that's not important--THEY are important.

I believe there is nothing--not a virus, not addiction, not a challenge, there is absolutely nothing that can separate us from the love of God. I believe we won't get through because of luck, but rather because of God's love, mercy and forgiveness for us, because of our commitment, hard work, support of others, and lots and lots of love shared. Love shared all around--love for God, love for ourselves and love for others.

#wecandohardthings
#postedwithpermission

I Will Finish

I have a goal. It's a good goal and for a worthy reason/cause you choose the verb (and one day I'll share that). But it's not as easy as I thought it would be. 

Not entirely true--I knew it wouldn't be easy--or rather the middle aged, recovering from total knee replacement in April 2019 part of me knew it wouldn't be easy. The frustrated, hardheaded, competitive, adolescent athlete that lives in my dreams--well let's say she had different plans.

Anyway....

This morning I set out for a 4 mile run. I anticipated it would be a little harder than usual as I'm in the mountains. As I got to the first cross walk I consciously made the decision NOT to pause runkeeper so that I could tell myself the reason my pace was slower than I wanted was because of having to stop at red lights. I'm not kidding y'all--these are conversations I have with myself.

I found the green space my friend told me about and was thankful it was mostly flat. I was feeling sluggish, so as I was approaching 2 miles I decided to switch from podcasts to music hoping that would help me push through.

The very first song that came on was "Sweet Caroline." I might have pumped my fist. I definitely started smiling. I thought about my sweet Caroline and knew that because this was the first song that came on I was going to sail through the next 2 miles. This was destiny!

I thought about how hard my sweet Caroline worked her senior year of high school to get through injuries and play what we all thought would be her last year playing basketball. And then I thought about how hard she worked last summer to get in shape to begin playing at Randolph.  I thought to myself, "She is an inspiration to me. I am going to follow her lead."

At mile 2.5 my hamstring tightened...

I tried to convince myself fighting through was the best option--then that ridiculous middle aged, recovering from total knee replacement in April 2019, voice said, "Um, my dear, you always tell your children to listen to their bodies." Why that woman wants to talk to me is beyond me!

But listen I did. Then I had a great idea! I would follow the advice of an old (in number of years knowing each other not age) friend. She says, "Just get out and run. Run one song and walk the next and keep going." Thanks Kit! That's what I'm going to do. (Fun fact--most songs last for about .25 miles).

As I was running I thought about the strength and courage all four of my children have recently displayed. SK started a new job that is challenging and exciting and will both stretch her and let her live into her gifts. I am always amazed at her depth, passion and drive. Boss has shown more courage, humility and grace in the last 8 months than some people show in their entire lives. William's drive to be the best he can be not just for himself but for his team reminds me there is little in this life worth doing if it's not about community. He is hands down the best team player I have ever known.  And Caroline's determination to meet and exceed her goals gives me courage and strength. I am so lucky to be the mother of these incredible human beings. I kept thinking about each of them thinking that would get me through...

And I guess it did. Run one song, walk one song, run one song, walk one song.

I was walking and Carrie Newcomer's song "The Things I've Gone and Done" came on. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to do the run again she sang these words, "Just because the odds are bad, doesn't mean you shouldn't risk. Don't believe it will not happen just because it hasn't happened yet." I started to think--well this goal won't happen just yet, and then--y'all I cannot make this stuff up!

The next song that game on was The Nitty Gritty Dirt Bands "Fishing in the Dark." I took off. I pumped the air. I finished strong remembering the days at UVA running with Dana to this song. I remembered the first 10 miler I ever ran--it was with my Chi O sisters, and it was hard and cold and I didn't finish as fast as some, but I finished.

And I finished today--and I will finish in two months. And my husband who loves and supports me even though he thinks I'm completely nuts will show up and love me (even if it means nursing me through another surgery--which it won't says the hardheaded adolescent.

It's amazing to me how God shows up over and over and over again. God shows up in so many ways and today it was through people and music and memories.