It's All About Perspective

I have two planters in the front of our house. They were planted at the same time with the same amount of plants. They were cared for exactly the same way--which is code for not at all... One has flourished, and one well, it has not. I have both been amused and confused by it. 

A couple of days ago I was pulling out of the driveway. I glanced over and laughed out loud (yes I was alone in the car) as this thought went through my head. "The one on the left is thriving. Of course it is." And yes, I was thinking about politics in all its forms with all its assumptions. You know more liberal, more inclusive, more accepting--I told y'all the assumptions. Stick with me.

The next morning I opened the front door to refill the cooler for delivery people and I stopped abruptly. Now the flourishing planter was on the right. "It's all about perspective," I thought.

And I can't stop thinking about it. I'm thinking about all the people I love dearly--people on the "right" and people on the "left." I'm thinking about how they all impact my life and help me to be the person I am. I'm thinking about our differences which challenge me and encourage me to look at life from different perspectives, and yes, even sometimes change my mind.

But mostly I'm thinking about how each and every one of us is a beloved child of God, created in God's image and worthy of dignity and respect. I am reminded that God isn't left or right; God is for everyone. I'm reminded that I am called to look at the world through God's eyes, and that requires many perspectives. I am reminded that I am called to join God to create a world where we all flourish. And all this because one planter flourished and one did not!

(I'm still curious about why...the planters that is!)

It's My Children's Fault I'm the Way I Am

I can be too much for people. I know it; I get it; I've said it here before. And, I'm probably not going to change it. Why? Because changing it almost killed my soul.

I've been told about my too big personality quite a few times starting early in life. But what no one told me was how to temper it. What I never learned was when to dial it back (some will say I still haven't learned that!) And I didn't learn that it was okay for not everyone to like me and I didn't have to change who I was--

Towards the end of 7th grade, a friend took me aside and told me, "People are really not liking you anymore because you are conceited. We don't want to be friends with you anymore." An example she gave was when another friend was correcting my spelling/vocabulary test and I said, "It's okay if I get one wrong, I know I got the bonus." I didn't challenge the conversation. I assumed I indeed was a flawed person that didn't deserve to have friends. 

What no one knew then was while I might have come across as conceited, I was really a very scared insecure little girl (not unlike many 7th grade girls). A very scared insecure little girl that just lost almost all her friends. (I've also just got to say, I feel for that young girl too. I mean she definitely drew the short straw on being the one who had to have that conversation!)

Now whether this is true or not, I believed being popular was very important to my mother. So I didn't tell her about what happened. I didn't want her to know I was now sitting by myself in the cafeteria and was no longer invited to the big slumber parties. I wonder if I had if she would have helped me figure it out? I'll never know. Instead, I wound up in the hospital with an eating disorder which we also did not talk about--to a 7th-grade girl that was further proof there was something very wrong with me. I drew myself in, watched people more intently, and tried to figure out how to fit in.

We moved right before my 10th-grade year. After saying I wanted to go down early and try out for cheerleading, I changed my mind. My mother had worked hard to find someone to help me. I was not honest with my mother that I was terrified and sad and lonely. So I just said, "I don't want to and I'm not." She told me she was embarrassed and disappointed in me. 

Before we get all morose let's be honest. There are probably many many young teenage girls who felt the same way. Most of us really were faking it until we made it. We were all trying on identities and figuring out who we were. Some of us left that insecurity back in high school or college--for some of us it took a few more years....

{Let me also have a little aside her to say there were some people I was completely my goofy over the top self with right from the beginning--maybe not always in public--for the most part Chris knew who he was marrying! And he helped me over and over to be who I am called to be--and yes, sometimes it even gets to be too much for him. Progress not perfection, right?}

Here's where I'm going with this sad depressing story---I could draw out my life and easily mark key incidents where I just accepted others views of me as not good enough and there are also key incidents when I let go of some insecurity and really started living into the loud, over the top, has no filter, slightly inappropriate person God created. Maybe someday I will share that timeline...probably not. (See?!?!?! I do have a filter!!!)

I've been talking on video a lot about parenting. I've made a lot of mistakes. And I've had some wins. I hope the mommy that spent hours worrying about what they were going to wear and whether we belonged to the "right" things is not the mommy they most remember. I suspect they remember parts of that. I KNOW they remember and are still at times horrified and even irritated (okay flat out pissed off) at some of my antics. Sometimes I will dial it back at their request (and because it's the right thing to do), but sometimes I don't. What I hope is that even when they are madder than a wet hen on a hot summer day, they see a person who is true to her values and herself. A person who doesn't let others define her or tell her she's not good enough.  I hope they no longer see the woman who became a pretzel trying to twist and turn into being who she believed (or was told) others wanted her to be.

The truth is I learned that from them.

A public thank you--maybe it'll save me a dollar or two in therapy...

Leave Room for the Holy Spirit (and not just at dances)

Last Sunday after church I came home and sent a text to one of my best friends and a clergy

colleague. "Preaching is getting harder and harder to preach hope."

I love preaching. My call to ordination came with these words which popped into my head as I crossed over Broad Street in Athens, Georgia July 1997. "Make faith matter to people's ordinary everyday lives." But right now, right now, like so many other people, I'm tired. I'm tired, and I feel like I say the same thing over and over, and I can't remember what I said, and....let me back up a minute.

Two weeks ago I went in for a routine appointment. My lab work came back with extremely low iron levels. I've been anemic before, but this was different. I did a little research (love me some web MD!) and discovered in addition to exhaustion low

iron causes brittle nails (my nails were breaking daily), hair falling out (clogged sink anyone?), cold hands and feet (well that's nothing new), heart palpitations (which are keeping me from sleeping despite the exhaustion), feeling anxious (ding ding we have a winner!), and get ready, confusion (the gold medal).  Surgery has been scheduled but in the meantime...

Back to the preaching---I don't preach with a script or any notes (which doesn't mean I don't spend hours on it). By the time I deliver a sermon I have "rehearsed" it many many times in my head. Truth is there are some mornings I go for a run or iron before service and the Holy Spirit decides some of it needs to change. I respect that, and 99% of the time give into her. But last Sunday....

I was preaching. Preaching during this time is hard any time--I hate not seeing people. I'm an extrovert and get energy from people, seeing faces. I like seeing expressions on people's faces even if it's boredom, disagreement, or in the case of my children making the "cut" sign. This week, I couldn't remember what I had said when I started the sermon, and by the time I sat down, I had no idea what I'd said throughout. I was 100% sure it was disjointed and all over the board. I was both embarrassed and exhausted, and thus my text to my friend.

It's been a few days. I actually heard from a few people who said it resonated with them--I have no clue what that was because I can't remember it and I'm still too intimidated to listen to the recording. (Okay y'all, seriously! How messed up is that?!!?!? I'm intimidated by myself....Becky?) Today during yet another zoom call we prayed a prayer written by Bishop Ken Untener but often credited to Oscar Romero. These words resonated with me, "It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter in and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are the workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs." Basically, step aside, do your best, and leave room for the Holy Spirit.

What are you trying desperately to control? Where do you believe you are at best, mediocre? These are hard times, give yourself a break, trust, and leave room for the Holy Spirit. Maybe today was a mediocre day for you. That's okay. You are a beloved child of God, and you're enough--the Holy Spirit will fill in the rest.

 

Life is Not a Competition; Faith is Not a Competition

I woke up Tuesday morning and did not want to get out of bed. Nothing particular had happened—just felt like a gerbil in a habitrail—same ole thing day after day—or at least that’s how I felt that day. But the dogs were barking, so I got up, let them out, and laid down on the sofa in the den. Some time passed,

and wouldn’t you know it? Those darn dogs wanted to come back in (read above), so I let them back in and moved to the sofa in the living room.

 

So slight confession here—when Chris got up I pretended I was asleep so he would make the coffee. That seems to be the extent of our change in routine—who makes the coffee.

 

I started to get up and thought to myself, “I don’t want to get out of my pj’s today. I just want to lounge around doing what I want.” But then I remembered…

 

August 1^st I joined a Facebook group One for One Hundred. Actually, I joined the group in 2016, and that year I completed it, but I recommitted on August 1^st. Basically, you commit to walking or running at least one mile every day for 100 days straight no exceptions and I had done it—even the day I had an infection. I really didn’t want to do it on Tuesday AND I really didn’t want to be a failure AND I’m a little competitive with myself and others. Not a good combination.

 

I got up and moved to the basement (where there is not another sofa to lie down on). I looked over at the ironing and realized I could iron and be on the zoom calls I had scheduled for that day (truth y’all, ask the Bible study group). Two and half hours later after ironing 37 napkins, 9 pillowcases, 7 sheets, and 4 shirts, I was finished.

 

I was finished ironing and I was finished beating myself up because I didn’t want to and ultimately wasn’t going to complete my mile that day.

 

Here’s where I am—at least for today. Accountability groups are good, lifesaving even (think AA, NA, etc), they are meant to build up and support. Being a part of this accountability group was not doing that for me—it did once, but now instead of being encouraging and supportive, it made me grumpy, self-loathing, and competitive in an unhealthy way. It was standing in the way of me listening to the still small voice (what I consider the Holy Spirit) inside of me saying, “It’s okay. Take this day to do what you need to fill your soul.”

 

While ironing I thought about the upcoming readings for this Sunday. Romans 12:3-4says, “For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all members have the same function.” Faith is not a competition. Life is not a competition. How we live our lives of faith is not a competition. We do not have a measuring stick or measuring cup that proves one person is “more Christian, more Christ-like, more holy, more worthy.”

 

Yes, we are to hold one another accountable, but that does not include making judgments. There is a difference. We each have a calling, a function God is calling us to. For some people it might be marching in protests, for others, it might be stocking food pantries, for others, it might be spending hours in prayer, for others, it might be extending hospitality to all, for others, it might be participating in studies, and the list goes on. There is no particular way that makes someone a “real” Christian.

 

Tuesday the meanie little voice in my head (I call her Darlin’ Devil) was telling me if I didn’t do that mile I wasn’t a “real” runner, a “real” competitor, a “real” athlete. It’s a good group, with good people, and there was a time it was a positive in my life, but not now, and that’s okay.

 

Let’s commit to not being the Darlin’ Devils voice in each other’s head. Let’s support where we are each called because we are all real people created in the image of God and loved unconditionally, no exceptions.

The Power of Voice

During a youth retreat when I was in 8th grade I became very emotional. No, I wasn’t having a mountaintop experience—that’s why I became emotional—because I wasn’t and everyone else seemed to be. I thought there was something wrong with me; being totally honest, I was sure there was something wrong with me. 

Things were really complicated. I went to church ALL. THE. TIME. Daddy was and is Roman Catholic; Mother was United Methodist; we were required to go to both churches every Sunday, Sunday School, CCD, youth group, and I went to Catholic school. So why wasn’t I feeling anything? Why wasn’t I experiencing anything? Why didn’t I feel close to God? What was wrong with me?

My minister approached me, put her arm around me, and asked what was wrong. I told her I didn’t feel close to God and I wasn’t sure why. I told her I didn’t know if I was living a Christian life. She told me to read Romans, confess my sins, and I would find the answers.

So I did.

I read it and nothing happened. So I re-read it, and then I read it in another translation. Still nothing. I was missing something. It didn’t give me a set of rules; I didn’t feel closer to God; but it impacted the way I viewed the BIble and faith well into my adult years.

I believed there was an answer—one specific way to understand the Bible and only one way to think about faithful living. Why did I believe that? Because a minister told me—clearly she would know—she was an authority. She also never asked me another question; she never again mentioned our conversation, and I never brought it up either. I was left feeling like I was on the outside of the group. I wasn’t good enough, holy enough, smart enough—I wasn’t enough.

I wonder how that experience would have changed me if my minister had said let’s read Romans together and talk about it. (Okay, still not really sure about the whole read Romans thing.) I wonder how it would have been different if she had asked me what I thought faithful living looked like. I wonder what would have happened if she said, “Let’s talk about this as a group.” But she didn’t, the conversation was closed, and I felt forgotten and alone.

I have never forgotten that day, her words, and my feelings. It shaped me, and it is a large part of the reason I believe so strongly in the ministry of all people. It is a large part of the reason I don’t believe a collar around my neck and The Reverend before my name means I have all the answers. And it also reminds me that the collar around my neck and The Reverend before my name has power, whether I want it to or not, to bring others closer into relationship with God or to push them away. That experience has helped to shape my voice and instilled within me a deep desire to never silence anyone else’s.

I have a strong and deep faith. I try to live my life from the core of that faith—specifically, I believe God loves everyone no exceptions. I believe God commands us to do the same. And I believe that means standing up for and standing with those on the margins—the poor, the oppressed, the hungry, the homeless—anyone who is on the outside. I believe injustice must be called out AND I believe the words we use are important. And I also believe it doesn’t help to silence other’s voices. 

I was called to ordination. I was called to preach the Gospel—to bring good news, “to declare God’s forgiveness to penitent sinners, to pronounce God’s blessing.” (BCP, p. 531) I was not called to separate people from knowing God’s love, to turn people away from faith, to leave others feeling less than.

Perhaps there are times my voice, my words, are not as strong as others believe it should be. I understand that, but it’s my voice. And others’ have their voices. I do believe whether the power of one’s voice comes from a title or familiarity or fame, it comes with responsibility. The power of voice can lift up or tear down; it can open conversation or shut the door, and it can bring healing or hurt.

I believe every voice deserves to be heard.

My Ego, My Faith, and My Blog

I had a conversation with another female priest yesterday.  (I'm adding the "female" part in because there will be a blog about that some day soon...)  Anyway, we were talking about how we live and believe so many of the same things,  but there are also differences in how we live our ministries.  So I started thinking about mine....

Part of my ministry I firmly believe is writing, but it goes back even further than this blog; it's more than just about writing.  The call I heard back in August 1997 was "I want you to be an ordinary priest living an ordinary life and telling people about it.  I want you to share how to find the Holy in the ordinary."  I wrote about it a bit in a sermon given the day following my Ordination: Answering God's Call; It's Not a Choice.  I still believe that is my call, and I firmly believe that a part of that call is admitting where I struggle, exposing myself--my vulnerabilities, my doubts and my fears.  I also unequivocally know God is in my writing--directing my writing even--that's why when I  have something to write I get tunnel vision until it's done.  But....

God is in my writing, directing my writing, and yet I'm not a puppet on a string.  I have choices about how I write, how much I say, how much I share, and sometimes, perhaps more than sometimes I allow my own ego, my own need to be recognized, to be affirmed, to be "popular" to cloud the voice and direction of God.

Part of my writing is about my struggle with faith and life; part of that struggle is, I think, a struggle we all have which is, "Are the lives we're living and the faiths we profess congruent?"  The other day I was slapped in the face like a red headed step child (thank you Thomas Tomlinson that I've never been able to forget that phrase even though it is completely and totally politically incorrect--yet, I'm still saying it--high school days invade my ministry, now there's a blog waiting to happen...), with a situation where I sincerely doubted mine was, and I wrote about it. (Homosexuality: Haunted and Hopeful)

That blog had lots of response, lots of reaction both for me and others.  Last night my very bright, compassionate, faith filled daughter and I had a conversation not just about that blog but about faith and life.  We talked about how sometimes living our faith, professing our faith makes other people uncomfortable.  I know the way I live mine so out there and unedited can definitely make people uncomfortable.  And I recognize that my living that way impacts my family--sometimes not in a positive way.  She shared with me that someone told her that because of how active she is in standing up and declaring that racism in the world is wrong, she may be labeled and criticized.  She told me, "it scares the hell out of me how strongly I believe in some things and how important I’ve come to realize some things are to me, especially this year."  (Moving into oversharing proud Mama mode--can I tell you how proud I am of her not just for what she's doing but for recognizing these things about herself at such a young age?  I can promise you--and my high school and college friends can attest to it, that I did not.  But SK and her friends do...I wrote about it twice-- I Go to UVA--So What? and Who Cares if You're in a Sorority?)  I didn't tell her this (because I didn't think about it until right now), but that someone who talked to her is so right.

We are white privileged women and the "causes" we choose to defend, to talk about, sometimes make other privileged people--our friends even--uncomfortable.  People, even really really good people, don't like to be uncomfortable--privileged people, myself included, even less so.  There is an internal battle to keep life stabilized--even keeled--to not rock the boat.  I do believe, however,  that sometimes we need to be uncomfortable because it is in our discomfort and in our struggle where we grow.  We need to challenge each other, to stir up the pools of questions and discomfort, and I think my writing sometimes does that. Yet there is a balance....

She said something else that I found powerful and profound, “I was very stuck between what I think is morally and theologically important and not wanting to make my friend uncomfortable.”  What I realized throughout my sleepless night as I turned the many conversations I've had these past few days over and over in my mind looking at the many different edges and angles, is one does not ALWAYS trump the other.

If it were just easier to get unstuck...

*Two disclaimers:  First, I have permission from said amazing daughter to use her quote. And second, as I read my writing, it is very clear to me why I have a son with ADD.  Thank you for jumping with my mind... And third (so I lied about two) I am so grateful I have life long friends who still influence me and remind me of who I was and who I am--for better or worse.