Maybe They Don't Like Me

Three years ago I swore I would never run for anything in the Diocese again. Sitting there year after year (okay really at that time it had only been 3 years...) hearing them read the names of those elected or as I told myself the names of the "winners" and never hearing my name was something I just didn't want to continue enduring-in my possibly dramatic mind I said, "I don't want to keep being one of the losers." But then last year....

Last year a colleague asked me to please run for a specific position; I said, "no." She pursued; I said no; she pursued and she wore me down....(those who know Rose will totally understand). I told myself over and over, "you won't win you're just doing this so Rose can fill all the spots; it'll be okay; it'll be okay; it'll be okay." They brought the results back; I began my now perfected method of looking busy and as though there was something really important I needed to be dealing with on my phone or with my papers--last year the UL/UVA game was being played at that exact time so it was kinda true. They began reading the results and suddenly I heard my name--I was dazed and confused, but also kind of feeling like I suppose Chicago Cubs fans now feel--like a curse had been lifted.

So this year...this year I didn't wait for someone to ask me. This year Rose put me on the nominating committee and I (I wish I didn't have to admit this) nominated MYSELF! My pledge long forgotten with one election...

The results came back and they began reading the names for clergy deputies for General Convention--there would be 4 deputies and 2 alternates--7 of us ran (yes do the math--there will be 1 loser...). They announced they were reading them in order of votes; I held my breath as they began reading and didn't exhale until they were finished and then I quickly reverted to my pre pledge posture of looking down, face reddened because, yep you guessed it, my name wasn't read. I was THE ONE! I felt humiliation begin in my toes and rise throughout my whole body, not only was I the loser, but it was in front of my husband and son and my senior warden who I so admire. I couldn't look at them, and in my now totally self absorbed mind I was certain they were intentionally not making eye contact with me...

Convention was over; I wanted to disappear quickly, but no--now I had to go to a meeting for that position I was elected to last year--and that meeting took FOREVER!!!

Several hours later, after watching football and possibly drinking a beer I blurted out to Chris trying to hold back my tears, "I thought people liked me; I thought I was respected; I thought people think I'm a good priest; I am so embarrassed. I am never running for anything again." Chris very wisely only said, "I don't think it has anything to do with that." While he needed to say it, he also knew that trying to talk me out of my neurosis while I was in full blown mode was, well was frankly dangerous...

Then I started trying to soothe myself and keep myself from spiraling into a bunch of irrational rash generalizations you know the ones that lead to "I am a terrible human being that no one could possibly think has any value" or "I'll never be good enough"--I started trying to be reasonable or at least to rationalize and lets face it, when you're the mother of four teenagers rationalizing becomes an art form. (Becky, I consider this progress btw....)

I have done enough self work to know that while I might stew in those thoughts for a moment, they aren't true. Instead of staying there I started processing. "I really don't even know why I want to go to General Convention. Do I just want to have something to add to my "resume" or do I really feel called to go? Do I just want to see my friends? Do I just want to feel important?"  I honestly couldn't answer those questions, and while I was calming down it wasn't tranquilizing or even numbing my bruised ego or tossing a life preserver to my plummeting self confidence and esteem...

I switched tactics and began thinking about what type of person would be effective as a deputy for General Convention and what type of person I am. "Hmmm," I thought, "A deputy at General Convention probably needs to be someone who can remain calm, see the big picture, hear many voices, you know, a cool, calm and collected rationale person, and quiet (I threw that in), the person definitely needs to be quiet. Maybe that's not me." (It did occur to me I hear many voices--but they're usually in my head, not necessarily a good sign...)

I thought about how my therapist describes me, "An over eager, enthusiastic, excited puppy." I also thought about an incident when my wonderful Bishop said to one of our Canons, "Watch this." and then looked at me and said one word, and yes my head might have spun around three times and I might have become highly animated and loud--very, very loud---so maybe cool, calm and collected isn't me.

Because I can't make anything be simple and I have a hard time letting go of feelings, particularly hurt ones (picture a puppy with a bone who has just been scolded), I am still thinking about all of this. I keep thinking about leadership styles, their differences--their pros and their cons. I have thought about how working with our Canon to the Ordinary I have learned and am continuing to learn how to step back and take in the whole landscape not just the one beautiful tree or the one dying tree right in front of me--a skill that has been critical in my new call as priest-in-charge. I have thought about how I have learned I do not have to respond to everything right away--in fact, many many times it is better when I take some time before responding--time to process (read obsess but in a good way). What this does not mean, however, is that I don't first become highly agitated and emotional spewing all sorts of things--I just do it in private now (or with a few close family and friends that know I just need to get it out...) I have also learned that while I am not skilled at everything or even a lot of things, I am not embarrassed to ask questions and to try to learn, and I am also learning to own my own perspectives as valid even if others disagree.

And possibly most importantly I have learned I'm not one or the other...I can be the priest/person who is cool, calm and collected and even quiet (or at least look that way) at times, but I am also and probably more so the priest/person who cries giving the homily at a funeral, who runs across the room boot and all to see my friends and colleagues I haven't seen for awhile, who shrieks regardless of where I am when I hear good news from others, who might say shit in a sermon, who wears bright clothes and high heels, who wears her heart on her sleeve and is overly sensitive and takes things personally, who is almost completely transparent and takes TMI to a whole new level, and who isn't afraid to laugh at herself.

So I'm not going to General Convention, and I still do want to go. The disappointment is still there and I am still feeling a little bit raw. But I'm no longer obsessively trying to figure out why or to think about what is wrong with me. (I say no longer obsessively trying--it still does cross my mind--back to that transparency thing) I recognize there could be many reasons none of which changes who I am and who God created me to be. I fully believe we all have different gifts and that each of us has our own ministry and sometimes it's not what we "want" or think we want. I definitely never thought I wanted youth ministry!!! For this election, maybe people actually did prayerfully consider and come to the conclusion I wasn't the best fit; maybe people did not see my gifts for this ministry, maybe not enough people knew who I was, maybe it was about representation from various parts of the Diocese, or maybe they don't like me. (Seriously, it's not like I like everyone so isn't it a little bit arrogant to think everyone likes me?)

This morning the other Canon in the Diocese posted a quote from Winston Churchill on facebook

(which was actually the impetus to go ahead and write this blog that has been swirling around my head) and at first I thought about my "losing" and losing means failure and so I wondered if this was God's way of saying, "so stop saying you'll never run again. So you failed, keep trying..." But I actually don't think it's that simple (imagine that!) So, in my head I've changed the quote a little bit and instead of saying "Success consists of" and "failure" I say, "Growing into your true being, the one God created you to be consists of trying things and then trying something else and trying again.." And that goes for everyone--so get out there and try something. I'll cheer you on, cry with you if it doesn't work out, and shriek when it does. That enthusiastic part I've got down pat!

Giving Thanks for My Broken Foot

Today I give thanks for my broken foot (and yes if you're counting

this is the THIRD broken foot in four years--the third time I've broken my right foot.) It means no driving and humility--lessons I learned the hard way (The First and Second Broken Foot Stories).

It's inconvenient and it hurts, but today I am embracing it and giving thanks. Yesterday and today I have had early morning meetings at the babies school, so instead of waking Chris or Boss, I rode in with them. I have no idea why but I just decided to sit in the backseat.

As we rode through the streets with the sun just peeking over the horizons, it was like they forgot I was back there (except when we drove through Starbucks and they asked for my debit card....), and I got to be a voyeur into their lives, into their morning routine, and into their relationship.

I have always known they were close--(We Did Something Right), some people even mistake them for twins, but sitting in the back seat I thought, "It's like their best friends and not siblings." They bantered back and forth, they instantaneously grew silent when Battle of the Sexes came on the radio--something they clearly listen to everyday. They sang; they laughed; it warmed my heart.

As we got closer to the school I said, "Y'all can drop me off before the student parking lot." William asked, "Why would we do that?" Caroline chimed in, "Yeah why would we? You're going to the student parking lot." I hesitated; should I say, "because I figured you would be embarrassed to be seen getting out of the car with your mother? I know I would have been...."

William looked over his shoulder (causing me a moment of panic as he was also passing a car) and said, "Sorry you're just going to have to go with us" as though I would be the one embarrassed. We drove up, parked, and all got out of the car. Caroline petted my coat (seriously she calls it Bobby's (her dog) cousin) as she shouted, "Rachel look it's my mom. Mama look it's Rachel." And Rachel jumped out of her car waving frantically, "Hey Mrs. Doyle." "Hey Sweetheart," I called across the parking lot as I tried to scurry away still worried I would embarrass them.

They continued to greet their friends, but paused for a moment and said, "Bye Mama. See you later." And one stopped to kiss my cheek--I'll let you guess which...

As I walked away I thought, "Tomorrow I may not feel this way, but today I understand that I can indeed give thanks in all things and that God does work for the good in all circumstances." (paraphrased 1 Thessalonians 5:18; Romans 8:28) A promise I needed, especially this week, to remember.

Post Election

I woke up this morning to this text from a friend: "As a person of God--Please help me make sense of this. What do we do next? How do we heal?"

Truth is I started thinking about this early yesterday morning--long before results starting coming in. My son was driving me to work for 7 am Eucharist and we were talking about what we thought might happen. He said, "Do you remember when I was in 1st grade and went over to _____'s house and they had a dart board with the picture of the president on it?" "Yes, I remember." I answered amazed he remembered. "I remember you told me whether you like the president or not you always respect the office of the presidency." I looked over at my son and saw the little boy we talked to that day all those years ago, but I also saw the man he is becoming. A man with his own opinions, his own ideologies, his own faith. I realized while I could guide him, he was no longer a little boy who would go along with whatever I said, so I took a deep breath and said, "And I still believe that." He stared straight ahead and quietly answered, "I do too."

Over the next few hours several things happened. First during both Eucharist and Bible study we read the scriptures for this up coming Sunday. One verse from the Gospel seemed to leap off the page, "This will give you an opportunity to testify." (Luke 21:13)  And second I kept getting texts from the babies talking about how at school everyone was screaming at each other, using profanity and just all in all being unkind. I commented to my parish administrator and a very, very wise woman, "Who thought it was a good idea to send a bunch of know it all teenagers to school on the day of such a contentious election?" She shrugged and said, "Beats me."

Throughout yesterday with these things running around my brain, I started making notes for my sermon on Sunday. I started thinking and praying about how we are called to testify to God's unfailing love for everyone and that everyone means everyone--something I'm not sure we can always really comprehend, and something I'm sure we can only rarely attain in deed. Sometimes, frankly, I wonder if it's easier to think about it in terms of God loving the forgotten, the poor and the destitute than it is to think about God loving the wealthy, the powerful and the privileged? There are so many places in scripture where God calls us to love the widow, the orphan and the stranger; there are so many places where we see Jesus standing with the disgraced woman, the lowly children, the outcasts. Honestly these are the places that resonate most fully with me; these are the scriptures that I turn to time and time again to draw strength. These are the scriptures that propel me to march with my LGBTQ brothers and sisters, that propel me to stand in solidarity with the people of Standing Rock, that propel me to support ministries on the borders, that propel me to visit those in hospitals and in prisons and on street corners.

I suspected the days after the election were going to be hard for so many people, people on both "sides" and I knew I had to preach on what it means to come together and that we as a church are called to bear witness, to testify to the unifying power of God's love and grace despite election outcomes. And perhaps specifically in The Episcopal Church where we strive to be open minded, tolerant, and broad (and perhaps even pride ourselves on it...) I knew I had to, have to, preach on what it means to stand in solidarity as Christians regardless of our political beliefs, regardless of who holds the office of the presidency or controls congress or the Supreme Court. I knew I had to preach on putting actions to our words--actions of loving one another and yes actions in the world--standing with the oppressed, giving voice to the voiceless--those things cannot stop. They must not stop. I'll be very honest; I thought I would be preaching with a different election outcome, but I would preach the same thing. That sermon still needs to be written, but today I must answer my friend....

I have seen on social media the joy, the pride, the pain, the anger, the astonishment, the fear that isn't just oozing but rather is spewing--so many words of hatred but also some words of hope. And I've seen it from both sides. I've never shied away from transparency so I'll say what breaks my heart and brings me to tears the most is reading about the fear in the LGBTQ community, the other faith communities, the people of color communities, and I know I will personally and as a priest in God's church do as my friend posted, "I will continue fighting for my LGBTQ friends, and friends of color and those that need medical care and want to make choices about their own bodies and those of other religions and from other countries."

I have read what some of my friends and colleagues are doing today, taking a break from social media, running, reading, gathering for prayer...me, I am writing. I suspect I would be writing today regardless of the outcome of the election--the division isn't one sided...

This morning William came into the living room as I was saying Morning Prayer. He said, "not my president is trending." I looked up and said, "I hope you won't participate in that. In January Donald Trump will be our president no matter what anyone hashtags. And William, just like I don't want 'locker room' talk in our home...." He interrupted, "I know Mama, I know."

Not 20 minutes later I got a text from Caroline, "Can I come home? I hate everyone. Everyone's just yelling at each other." If you know me, you know my Mama Bear wanted to say, "yes come home" but instead I texted back, "Hold your head up. Remember who you are. This is where we get to put into practice God loves everyone no exceptions."

So here I sit and I suppose the only answer I have to my friend's text is to turn to my spiritual language--recognizing it is not everyone's spiritual language or even the best spiritual language for everyone, but it is mine. In The Episcopal Church we say "our praying shapes our believing" and we believe in common (meaning community) prayer. And so I turn to the Book of Common Prayer...

The Suffrages for Morning Prayer say:

V.    Show us your mercy, O Lord; 
R.    And grant us your salvation. 
V.    Clothe your ministers with righteousness; 
R.    Let your people sing with joy. 
V.    Give peace, O Lord, in all the world; 
R.    For only in you can we live in safety
V.    Lord, keep this nation under your care; 
R.    And guide us in the way of justice and truth. 
V.    Let your way be known upon earth; 
R.    Your saving health among all nations. 
V.    Let not the needy, O Lord, be forgotten; 
R.    Nor the hope of the poor be taken away. 
V.    Create in us clean hearts, O God; 
R.    And sustain us with your Holy Spirit.
(BCP, 97-98)

And we are asked in baptism and each time we reaffirm our baptism: Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?

Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God? Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God? Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior? Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love? Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord? Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ? Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the honor and  dignity of every human being? The question now becomes how do we live them out? How do we come together and bear witness to  God's unfailing love, grace and mercy? I don't have the answers--and I think as a white heterosexual woman of privilege my answers are probably nowhere near adequate, but I believe in the communion of saints--of all saints, and I believe in the  goodness of humanity and the power of God's love. And I want to hear people, all people--people who share my faith, people who have other faiths, and people who have no faith at all--I want to be part of  the coming together and not the continued division. And I believe and pray over and over the words of Romans 8:38-39 "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, or things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation , will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." It's not much, but it's all I've got...thanks for asking.

The "Ordinary" Saints of God

The morning of Halloween my phone rang and the caller id popped

up a name I both wanted to hear from and dreaded to hear from. His wife is in the last stages of cancer, and I have had the privilege of walking this way too short journey with them. "It's not looking good, Katherine. She's no longer communicating." I swallowed hard and said, "Can I come over?" We agreed on a time and hung up.

The irony of the day wasn't lost on me. This woman is a faithful woman of God with a sense of humor and a smile that lights up a room--that had been lighting up the room even last week when I spent an hour with her before leaving town. It was Halloween--or All Hallow's Eve--the night before All Saints. I knew she knew and her Lutheran pastor husband knew--I wondered if they had thought about it....

At the agreed on time Chris dropped me off and I met my friend at the door. We went into the room and I sat on the bed next to his wife, next to my friend--my friend who I haven't had enough time getting to know, my friend who in 9 short months I have grown to love deeply. My friend who has taught me more lessons than she knows, who has helped me stay real, has given me love and laughter, has reminded me not to take life too seriously--a lesson she has continued to teach me even as her life winds down. I held her hand. For the next hour her husband and I talked; I couldn't let go of her hand. Some day I may share all that I have learned from these two, but for now I will say they are a living example of a faithful, loving, devoted, funny, sometimes arguing married couple. I wish Chris and I had time with them--to learn from them, to ask them questions, but most importantly to love them and have them love us back.

The time came for me to go, but I didn't want to let go of her hand. I got ready to anoint her and pray and a wave of self doubt washed over me. You know that feeling you sometimes get (or at least I do and hope I'm not alone) when you think, "I'm actually an adult." but you still feel inside like an adolescent or child pretending to be an adult? That's how I felt, and beyond that I felt inadequate and scared. That was the feeling--the who am I? Am I enough? Am I real enough, worthy enough?

I reached into my purse and pulled out my traveling stole, my prayer book and my oil stock. Suddenly I felt surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Suddenly I knew I wasn't alone. My traveling stole was given to me by the wife of a priest I never knew but suspect we would have had great theological conversations--and I love and adore his family who have welcomed me, embraced me, and loved me just as I am. As I turned the pages of my prayer book I saw the handwriting of another priest no longer alive but very much alive in my life--a man who walked discernment and ordination with me and again his family is a family I love and who love me back just as fiercely. And then I opened the oil stock given to me by my mother when I was ordained. A gift given by a proud mother who believed and believes in my call--who recognizes my adulthood in my vocation.

In that moment I understood All Saints to my very core. I understood that I was surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and I rejoiced in their fellowship. (BCP, p.380) It was a great cloud of witnesses both living and dead, but a cloud of witnesses on who I could depend for support and a cloud of witnesses I was being invited to join.

The next day was All Saints, Nov. 1 and I read this from Frederick Buechner, Sacred Journey,

"On All Saints Day, it is not just the saints of the church that we should remember in our prayers, but all the foolish ones and wise one, they shy ones and overbearing ones, the broken ones and whole ones, the despots and tosspots and crackpots of our lives who, one way or another have been our particular fathers and mothers and saints, and whom we loved without knowing we loved them and by whom we were helped to whatever little we may have, or ever hope to have, of some kind of seedy sainthood of our own."

We all have saints in our lives. In the morning when we make eggs in my grandparents iron skillet I remember, when I look at my hand where my great grandmother's wedding ring has sat on my finger for 23 years, I remember, when I fold a baby blanket crotched by Chris's grandmother, I remember, when I read from books recommended to me by a beloved priest friend, I remember. So many times I remember...

I anointed my friend a saint of God and then walked to the door where I hugged her husband, my friend, another saint of God, and I remembered something written in one of those books recommended to me, "For me to be a saint means to be myself." (New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton; p. 31) And I thought, "Yes there is a great cloud of witnesses who will continue to love and support me, but what I need to be is myself--an ordinary woman, a wife and mother of 4 who is also a priest who wears high heels, is rather loud, and possibly slightly irreverent. I am part of the saints of God."

And each of you in your vocations and lives, you are meant to me one too.

The Right Time

That day at the end of July...

I was a mess--Boss was 1300 miles away and I couldn't control him or anything he was doing, SK had chosen to go back to school early, the babies were about to be a junior and senior in high school and I couldn't stop that. I was trying to embrace the letting go, oh, and Chris was traveling....

I had already cleaned every baseboard in the house; I had already thrown out more clothes and clutter and still I didn't feel better. In fact I felt worse. So, I decided to do yard work in the hot blistering sun. I was hoping the feelings of powerlessness, fear and anxiety that had taken up residence in my gut would flow out of me with the sweat that soaked my clothes within minutes.

I started in the front yard pulling weed after weed after weed--after 2 hours I stepped back to look at my "progress" and burst into tears. Despite the piles of weeds on the sidewalk and driveway waiting to be bagged, the beds looked the same. It felt just like my life--tons of effort and hard work and very little to show...yep, I was spiraling into a funk. I should have gone inside.

Instead I decided to go to the back bed and weed. It was smaller; the weeds were bigger; surely I would see the results I craved. AND I could uncover the peonies I so loved. I went to the back and started pulling brush out quickly and in huge heaps, and then through the tears that were stinging my eyes as they mixed with  sweat and dirt from my hands as I continually swiped at them with frustrated ungloved hands, I saw them--

When we moved in almost 7 years ago I was thrilled to learn I had 2 beautiful peony bushes. The downside was they were way in the back and not visible from anywhere except the far back fence. Every spring as I cleared out the bed I promised myself I would transplant them in the fall as this was the "right" time according to gardening experts (of which I am clearly not).

Every fall came and with it the frantic schedules, and so every fall went and the peonies never were transplanted. Spring came again and with it the "promise" of this year I would get them moved. As I was pulling back the weeds in July I was again making my mental promise...

I pulled back the last of the brush and there they were--brown, dry, and brittle. All my promises and dreams of beautiful peony bushes snapped and with it my self imposed pity party. I decided I would dig them up and transplant them right then. I fully recognized they were probably beyond the resuscitation stage, but I was going to try.

I tenderly dug around the plants and gently pulled them from the ground. I decided to put them in an also overgrown semi-dead planter where I could monitor them (read pray for a miracle). As I continued to work suddenly I was filled with a lightness and unexplained hope. Instead of total despair over those beautiful bushes I thought about the lesson they were teaching
me.

I waited every year for the "right" time and every year the "right" time came and went and now there was a very good chance they wouldn't survive. Now there was a very good chance the time had come and gone, and there was only loss. I thought about how so often in our lives and in our relationships we wait for the "right" time--the right time to apologize, the right time to reach out to loved ones, the right time to try something new, the right time to follow our dreams...

And in all that waiting, I thought, the right time sometimes just passes us by leaving us with regret, leaving us with visions of what could have been, just leaving us.

Sometimes waiting for the right time leaves us powerless, leaves us frozen in time--sometimes we do have to wait, but I wondered, "how many times do we allow waiting for the "right" time to keep us from living?" Sometimes the right time even means letting go.

(And then I took the clippers to the hydrangea bush--right time or not, at least I saw progress...)

Let the Senior Year Begin

I lay in the bed last night feeling like the worst mother ever. I read

post after post on facebook about parents dreading the start of the school year because it would be the "last first day" or other similar comments about dread and tears. I read about parents (let's be honest mostly mama's--daddy's are a little less transparent) asking how they were going to get through this year without crying every day, and I hid my head under a pillow and thought, "What has happened to me? How is it thinking about William being a senior this year and Caroline next year is not turning me into a puddle? How can I not relate to this?" (And I also worried about how much admitting this was going to cost me in therapy for them.)

I love my children; I adore my children; and when SK left for her last first day of high school I sobbed with the same intensity I sobbed when Caroline started kindergarten. I have loved nothing more than being a mama, but with two gone and two to go, I have learned that while I would have had a dozen children toddling around, I also love being a mama of young adults. I didn't know it in 2013 when SK left for her last first day of high school, but I know it now.

I have loved watching the big kids find their way in the world. I have been amazed at the paths they have taken--paths I would not have predicted all those years ago when they first started school. (And some of the paths I would not have chosen--but they're not my paths.) I have loved listening to them figure out who they think they are, then changing their minds, then figuring it out again. I have loved watching them take risks (some have been easier to stomach than others).

Yes, I miss the wonder in their faces and their bright eyes as they explored the world. But I love hearing the unabandoned ebullience in their voices as they share what they've decided to explore, what they want to experience, what they find amazing--I love hearing them say, "I can't wait to tell you more when I see you." And I count the days until that will happen--and it will.

Yes, I miss being in the kitchen when they walk in the door after school and being able to pester them about what they did that day, who they talked to and what's happening this weekend. But I love the calls and texts I get--the calls and texts they choose to initiate, the sharing of their lives they choose to make.

Yes, I miss having SK stand in the kitchen (leg extended above her head) telling me about her classes, but I love the "I've only got a minute but I have to tell you what just happened in class" and the "you've got to read this book" calls I get as she rushes from one class to another, one activity to another.


Yes, I miss Boss kissing the top of my head as he comes in or goes out, but there is nothing that makes my heart burst more than hearing his voice say "love you Mama" before he hangs up the phone or the random "love you" texts he sends.

Yes, I miss being there to help them, advise them (read nag them and tell them what to do) but I have also loved watching them figure life out on their own. I have loved listening to them and to being asked for advice--some which they take some they don't.

Yes, I miss their presence, their voices wafting down the stairs as they talk to each other, their smell after a shower, even their smell coming in from ballet and sports. I ache with missing them. I'm not admitting anything, but it could be that the night before Boss left for Montana I sat on the floor at the foot of his bed watching him sleep, and the night SK got home from Dublin and South Africa I might have lay next to her in her bed with my hand lightly touching her so as not to wake her but just needing to be close to tangibly know she was safely home.  As much as I miss their physical presence, I also love hearing about their adventures, the things they're learning and celebrating the people they are becoming sometimes in states and countries I have yet to see. But I get to see them through their eyes, through their stories, through their lives.

To be truthful and transparent, it hasn't been easy. There have been tears, there has been loneliness, and there has been fear. But it's been an exciting time. I fell in love with each of the children the moment they were put in my arms, and as they leave home and become the people they are created to be, I get to fall in love with them all over again.

And so as we approach William's last first day of high school, there is a part of me that feels a dread, but the larger part of me is excited for him and what lies ahead. I can't wait to see where he winds up next year and then to hear and see how he grows into the person he is meant to be--the person God calls him to be. I can't wait to share in his triumphs, his joy and even his challenges. It's his last first day, but it's also a springboard--the beginning of a whole new world, the beginning of the rest of his life.  And I can't wait to fall in love again.

I want to make a disclaimer right now--I feel quite certain there will be tears shed this year; let's be honest I shed tears over just about everything and I will savor every moment of this year and Caroline's senior year next year, but mostly I just feel light and joyful anticipation.

Let the year begin!

Train up a child

For the first time ever it rained throughout Cousins' Weekend. It

didn't stop the fun, but I didn't get to spend a lot of time on the river something I always look forward to-something my soul needs. Tuesday everyone except a few had left. It was a beautiful day (of course because everyone had left). The river was calm; the sun was shining; there was a silence that sang to my heart, so after my morning run I went inside and asked Caroline to kayak with me before we left. She said yes but then was dilly dallying around. Finally I asked, "Do you want to go?" She responded honestly, "Mama I don't love it like you do and I'm not as good at it as you are, but if you really want me to go I will."

In one of my better parenting moments (I have to brag on them; they're few and far between), I didn't try to guilt her; I didn't beg her; I just said, "Okay. I'll be back soon."

I paddled out and thought about Caroline's honest answer, my better than usual response, my sadness that only 1 of the 4 could be at Cousins' Weekend (a grief they all also felt), and how our lives are changing.  The other 3 were sad not to be with The Cousins, but they were also happy and thriving where they were, and where they were was so vastly different from one another.

They were born 4 in 4 1/2 years. It was exhausting, overwhelming and wonderful. And they moved as a pack--we moved as a pack. Over time we were dubbed "The O'Doyles." Perhaps I in part created that as I dressed them alike for what they would consider far too many years, if one had a doctor's appointment  or any appointment, we all went (4 kids this close does not allow for a lot of extra funds for babysitters), they went to each other's recitals, games and performances. And they loved fiercely and completely.

As I continued to paddle I thought about how much they love each other, how much I miss each of them, and how different they've become. One was in South Africa working towards race reconciliation, one was in Montana hiking and mountain biking and working as a bellhop, neither of them would choose to be where the other was or doing what the other was. Another one was a life guard at camp and Caroline was stuck with me. I thought about except for 2 colleges none of them were looking at the same schools (I tried not to think about the fact we were paying for those 4 college tuitions...), and this is so silly but I thought about how when SK, Caroline and I went to get pedicures the colors we chose were so different; I thought about how the way we dress has become more different than in years past (I suppose I should be glad they are no longer "borrowing" my clothes and shoes.)

Surprisingly, I wasn't overly sad but rather a little sad at the passing of time and at the same time immensely proud of who each of them was becoming. And the words I wrote 3 years ago about The Cousins leapt back into my mind, "But most of all we come with our hearts full of  love- and we come with and for the stories.  The stories we've told for years and the new stories we bring each year. And all these stories are tightly wound together; they are wound as if they were multiple colors of yarn. Yarn that is wound together into a tight ball; they are wound together so that all the stories combined become not your story or my story but part of our story.  The story of the Cousins.
As we drive away each year, each cousin takes a hold of a piece of that yarn and carries it in his/her heart back through the hedges at the end of the drive and into the world--back into our separate lives into our separate states, the ball unravels as we move out; we are each given the right amount of string to be ourselves, but it never breaks; we are  always connected at the core because we are "The Cousins.""  (The Full Post) 

I thought that's how we are becoming as a family too. Always connected, always loving, always caring but moving out and away..

I thought about the connection and (I guess because I always seem to think theologically--a good trait if you're a priest) I thought about Proverbs 22:6, "Train children in the right way and when they are old they will not stray." (NRSV) and I wondered if parents often misinterpret this--if I have misinterpreted this... What does "in the right way" mean? As I continued to paddle I thought in the right way in addition to respecting the honor and dignity of all humanity, in addition to loving all people and believing God loves everyone no exceptions, it also means training up children to be who God created them to be--not who I want them to be. Training up children to live fully into the call God makes on their lives even if it means they are thousands of miles away from me (and I can give you the exact mileage because I'm the creepy mama that tracks them), dress differently than me (why does no one like bright colors or want to wear smocking anymore?) and have different interests (Boss is convinced I'll love mountain biking--he tells me this as he's pointing out his cuts and bruises from his last "awesome" ride). They get to make choices I may not make, and I get to keep on loving them unconditionally.

Those are the things I thought on July 5, and I continue to think them. I continue to try to really let go, to not hover and offer my unsolicited opinion. I continue to try to not have my feelings hurt that I'm not a part of every aspect of their lives, and I continue to remind myself that is healthy and appropriate. Some days are better than others...but I also have started thinking it doesn't just pertain to them.  I too get to be and to live into who God has called me to be. 

Like any parent of teens and young adults I have heard the "don't do that, don't act like that, don't say that, you're embarrassing" comments over the years. Most of the time I try to honor them--ok sometimes I do everything in my power to embarrass them but that's one of the benefits of being a parent--most of the time I try to get it right, but sometimes I don't. Sometimes I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, make them uncomfortable when I don't mean to. As they are leaving home (too incredibly fast--thought about having another baby or getting a puppy just this morning) who I am also changes, and you know what, they may not like/value/endorse everything about me, but just like I am trying so hard to let them be who they are, I get to be me too.

They get to be themselves, Chris and I get to be ourselves, but we will always be connected because for better or worse, in whatever time zone we each live, work and play, whatever we choose to wear, we love one another and we are the O'Doyles.