The Truck--A Symbol Love, Forgiveness and Family

Many people have asked for the story of the truck--I debated which blog to post it on--the crazy "Growing Up Doyle" blog or this one, but as I sit here tonight I realize that this truck and the story while at times amusing also is a testimony of healing, love and connection.

Last summer Christopher let us know he wanted a truck.  He opened a savings account, started trying to bargain and basically just in his Christopher typical way became obsessed.  We were all sick to death of hearing about "the truck." And virtually no one ever believed he would get one.

Early this fall there was an incident--one I'm not yet ready to share, but one that rocked my world and definitely brought my relationship with my first born son to its lowest point and then became a story of death and resurrection.  I thought I'd lost the boy I knew he was, and it tore my heart in two. I love this boy with every fiber of my body and try as he might to deny the goodness in him, I knew it was there, but this time, I was shaken to my core.  I wasn't sure he hadn't buried it so deeply that we would never find it again.  As we worked through that time, as a family, Christopher stopped talking about a truck--

Early in October, Chris said, "You know if I was going to buy a fourth car it would be a truck.  Every family needs a truck.  Maybe we should consider it."   Over the next several weeks we saw a transformation in our boy that only comes with Divine intervention, love and the uncovering of and embracing of a character that was always there but hidden behind "the cool."  That horrible incident, I believe, shattered the hard shell that he had built around himself.  Over time we have seen the pieces fall away and the man we knew he was slowly emerge.  (Let's be clear he's still a teenage boy with an attitude and a few eye rolls every now and then!)

And so began our pursuit for the truck--enter an angel and a man who refuses to be acknowledged. I can only write so much about him--let's leave it to say I said, "_________, we want to get a truck for our boy.  Here's what we want, can you help us?"  Over the next several weeks he kept me informed of what he was doing and he kept saying, "Trust me, I'll get it."  During those weeks I would often remind him that I had no plan B for Christmas--he would just smile and say, "Trust me."  And so trust him we did.  On December 15th he called and said, "Come on to the house; I've got the truck."  Chris and I drove over and there it was--a 2003 Dodge Ram.  It was perfect.

Christmas Eve afternoon on my way to my first service I decorated the bed with Ho Ho Ho tinsel and a big red bow--every 16 year old wants to drive a truck around like that right?  After the midnight service I learned that SK knew about the truck--seems when I was texting pictures on my iphone to my sister they were also appearing on my ipad and SK was using it at the time.  She'd known for 2
 weeks and had said nothing!  (She even fought with Christopher during this time over how they were going to share the volvo when he gets his license next month.)  I asked her what she thought intently watching her face for any sign of anger, jealousy, or any other emotion I could see--Chris and I had both been a little worried that she might not be pleased.  "Mama, I think it's great," she said with a huge smile on her face and her blue eyes twinkling, "I can't wait for him to have it.  He deserves it."  She truly loves her baby brother.

So we had finished three services, dinner for 9, traditional reading of T'was the Night Before Christmas, angel on the tree (these traditions were a lot easier when we started them at 7 pm instead of 12:30 am!)  After putting out all the gifts, hanging candy canes on the tree, sliding them through their hands as they slept (or pretended to sleep--I told you these traditions take forever!) Chris and I drove over to get the truck and parked it in front of our house across the street.  Off to bed we went--I've never been more excited for Christmas morning.  At 7:15 am, I couldn't stand it for another minute so I went upstairs and opened everyone's doors--I might have turned on lights as well--

Truck at his feet--key still inside

We opened stockings and then gathered around the tree.  Chris hands gifts out one at a time beginning with Santa gifts--three per child--three gifts good enough for Baby Jesus, good enough for Doyle children.  Chris handed Christopher a gift, he unwrapped it and there inside was a certified drug store plastic truck--"Ya'll are hilarious." Christopher said trying to laugh it off a little but clearly not thrilled to be the source of what he thought was a joke.  I cannot imagine why he would think we would ever do that!  He sat the truck down under his chair and probably was hoping this didn't count as one of his gifts.  We continued opening gifts.  After three or four more gifts Christopher picked the truck up again and began spinning its wheels.  "Well," he said, "At least ya'll sprang for a truck with a tool box in the back."  I couldn't stand it another minute, "Well what's in the tool box?"  "I don't know," he said as he went to open it.

 He pulled out a key and hesitantly said, "Is this a house key?" (I think he really thought we'd perpetuate this cruel Christmas joke.)  Chris and I said nothing as Christopher slowly stood up, peered around the tree and out the picture window--"is that mine?" he started to say as all four children sprinted out the door and across the street--in matching Christmas pajamas of course.

They all climbed in shrieking and full of Christmas joy and happiness for their brother. "Let's go."  "Slowly, and only through the neighborhood." Chris said.  We stood in the  street and watched our babies take off--all four happily together.

When they returned we finished opening gifts and Sarah Katherine said, "Let's go for another ride Boss."  "No," responded Christopher (I was momentarily stunned--no?) "I told William a long time ago that if I ever got a truck he'd be the first person I took cruising around.  Come on William let's go."  Honestly I felt like the grinch must have felt as his heart grew--these two boys who can look at each other and start to fight, these two boys who are as different in personality as two people can be, these two boys who for the first 6-7 years of their lives slept in the same twin bed and then seemed to become adversaries over night, were running out of the house together in a testimony of brotherly love and bonding--a promise given, received, and honored.  Christopher returned and wrapped Chris and I together in his arms--"thank you," he whispered.  In that thank you I heard "thank you for the gift, thank you for not giving up on me, thank you for trusting me, thank you for believing in me."  And in my heart I said, "Thank you for coming back to us.  I love you baby boy who stole my heart 16 years ago. Thank you for being you."

Christmas continued with much more driving--driving me to work and the family over to the grandparents.  As we were walking into their house Christopher stopped on the stairs turned and looked at his truck and said, "You know, it looks just like Chris' truck--that's pretty cool."  Chris, my step brother whom I have never met but who my boys adore and who adores them back (and so I love him fiercely).  "Yeah," I said, "It's our kind of family truck." Our family--our whole family.

So Boss has a truck and I have a symbol of death and resurrection, love and forgiveness and family--

Merry Christmas to everyone--may you each find a symbol of love to carry you through the year.

Recognizing Our Places of Privilege

Last Wednesday Rhonda, the woman who cleans for us twice a month, stopped me as I was passing through the kitchen.  "There's something I've been wanting to tell you.  It's about something that happened last summer when the children were all here while I was cleaning, and I think you should know."  Anyone who is or has been the parent of teenagers knows that my heart stopped for a moment as I braced myself; I think I may have even reached behind me to grasp the counter.  "What happened?" I asked hoping she wouldn't hear the fear and trepidation in my voice. Silently I was going through a litany of possibilities. Were they rude?  Did they get in a fight verbally or physically?  Did she find something hidden in their rooms?  My mind was going a million miles a minute. "Well," she started, "You really do have great kids.  They always speak; they offer to move and don't act annoyed if I have to vacuum or somehow get in their way."  As I was waiting for the 'but', I was thinking, "they better speak and they better not act annoyed that you are here cleaning up after THEM!!"  "Last summer," Rhonda continued, "William came into the kitchen while I was cleaning and out of the blue said, 'Miss Rhonda, I want to thank you for coming every two weeks and cleaning for us.  It helps Mama not to be stressed and to be able to spend more time with us.'"  She paused and then said, "I just thought you should know.  There are days when I'm not always treated very well and when I remember your sweet boy and what he said; it helps me to get through."  I stood there speechless as tears sprang to both our eyes.  "Thank you for telling me," I said, "They are good kids but sometimes I forget that and get too caught up in what they are doing wrong.  I too needed to hear that."

Looking back I needed to hear that for many reasons and not just so I could remember that the next time I started to rant and rave about how selfish and self involved they were.  (You know how much they act like normal teenagers whose brains are not fully formed.)  Truth is our children, although they would disagree, do live a fairly privileged life.  Truth is compared to the rest of the world most Americans live fairly privileged lives. But how many of us remember that some of our privilege is because of the hard work of someone else? More importantly how many of us remember to thank others for the things they do for us, the things that make our lives easier?  It is true that Rhonda is paid for her work at our home; William knows that. What William values, however, is that because we are in a position to pay her, I do have more time to spend with them, and our relationships are strengthened.  (Clearly he also recognizes my neurotic behavior and that without Rhonda I would be a baseboard cleaning lunatic on top of all the usual household chores.) Humor aside, (perhaps this is such a difficult conversation to have that I want to resort to humor) many many men and women work full time and take complete care of their own homes and children.  And I believe that most do a tremendous job, but it's not easy.  Our privilege allows it to be a little bit easier for us. I believe that while privilege has benefits, more importantly  it a has responsibility and some of those responsibilities are to acknowledge our places of privilege, to say thank you,  and to give back. Sometimes that acknowledgement is simply a 14 year old boy saying thank you. That "thank you" also gave back.  But the first step is recognition.  Step out with me..

Sweat Pants and Fuzzy Socks

It's exam week and the week before Christmas in the home of a priest and it was Sunday night after a long wonderful weekend, but a weekend with very little sleep; I should have known there would be a constant undercurrent of tension.  After last night, well let's just say it's no longer under...

We were all tired.  The boys had been studying hard all day taking breaks when needed. (We suspect Christopher was also taking breaks from breaks, but we can't be certain.)  Sarah Katherine had been at Starbucks studying and Caroline had  the final performance of The Little Mermaid.  I arrived home from the evening service to all four children and  a chorus of, "We're hungry; what's for dinner?"  See an additional nagging stress (well maybe not stress but something definitely on my mind) was that I thought Chris and I were going to be at a Christmas party Sunday night, that is until I found out Sunday morning that it had actually been Saturday night. I felt so incredibly guilty and rude for missing the party.  Because we were going to be out, I thought the children would eat leftovers.  What I forgot was that exam studying and stress exponentially increase appetites, so there were very few left overs left.  Chris stepped in and said he was going to order pizza--cheers from Caroline and the boys.  SK said she didn't want pizza, gathered her stuff up and went to her room.  "Well," I thought, "Surely there are enough left overs for her."

Chris arrived home with the pizza and because the dining room table was covered in study materials, we ate in the living room.  He did call up to Sarah Katherine but we didn't think we got a response. ("Think" is the operative word and the word which changed the undercurrent to a volcanic explosion.) The five of us ate the pizza, cleaned up the kitchen, and then Sarah Katherine emerged from her room. I was still in the living room but I could hear her fussing at everyone because all the pizza was gone.  Chris tried to explain that she had indeed told us she didn't want pizza and we had called her down and she didn't come.  "I said," she enunciated very loudly, "that I'd be down in a few minutes.  Forget it, I'll just fix myself something else."  At this point staying out of the kitchen would have been the smart thing to do; I'm not always the best at doing the smart thing, especially when I'm tired.  I entered the kitchen and did my own little fussing (perhaps it wasn't so little).  She reiterated although much less loudly and with less intentional enunciation that she did say she was coming down in a few minutes.  Honest to God I have no idea what got into me, but that just set me off.  "Sarah Katherine, you don't get to just come down when you want.  We eat as a family." I loudly said with my own harsh enunciation.  To her credit, she didn't respond.

I say today it was to her credit, but perhaps last night I wanted a reaction.  I certainly acted like I did. Having left the kitchen I returned to see SK standing at the counter, watching SVU and texting.  "You're not going to just eat when you want watching TV and texting.  You are part of this family and you will eat when we eat and not just when it's convenient for you."  I started to continue but was cut off by Chris.  "You've made your point.  I think you should let it go.  Let her eat and get back to studying."  SK turned off the TV, carried her plate into the dining room, wisely put it on a placemat, thus preventing another tirade, and begin to eat her dinner alone.  I followed Chris into the den fussing at him for not supporting me.  "What did you want me to do?" he asked, "Let you keep going on and on until it all exploded?"  I think he wanted to add, "because you are acting like a lunatic." but he didn't.  I was furious and stomped out of the room.  (While I acknowledge I was indeed acting like an irrational lunatic, I still think it would have been better for him to pull me aside and talk to me--not in front of the children.  That of course is assuming I could have been pulled.)

I went back into the living room and plopped down in a chair.  I could see SK around the corner finishing up her dinner.  I thought to myself, "There will only be five of us eating dinner together soon."  I wasn't ready to let go of my anger and acknowledge what was really going on--I don't want to be a family of five eating dinner, and I don't want SK to not want to be with us.  So I added to my thinking, "So until she's gone, she has to eat with us every night whether she wants to or not.  It's not all about her!"  Success!!!  I was back to being angry. Sarah Katherine went back to her room.

Caroline came into the living room singing and dancing to The Little Mermaid over and over and over.  Chris wandered in and asked if I wanted to watch Parenthood.  He is so good at letting stuff go.  Me, well I like to fester for awhile, so I responded, "No, I can't even sit in that den it's so cold now since the space heater doesn't work. I'm staying in here and reading"  I really wanted my body language and tone to in some way indicate that if I could blame him for the space heater no longer working, I would.  Instead he left the room, got his book and joined me.  After 20 years he most of the time remembers that I need a little more time than he does to let something go, but last night he forgot and started trying to coax me out of my ill humor by asking me questions about what I was reading.  I snapped at him--that reminded him of that 20 year lesson-- and back to the cold den he went (couldn't have been much colder than the icy reception he was getting from me.)

A few minutes later SK came in and began playing the piano and singing.  Like her daddy, she can get mad but then she's over it.  She "makes up" by just moving onto something else.  I also started to let down my guard and just enjoy having the two girls in the room with me although it would have been better if they were singing the same song instead of trying to drown one another out, but hey, you can't have everything.  All of a sudden SK threw a pillow at me and said, "Stop that's so grouse."  She hates when I rub my feet together, says the sound is grouse.  I hear nothing. I guess I didn't stop because a few minutes later she stormed back out of the room and up to her own.  Now the beginnings of my peaceful attitude were gone,  and I stormed down the stairs to put the laundry in the dryer muttering to myself.  "Who does she think she is?  I'm down here doing all her laundry.  Look at this the whole thing is all her sweat pants and fuzzy socks.  They take up so much room. Next year my laundry will probably be halved just because she's gone and I don't have to wash all these sweat pants and fuzzy socks!"   I froze.   Tears stung my eyes as I quietly said to myself, "She will be gone and I won't get to wash her sweat pants and fuzzy socks."   I am trying to be graceful as we separate, but last night I was tripping over every opportunity to show grace and instead was doing everything  I could to maintain a feeling of control and to keep a firm grip on her.  It's a dance we have.  I acknowledge she's leaving on one level and on another I deny that reality.  I clutch more and more tightly at our time together, and she does everything she can to gently (and sometimes not so gently) pry my fingers off her life.

I walked up the two flights of stairs, quietly knocked on her door and without saying a word, kissed the top of her head.

Last night was not a night to be proud of on any of our parts.  We all allowed our own exhaustion, stressors and emotions to rule our behaviors. We entered into the arena with our own baggage and our own weapons known and unknown.  But this morning we get to start over; we get to acknowledge our mistakes and continue to love one another; we get to continue to be in relationship with one another.   As I was running this morning and replaying last night in my mind, it struck me that often, far too often, we don't get to start over.  People cross our paths; we have an unpleasant encounter, and either we write them off or they write us off.  We don't have another day; we don't acknowledge that perhaps their behavior or our own behavior was being ruled by something else, by our own emotional baggage and is in fact not who we or they truly are.  It made me sad to think that there are potentially life giving relationships which are never discovered because of a single negative encounter.  Life doesn't give us a rewind button; we don't always have the benefit of starting over with the dawn of a new day.  May we all strive to use every encounter with another, pleasant or unpleasant, to extend loving grace.

And I'm Happier Than the Year Before

Next week is our anniversary--20 years.  Yesterday when mentioning it to some people, someone asked what we were doing to celebrate.  "On the actual day?" I asked.  "Of course," came the answer.  "Well on the actual day we will be in a basketball gym and then in a parent, student, counselor meeting where we will receive Boss' PSAT scores.  We'll probably all go out afterwards."  "All of you? Children too?" came the incredulous response, "But it's your anniversary.  And why do you have to go to those other things on your anniversary?"  Here's the answer...

Twenty years ago when we chose our wedding date my soon to be mother-in-law told me that getting married at Christmas time meant that you'll never really get your anniversary to yourself.  (And that was before we knew I'd be a priest!)  Sitting here today, I realize how right she was, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  Since the conversation yesterday, and as I remember the total horror of the person who couldn't seem to understand why I wasn't bothered by our commitments next Wednesday, I've been thinking about the last 20 years and here are some reasons why I love our anniversary...

We had a wonderful wedding surrounded by our family and friends.  I still remember the day, all the people there, and the relationships that have continued for these twenty years.  The bridesmaids and groomsmen who are now are children's godparents, our family and friends who have walked with us through life's ups and downs, and the promises we made to each other.  I remember turning to face the congregation and being introduced as "Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Robert Doyle" (as unpolitically correct as it is, I loved and love being Mrs. Chris Doyle), and thinking, "I don't think I will ever be this happy again."  How wrong I was...

On our first anniversary we found out I was pregnant with our first child.  We were shocked and overwhelmed with excitement--we'd been told I couldn't have children.  (Thinking that doctor's medical school credentials may need to be looked into as within five years we had four children...just sayin') We spent that night at the Atlanta airport because we were flying out the next day to visit Chris' parents.  He had ordered a fabulous meal complete with champagne--that I couldn't drink.  Even without the champagne, I was happier than the year before...

A year later, our second anniversary, said surprise, amazing child was in our home.  My parents said they'd babysit so we could go out for a nice dinner.  Half way through dinner the maitre d' came to our table because we had a phone call.  (Yep--long before the days of cell phones)  It was Mama, "You've got to come home; she's been screaming for over an hour and won't take a bottle."  And so we happily had our dinner boxed up, and we went home to our screaming little,miraculous bundle of joy.  I was happier than the year before...

We have spent four of our anniversaries in the hospital with children who were hospitalized--one in the ICU.  Each of these times Chris would bring in carry out and a bottle of wine and we would celebrate our anniversary while we watched the oxygen monitors.  On our fifth anniversary, Chris walked into my hospital room where I had been for over a week, to see an amnio needle protruding from my very pregnant with our third child belly.  Happy Anniversary...I was happier than the year before...(Chris claims that might be because of all the demerol I was taking and had been taking since Nov. 1)

On our tenth anniversary we agreed not to exchange gifts; we had just finished Chris' MBA and were rebuilding our savings.  That morning as four children (ages 3,4,5 and 7) climbed all over us squealing with delight over the Christmas parties they were going to have at school and the parade we would be going to that night, Chris handed me, through the mass of arms and legs, a box with a diamond anniversary band.  I handed him nothing--I AM A RULE FOLLOWER!!  That may not sound remarkably romantic, but as he kissed my head and each of our children's heads my heart nearly burst. Moment over--I quickly put it on and rushed downstairs to begin the breakfast brigade.  Covered in flour and sticky hands, I was happier than the year before...

Our eleventh anniversary was spent with me driving to Lynchburg, through a blizzard, with the girls to join Chris and the boys.  We were moving (yep that's right on Dec. 18--if that's not crazy enough you should know I was also hosting Christmas for my parents).  Chris had gone ahead with the boys to meet the truck while I waited in Pittsburgh for Sarah Katherine to finish her last Nutcracker performance.   I finally arrived to find a house full of boxes (in the wrong rooms--Chris gained a whole new appreciation for my neurotic color coding that day), and off the whole family went to Appleby's to celebrate our anniversary. I was happier than the year before (and eternally grateful that the girls and I hadn't plummeted to a fiery death weaving through the mountains of Virginia with near zero visibility)...

We have spent anniversaries in basketball gyms, at strings concerts, at the Nutcracker, and in many other places because that is what our life has been for 20 years--building a family and a home.  Do we still find time for ourselves?  Definitely; it is crucial.  And we always find time to celebrate our anniversary at some point, but does it have to be on the actual day?  Each hospital bed I sat by, Chris sat by too.  Each concert I attended; Chris attended too.  Each basketball game I watched, Chris watched too.  This is the life we have built together, the life I love.  I suspect the next 20 years we will celebrate differently, and the 20 years after that differently too.  But for now, next Wednesday when I sit next to Chris in the gym and then in the meeting with our children,  it will be exactly where I want to be and exactly the celebration I want; we will be celebrating both our love and the love of our family; the family we've built together--the Chris Doyle family. And I'm happier than 20 years before...

The Hat

Yesterday I was going over the calendar and making sure I had all the children's activities and timings right.  "Daddy's going to be out of town all week." I casually said to Sarah Katherine and Christopher.  Christopher turned, looked at me with that grin that melts my heart, put his arm around me and said, "Oh great--now we won't get any dinner all week."  I leaned back and said, "What do you mean?  Why wouldn't I make you dinner?" I was trying to stay in the "he's kidding around with me mode" but my defenses automatically shot up. His, however, did not.  "You know you don't make us dinner when Daddy's not here. You're too busy at night."  "Yeah," piped in Sarah Katherine with a twinkle in her eye and a smile a mile wide, "You're always out at EfM or book club or some other meeting.  It's okay I'll make sure we all eat."  "That's not true," I sputtered, "I always feed ya'll and I'm not always gone.  If I am gone I make sure there is something ready for you."  "Yeah," continued Christopher laughing, "some sort of dried out chicken in the microwave."  "THAT HAPPENED ONCE!! And it was because we didn't get home for 3 hours passed when I thought we would so it cooked too long." I protested.  "Whatever, we'll manage." they both said as they flitted out of the room and onto their next activity. I stood where I was and willed my head to keep repeating, "They're only kidding.  They're only kidding.  They're only kidding."  hoping that repetition would make me believe it to my core.  My heart meanwhile was shaking and no matter how much I repeated the mantra "they're only kidding" I also heard a voice inside my head that said, "You're not good enough; you don't do enough; you're failing them."  They had unknowingly triggered my greatest fear and ignited the continual pulling I always feel--I love my job AND I want to be home with the children-to be available to them and to create a happy secure home. Chris listened to me off and on all afternoon struggle with my feelings and he assured me over and over they were only kidding.  But I couldn't let it go.  I woke up this morning still hearing the voice,faintly in the background of my mind, "you're not good enough." and so before my morning run, I found The Hat.

The spring  of 1981 was not an easy time for me. It was towards the end of 7th grade and all of a sudden my friend group changed.  It felt like abruptly the people I had been friends with all year (our first year at Marist) didn't seem to want to be friends with me anymore.  I took it hard; I believed there was something about me, something I didn't know that made them all of a sudden not like me.  I believed I wasn't good enough. What I know now as an adult and the mother of four children who have gone through (or almost gone through) middle school, is that this is perfectly normal.  Middle school is hard and we all try on different identities, try out different friend groups, and then somewhere around the end of 9th or 10th grade it begins to settle down.  But I didn't know that then, and I had no one to talk to about it, so I left the house every morning pretending I loved going to school and that I wasn't hurting--pretending I still had lots of friends and that I was fine.  This was also a stressful time in my parents marriage, and it was clear the last thing they needed was drama from me.  And so I pretended.

Pretending only works for so long, and somewhere along the way my heart and soul must have grown very weary.   I developed an eating disorder; I was hospitalized, but at least I didn't have to go to school.  I still didn't talk about anything, and we certainly didn't talk as a family about the eating disorder or why it might be happening.  This was a time before we understood eating disorders and they were more secret-- kind of like alcoholism, another secret our family learned to keep. Keeping my disorder a secret only added to my feelings of inadequacies and not being good enough.  Now I had something, I did something, and we weren't allowed to talk about it; we had to tell people I had the flu.  Clearly, I believed, there was something really wrong with me.

That fall I returned to school determined to find some friends.  It was hard.  During football games I didn't sit with friends.  I sat with my parents and their good friends and second parents to me--the Oldermans, and the Ebingers. The Oldermans and the Ebingers lived in our neighborhood; their boys played football for Marist; and there homes were always open to us.  When I was with them I felt loved and secure-- And so every game I sat with them and no one asked why I wasn't in the student section. No one seemed to notice that I was lonely and had no friends.  I believed I had the art of pretending down perfectly.

 Early in December my sister and I asked our parents if we could have a Christmas party. (Seemed like a good way to make friends I thought.)  Mama said we could but only if we agreed to go carolling first.  We moaned and groaned.  No one would want to come if we had to do that!  We begged for her to just let us have a party, but she wouldn't budge.  Meredith and I spent hours talking about what to do. Ultimately the desire to have a party won out, but we vowed to make sure we told everyone we believed it was stupid and to stress that our parents were making us do it.  I just knew this was going to end any chance of me ever having friends; I believed no one would come and now they'd have a good reason not to so their parents wouldn't make them.  The night came and a few people showed up!  It was an unusually cold night for Georgia.  We found out what the minimum number of homes we needed to visit and set out for carolling.

Don't tell my parents, but it wasn't all bad--people were laughing and even seemed to enjoy it.  But we were COLD!  When we got to the Oldermans' house they stood at the door and listened to us sing two or three songs while we jumped around trying to stay warm.  We finished with "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and began to walk away.  Mr. Bruce called me back.  "Wait here." he said as he disappeared inside the house.  He came back out and put a hat on my head.  As he lowered it over my ears, he leaned down and whispered, "You're a very special person.  I love you."  I wish I could say that instantly my lonliness disappeared like a Hallmark movie, but life isn't a Hallmark movie.   I do know that as I ran to catch up with the group, my heart was a little lighter and for the first time in months I felt like maybe I was okay.  I felt like maybe there was something good about me--at least one person believed in me.

I have now had that hat for 32 years--it has traveled with me through five states and two countries, and every time I put it on I remember Mr. Bruce, and I remember how I felt that night.  We never talked about it and cancer took him from us all too soon, but I believe he did know that I needed to feel loved and important.  I believe he knew there was stress in our home, and I believe he knew something was going on with me.  I believe he saw through all the pretending and I believe he thought I was good enough.

Not being good enough, worthy enough..I think that is  many people's greatest fear.  I wonder how many times we trigger someone else's fear knowingly or unknowingly? I wonder how many people in this world are walking around pretending because deep down they don't feel adequate, and I wonder how many people notice?  It only takes one.

I went for my run this morning, and I came home with a warm head and a lighter heart. Everyone needs a "hat"--something  to remind them that they are, as God's beloved children, in fact good enough. Find yours or better yet make sure you give one to someone else.

And the Wolf Shall Lie Down with the Lamb

Isaiah 11:1-10

Matthew 3:1-12

Our lectionary has a 3 year rotation, which means that every 3 years the readings we hear today will be heard on the second Sunday of Advent.  In 2007 I was the intern at a parish in Tarvin a small village in England.  As I stood with the priest after the service, a slightly older man approached us his face red, his jaw clinched, his fists tight.  “Do you really believe all that stuff?  Do you really believe the world can ever be like that?” he sputtered through gritted teeth.  I was shocked at his obvious rage and had no idea what to say. David, the priest of the parish, is one of those people who is soft spoken and has a calm soothing demeanor; he reached for the man’s hand and softly said, “Yes I do.”  The man shook off his hand and stormed out of the church.  David turned to me, smiled and said, “He’s had a difficult year.”

            I know that later that week David and I processed what happened—but what has remained seared in my memory is the look of pain and anguish on the man’s face.  On the surface he seemed enraged, but looking closely at him and into his eyes, there was so much pain, eyes so full of pain that he couldn’t see anything else.  He was blinded by the pain in his life to the possibility of the type of world Isaiah was describing ever coming.  And yet, that type of world—the world where the vicious lie down with the docile; where the powerful  lie down with the weak—is exactly the world Jesus came to usher in.  A righteous world—a world where God’s will reigns, and God’s will is a world of peace and love, a world where we all live in harmony with one another.  Jesus came to bring that world and to show us what it means to live a righteous life.  To be righteous, to live righteously means to conform our lives to God’s will—our entire lives; simply put, it means to live a life of ethical integrity and gracious actions always.  To live righteously requires not only a change of mind and heart, but also a change in behavior.  It requires a total transformation of our whole lives.  That world has already begun and yet is also not yet.

            We still live in a world where people prey on others, a world where there are the powerful and there are the victims.  We ourselves are possibly both—in some part of our lives we may be the powerful and in others the victim.  We still live in a world where power and economics and position seem to rule—a world where the weak and vulnerable are victimized or simply forgotten.  We live in the in between time—I don’t want to be able to, but I think I can understand how the man in England was blinded by pain and suffering—in this in between time as we live with so much tragedy, it is easy for those things to divert our attention from the goodness that is also around us.  We must refocus; retrain our eyes to look for the glimpses of the world Jesus inaugurated.  There are glimpses of that world but we must open our eyes and hearts so that we can recognize them.  We must look through a new lens.

            In the Gospel reading for today, John calls for us to repent.  What does that mean?  It doesn’t just mean to recognize our sins and say we’re sorry.  It means so much more. To repent means to turn towards God; it means to see through a new lens, to see with a new perspective and then to behave in a new way, a way that points to the Kingdom of God.  The passage from Isaiah begins with “A shoot shall come out of the stump of Jesse”—a shoot, a small barely noticeable shoot brings hope, brings salvation.  Perhaps it is hard to see the Kingdom of God here and now because we are looking with a lens that ignores the shoot and is only looking for the large tree.  Henri Nouwen says, “Somehow, I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince me and others of God's saving power; but over and over again I am reminded that spectacles, power plays, and big events are the ways of the world. Our temptation is to be distracted by them and made blind to the "shoot that shall sprout from the stump." 

            During the turkey give away a young boy of about two came in with his mother.  She said that this would be his first Thanksgiving dinner; she’d never been able to afford a turkey.  This young boy’s eyes danced with delight as he saw the doughnuts on the table, but he hung back until one of our young helpers brought him one.  He looked to his mother before accepting it; she nodded and he took a bite.  She told us that he wasn’t around kids very much—she couldn’t pay for day care or preschool.  At about this moment one of our children came in, one of our children who would celebrate Thanksgiving with his family and friends around a table loaded down with food; he was a little older than our guest but not much.  He immediately walked over to our young guest, took his hand and said, “Hey want to play with me?  Want to be my friend?”  And the two began chasing one another around the room with squeals of laughter and joy; two children from seemingly totally different worlds running and playing as equals—it was a glimpse of the Kingdom of God.

            Our readings today call us to repentance; they call us to look at the world believing the Kingdom of God is here and to point to it.  During this advent may we spend intentional time looking for those glimpses and pointing to them so that others can see them too.  As I remember the man from six years ago, I pray that he has seen some and that this advent his world is a little brighter.   And I pray that as we each point to the glimpses we see, the world becomes a little brighter until that time when the Glory of God is fully and completely present and the darkness is no more.  

It's Not About Me; It's About the Team

Last night was Christopher's first varsity basketball game--a dream come true.  A dream with a whole lot of blood sweat and tears thrown in.  He has worked so hard to get to this point.  Last year was a frustrating year for him--he didn't make JV, but he started for the 9th grade team.  The coaches told him he had a great shot, good ball handling skills, but his speed and quickness were holding him back.  And so he has spent the last year working tirelessly--hours and hours of work in all types of weather.  Chris kept telling him, "Keep your head down; keep working hard; it will pay off." In October that seemed to be coming true--Boss made the varsity.  He was so proud; we were so proud.  We have been even more proud of how hard he has worked since then.  He hasn't slowed down in trying to get better; he works non-stop and never misses an open gym or a practice.  So last night we were all there for the first varsity game of the season.  We watched him warm up; I could tell how nervous he was but also how much he was enjoying himself.  I don't know how his stomach was feeling, but mine was in knots.

Signs to me of his nervousness--wiped his shoes continually

The game started; he didn't start--not shocking, we just wanted him to get some minutes.  He kept his shooter shirt on for the whole game.  At one point it looked like the coach called him up, but he didn't move--for the WHOLE GAME!  Several people in the stands asked if he was hurt--I so wanted to say yes.  Instead I watched him sit there--cheering his team on, getting water for his teammates and celebrating as they won a nail biter.  Selfishly I was glad we had two cars there--I could leave and let Chris bring him home.  He's better at talking to them  after disappointing games; actually he's probably just better at not talking which although is what I know they need is usually not what I do--I'm always wanting to process.  As I drove the babies home I wondered what I would say to him when he got home.  I wanted to say how proud of him I was--even though he didn't get playing time he was on the bench and it would come.  AND it was true--I was and am proud of him just for being out there.    I am, however, enough of an athlete to know that that might not go over well.  I was upstairs when I heard the door open and Christopher shouting, "Mama, Mama where are you?"  He sounded okay--a little bit happy even--I hesitantly came out of my room and he met me on the stairs.

so happy to be on the team

"Mama, coach called on me to go in early in the game.  But right before the game I remembered that I was ejected from the final game of the season last year, so I told him I couldn't.  KHSA says that's a two game suspension.  Coach says he's going to email and see if it changes things that it was a 9th grade game."  I love this boy--I know that he wanted to tell me this right away because he knew I was worried about what to say to him--thank you Boss!  The athlete in me really came out (or perhaps the Mama Bear--the selfish Mama Bear) and I said, "So you are the one who told?"  "Yes ma'm."  I continued, "So if you hadn't told, you would have been put in the game?"  "Yes ma'm.  But Mama you have to understand.  If I'd gone in and KHSA found out we would forfeit all our wins for the entire season.  It's not about me; it's about the team."  I'd like to say I immediately took great pride in his sacrifice, but there was still a part of me that was thinking, "He's worked so hard!  I really wanted him to be able to play--would they really find out?"

In the same gym where his daddy played

This morning we were talking about the game again and Christopher said, "I hope they let me play in the next game on Thursday, but if not I'll play Saturday.  I can't wait."  As I've reflected on this conversation I am once again stopped in my tracks by the lessons I learn from my children.

I wonder where in my life; where in others lives do we put ourselves above the team, the community, the other?  When am I, when are others blinded by their own dreams, our own belief  and desire to get what we believe we deserve that we sacrifice the team, the community, the other?  It's worth considering--

I don't know if Boss will play Thursday or Saturday, but I do know that this proud Mama will be in the stands with my eyes wide open.

So proud of my boy for more reasons than one

Advent 1--Judgment and Justice

Matthew 24:36-44

Today’s text is a continuation of a question we heard several weeks ago.  “When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately, saying, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”” (Matthew 24:3 NRSV)  The disciples needed certainty—they wanted to have the answers and they used their insider position to try to get the information they believed Jesus had but didn’t want to publicize.  Today they get their answer—not the answer they necessarily wanted.  Jesus tells them no one including himself knows when that will be and then he continues—

I suspect that just like the disciples we want certainty; God wants discipleship.  Discipleship, whether we like it or not, has a cost.  The text today is one of those challenging ones that puts it out there—God loves everyone no exceptions; that is true, but there is more; today’s text talks about judgment and that is exactly where  we don’t want to go.  I believe that is indeed where we need to go, where we are called to go.  I also believe we have to understand God’s judgment and the flips side of judgment—justice.  To do that, perhaps we need to understand what judgment is not.

God doesn’t want us to fear judgment but rather to use it as a motivator for justice.  God’s judgment is not meant to paralyze us—it’s not the “wait until your father gets home” judgment that we as humans use to manipulate and control.  God’s judgment will come but it is not meant to breed fear and anxiety; it is not meant to have us close in and live a solitary life so that we cannot possibly do anything that will bring down the wrath of God.  No, God wants us to use God’s coming judgment-- to embrace the coming judgment as a way to live into a new way of life, God’s way of life, right here and right now.  God wants us to use God’s coming judgment to propel us to living into a life of justice—a life lived publicly, in community, and in the world.   God wants us to live a life that counters the world where power and inside position reign; a life lived under the fear of scarcity instead of abundance—God’s abundant love and mercy and grace. 

I want to be clear that judgment does not mean not being held accountable; God does hold us accountable—God holds us accountable to how we live out justice.  How well do we treat one another and most especially those most vulnerable in our world?  How do we live it out in our everyday lives?  This is played out in so many ways in our lives starting on the playground. I remember one of my children coming home and telling me about how another boy was being picked on.  “Did you say anything?” I asked.  “No Mama, I didn’t say anything but I also didn’t participate.”  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I pushed.  With tears in his eyes he responded, “I was just glad it wasn’t me.”  He was five; we’re not.  When do we just keep our head down, our mouths closed and think, “Thank goodness it’s not me.”  When do we not include those who should be included because we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves? When do we take the easy way, the comfortable way, the expected way so that we can just be glad we’re not the excluded, the marginalized, the left out? We tragically forget that when someone is left out because we don’t speak up it actually limits who we are.  We are a community—and when we don’t acknowledge and embrace everyone, we are not whole.  And then there is judgment.

Our world creates an anxiety, a frentic pace of life, an individualistic mindset, a mindset that manipulates us into thinking there isn’t enough for everyone—I’ve got to get mine first and then I’ll worry about everyone else.  Black Friday is a prime example (or is it Black Thursday?) I was both amused and appalled by the people camping out in St. Matthews at the Best Buy beginning on Monday!  Perhaps there was a community built there but what I saw was people who were willing to give up a holiday of gathering with family and friends to make sure they got the latest and greatest deal—to make sure they got something and someone else didn’t.  We see it in politics, in schools and even in religion.  The world creates and us/them but we are called to love the other, to live a life that honors the other, and to proclaim in word and deed that God’s love and way of life is for everyone no exceptions EVEN when that means we have to give up something or that we have to lift our heads and speak up.

Jesus’ examples in today’s Gospel are not about the grand movements in history.  There is a place for those, but today Jesus is talking about everyday life—eating and drinking and working right where we are—living a life of love and justice right where we are.

At first this may seem like a depressing text with which to begin Advent—don’t we want to wait in joyful anticipation?  Yes we do which is exactly why it’s the right text.  As we begin the “official” holiday season let us not be distracted by the preparations—the decorating, the baking, the gift buying—let’s do those things, but let’s be alert so that those things don’t distract us from what it means to live a life of faith—let’s make certain those things don’t block out the face of God in those we encounter—let’s lift our heads and see the world through God’s eyes—then judgment is nothing to fear.