My Beloved Uncle Jimmy

Jimmy Jones was in my life from the time I was born--he started dating my aunt that year.  (Clearly 1968 was a very good year...)  He officially became my Uncle Jimmy in 1978, and I couldn't have been a happier 10 year old.  I was so proud he was my uncle and Aunt Susie was my aunt.  They were young and hip and cool, (they called each other by their last names--Jones and Kanto) and most importantly, they paid attention to me.  I wanted everyone to know they belonged to me and I to them, so even several years later when they said I could drop the aunt and uncle I didn't.  Those titles connected me; those titles assured me I belonged.

In the fall of 1980 my cousin Drew was born and Aunt Susie and Uncle Jimmy asked me to go to the beach the following summer to be a Mommy's helper.  That summer changed my life.  I was a basically good kid, made straight A's, worked hard at sports, went to church (two churches every Sunday--a whole other story), mostly got along with my siblings, and rarely talked back to my parents (at least not aloud), but I had a hole.  There was an emptiness in me that I tried to bury, and most of the time did.  That summer exposed that hole and then filled it up.

It's hard to explain that summer---they'll say they didn't do anything but they did.  They talked to me

Emerald Isle 1981

like I was an adult; they took an interest in me; they played cards with me, Uncle Jimmy told me stories (some may have even been true),  and then at night I would lie upstairs in the loft with Drew and listen to them talk and laugh, play the guitar and sing.  They trusted me with their son; they told me I was beautiful, and they made me believe they loved me just because I was me and not because they had to.  They made me believe I was worthy and good.  The previous spring I had an eating disorder--I felt ugly, broken, and unworthy.  That summer I learned there were some people who wouldn't accept that and wouldn't let me accept that either.  The next year was still hard, but remembering that summer and those lessons is part of how I survived.  That summer sealed our relationship; that summer I became their Elvira--Uncle Jimmy never called me anything else for the rest of his life.

Story telling

Over the years I spent time at their home sometimes with my family and sometimes just me.  I loved those evenings of Uncle Jimmy playing guitar and he and Aunt Susie singing.  They introduced me to jazz and blue grass.  At night Aunt Susie and I would lay blankets out on the floor while Uncle Jimmy sang, "Make me a pallet on the floor" with us joining in.  No one can sing Joni Mitchell's "The Circle Game" like my Aunt Susie and every child should have it sung to them accompanied by the guitar when their eyes are struggling to stay open but they want to hear it "just one more time."  They introduced me to many voices including John Prine--a love that would continue and be reignited when I met and fell in love with the next man who played the guitar and sang for me and loved John Prine--I got to marry him.  (And Uncle Jimmy sang Elvira to me at the reception...)

Gangan and Uncle Jimmy

Was Uncle Jimmy perfect?  No--he had his demons.  He had his struggles and his own inner pain.  Uncle Jimmy suffered his first stroke in 2005--far too early for a man with so much life to live.  Uncle Jimmy struggled with faith and in his last years declared himself an agnostic.  After I was ordained he would sometimes send me articles about faith and ask what I thought...he continued to believe in me and to believe I had something to offer.  He continued to love me, to trust me, and to be proud of me.

The core of my theology--my die on the hill theology-- is God loves everyone no exceptions and ALL people regardless of age, sex, race, orientation or anything else are valuable, are worthwhile and deserve dignity and respect.  As I prepare to bury my beloved uncle I am reminded of how much he taught me that very theology when I was an awkward 13 year old with a hole in her heart--I am reminded of how much he lived that way and loved that way.  And I know that he has been granted eternal rest.

Give rest, O Christ, to Uncle Jimmy with your saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting.  (BCP, 499)

I love you and miss you Uncle Jimmy,
Love, Elvira

Standing on Holy Ground

It was my first wedding I had ever officiated alone (shhh I don't think Luke and Sarah knew that).  I wasn't nervous--I was surprised I wasn't,,  but I realize I wasn't nervous because I believed deep into my heart and soul that these two people were meant to be married and that I was simply a conduit to help make that happen.  God had already blessed their union; God was very present in their individual lives and in their relationship--God, Sarah and Luke were the principal players; I was simply an extra.

It was an intimate gathering--family only.  We hiked into the woods to a clearing where the service was to be.  A small patch of moss was there and as Sarah and Luke stepped onto it, chills ran down my spine and a warmth took over my body.  There was no question; this was holy ground.

With the family gathered around, Sarah and Luke made their vows to one another and to God.  As I pronounced them husband and wife, the sun broke through the branches and a ray of light shone on the newly married couple.  There was no mistake; God was truly and completely present.  God blessed this marriage.

Sarah and Luke had decided they wanted Eucharist.  Not only did they want to have Eucharist, but they wanted to provide the bread and wine.  Eucharist means thanksgiving, and Sarah and Luke wanted to give the gifts in thanksgiving to God for bringing them together and as a gift of thanksgiving to those who had gathered to witness this day.

We hadn't rehearsed the wedding and suddenly as we were exchanging the peace I realized we had no table to use as an altar.  Oddly I didn't panic.  I walked over to the flower girls and whispered I had a very important job for them to do for their Uncle and new Aunt who they clearly loved very much.  These two beautiful girls held the bread and wine as I recited the Eucharistic Prayer.  Their mother, Luke and Sarah's sister-in-law stepped forward to hold my book for me.  As I invoked the Holy Spirit

Invoking the Holy Spirit

I have never been more certain of the power of the Eucharist and the real presence of Christ in the bread and wine.  The girls and I, not trained lay Eucharistic ministers, but two girls who loved their family, joined me as servants of God and we distributed the bread and wine to all those gathered.  I blessed the marriage and we hiked back out.

 I was transformed that day in many ways.  Chris and
 I have always told the children they had to be married in a church--it was non negotiable if we were going to pay for it.  Hypocritically  I often profess that the church is not a building but the people.  That day the hypocrisy evaporated and that profession became more powerful than it ever had before.  The church was gathered; God was present.  Scripture tells us "For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." (NRSV, Matthew 18:20)  It does not tell us that is only in certain buildings behind certain altars using certain vessels.  Hypocrisy gone--our children can get married where ever they choose; God will be there.

Marriage is a sacrament--an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.  The Book of Common Prayer tells us that, "It signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored among all people."  I have no doubt Sarah and Luke's will continue to be an outward and visible sign for the world.  It will continue to model what the Kingdom of God can and does look like.  Their marriage will transform them and all who they encounter.  It already has.

 I haven't been able to let go of the power of the gathering and I am struck by the idea that we intentionally or not put boundaries and boxes around where God is and where God isn't.  We declare specific places sacred and holy and forget that God created everything and that alone makes all of creation sacred and holy.  What would happen if we treated the world--all of creation including people as if they were sacred and holy?  How would the world be changed?  How would we be changed?  On October 5, 2014 I was changed and for that I give thanks.

Why I Write

When the children were little, I used to tell them stories of when they were even littler.  Then as life went along we had so many things happen to our family that people would often say, "You should write a book, but no one would believe it was real." The children would hear those comments and they joined the chorus of "you should write a book."  So I told them I would someday.  Lesson--do not tell children under the age of 8 that you will do something one day unless you want to be asked EVERY day if today is the day.

Anyway, I started keeping a list of incidents that could perhaps go into a book.  One of the things I love about our family is that we can make even the most serious things humorous.  I was gifted with children who roll with things and make life an adventure of fun even during those times we could drown in despair.  (Like the time Caroline was in the hospital with a dog bite, they wanted to see how high they could raise the bed and then lift the head and fee to see if they could fold her in.  Yes maintenance had to be called.  Or when SK broke her arm and Boss decided to pull the fire alarm at the orthopedist office--yep everyone evacuated into the rain...And just so it doesn't sound like they are always the culprits--the time I forgot to pay the water bill; we went to the beach for 10 days and came home to no water (on a Saturday)  So Chris and I loaded them back into the car and told them we were going on a destination unknown adventure.  We drove to Atlanta, stayed in a hotel with an indoor pool, and explored Fernbank.  And so began the tradition of Doyle's Destination Unknown Adventures.)  And they kept asking about the book....

When blogging began I had a brilliant idea--or so I thought.  I really knew they just wanted to see they're name in print; I knew I would forget all these adventures if I didn't record them better, and thus  Growing Up Doyle was birthed.

When I was called into ministry in August of 1997 (God was very patient with timing) I really felt that my calling was to help people find the Holy in the ordinary.  I have always journal ed and I started writing on the computer which led me to consider adding it to my blog.  The trouble was the subjects overlap but there is a definite difference in tone.  SK began calling me Madre; I decided to write a different kind of blog; and the first entry back in 2008 was written---What's in a Name?  Over the years I have blogged sometimes regularly, sometimes not so much, but it has become part of my life--part of my spiritual and my "ordinary every day" life.

There are times I feel insecure and arrogant.  Posting them on facebook took courage--hard to believe I'm sure.  But I felt like who was I that anyone would care about what I wrote?  Who would criticize what I wrote?  Who would think I thought I was holier than thou?  I resisted, but eventually I did it--that still small voice commanded it.  I'm glad I did.  I have been so gifted from so many people.  People have entered or reentered my life and shared their stories with me--stories of joy, of pain, of broken hearts, and of reconciliation.  Some people I know in "real" life and some I only know in the virtual world, but all have touched me and honored me with allowing me to be one of the keepers of their stories.  I hold them all in prayer and give thanks for the blessings they have bestowed upon me.

And so I continue to write--for me and for anyone whose life may be touched, for anyone who may need a place to know they aren't alone.  I'm still worried I'll be considered arrogant; I'm still insecure about what I have to offer, despite all that, I'll continue to write.

I believe God's image is in everyone, I think....

I believe we are all, every single person, created in the image of God.  I say I believe that; I think I believe that; I want to believe that; and yet there are more times than I'd like to admit that I don't act like I believe that.  And that's just with people in my everyday life....

Last night during our 5 o'clock service I was reflecting on part of the Baptismal Covenant.  "Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?" (BCP, 305)  ALL persons it says-not just those people in whom God's image is easy to see.  Not just in those people where I want to see it.  Further, the question asks us to seek and serve--to make the effort, to work to see Christ in all persons.  I'm not sure I want to do that; I don't know that I want to admit God's image is in all of us.  And I certainly don't want to have to put any effort into finding it in those people who hurt me or those I love or anyone else.  But, if I truly believe God's image is in all of us than that means it is also in people who do evil things and I am called to try to find it--that means God's image is in Jesse Matthews or whoever killed Hannah Elizabeth Graham, and I'm not sure I want to believe that; it's easier to just see evil and to hate.  And yet my faith that I hold so dear is telling me differently; I admit I don't like it.

As I try to wrap my mind around this I recall a conversation I had with a parent in Caroline's class.  Her husband is an attorney and one of their new associates went to high school with Jesse Matthews.  She told my friend that in high school he was good and gentle and kind and she was having a hard time believing he could hurt anyone.  My first thought was, "I guess some people can fool anyone."  But last night preaching on the Baptismal Covenant I had to confront the hypocrisy in front of me.  If I really believe what I profess than just perhaps regardless of what he may have done, God's image is a part of him....

I believe the Baptismal Covenant is what we strive for, what we use to order our lives, to try to again and again live into the image of God that is within us.  But it's not easy and we have to admit that and confess that.  The confession in Enriching Our Worship (p. 56) says,

God of all mercy,
we confess that we have sinned against you,
opposing your will in our lives.
We have denied your goodness in each other,
in ourselves, and in the world you have created.
We repent of the evil that enslaves us,
the evil we have done,
and the evil done on our behalf.
Forgive, restore, and strengthen us
through our Savior Jesus Christ,
that we may abide in your love
and serve only your will. Amen.

This is hard; really really hard.  People do have to be held accountable for their actions; justice does have to be served--I want to leave it there.  I want to hate the actions so much that I can hate the person, disregard the person, cast the person off as pure evil, deny the goodness, even the smallest amount of goodness that can be in someone.  I want it to be easy, but it's not.  I know I need my community of faith and God's help to believe.  I know I cannot do it on my own.  Right now my core convictions, my faith is being challenged--do I really believe what I profess?  Can I really believe it?
I'm trying....

Mrs Hardwick's Kitchen

(Patrick--look colors on an ipad!  No paper!)

This week I was in a wonderful, eye-opening Appreciative Inquiry workshop.  I'm looking forward to sitting down, organizing and processing all I learned--beware there may be more blogs--but there is one thing I don't need to process, I already know it in my heart and soul.

Yesterday morning we were talking about children and youth not regularly attending Christian formation.  We began to talk about judgment (because let's face it we were a bunch of clergy and lay leaders of the church in the room, and there was plenty of judgment if not being overtly said definitely under the surface); one person recognized we were judging and expressed we shouldn't be judgmental.  The question was presented, "Is judgment good or bad?"  It was decided that judgment is on its own neither good nor bad. In fact, to say that we don't ever judge is completely false.  What's "bad" is that which results from our judgment.  Judgment that leads to alienation instead of acceptance--that's wrong.  Acceptance is what one person expressed that she found as a child in the church and that's what she wanted for the youth of her congregation. The question was then asked, "Where was your best place of being accepted as a child?"  Immediately my pen wrote, "Mrs. Hardwick's kitchen."  I had a tinge of unease wondering if I had written the wrong answer--I am a priest in charge of Christian formation at a workshop given by the church, shouldn't my answer be more churchy? But right or wrong, I couldn't change my response--just thinking about Mrs. Hardwick's kitchen made my heart swell with warmth, body relax, and the feeling of total unconditional love and acceptance enveloped me.

Mrs. Hardwick is Katie's mother.  Katie was truly my best friend in junior high, and I am blessed we are still friends. For two years I virtually lived at the Hardwick's home.  After those two years I moved to Augusta, but I was always welcome to return, and I did--over and over.  My last time sitting in that kitchen was with my oldest two children and pregnant with my third.  It was still perfect. (And then they went and moved!)

I cannot remember what was on the walls; perhaps over the years that changed.  I do remember sitting on the bar stools at the kitchen counter, Mrs. Hardwick on the other side, and just talking.  I remember having her full attention, and I felt I could tell her anything.  I remember Katie and I experimenting with different pens (yes even back then I color coded everything and was always trying to find the perfect pen), and Mrs. Hardwick writing with us.  She didn't tell us it was silly or we were wasting time.  She engaged with us where we were (we even talked her into driving us to various stationary stores to find new pens).  Occasionally she would walk to the refrigerator and hand us spoonfuls of maple butter brought back from their summer home in upstate New York.  No comment about it being too sweet or making us fat--just a spoonful.  I think of those spoonfuls as spoonfuls of love.  I remember her fixing dinner without saying, "Y'all need to be doing something." She simply allowed us to be and she was with us--100% present.  In Mrs. Hardwick's kitchen I felt loved and accepted and feeling that love and acceptance made me want to be a better person.  I wanted to be a person Mrs. Hardwick could be proud of--I wanted to be the kind of person Mrs. Hardwick was (and is)--loving, accepting, kind and good.  Mrs. Hardwick's kitchen--for me that is the only answer I could give to the question, "Where was your best place of being accepted as a child?"

Yes I do want children and youth to be in church.  But I have to ask what is "church"?  Church is not a building; church is a community of faith--a loving accepting community of faith.  A community that allows us to be where we are and then takes us further.  A community that challenges us to be different, to be better.  Sometimes that community gathers in a building to worship, and I do think that is important, but sometimes that community permeates the world in which we live, and I believe that is essential.

Br. Curtis Almquist of the SSJE says this about sanctuary, "Sometimes we need to be enshrouded by light; sometimes we need to be enwombed by darkness.  A sanctuary--a place of safety and holiness--will have an intermingling of light and darkness, enough of both."

 That was Mrs. Hardwick's kitchen.

The Man Behind My Cape

Recently I was talking to a young couple--the woman said, "You really loved being home and doing all those things for and with your children didn't you? You love being super mom, and I mean that in a good way."   I paused and swallowed the lump in my throat and said, "Yes.  Yes I did.  To say I loved every minute of it would be a lie.  There were definitely some LOOOOOONG days.  But yes," I said as a tear escaped, "I did and do."  Later I sat reflecting on that conversation remembering all the fun parts of being home with my four children born in 4 1/2 years--they were some of the best years.  But, it also came with a cost....

When I was pregnant with Sarah Katherine I told everyone I was going to continue working.  I loved my job, SK could be in the daycare right below me, and my boss was flexible about my hours.  It was a perfect situation, and I did go back--for three weeks.  I remember clearly the night  I tossed and turned trying to figure out how to tell Chris I didn't want to go back to work.  I woke him, told him, and with the weight off my shoulder went to sleep.  Not sure he did--but the next morning as he left for work, he kissed my cheek, kissed the top of SK's head and said, "Turn in your notice."  He had a plan; he had had a plan because he knew me....

We bought a business, moved to Athens (best decision EVER) and rapidly had three more children.  I was going to work with him some but he kept firing me with the statement, "You keep getting pregnant I need someone I can rely on."  And so he worked long 12+ hour days successfully building the business.  Most nights he wasn't home until 9 pm--long after the children were in bed.  He never complained--he knew I needed them to have that structure and routine.  As hard as he worked, Sunday afternoon naps were for me while he took care of the children.  Only after I resigned from the Junior League (for the first time) did he say, "You know I could write a check and get a tax write off for the amount of money we're spending on babysitting for you to volunteer."  But when I reactivated, he said nothing; he knew I needed an outlet.

After we sold the business and Chris finished his MBA we moved--a lot.  I did have people question why I would do that--the answer--because that's the deal we had.  Together we were building a life.  Chris was supporting us, and I was holding down the home front.  My job was easily transferable, and so I followed him where ever he believed we needed to go.  Was moving hard?  Yes, but the lifelong friends we have made in all those places make it all worth it.  During those summers, spring breaks and other random times, I would pile the children into the car and take off for the beach or to visit friends while Chris stayed home and worked sometimes being able to join us on the weekends.  He never complained but I now know that he enjoyed the first few days of alone time and then he was just lonely.

Chris knows how important it is to me to volunteer in the children's schools, and he eats take out or leftovers continually during those busy times; he graciously allows me to be the face the school mostly sees.  (He has told me if I chair one more fall festival he will ask for a divorce--I told him I do it because no one else will.  His response, "maybe you should consider why.")

Yesterday as Christopher left church kissing me on the head someone remarked, "You're children are really connected to you, aren't they?"  They are--I was able because of Chris' sacrifices and hard work to always be present, to be available, to be attentive, to be there.  Chris made it possible for our children to learn that if they need us--no matter where,  no matter when we'd be there.

Chris and I are a team; we've both made sacrifices.  It isn't always easy--sometimes it isn't easy to remember we're on the same team, but we are.  We've done this together--the good, the bad, and the ugly, and for that I am eternally thankful. Thankful that I have a husband and the children have a daddy who puts our needs first--who loves us enough to sometimes miss out on those things he loves most so he can work and travel to care for us.

So yes I did and do like being Mama--not sure I would consider myself Super Mama, but if I am it's only because I have Chris behind my cape.