Conversations Stop When....

It was a quiet Friday morning (well as quiet as it can be when you have a precious toddler running around the house).  We were sitting by the fire reading books when my phone exploded--okay it didn't explode, but when I read the text I knew that if Caroline's emotions could be transmitted through the phone it would have. She was furious; I was stunned, (not by her response but that someone would state that as fact),  and I was trying to talk her through how to handle the situation--not easy to do with a furious 14 year old who holds very strong views AND with whom you can only communicate via text (and I'm not sure she should have even been doing that).

Long before I was ordained, really for the children's entire lives, we have openly discussed our faith, our beliefs and the challenges that those sometimes hold.  We have talked about how not everyone necessarily believes the same way we do even in the Episcopal church.  (Actually we have talked about that we might not all agree on everything either.) Frankly that is part of what we love about the Episcopal church--it's a place where people can come together and struggle, can come together and share their beliefs, can come together and differ in their beliefs but can also all gather around the table as equally loved, equally accepted children of God. Sometimes we forget this, but part of being in this community is reminding one another, loving one another, and accepting one another.

"We have a particular way of going about trying to make sense of it all, which we call the Anglican tradition. It’s more about being in relationship than getting things right. And, we think that it is more important to pray together than to all believe exactly the same things."

Canon George Maxwell--"Letters to a Young Episcopalian"  ( worth reading: Letters to a Young Episcopalian)

There had been a presentation in her Global studies class about Christianity and it was stated that "All Christians believe homosexuality is a sin."  This is SO not what our family believes (on this the six of us do agree) and Caroline may in fact be the fiercest about it.  (Of course she's also a highly emotional hormone infused 14 year old, but frankly I'm proud of her...)  I knew that she was as upset about the "all" as anything else.  She does not like people speaking for her, and she is very clear about certain parts of her faith.  There are some parts of her faith that are her "die on the hill", this is one of them.

I could picture Caroline walking down the halls telling any and everyone who would listen that that is not in fact what ALL Christians believe.  I'll be honest, the children have a hard time understanding why anyone would believe that, but we do try to have open honest conversations about respecting the views of others and we try to see this and other issues from a variety of positions.  It's hard for them; I'll be honest, it's hard for me.  So I tried to calm her down for the moment, but I knew this conversation would be a hot topic for the weekend.

Sure enough it was--and sure enough I was right (oh, I love when that happens!)  Caroline, "The presentations were supposed to be factual only.  He wanted to express his personal beliefs; he even told me that so he presented his beliefs AS THOUGH THEY WERE FACTS!!!!  You can't do that!!!!  It is not what ALL Christians believe it is only what SOME believe."  I suggested that she may want to bring this back up in class on Monday--to clarify.  "Oh, I don't need to," she responded, "I told everyone in the halls that would listen to me.  People don't get to tell me what I believe.  I'll listen to you until you decide that you are right period and when you don't let me speak up at all." (yep, I was right again)

So many lessons we can learn from my highly emotional, very loud, faithful daughter.  It's important to know what you believe, AND it's important to be open to what others believe.  But, conversations stop when we begin to use the words "ALL" "EVERYONE" "NO ONE" or any other word that doesn't leave room for difference, that doesn't leave room for dialogue.  I do however believe there is one sentence that can be said with certainty; it is one my Bishop says often and one that has become a part of my inner being, part of my deepest held beliefs (my die on the hill),  "God loves everyone NO exceptions." Perhaps if we can start with that, dialogues about anything can continue. 

PS--We did remind her that punching people in the face is NOT the answer.  











*Disclaimer:  I thought long and hard about posting this.  I know not everyone agrees with our family and our family's belief about this particular issue (or other issues for that matter).  I know that some people who disagree are friends whom I love dearly.  I maintain, "God loves everyone no exceptions" and God asks us to do the same--to love those with whom we agree and to love those with whom we don't--No exceptions.  I love you all...

I Hate Testing

I hate testing.  We have turned into a society that places so much emphasis on testing and comparison that it's no wonder our children are paralyzed by anxiety as test days approach.  It's no wonder their confidence and identities are wrapped up in numbers that materialize on computer screens or sheets of paper that arrive in our mailboxes exploding before our eyes either as spectacular fireworks celebrating the importance and worthiness of the student as indicated by those high scores or as mail bombs that detonate eviscerating the student's confidence and identity as the scores are "less than anticipated" (whatever that means).  Testing has co-opted a position of power that it neither earned nor deserves but rather that we as a society surrendered to it in our attempt to quantify our worthiness.  Everything it seems must be quantified in order for it to have value; everything must be comparable--everything we seem to believe including who we are as people. We have allowed numbers to arbitrate our worth instead of accepting who we are as individuals, as individuals uniquely created in the image of God with unique gifts that cannot be quantified, that should not be quantified.

Last night Boss received his ACT scores.  He did very well.  Chris and I both told him so; we both told him how proud we were of him.  He more than "beat" the score he needed to attend his number one college choice.  He, however, hung his head and said, "I wish I'd done better.  I've got to take it again."  After momentarily being caught off guard by his reaction--he's our laid back student, we assured him he could take it again if he wanted to, but that he should be very pleased with his score. We googled the score in comparison to SAT scores and I informed him he did better than either Chris or I had done all those years ago.  "Well," he said, "SK got a ____." And he left for the evening.

This morning as I ironed and Boss and I talked in front of the fire we revisited the conversation.  I told him that one of his mentors and his grandfather had both written emails congratulating him on doing so well and that SK said he did better than many of her friends.  I should have known how serious he was and how much this was bothering him because he didn't announce as he always does, "Do you have to tell the world everything?"  (The answer is 'mostly'.)  Instead he said, "But ______ got a perfect score.  I want to do much better.  I thought I was smarter than this."  I then tried to explain to him that once you are in the range he is in moving up becomes more difficult; I tried to tell him that some people test better than others and that how smart you are doesn't always factor in which is why colleges look at the whole picture; I shared how I wanted to break a certain score but never could and I reminded him that he'd done better than his father or I.  Apparently he only heard the final comment as he responded, "How did SK get so smart if it wasn't from you and Daddy?"

Have I mentioned I hate testing...

Finding My Lenten Discipline with a Little Help from Boss

I was calmly sitting by the fire, drinking my coffee and blogging when Boss walked in.  "Bring Shawn and Caroline home before you leave for the airport today." I said (notice I did not ask)  "I don't know if I can," he started to say.  "I AM NOT ASKING YOU I AM TELLING YOU!" "Whoa", I should have thought "Where is that anger coming from?" But I didn't because well, it felt good.  It released something in me.  "Mama," he tried to continue, "We have to be at the airport at 4 and it's in Indiana."  "It's a private plane," I spat back, "And you can't leave your truck there it has to come home.  Never mind, you just aren't going.  I'm tired of you telling me what you are and aren't going to do. I'm tired of you coming and going like you own the place; I'm tired of you trying to run the house."  "Where is this coming from?  I don't understand.  Is this just an early morning we're both tired thing?" he tried to calmly ask. I was having none of it. "Go get ready; you're going to be late for school."  (He was very smart and did not point out that it was only 6:30...)

A little bit later (and after I yelled up at him a few times) he came down with his bag packed.  "I told you you weren't going." I said.  "Mama, can we please talk about this.  I don't understand what's going on.  I will bring the kids home; I'm sorry I said I wouldn't and I'm sorry I said it how I did."  He started to walk towards me.  "Just go," I said, "I'll talk to Daddy and let you know."  I turned back to the fire as he left the room and I heard him softly say, "I was just trying to come give you a hug."

I sat...I knew I had totally overreacted, but I didn't care; I didn't want to let my anger go so I tried to think about all the things he had done over the past few days that made me mad.  One, he didn't clean out my car or his room when I told him to--it took him FOUR days.  Check, that is a legitimate reason to be angry. (maybe not a legitimate reason to stay angry...)  Two, he hasn't been home much. Che....oh I wanted to check that off but then I really began to think....he hasn't been home much; he hasn't needed me; he hasn't turned to me to fix things for him.....I started thinking of all the times in the past few days

Friday night they played their arch rivals.  It didn't go well for the team or for him personally.  Chris and I stood in the lobby waiting for him as we always do.  I knew he would come up the stairs, walk over, put his arm around me and kiss the top of my head like he always does.  We waited and waited and waited.  Finally I asked one of his teammates (the same dadblame one he's now in Florida with) where he was.  "He left awhile ago." he responded.  "I'm sure he needed to just get out of here," Chris said probably realizing that I was going to fall apart; I was falling apart on the inside.  So I texted him, "Where are you?"  He immediately responded, "I'm sorry I just had to get out of there.  I'm at M's..." 

He didn't come to me; he went to his girlfriend's (I think I'm allowed to call her that now).  It was the beginning.  I know he's only in high school and there will be other relationships, but this is the first. This is the first time he chose a girl over me.  He didn't come to me for comfort. Never mind that it's good and healthy and normal--it still hurts.

Monday night--same thing.  Team lost; he played well but...I had left early because I was sick.  At half time he even looked in the stands and said, "you can go I know you're sick." but I hate missing his games; I love to watch him play.  Fever over took me and I had to leave.  As soon as I left the gym Chris texted me, "He just hit a 3" I tried to not care that I missed it, but I did care.  I drove home eager for him to get home and tell me about the rest of the game.  Chris came in and I said, "Where's Boss?"  "He's gone out with Case (Florida boy again) and Alec.  I told him he could; he needed to be with them."  

Again he chose someone over me; he's developing his own support system.  Good and healthy and normal--it still hurts.

Tuesday night he came running in from basketball practice freaked out because the store where he was going for a Valentine gift was closed.  He was rushing around and asking what he should do.  I was offering lots of suggestions.  (lots of good suggestions may I please say) "Go to Quest and get a _____ hammock." volunteered John.  (It was some type I don't know about but apparently is totally in right now).  "That's a great idea," Boss said, "She loves to camp and she can use it."  They talked about what to get, what accessories he needed and Boss left.

Soon another row will be blank

He didn't even need my help to choose a gift.  True, John is 23 and much cooler than me, but still I'm his mama... and it hurt.  I sat there and knew I was being ridiculous and beginning to understand this wasn't about anger; it was about grief.  Why didn't I recognize this?  I knew about this; I'd gone through this before ; I'd even blogged about it. (Sweat pants and fuzzy socks)  He was growing up and soon very soon, way too soon, he was going to be gone.  He was learning how to be independent, how to find his own support systems, how to be a man and I was feeling left behind and alone. Anger was a lot easier to deal with than grief....

Bam!  Upside of the head or rather straight into my head I remembered.  The previous night I had been choosing a Lenten devotional and I had read a piece about Jesus' 40 days in the desert and what that meant for us know.  "Jesus took no food, but that he deprived himself of all the normal supports that protected him from feeling, full-force, his vulnerability, dependence, and need to surrender in deeper trust to God the Father."  (God For US,  edited by Greg Pennoyer & Gregory Wolfe)  My support, my way of protecting myself from feeling full force was to substitute my feelings of grief with anger; I could direct that anger straight at Boss.  I didn't want to feel the grief, but in that moment I bowed my head and prayed.  I thanked God for giving us Boss and for helping us to parent him into the strong, loving, caring man he is becoming.  I asked God to protect him and to be with him as he continues into adulthood and to be with me as I learn to let go.  And I knew what my Lenten discipline was going to be--what it had to be.  Somehow I've got to let go and let God take over my life; I've got to put my total trust in God for my next call, for my family, for myself.  I thought I had, now I know I haven't.

I got up, went upstairs and walked into my bathroom and there it was--another dadgum baseball cap just left anywhere he wanted to leave it.  I started trying to get angry as the tears sprang to my eyes.  In another year there wouldn't be baseball caps all over the house (unless I could talk William into starting to wear them--hey that's an idea!).  Remember your prayer I reminded myself.  

I went to lunch with a very dear friend and shared my morning with her.  "Remember," she said, "Sometimes it's easier to be angry to separate.  I've been there; I understand."  She shared her story of when her son left home and how much she missed him.  "OH NO!!!!" the thought popped into my head, "He's going to get on a plane.  What if he dies in a firery crash and I didn't let him hug me!!!!" (There is a theme to my thinking someone is always going to die in a firery crash--it's not healthy; back to the therapist...)  As I left the restaurant I texted him to find out where he was at school and I raced over there.  I went into the art room where he was having lunch with M... he stood up, walked over to me, wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.  "I love you Boss."  "I love you too Mama."

And so it begins--loving and letting go, and fully trusting God.

Voices

Voices--and I'm not talking about the numerous ones in my head.  Okay maybe in some ways I am talking about them.  There are so many voices coming at us everyday.  There are voices that tell us who we should be, what we should do, and what the world expects of us, and then there are voices that tell us not to listen to those voices.  The world tells us to speak up and the world tells us to be quiet. The world tries to dictate our voices, to have our voices sing in harmony instead of harmonizing.  (Harmony/Harmonizing)

Recently I was told, "You need to claim your voice.  You don't have to hide behind mine to claim your authority, to state what you think."  There was power in that gift given to me, and if I'm honest I was also frustrated and maybe even a tad angry.  I started thinking about claiming voice, and I also started thinking about how often structures, institutions, and families work so hard to keep our voices silent. There is so often the message of "claim your voice" but not at work if it differs from the boss, "claim your voice" but not in school if it isn't the answer that's going to get you the A; "claim your voice"  but not if it reveals family secrets, "claim your voice" in the church but not if it disagrees with others or if it stirs things up, basically "claim your voice" unless it's going to make others uncomfortable, unless it's going to make others squirm, unless it's going to cause discord in the song the world wants to hear.

For days I thought about this conversation and what it meant for me (okay, for days I have obsessed about this conversation.)  I have thought about why I don't claim my voice--y'all are thinking, "Really?  You talk all the time." But talking and claiming voice are not always the same thing.  I couldn't let this go, so I did what any good, obsessive person does, I brought the issue to my therapist (have I told you how wonderful she is?--and by the way she has a deep abiding faith that I find refreshing and life giving.)  I went on and on about this until she stopped me and said, "What happened to you that made you not use your voice?  When is the first time you felt silenced? What is it your afraid of happening if you do use your voice?"  Oh man, I so didn't want to go there.

The details aren't important, but what I learned from these early experiences is that using my voice can cause misunderstanding and that misunderstanding can result in shame which leads to hiding and to silence.  I learned not to trust myself and to always assume that people will misunderstand me, that they will think the worst of me.  There have been many times I have had a conversation with someone, perseverated in my head about something I said, and called them to clarify only to find they don't even remember what I'm talking about (and now they do think I'm nuts!).  I finish many sentences with, "Does that make sense?"  I also learned that I can be hard to take.  I remember a bridesmaid luncheon when someone I loved and respected shushed me and said, "You're too loud, no one wants to hear it."  I am loud-I prefer to call it exuberant or full of energy, but it is loud.  Those words spoken at that luncheon have resonated in my bones for over 20 years.  (Perhaps some people are thankful; can you imagine how "exuberant" I might be if that hadn't been said?  Ye Gads!!!!)  The truth is, for some people it is too much, for some people it is overwhelming, annoying and flat out obnoxious.  The fact is that using voice also has a responsibility--a responsibility to use it appropriately, yet what often happens is instead of teaching or guiding others to use their voice appropriately we just silence it.  It's faster, easier and immediate--let's face it we are a society that wants  effortless, immediate, and pain free results.

A few days after the above conversation, I had another one with a friend.  She was telling me about a situation in her life.  It's her story to tell but I was so in awe of how she had let her daughter use her voice, how it was causing some difficulty for her personally but how she remained steadfast in allowing her daughter her voice despite her own discomfort.  I so admire this woman.  She allowed her daughter to use her voice; she encouraged her daughter to use her voice, and she used her own.

Two days ago one of mine had an incident happen on the basketball court.  He (so that narrows it down to two) said something to the coach, and the coach misunderstood.  He was pulled from the game and then a conversation continued afterwards based on what the coach believed he had heard or on what he believed had been the intention of the conversation.  Chris told him, "You have to go talk to him.  You need to explain what you meant."  And y'all know the crazy person in me wanted him to text the coach that night, "FIX THIS my head and heart were screaming!  Don't be misunderstood, being misunderstood is the worst thing that can happen to you. People won't like you."  (and that's a whole other story)  Yesterday morning I reminded (threatened) him to talk to the coach with these words, "If you don't Daddy will."  He came home, and I asked him if he'd talked to him.  "No, and I'm not going to.  This is my choice."  BAM!! Right upside the head it smacked me.  I was trying to control his voice, trying to control his relationships, his reputation.  I remembered my friend and her grace, her amazing parenting--how she allowed her child to use her voice and she dealt with her own discomfort by herself as an adult.  It hit me, sometimes teaching our children to use their voices also means allowing them to make a decision contrary to what we would do and to support them through the consequences.  (I suspect he won't get much playing time in the next game a fact he fully understands but still chooses, but I will still be in the bleachers cheering the team on.)  Sometimes allowing our children to use their own voices makes us uncomfortable.

Teaching our children to use their voices is so important and so difficult.  It is allowing them to make decisions (age appropriate of course), but if we don't do it, then they will be in their 40's having someone ask them why they don't use their voice; they will spend many years not singing their songs for fear that their voice doesn't fit with the song of the world.

So I think about voices--what does it mean to claim my voice, and just as importantly what does it mean to allow others to claim their voices?  It means being okay with chosen silence; it means not being afraid; it means listening to, really listening to other voices and finding the beauty in them; it means learning to sing with other voices not necessarily the song the world is already singing. Maybe by using our voices, by claiming our own authentic voices the song will change and all our voices together will create the song the world was meant to sing.

PS--I do recognize (and I came to this all on my own!) that writing and this blog is my way of practicing in a safe space using my voice.  Thank you to all who read it, who respond to it, who challenge me and who affirm me.

What Song Are You Singing?

Last week I attended a conference in Houston, Texas.  The first night I stood in a reception talking to a woman from California and asking her if she knew my good friend, colleague, and mentor Beth Bojarski.  (I had just blogged about how Beth had touched my life in profound ways. Beth and Janie--God's Voices) She responded, "You should tell her."  "Oh I have," I replied, "In fact I just wrote about her."  "Why don't you tell her in person?" the person pressed.  "Well, because she lives in...." I started and then was gently turned around and GUESS WHO WAS STANDING THERE?!?!?!?!  I think I may have screamed.  We had a moment, and then I got to meet her totally awesome, adorable, six week old son.  (Let's be honest I then stole her totally awesome, adorable six week old son and held him for the rest of the evening which was not totally selfish--she got to play the guitar and lead singing with unencumbered hands--oh wait, maybe that was selfish because I got to listen to her play the guitar and sing!!)

That night I lay in bed thinking about how much I loved holding James, how good it felt to be able to "help" Beth while she was working--how natural it felt, and my mind started spinning.  I thought about how the week before I got to "help" Emily by taking care of Charlotte and how that was so fulfilling and wonderful. I began to think about who I was and who God was calling me to be. I began thinking about what felt good and right and holy (and maybe easy), and I thought, "Maybe this is it--maybe God has always wanted me to be a mother and I just thought God was also calling me into ordained ministry.  Maybe my gifts are to be a mother to my children and to other children and that is enough; it's more than enough."  It made sense to me as I thought, "Being a stay at home mama was when I was always happy."  (Okay it was late and I'd had a glass of wine so I sort of turned myself and my memories into making me become Mary Poppins.)  But I really thought about all this; I prayed about all this, and then the next morning I made two phone calls.

The first was to Chris.  I asked him to hear me out and not to tell me I was silly.  And I told him what I'd been thinking.  I told him that I didn't know what this meant for our future (read paying for 4 tuitions) but that I wasn't certain God really wanted me to stay actively in ordained ministry; I told him I thought God wanted me to use my gifts as a mother, and I wasn't sure what that meant but I needed him to hear it. I told him about holding James and how good and wonderful it felt.  I told him about spending time with Charlotte and how natural it felt--how it made me feel that I had something to offer the world.  I told him how good it felt to know I was good at it.  There was a long period of silence but not of panicked silence and then he responded, "Whatever you want to do I will support you.  You are a really good mother, but I also think you're a really good priest.  We can talk more about it when you're home.  I love you."

The second call was to Emily and I said the same thing to her (minus asking her to worry about our future).  She was also quiet for a moment and then she said, "Katherine, I think because of who you are as a mother it makes you a good priest. I think you bring those gifts into your ordained priesthood.  I love watching you with Charlotte; you treat her, you love her, like she's your very own. You treat and love everyone's children as though they are yours and that translates into your priesthood; it's how you treat everyone. I don't think it's an either/or but I understand what you're saying and we can talk more when you get home."  I hung up feeling validated but also telling myself I was right and she was just saying what she thought she should say as another ordained priest in the church.  (I can spin most anything.)

I entered the chapel at Camp Allen and listened to Bishop Pryor talk to us about what we are called to do as formation leaders in the church.  He outlined three things--we are called to help everyone see that we are all uniquely created in the image of God, uniquely gifted by the Holy Spirit and once people find their gifts we are called to help them use their gifts to follow the way of Jesus.  We are called to empower people to use their gifts in whatever they are called to be and sometimes that means using their gifts in ways that aren't immediately apparent.  Thoughts were racing through my mind as I was trying to apply this to my life and my ministry.  (Truthfully I was desperately trying to make it fit with what I had just told Chris and Emily.)  What I kept hearing in my head was, "Be creative in how you use your gifts; think about your gifts outside of how they naturally fit into the world--how they easily fit into the world, think about how you can use your gifts in all you do."

The following morning I entered the cathedral in Houston a little early so I could have some private prayer time.  I wanted to continue to pray and hear God's voice about what to do next.  (I really wanted God's voice to affirm what I was already convincing myself my next steps should be.)  I looked up and saw a beautiful stained glass window, and tears began to flow down my face as I knew God was speaking to me through this picture; I didn't know what God was saying, but I knew it wasn't affirmation that I should leave the priesthood.  It was affirmation that a woman, a mother, is good and holy.

Over the next few days I was a part of many workshops.  They weren't necessarily meant to be connected but my mind kept taking parts of each and connecting them.  One keynote speaker was Brene Brown (I like to pretend she's my bff); she said a lot--but two things have reverberated in my mind for days, "Who you are matters dramatically more than the curriculum." (wait, did Emily say something like that?) and "To teach with authority you have to embrace vulnerability."  Vicky Garvey (who IS my good friend) talked about how we as the church and leaders in the church are called to model and to help people see the face of God, that love, grace and acceptance is the face the world needs to see more often (again sort of sounded like Emily but I desperately tried to ignore that!)  She finished her talk by quoting Thoreau and saying "people live lives of quiet desperation and go to their graves with their songs still in them." She encouraged us to invite people to sing.  "YES!" I thought, "This is what

SK needs to hear.  She needs to not worry about what the world is telling her and sing her song.  She has so much to give." (We had recently been talking about how she wants to go into the Episcopal Service Corp but some people were telling her that wasn't a smart career move.) So I texted her telling her to sing her song--I'm quite good at telling other people what to do while ignoring that I might also have a song to sing.  (I also might have told her that she didn't have to have all the answers today, that she could just live--hmmm)

The final workshop I attended  was presented by The Rev. John Newton (who I don't know personally and don't try to pretend is my bff, but yesterday we exchanged emails, so that practically makes us friends and who knows, maybe one day we will be bff's!).  He started by repeating Brene Brown's words, "Who you are matters  more than what you teach." and then moving forward to talk about call.  He used Moses as an example--an interesting character for sure--an Israelite raised as Egyptian royalty; a man with a speech impediment who had murdered an Egyptian and then run away.  He pointed out that Moses asked God "Who am I" in response to God's call to lead God's people.  And the powerful part is that God used Moses with all his brokenness, his vulnerability--a man the world would never choose as a leader, but God chose him.  John finished by saying, "As leaders we have to ask who am I and what voice are we going to let rule our life."

I've been thinking about all this messiness for the past week and thinking about what it means for my ministry.  I've been thinking about it for what it means for anyone's ministry.  What I'm beginning to understand is that our gifts can be used in an abundant number of ways, but that we need to know them, to embrace them and then to use them in whatever context we find ourselves.  I'm beginning to understand and believe that if we are using God's gifts uniquely given to us then whatever we are doing and wherever we are doing it, will be good and holy, whatever we are doing is ministry.

This week I used my gifts to help care for Charlotte; we took naps; we made Valentine cookies and heart shaped pancakes, and we played.  My gifts may again find themselves behind an altar celebrating the Eucharist or in the world wearing a collar, but for this week my altar is baking in the kitchen, napping in a bed wearing a turtleneck (my girls are distraught over this) and sweatshirt, living my priesthood as a mother and a friend. For this week this is where God is calling me--me a person uniquely created in God's image, who is uniquely gifted by the Holy Spirit, to use my gifts to engage in God's mission, to be a tangible presence of the Kingdom of God, to sing my song as a part of the ministry of all believers.  I do believe (I think) my gifts will again be used as an ordained person; I do believe (most of the time but I need to remind myself frequently) that who I am as a wife and mother can and does translate into my priesthood--the priesthood God calls me to--the priesthood lived as a part of the ministry of all believers and as a part of the ordained ministry.

Barbara Brown Taylor (who by the way I stalk when I'm in North Georgia driving by her house hoping she will come out to get the mail--just being transparent here) writes in An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith, 

“What is saving my life now is the conviction that there is no spiritual treasure to be found apart from the bodily experiences of human life on earth. My life depends on engaging the most ordinary physical activities with the most exquisite attention I can give them. My life depends on ignoring all touted distinctions between the secular and the sacred, the physical and the spiritual, the body and the soul. What is saving my life now is becoming more fully human, trusting that there is no way to God apart from real life in the real world.” 

Real life, real world, real altars everywhere.  Where is God as you understand God calling you to use your unique gifts today?  Where is God calling you be a presence  of love and grace, and acceptance today?  Where is God calling you to show up so that the world sees in you the face of God, feels through you the presence of God?  What song are you singing?

Technology Brings Out My Multiple Personalities

Technology, social media--I get it.  It's controversial--does it help to create community or does it hinder relationships?  Do we use it to enhance our relationships or do we hide behind the protective walls of our screens?  I get it, and I could argue both sides; I have argued both sides, perhaps I will (read I am sure I will depending on my mood) continue to argue both sides (which could actually indicate a personality issue, but that's for my therapist and me to work on).

In our immediate family I have fussed (read raged) on both sides of the issue.  I have demanded all phones be band from the table, and I have "hidden" mine under the table as I engaged in conversation both at the table and with someone on text.  I have criticized my family for being unhealthily attached to their phones and they have said the same to me.  In full disclosure last night Chris and I argued over me being on my phone.  In my defense I was tracking where the children, who I trust as much as anyone should trust a teenager with a car, were (yep there's an app for that--perhaps another issue--controlling anyone?) In Chris' defense it was date night.  I digress, back to the issue...

Last week I was at Forma 2015 with some of the most amazing people I have ever had the honor of

Dinner after escaping the birds

being around.  Some of my best friends I see once a year at this conference and every year I meet a new best friend or friends.  These people get me, they love me, they share my passion, and I love them with every ounce of my heart, and I promise you that I was fully present with them.  I soak up my time with them, but I also desperately miss my family and being wife and mama.

Those aren't leaves; they're birds.

Thursday night I was walking with a group to dinner and suddenly overhead there were thousands (I am not exaggerating) of birds flying and squawking and I went into full panic while at the same time trying to act like a mature adult in front of these people who love me but do not know everything about me.  I am terrified of birds--heart pounding, palms sweating, fight or flight terrified.  I tried to act casual...one of the things I have learned is that if I try to control my irrational fears (bridges and birds) by laughing it sometimes helps.  So

Forma friends at dinner

I took a picture and texted it to the family--those five people who have been trained for over 20 years to either run ahead of me and flap their arms like human birds to clear the way for me or to hold my hand tightly as we walk through the
danger zone. And they responded.  I was still walking (very quickly mind you) with my friends but my family was supporting me from afar because only they knew that I truly was in a state of panic.

That text promoted an endless series of texts over the next 48 hours between the six of us.  I was in Texas, SK was in Virginia, the others were in Kentucky, but we were connected.  We were sharing our lives, sharing what we were doing (also making fun of each other, but hey that's the O'Doyles at their best).  I was showing one of the texts to a friend and she said, "Do you have any idea how unusual it is that your children are including you and your husband in a group text?"

I stopped for a minute and thought about it; no I didn't immediately see how unusual it was, that's the way we have always been sharing our lives together.
We have always sat around the dinner table sharing our days, laughing at jokes only we would get (or that everyone else gets and I try to get, but they let me try), making fun of ourselves (and one another) but mostly loving and supporting one another.  Those nights of all six of us at the dinner table are way too rapidly decreasing, but technology has provided us with another forum, a virtual dinner table. Our connection doesn't have to and won't end.  We can stay involved with one another both in individual relationships and as a family.  We can stay connected about the big events of our lives and the every day parts of our lives sharing "insignificant" stories that only the six of us would find funny, only the six of us would understand because we have spent years developing our individual and family stories. We can stay connected not at the expense of face to face contact but in addition to face to face contact.

I suspect the debate will continue; I suspect I will continue to struggle with how to appropriately use technology, but last week it worked.  Last week I was connected to my family community  while at the same time being in the physical presence of the Forma community.  I needed both; both were good and holy and real.  Both were part of my story, part of God's story.

Plus, if it weren't for texts, I wouldn't have been able to see these wonderful pictures of my "stars"!