A Village with Boundaries

Several weeks ago I ran into a man I know and admire (for

many reasons, but his photography--it's a step above everything) and he asked me a question, "I know you love having Charlotte (better known as The Toddler), but I have a question."  I momentarily stopped breathing dreading the question I knew was going to follow.  "But what about your priesthood?  What are you going to do? Are you ever going to return to work?  Is anyone talking to you?  Why did you resign?"  (Obviously these questions are if not a daily part of my life a weekly part--and for the record the answers are, "I'm still a priest. I don't know what I'm going to do. Yes I'm going to return to work and yes people are talking to me--some even about my future in ministry....the other is another blog)

He asked none of those questions.  Instead he said, "Are you more of a follow the rules just as her mother wants you to do or a spoil her rotten and do whatever you want?"  I stumbled through the answer, but like so many things in my life the question has remained with me.

The short answer is "both."  Do we give her more than one cookie in the afternoon?  Yep.  Do we let

her stand on our counters as long as she want asking, 'How about...?' Yep. (Sometimes even naked) But do we make her say please and thank you? Yep.  Do we let her hit us? Nope (although last week when I told her know to hitting and she cried I did have to leave the room while I teared up too.) That was the short answer.

Over the past several weeks I've been thinking about what our role is in The Toddler's life and what it should be.  I don't know how it will play out forever, but I think there are a few things that are important, crucial even--things I was taught as a young mother...things about villages and boundaries

My mind went to many episodes in our young family's lives and how so many people taught me how to know the difference--

• Aunt Gillian not allowing Sponge Bob to be watched when our children were over because she knew how much it mattered to me. (And she didn't tell my children or hers that I was the neurotic overly protective controlling Mama--she maybe should have told me.)  
• The Banse's giving Caroline 4 bowls of cereal for breakfast (they also let her sit with them in church so I didn't have to deal with the sugar high!)
• Woody looking over Boss's head for the answer from us when Boss said, "I know I'm not really old enough to play football but I think I'm tough enough, can I play?"
• Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Anne telling me on separate occasions, "SK can tell me anything and I won't tell you unless I think she's in danger." But Aunt Ingrid writing me first and sharing a letter she wanted to send SK to make sure it was okay.
• All the parents over the years who called and asked whether a particular movie was acceptable and particularly the ones who understood when we said 'no.'

There are some things that make no difference, but there are others that are plain and simply crossing boundaries, boundaries of parents' rights.  Dessert without eating dinner--no big deal; doing something that violates a moral or value the parents hold dearly--huge.  It's knowing the difference, erring on the side of the parents, asking the question that matters--it takes a village but a village respecting the parents that truly matters.  I'm grateful we had that village; I want to be that village.  And there my friend is your answer....a village with boundaries--hope I don't cross them....

The Twelve Step Eucharist and Transformation

I had no idea what to expect.  Jamie and I really wanted to attend a service at Grace Episcopal in Charleston.  Bishop vonRosenberg had been Jamie's sister's, (and my sister by friend-in-law rules) The Rev. Taylor Dinsmore, Bishop years before.  Taylor had so much love, respect and admiration for this man.  She kept telling me, "You have to meet him."  The only weekly Eucharist we saw was on Friday evening--it was a Twelve Step Eucharist.

Jamie mentioned the Eucharist; I must admit I paused a moment--unsure.  Did I want to go to a Twelve Step Eucharist?  I struggle with the 12 steps.  That's not entirely true--in that moment I realized I hated the 12 steps.  I hated I knew them; I hated they were part of my life; and I wasn't sure I wanted to let go of the anger at the person who brought them into my life.  I had no idea how much anger was still simmering under the surface of my daily life.  (To read part of the story Why I Gave Up Drinking Wine)  Wanting to meet Bishop vonRosenberg over powered my angry al anon self, and I agreed to go.

I arrived early (I was meeting Jamie).  As I sat in the pew, I was not only struck by the beauty of Grace Episcopal, I was overcome with the amount of joy surrounding me.  Every person who walked in seemed to exude peace and so much joy.  My carefully constructed angry armor began to come unhinged.

There is so much I can say about the Eucharist (and I will if you give me the time--but I won't give you my copy of the bulletin--I'll make you a copy--I always have it), but there were two parts that have stayed with me--two parts that particularly touched my soul--two parts that transformed me, two parts that reignited my love for and my belief in people and in the Church.

The Rev. John Zahl was the homilist.  He told his story eloquently, but more importantly, in my opinion, he told his story as part of The Story.  He told his story in connection with the Gospel.  I kept listening for pride or self promotion or the opportunity to puff himself up, to exult himself for "defeating this disease",  but all I heard was humility and mercy and compassion and love and grace.  I don't remember the entire sermon word for word (I very much want a copy), but one part continues to resonate.  He said (and I am taking liberty quoting), "He didn't beat him up about what he had done. He had beaten himself up enough for both of them.  He just offered him compassion and grace.  Just like Jesus didn't list every sinners sins; he was just present with mercy, love, forgiveness, compassion, and grace."

"I'm not there" I felt my heart say.  I still want to list every hurt I've experienced because of alcoholism, and I want Mama to take responsibility for each and every one.  (I do not, however, want to list the hurts I've caused because of my response to this disease...)  "Let go." my soul said, "You need to give to your mother the same love, compassion, and grace you extend to everyone else. The same love, compassion, forgiveness and grace you PREACH!"  I'm still working on it.

I was holding it together.  No tears yet (and y'all know that's a miracle)!  The offertory music began; I looked up at the altar, and it happened. The tears began to cascade down my face. Bishop vonRosenberg was setting the table. He was setting the table for himself!  A bishop at the altar with other clergy present was setting his own table; I couldn't believe my eyes; I froze (except for the tears pooling in my lap)--it was a powerful testimony of servant leadership.  In a church where hierarchy can reign, where hierarchy can be abused, in a world where privilege and elitism win more times than not, in that moment Love won--the Kingdom of God was fully and completely present.  In that moment, I experienced the Gospel in its entirety--in its total fullness--in humanity.

God was present in those moments and God continues to work in my life through the words and actions of these two men.  The transparency of The Rev. Zahl, the willingness to be real, to be open, to be honest and to be challenging has given me the strength to dig deep and to try each and every day to find that love, forgiveness, and compassion I so desperately need.  I wish I could write I've done it completely, that I've done it once and for all, but I can't.  I have less armor on and it's getting easier, there are more moments of peace, it's a process...

And at at time when I desperately needed to see the Church in a different way, at a time when I was somewhat (read very) jaded by the power dynamics, by the politics of Church, at a time when I was mired and wallowing in the negative, Bishop vonRosenberg quietly and humbly modeled the Church at its best.  I was transformed....

Addendum:  There are many people in the Church--clergy and lay alike--who are conduits of God's love, compassion, forgiveness, servanthood and grace.  Today's post is not to deny that but rather a personal narrative of how I was transformed by two particular people at a time in my life when I needed it most. Taylor was right--I had to meet him....

I'm Double Posting Because I Have an Addiction

Little nervous writing this post for two reasons.  First, I know there is a line of self revelation that makes some people uncomfortable and second, the whole double posting in one day thing...

Nonetheless, I'm putting on my big girl panties (read on and you'll see how horrible of a pun this is--leaving it in anyway to make a point) and posting anyway.  I've posted about this before--Wearing a Bikini and The Ridiculously Priced Prom Dress so this isn't a new revelation to the blog world, but more importantly, as I was running this morning on the treadmill at our club looking out the window at the soon to be uncovered pool---my mind went into spasms.  The soon to be uncovering of the pool means it will also be the time to uncover our bodies from their bulky winter clothes--a time of terror for some of us, and it also means exam season is upon us--a stressful time for anyone, but for those of us who need control and find that through restricting food, it's beyond stressful.  So here it is....

I have an addiction--I have an eating disorder--I'm in recovery, but it's still there.  I no longer binge and purge, but sometimes I do restrict--or I at least think about restricting--okay I restrict.  My eating disorder has never gone away and I suspect it never will.  For years it was a secret--a secret my family wanted to keep--a secret which led to my feelings of inadequacy and shame. There is debate (An article on the debate) about whether eating disorders are addictions, but I believe they are; I know they are because I live it every day.

Why now?  Why do I feel I have to speak out now?  Is it just because of the pool--kind of.  It's also because my children know people who are suffering right now or who are on the other side of suffering, and we talk about it.  It's because I sometimes hear people say things like, "Well I'm glad that's over." and I want to scream, "No it's not!!!"  It's because while more people are open about eating disorders there are still many who live with the secret, who live with feelings of isolation and shame, and I want to be the open door for even one person to walk through.  I want to say to others, yes it is a life long struggle but it does not define you and it does not mean you will live a life of misery.  You are so much more than your eating disorder--it's part of you but you can learn to healthily co-exist.

How does my eating disorder affect me today?  I weigh myself three times every morning on a scale

that has decimal points as well as the whole numbers so I can see any change in weight up or down. And I write it down in a special calendar I keep. Is this healthy? Absolutely not, but it's a crutch for me--it's not the worst thing I could do, but it's certainly not the best.  When I look in a mirror if I can't see my head I think to myself, "That body (yes I don't use the first person) looks pretty good." but the minute I see my face attached to the body I switch to the first person and see not the decent looking athletic body of a middle aged woman, but every single one of my flaws. They seem to jump out at me--to light up like an x-ray or the Operation board game--buzzing and lighting up.  I try to stop my mind from doing this, and I can't. When I'm going through any stress, any loss, any emotional time I start to think about controlling my food intake.  When I say I start to think about it, I mean I start to think about it non stop all day.  It invades every thought.  I plan how many bites I will take at dinner, how few meals I will eat during the day, and I tell no one.  Those are my secrets...

My eating disorder also affects my family.  On days I'm feeling "big" when my husband puts his arm around my waist I cringe and pull away afraid he will feel my "fat." It hurts him. People sometimes ask me, "how do you parent two daughters (please don't forget eating disorders affect boys too) knowing you've suffered from an eating disorder?"  The truth is, not well.  I never know what to say when one of them says, "I've put on weight" or cries because they don't like how they look in something.  I know what I don't want to say; I know how I don't want them to feel.  I do my best but it's all polluted with my own stuff.

My eating disorder also affects my interactions with others.  I seethe inside when I hear someone say, "She would be so beautiful if she just lost weight." and yet weight in others is one of the first things I see.  I don't see it as they've gained or lost weight, but I judge, I compare, my body to everyone else's. I always lose.  People's comments about weight casually mentioned and forgotten by most reverberate in my mind for days (like the above pun about putting on your big girl panties).  I limit time around people who only want to talk about their weight or other people's weight--if I don't I'll spew fury that may not be warranted.  I cry when someone tells me about how they've been hurt by others because of their weight.  (I don't always cry in front of them, but I always cry...) When I see books advertised that claim in five easy steps you can love your body I want to scream--"for some of us it's not that easy--don't buy that book!", but I also try to read anything that may help me understand, help me learn more coping skills, help me be an advocate.

I'm double posting today--I'm double posting for anyone who may read this and for a minute not feel so alone.  I'm double posting today for anyone who wants or needs someone to talk to, please contact me. I'm double posting today for all those families who have been open about their struggle and for all those families who feel they have to hide. And I'm double posting today in celebration of the courage so many have had fighting this terrible addiction--keep fighting, you're worth it. I'm double posting today because I have an addiction...

I Want to Be....

Yesterday I was stomping up the stairs, stepping over the dog hair, pouting, and listing in my head all the things I want to be.

I want to be the person whose house is always immaculate.  You know the person whose house you leave and say to everyone, "Her house is always immaculate."

I want to be the person whose house is comfortable and worthy of being in Southern Living--who has the gift to decorate, to pull things together, and to make anything I add look good.  (I know those people--my mother-in-law, my sister and my good friend Hope can put a pile of dog poop in their house and make it look spectacular.)

I want to be the person who says, "Oh my house is such a mess." and everyone looks around and thinks, "Really?" Okay, no I don't want to be that person--those people are completely annoying--but my thoughts continued...

I want to be the person who starts a load of laundry, folds it, and puts it away all at once, and not the person who continually has a laundry basket of folded clothes in random places--den, hall, and if I'm lucky bedrooms.

I want to be the person whose baseboards are always clean and not a sign to her family that life is stressful and out of control--lately my baseboards have been SPOTLESS!!!

I want to be the person whose dining room table has a beautiful arrangement on it and isn't continually covered with books, computers, and papers that get pushed to the side each night to set
the table.

I want to be the person whose surfaces are tidy and spotless without water rings.

I want to be the person who enters her children's rooms and beds are made, towels aren't on the floor and there's not a strange odor.

I want to be the person who straightens her children's drawers and not only when she's looking for contraband--(I want to be the person who doesn't have to admit she knows where all the good hiding places for contraband are because--well, maybe I can blame the fact that I know that on my high school friends?  Oh man, I can't do that,  I want to be a person of integrity... so you can fill in the blanks however you want. I also want to be a person who allows others to use their imagination :) )

I want to be a person whose books are organized and not piled up around her bed; I want to be a person who reads every book she orders.

I want to be the person who cleans her house from top to bottom in one day and not certain rooms and others with as my Grandmother used to say, "a lick and a prayer."  Well, maybe I do want to do that--she was SO much fun!!! (I love hearing stories about her parties in Norton from my daddy's friends.  All these years later they remember her with smiles, laughter, and love--I want to be that Mama.)

I want to be the person whose house is ready to go on the market at all times and not the woman who thinks, "I will never move only because it exhausts me thinking about getting the house ready."

I want to be the person who washes her glass doors everyday and doesn't think, "The dogs will just jump right back up on them."

I want to be the person who fixes the handle on my drawer and doesn't just use a pencil in its place.

As I stomped around listing in my head all the things I wish I was, the things I wanted to be, at the same time trying to find where I'd stashed all the different cleaning supplies I needed (I also want to be the person whose cleaning supplies are organized), putting away laundry (from three days ago), looking for contraband (I found none) and sweeping the stairs (two dust pans full), I thought,

But I also want to be the person who says, "Sure you can have friends over this weekend." and doesn't worry that the basement hasn't been vacuumed in days.  (They're teenagers; they're just going to re-mess it up!)

I want to be the person who says yes to hosting the team dinner the day before because no one else could. (I also want to be the person who runs around like a crazy person to get the right "colors.")

I want to be the person who hosts gingerbread house making parties because SK has loved and connected with these children for years (as have I) and she's home!!! And I want to do it every year even though it's one the busiest time of year for a priest.

I want to be the person who loves having random groups of people over--people who meet each other and grow to love one another on our lumpy not stylish couch.

I want to be the person who stops doing laundry to meet a friend for lunch, volunteer at the school, take a walk.

I want to be the person whose children do their homework downstairs, talking to me about their day while I am cooking dinner. And the person who more times than not has the family (and anyone else who shows up) eating dinner around the table together after she's pushed the books and papers aside.

Definitely covered in dog hair

I want to be the person who has the toddler over and lets her eat in the den ("Aunt Tatherine in here") so she can dance and sing with Kistopher even though  I will have to scrub the surfaces so much the paint begins to come off.  (She's also probably covered with dog hair when she leaves.)

I want to be the person who understands the stresses of life for teens today, who understands how hard my children are working in school, on the athletic courts/fields, on the stage, and at work and to remember that one day I can keep their rooms as spotless as I want.  (I also need to remember to put febreeze in everyone's room....)

I want to be the person who leaves her house with a lick and a prayer because I understand the importance of friendship and my daughter HAS to surprise her friend for her birthday even though it's in Bowling Green and pouring down rain.

I want to be the person who says, "Sure come on over and we can talk" and doesn't run around like a chicken with her head cut off trying to clean up so I can "prove" that I'm together enough to offer you any sort of listening ear and/or advice (well maybe I do run around a little).

I want to be the person who has passion to read, to learn, to stretch her mind, to explore new ideas..

As I cleaned, my mind began to settle down (cleaning is therapeutic) and I thought about what I really wanted.  I really want to be the person God created me to be accepting my strengths and weaknesses, my gifts and my limitations.  I want to be the person who extends to myself the same grace I try to extend to others.  Ultimately, I guess I just want to be me.

Two Disclaimers:
1.  No one needs to write me and tell me I shouldn't have outed my mother-in-law, my sister, and my friend for having dog poop in their house.  They DO NOT  have dog poop in their homes--but I hold to the statement that IF they did, it would look artistic and fit in with their decor perfectly.

2. There are some people who can do all of the above and do it gracefully.  Those are probably the same people who don't need a therapist....

The Answer Was Always There--in the Music

"You don't really care about the music in worship, do you?"  It was a casual question-or maybe more of a comment--a rhetorical question.  The comment/question came right as a meeting was about to start, so I didn't have time to answer; frankly, I didn't know how to answer.  There was no judgement meant in the comment (at least I don't think so), but it rankled me.  

That question was two years ago, and I still think about it--a lot (I'd say I obsess about it, but I do have a life, fine, I admit it--I obsess--remember I have a therapist).  Why didn't I answer?  How would I answer? What did I really think about music in worship?  Several months ago I ran across a wonderful blog (Ponder Anew); I read it religiously (pun intended) hoping it would help me answer the question.  Honestly, I love it--I love the comments, I love reading how other people are wrestling, but it has not give me closure for the question....it hasn't given me an answer.

Last month during spring break, I drove over to see my dear friend Mac (or as our family calls him Mac-a-doodle--they're kinda crazy too!)  Mac and I worked together at St. Marks in Louisville for a number of years.  I was the intern/communications/pastoral care person, and he was the music director.  We have stayed close friends despite time and distance.

I was as excited as a middle school girl on her first day of school--I had so many questions to ask Mac and my other dear friend Gary.  They are wise and faithful, and most importantly they know me and yet they love me--the exact combination I needed.  After we had lunch and they imparted their wisdom (I had to resist the urge to ask if I could take notes--they know I'm crazy but that seemed over the top), Mac and I went for a walk through the city.

We went into the The Cathedral of St. John the Baptist where he is the music director.  He first introduced me to the lady who works in the kitchen--that is so Mac--friends with everyone.  She was amazing and I told her I was trying to steal him back.  "We'll fight over him," she laughed.  Next we went into the wedding coordinator's office.  "This is my best friend from Louisville," Mac said.  My heart burst--seriously back to the middle school girl--I'm thinking I'll sign everything to him BFF. (Truthfully, I needed that affirmation--needed to hear that I was loved and true or not that I was someone's favorite, that I mattered to someone--but that's another blog.)  "I'm going to go play some for her."  FOR ME!!!! (Did you hear that?  He was playing FOR ME!!!)

The cathedral is beautiful and a popular tourist attraction.  People were milling about as I followed Mac through the "Do not enter" signs; I was secretly feeling superior.  We went up into the choir loft and he began to play.  I admit my first thoughts were, "All you people get to hear this, but it's really FOR ME." I really am a middle school girl in a middle age body....

As Mac began to play, the tears began to fall, and I remembered.  Mac was new at St. Mark's.  We were in the middle of the Eucharistic prayer; I was standing at the altar next to the The Rev. Dr. Charles Hawkins (another amazing man) and I looked up.  Standing next to the organ was Mac, not sitting, but standing and quietly and inconspicuously participating.  His personal piety and mine seemed to be the same (over time I learned that we did indeed share a high Eucharistic theology--again another blog.)  In that moment I fell in love with Mac; I fell in love with his reverence and with his humility. I fell in love with a man who gave his gift to the church not to promote himself but as a prayer to God. In that moment, I began to fall in love with sacred music, because in that moment I understood...

Over the next few years I learned so much about sacred music from Mac.  He patiently explained to me how he chose different pieces and why certain anthems were appropriate for different seasons. There were many times that I was almost paralyzed during service as a piece washed over me and deepened my worship experience.  (I got to use those very pieces during my ordination.)  Mac chose service music to be a part of worship not to overtake worship--not to be a concert.  Make no mistake, it was concert worthy, but what I learned from Mac, what I loved and love about Mac is knowing that music during worship is his gift to the people. Mac didn't try to put himself in the spotlight; he let the music be the gift not himself.  He is humble, faithful and good.  What I learned from Mac was we all have different ministries.  Mac's ministry is music, mine is not.  It doesn't mean I don't care about the music it just means I leave it to those whose gift it is.  I have my gifts to offer worship, to offer ministry in the world and Mac has his.

As I sat there the tears falling, I realized I finally had the answer to the pseudo question/comment.  It wasn't about caring or not caring--that's what rankled me.  I absolutely cared about music in worship. I, in fact, have my preferences, but what I don't have is the need to, the desire to, the skill to, the gift to choose sacred music.  Music is not my ministry, and that's okay...

Thinking back on that day last month I realize Mac taught me or at least reminded me of more that day.  We each have a ministry that God has given us--for some of us it's being vested and serving on the altar during services, but for many other people it's in the world, in the ordinary every day world. No one's ministry is more important than another's,  and no one's ministry should be co-opted by another, controlled by another--rather it is by owning our own ministries and by working together, as the entire body of Christ, together and co creating with God that one day the Kingdom of God will truly reign.

I've spent the past couple of years trying to find the words to answer the question, but the answer, the answer was already there...the answer was in the music.

Thank you Mac-a-doodle; I love you.

What I Wish I Could Tell You

Dear Family I Saw in the Kroger Parking Lot Tonight,

It was late--well kind of--8:15 and y'all were coming out with your dinner.  There were three of you. I saw you Mama and you middle school daughter exchange some difficult words (I couldn't hear them), but I heard you daughter say, "I hate you." and turn, rolling your eyes and running back to your daddy where you grabbed his hand and said, "She'll never understand."  And you Mama walked past me and I saw tears in your eyes.  This is what I wanted to say to you--to stop you and to tell you (although that might have been kind of creepy).

Daughter--You think she doesn't understand you, but here's the thing--she understands being a middle school girl all too well and she wants nothing more than to protect you from the pain of these years. Your mama wants to breathe all the courage and security into you that she didn't have, and she wants to suck out all the pain and insecurity that she had.  She wants you to know that regardless of what the world tells you, you are enough, more than enough.

When you walked away, her heart broke as it will break many times over the next few years. But she will put it back together again and again because you're worth it.  Tonight you will lay in bed texting your friends, checking social media, and listening to music.  She will lay in bed and wonder what she did wrong, how she is failing you, and terrified you will one day leave home and never come back. She's panic-stricken you won't ever want to talk to her like you used to, and she misses you.

And she will be there for you, I can promise you that, no matter how many times you say you hate her, roll your eyes or slam your door, she will always be your number one fan and love you unconditionally.

Mama--She doesn't really hate you.  It's been a long week, and she's had to keep it together.  She's had to pretend at school that she has it altogether but she doesn't believe for one minute she does. You are her safe spot, the one person she knows she can say anything to and you will still love her fiercely and unconditionally.  She is scared to death of wanting to be different from you and at the same time wanting you to be proud of her and not sure the two can co-exist.

She is insecure and scared and you remind her that she is expected to grow up into the competent loving woman she believes you are.  She doesn't know if she can measure up, and she doesn't understand that you already think she is more than you ever were or will be.  She doesn't know that she is the best thing you have ever done, and all the confidence she thinks you have is one big lie.

She'll give you more credit than you deserve

Tonight go into her room, sit on her bed and even if she's asleep or pretends to be asleep, tell her you love her and that you will always be there for her no matter what.  Or, if she climbs into your bed, take her hand (Holding Hands), do not make her say she's sorry.  Just listen to her; she has something to say and needs the safety of the dark and the comfort of your presence to let it out. Recognize she needs you and one day you won't have all the reminders of her presence--like Sweat Pants and Fuzzy Socks.

The next few years are going to be hard--an emotional roller coaster for you both.  But keep on loving, keep on forgiving, keep on offering grace--it does matter--she will remember, she needs you, and she will make you
more proud than you've ever been in your entire life only because she is going to become herself--the self God wants her to be, the self God created her to be.  You have no idea today how wonderful she is going to become; you have no idea that in a few short years you will be bursting with pride as you watch her grow and change.  She probably won't be the person that today you think she will become--she will be something even more spectacular.  It might happen when she gets to college, or it might happen later.  She's worth the wait.

One day you won't be in the middle

Daddy--You are stuck.  You are stuck between two women you love dearly.  Two women you would lay your life down to protect. You want to fix it; it tears you up seeing them fuss.  Here's a secret--you can't fix it, so do nothing.  It's not about you; don't take sides--keep loving them both, and keep your mouth shut.  (Don't let her be disrespectful--that's where you draw the line) I promise you, it's for the best.  One day you will hold them both, and it will be magic.

Love,
Someone who wishes she had known
Madre Doyle

The Truth of the T-Shirts

It popped up on my facebook page, and I laughed out loud recognizing how true it was in our family. My sister didn't need rules--she was so good, but she was pretty bossy.  (and y'all wonder why I have issues...) I definitely gave my parents reasons to make rules (and no I will not share examples), and Dritte--not telling you those stories either!

I suspect my children could fit into these t-shirts too--need one more though.  I was thinking about this yesterday on my run and remembering conversations with, in particular, Sarah Katherine.  One of the things Chris and I have done for better or worse is to admit to our children when we mess up.  I used to say to Sarah Katherine, "You didn't come out with a manual.  I'm doing the best I can." or "You're our practice run; we'll get better as we go along."  Sarcastic?  Funny? But yesterday I realized how very true....

I started thinking about how strict we were about dress.  Only certain things could be worn to church; school dress collared shirts only for the boys and hats NEVER to be worn backwards. (We gave into the collared shirts when I went on a fifth grade field trip with Boss and he was the ONLY one in a collared shirt.)  Change started even earlier--SK went to preschool everyday in a smocked dress,
matching bow, monogramed panties (with matching color to the dress of course) and saddle oxfords; I'll never forget the morning Karin Truitte and I watched our youngest enter preschool in mixed matched clothes (Caroline did have on a smocked dress with a bow barely hanging on her head and not matching) and rain boots--it wasn't raining.  We looked at each other and laughingly said, "There are probably people judging us, but hey they dressed themselves." and we headed off to tennis. (She was on her fifth, I on my fourth--we'd had lots of practice!) As for church dress, now we're thrilled they're in church--sometimes in jeans with shirts untucked (not hats

Backwards cap/sibling love

though); Boss left for school today in athletic shorts, a jersey, and a backwards hat--and the world is not ending.

I did make him take the hat off at the table

A couple of weeks ago we let Boss take my car and drive with four friends to Florida (they were chaperoned when they got there).  SK said, "Are you kidding me?  You would have never let me do that."  She's probably right.  She's also right when she says she was never allowed to miss church and now sometimes the others do. That change has come in just the past year--we have moved from insisting they go to church with their questions and their choice of clothes to them not always going. (Why I Insist My Children Go to Church on Their Terms)--and the world is not ending.

I kept running and I kept thinking.  There is so much truth in those t-shirts although a different truth than the successful attempt at humor.  The truth is rearing children is a life long practice run.  We do the best we can with the information we have at the time.  Over time we sometimes realize we made things important that weren't and we need to make some things more important.  Sometimes by the time the youngest hits the teen years, some of the rules are cast aside.  It's not necessarily as is commonly said because we're just older and tired (although that is true to), but I think the real reason is we've been practicing and we recognize the game plan may need to change.  I think what we've also learned is sometimes the rules aren't nearly as important as other things.  We learn to choose relationship over rules.

Isn't a life of faith like that?  As we live we are constantly practicing.  Practicing living into the people God calls us to be; practicing being in relationship with all of God's creation, practicing tolerance, inclusion, forgiveness, redemption, and grace.  Practicing and changing; recognizing there are things we have to let go of--things we used to think were so important, and there are things we need to cling onto.  Wendall Berry writes in "Practicing Resurrection" (Full text: Practicing Resurrection)

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Reflection on The Masters and Humility from an Augusta Girl

I am responsible for Jack Nicklaus winning his sixth Masters in  1986.  Okay, maybe I'm not responsible for him winning, but I'm responsible for him not losing.  That at least is our family's story...

Back in 1986 there were very few houses in our neighborhood.  At the top of our street was a stop sign--or so I'm told--I actually never really stopped there.  Thursday morning as I was heading somewhere (who knows it was Masters of my senior year), I approached the top of the street and, well, I didn't stop.

BEEEEEEEP--swerve; brakes screeching.  I slammed on brakes and my heart felt like it stopped. There was an official Masters car.  The back door opened and out stepped non other than my favorite golfer Jack Nicklaus.  "Darling," he said, "That right there is a stop sign."  Tears started down my now very red face (see I cried all the time even back then), he patted my arm and said, "No harm done; just be careful.  Now I've got to get going."  Pure class--pure grace and at that moment he became and will always remain my all time favorite golfer.  (So maybe I didn't really help him win, but had I hit the car, well who knows? That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

From that day forward I became a devoted, loyal possibly slightly obsessed Jack Nicklaus fan.  For those who didn't get to grow up in Augusta, it's not uncommon for teens to have their favorite golfers and to follow them year after year.  Friendships develop--I can never hear Fred Couples name or see his picture without thinking of my high school friend Lee Shields who died way too soon in a way too tragic way, and whose magnetic smile was always brighter as she followed him year after year--and they became friends.  I love remembering Lee especially every spring...  Anyway, fast forward to 1997...

Chris and I were driving to the beach--I remember exactly where we were in Orangeburg SC--we were listening to our favorite radio station--ESPN (Isn't my husband a lucky man?).  Tiger Woods was being interviewed and the interviewer asked him what it was like being paired up with the great Jack Nicklaus and would he ask him for any tips.  I don't remember his exact words but it was something to the effect of "I play my own game."

"Are you kidding me?!?!?!"  I shrieked to Chris (keep in mind I was also 7 months pregnant so hormones didn't help).  "What about respect for those that came before you?  What about humility? What about tradition?  What about this is JACK NICKLAUS!!!"  And I instantly became as my family would jokingly call me, "The Tiger Hater."

Oh I was so pompous when Tiger fell into his personal unpleasantness (that's southern talk for things we don't want to talk about).  I strutted around like a peacock in a parade, "I told y'all.  No humility--total arrogance.  I knew it from the beginning." (I chose to ignore the fact that my strutting might be arrogant....)

This past Sunday we were watching the final round of this years Tournament.  I started texting my daddy and my sister (we tend to do that during sporting events).  I had just heard that when an interviewer asked Jordan Spieth how he remained so humble,  he responded, "Me speaking about humility is very difficult because that wouldn't be humility."  I fell in love (no he won't replace Jack Nicklaus in my heart, but I have a new golfer to follow--and I think it is awesome that Jack is nicknamed "The Golden Bear" and Jordan "The Golden Child.")  I fell in love even more when I read an article about him writing thank you notes!

So I'm texting and Daddy is responding egging me on as my family likes to do whenever Tiger Woods comes up.  Every time Tiger was on TV or won a tournament someone in my family would mention it to me to get a reaction.  My children learned it was a great way to get a reaction (one of them put a Sports Illustrated on my bed when he was on the cover--no one has confessed).  It became a joke--it was something we all laughed about. Suddenly it hit me--while this may be "funny" in our family, it's not funny--not even a little bit. My behavior shows no humility; my behavior has taught my children it's okay to make jokes at someone else's expense--someone we don't even know. I liked that I was "right."  Right as compared to?  I am so right that my behavior flies in the face of grace and redemption and God loves everyone no exceptions and we are all created in the image of God--things I preach every Sunday. But do I have to admit it, I mean publicly admit it?  It really was meant in jest...(sort of)

My behavior, my words, show no compassion, no mercy, no forgiveness.  My words only perpetuate judgement--everything I profess to detest.  I had a conversation last night with my dear, wise, mother of the toddler friend.  We were talking about racism and racist jokes.  She said, "Even when I hear them and I know the person telling them doesn't really believe it, it's offensive.  It's just wrong." Well slap my head and call me silly--or worse--call me a hypocrite.

It's not funny--it's not funny to cheer for someone else's pain--it's not right to judge--that's not our job. I don't have to like Tiger Woods; I suspect I won't begin to be a Tiger fan, but I can say I'll do my best to keep my mouth shut and to try to live into what I preach.  To try to live into the grace Jack Nicklaus showed me, the humility Jordan Spieth practices, and the truths that Emily Crouch lives. And you know the really humbling thing? I know people will grant me grace, forgiveness, and redemption as I change this behavior. Now if I can just learn to do the same.....

There is No "Just" and There is Little Justice

It was just after 7 pm and it had been a wonderful day on the beach.  I decided to "check" in on what Boss had been spending at the beach.  Yes, I admit it.  We are those controlling parents who have complete access to their children's checking accounts and can look any time--of course that also makes us those parents that with the click of a button can transfer money from our account to theirs....

I opened the online banking and almost fell out of my chair.  Overdrawn $3,700.00---no not Boss, ME!!!  I knew it couldn't be right, so I gathered my composure (sort of) and scrolled down.  Over the course of 27 minutes thousands of dollars had been taken out of the account and put into something called google tops.  Choosing not to or rather pretending not to panic I called the bank--

What a nice man on the phone.  I explained to him these were not my charges; I had no idea what they were, and then I explained I was out of town and I would need money so could he overnight me a new debit card.  He stated they could only do that to a person's residence, so I said, "This is my second home."  A slight lie--it's Daddy's but I needed that card.  Can't do it he told me, but I'll hold the card open for 30 minutes--until 8:01 pm for you to get to an ATM, get cash and fill up your car.

I raced barefoot to the ATM repeatedly calling Chris--no answer and then--card declined; to the gas station--card declined.  I called the bank back from the parking lot as I desperately at this point tried not to fall apart.  I knew my voice was shaking but I now explained to the woman what had been going on.  "I can't help you, but I can transfer you to another department who might be able to.  MIGHT!?!?!!  And did I hear disdain and disbelief in her voice--was she doubting my story?  My face flushed with what, anger? Embarrassment?  Shame?

I was transferred to another department and told my story again. "Well," she said, "You can't take any money because you are over $5000 overdrawn." "No," I shrieked, "I'm only $3000 overdrawn."  (I never thought words like that would come out of my mouth and that I would WANT to be $3000 overdrawn...)  "M'am, in the last 20 minutes several thousand dollars have been transferred out of your account."

Now if you're trying to figure out how someone can transfer thousands out while I cannot use my debit card for the same account--keep trying--I've had five days and I still can't figure it out.  I again tried to be calm and tell her that I needed money and when could this be resolved.  14-28 days she replied.  "Don't you have a credit card?"  "No," I almost proudly said, "We don't do that" (Another story..)  "Well, that would help you." Not seeing any option I swallowed my pride and went agains the financial promises Chris and I had made to each other and said, "Well can we open a credit card and you overnight it to me?"  "No m'am, not tonight--you're overdranwn."  For a brief moment I really thought a van would pull up and people would pile out saying, "Gotcha--smile you're on candy camera."  I mean seriously I felt like I was in a circular conversation and losing.  "Additionally," she added, "Because of this overdraft once you can open one your interest rate will be over 21%."

She then suggested I connect this card briefly to one of my other checking accounts and withdraw money from them.  This woman had no idea the state I was now in--but I knew she held all the cards...I couldn't stop myself from beginning to sob.  "You don't understand, first none of those accounts have more than $150.00 in them AND they are my children's accounts who are all in different states.  If I take their money they can't get home."  I thought that would soften her heart--instead I think she probably thought who is this lunatic woman who allows her children to be in different states, doesn't have a credit card and is overdrawn $5000?  I really think I heard her roll her eyes as she said, "There's nothing else I can do for you.  Thank you for calling Fifth Third; have a nice day."  She's very lucky I wasn't in the same room....

I kept trying to call Chris--no answer.  My mind was racing--what to do.  I headed back to the house where my good friend was waiting.  "I can just cover you." she said, "I know this is awful but we can make it work.  Most important is getting this figured out--both where the money is AND why someone can keep taking money when you can't."  It's wonderful to have good friends, but I was stil panicking.  I went into survival mode.

I tried to call Boss--no answer for over an hour.  Finally, desperately, I texted the girlfriend (a usual no no) and asked her to have him call me.  He called and I tried to explain this whole thing to him. "Bottom line," I said, "You have got to watch your spending.  I have no way to transfer money to you."  In that I know everything 17 year old boy voice he said, "I'm fine--I've got $135."  And I finally snapped.

"Do you realize it's only Wednesday and you are there until Sunday?  Do you realize that you have to pay for gas to get home?  Do you realize (and I thought this part--you entitled spoiled by me child) that it will take more gas than that?  And why are you paying for all the gas anyway?"  Back to the I know everything and have the world by the tail child, "Mama, gas is so cheap down here.  It's under $2.00/gallon; I'll be fine.  And I just hate asking people for money."  My head was spinning--you hate asking people for money?  Not me--you ask me..but I said, "Son, it may be cheaper down there, but here's the thing, you will drive through multiple states and you can't carry the pump with you.  It will get more expensive."  "Mama, I will be fine." he repeated, "You need to settle down."

Now I'm just going to say the way to get me to settle down is NOT to tell me to settle down.  Has this child learned anything in the 17 years he has lived with me.  I could feel myself getting out of control so decided to hang up.  I hung up frustrated--by what?By a 17 year old who thinks he knows everything? Well, yes, but also becaue that 17 year old is MY son in another state, and I can't help him--TEMPORARILY--what about those parents who live with that feeling all the time? And the truth is, I can help him--I just had to make a phone call to the parents he was with, let them know what was happening and he'd be taken care of. 

Immediately the phone rang--praise God it was Chris.  "My phone isn't working well, what's going on?" I tried to fill him in to the best of my ability.  We made a plan--he would go to the credit union bank, withdraw cash, and deposited it into William's account.  It would be available immediately, and I could have William's debit card for the rest of the week.  "The rest," he said, "We'll work out when you get home.  Try to relax and enjoy yourself. I'll deal with the bank.  They may lose us as clients. Oh, and I'll call Boss and make sure he knows I'll be able to get him money." He is the ying to my yang.

The next morning I sat on the beach, drinking coffee and I talked to Daddy as I do most mornings.  He and Marguerite were in Virginia but both said, "We can get you money if you need it.  We're heading back to Augusta today and can just drive some down to you."  I thanked them and truly was grateful they offered and grateful I didn't have to take them up on it.

All this verbage to get to the point.  What happens to those people who don't have supportive friends, a second account with money in it, a Daddy and bonus Mama who will bring you money?  What happens to people who have money stolen from them in this way or any way and have no resources to fix the problem?

I keep thinking about it--what if I was on vacation in a rental or a motel and all my money was taken and I had no resources?  I was in our family's beach home and could stay there for as long as I wanted--no one was going to evict me because I ran out of money.

What if I was a person living in any city USA and this happened, I had no other resources and children to feed, bills to pay and it would take 14-28 days to TRY to get it sorted out.  Sometimes it's hard to remember as we pay four tuitions and teenager car insurance so we think we are "struggling" that there are MORE people in the world whose struggles are just to put food on the table every night and to hope their paycheck stretches until the end of the month.

And the systems are set up to keep people down.  If this happened to someone with no other resources; no financial and emotional support--what would happen?  I know part of what might happen would be to have to take those loans at outrageous interest rates leading to a spiral of out of control debt and poverty.  People might be and are evicted, living in their cars or on the streets, begging for food.  People have to walk into food and clothing pantries, into emergency services like the 8 we have in Louisville (Association of Community Ministries), and they have to tell their stories over and over in an attempt to get help.  We will walk into the bank where we will tell our story with power because we have multiple accounts--we will tell our story backed by power--others have to tell their stories backed by pain. Telling these stories--even stories like mine where I was the victim--can elicit feelings of anger and shame.  Do we listen with compassion and empathy?

This incident showed me how people can so easily be victims--true victims and yet we so often look with disdain or think to ourselves, "If they would just...."  Just what?  Just have a friend who can easily lend you money?  Just have a husband who can leave his job in the middle of the day without having to sign out and lose pay so that he can go to your other account and get money for you while you lounge at the beach? Just have parents who will drive 100 miles to bring you money?  There is no just--and there is little justice. So many people are victims; victims of predators who use technology to steal and worse victims from systems that are not set up to help.

I wish I could wrap this up neatly--some succinct cute point to end with--something that will make us, will make me feel like a good person.  But I have no answers, what I do know is the questions have to keep being asked.  And they have to be asked not just by those who need justice but by those of us who have privilege--those of us who take justice for granted--How do we just bring justice?

I was a victim this week, but I am not a perpetual victim.  There are people who are....

Addendum: I feel that I have to add this three hours after I posted--a friend just said to me, "I was reading your blog and I was so nervous waiting for it to be over."  See, that's just it--for a mere 30-45 minutes I couldn't reach my husband, but I knew I would be able to.  And deep down I knew that with a few phone calls it would be sorted out--and meanwhile I'm at my family's beach house.  Yet, the panic I felt was real and palpable.  I can't imagine living like that 24/7 and no one should have to imagine it much less live that way--but they do, and it's wrong.

I Am a Modern Day Doubting Thomas

It had been a wonderful Easter weekend; I woke up to a bright sunny Easter Monday; sat down and opened my computer to read the readings for the upcoming Sunday.  I started, as I always do, with the Gospel.  Dear G--why do I have to have routine. Doubting Thomas!  Seriously?!?!?  I may have screamed it aloud, "I DO NOT WANT TO PREACH ON DOUBTING THOMAS!"  I'm not exaggerating when I say my body began to shake.

Why in the world did I agree to preach on Easter 2?  That was the stupidest thing I've ever done.  I have to leave the beach a day early just to preach on Doubting Thomas?  I must have had a momentary complete lapse of judgment when I agreed to that; now how to get out of it?

Dangnabit!  I can't get out of it.  Now I remembered.  The reason I agreed was because it was for my dear friend and colleague.  Why did I have to like him so much?  Why did I want to help him?  Then a lightbulb went on.  I'll use one of the other readings--okay it was a dim lightbulb--who doesn't preach on the Gospel this Sunday?  The lightbulb brightened; I can use my sermon from last year--

same text (John 20:19-31) different church. And if I remembered correctly, it was fairly well received.  Problem solved--now to head out for a run.

I began my run not yet turning on the book I was listening to and heard a voice in my head--the more reasonable voice in my head--"You cannot preach the same sermon.  Different community, different context, different time.  If you preach that same sermon you are in essence (see it was a different voice, who in the world says, 'in essence' to themselves?) saying that nothing has changed since last year.  You have not changed; the world has not changed; there has been no transformation.  If you preach that sermon you are saying that one Easter--one Holy Week--one journey into death and resurrection is all we have, and in essence (stupid words again) the powers of the world have won--will always win."

I began to cry.  I seem to be doing that a lot lately.  I began to cry because I realized that this Lent for the first time in my entire life I did journey into that deep dark place of pain and death--into doubt.  I cried because for the first time  in my life I did question the existence of God.  How in the world could I, a priest--a woman ordained in the Episcopal Church,  proclaim the Gospel when I in fact was Doubting Thomas in the flesh?

People were beginning to stare at me so I turned on my book hoping that would make me forget.  I was listening to Marcus Borg's and John Crossan's book, The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus' Final Days in Jerusalem. (Harper One; January 2007)  Whatever anyone thinks about these two men as theologians, scholars, liberals or conservatives, I highly recommend this book.  (At least I do now...)

First sentence, seriously very first sentence I heard was, "Growing up the only thing worse than being called a Doubting Thomas was being called Judas."  That did NOT help stop the tears.  But I was crossing the road so I couldn't look down and turn off the book without being hit by a car--the next sentence was something to the effect of, "Just because Thomas doubted doesn't mean he didn't have faith.  But Jesus wanted Thomas to believe and in the Gospel of John believing is about relationship. Jesus wanted to be in relationship with Thomas." And, I thought, Thomas desperately wanted to be in relationship with Jesus.

Perhaps, and possibly worth exploring, I have also been Judas; however, what mattered to me in that moment is that I felt the deep deep pain of Thomas.  I suppose he felt left out and alone.  He hadn't been there with the others--the others believed, had a relationship, and Thomas desperately wanted to believe--to still be in relationship.  I realized that was exactly what happened to me; I was feeling left out and alone--abandoned.  And it struck me hard--what Thomas needed to believe--to be in relationship, to feel relationship--was to touch the wounds of Jesus.  Last year I preached, "Jesus
meets us where we are and in the way we need to be met." I remembered; I had been met where I needed to be met--in and through my wonderful community of teachers and friends--God had not abandoned me; I experienced God through these people. Through them God's existence was again clear--okay not crystal clear but becoming more clear and definitely real and good.  Through my friends I re-believed that God was working to end my pain and was still clearly working in the world to end pain.  My friends and many others are participating with God.

I have to admit, I wasn't entirely convinced I could preach this sermon.  Words of my preaching professors floated in and out of my mind--"do not make the sermon about you.  Make certain your sermon is about proclaiming the Gospel and not a self help talk."  This was going to be a struggle.  I am still hurting; how do I hide that so that I don't make it about me?

I'm not sure....what I did realize on that run was that God was and is transforming the world.  God was and is transforming both personal lives and communities--even when we as individuals, me as an individual don't see it.   As the book says, "Jesus passion was the Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of God is about compassion."  The book continues by saying if we are to follow "the way" we are to enter into personal and political transformation--dying to egoism defined as centering in the anxious and fearful self; its concerns and desires and further compassion and love is central to the life of Jesus and justice is the social form of compassion.

God invites us to participate in the continuing transformation of the world, and I have seen that this year.  I have seen people, communities become passionate about God's passion.  I have seen people and communities come together to love and to strive for justice--people whose only common bond is belief in equality.  As Bishop White says, "God loves everyone no exceptions."  I have seen people living out this truth.

Borg and Crossan write (I'm remembering this and tried to write it down as I was listening so this is not directly quoting) that love is the soul of justice and justice is the flesh--the body of love.  Good Friday is about how powerful the forces of the world are but Easter affirms the Jesus is Lord--the power of the world is not.

I've procrastinated working on this sermon although it's been in floating in the recesses of my mind all week.  I have never been able to totally get away from it.  Yesterday I was touring the College of Charleston with William (a whole other blog--seriously I have a third child getting ready for college?) and as we were standing in front of the library we saw and heard a group of protestors--all

ages, all races, approaching, "Show me what democracy looks like?  This is what democracy looks like." they shouted over and over.  I heard, "Show me what the Kingdom of God looks like?  This is what the Kingdom looks like."  (yes, it's true I teared up).

I know I have to preach on this--from the depths of my soul, from my personal pain and from the hope I have seen in the world.  I have 10 hours in the car today to think about it--I have no idea what the sermon will be but I believe what Borg and Crossan say, "Easter mean's God's great clean up of the world has begun."