I Hunted You Down

Dear People in the Black Car,

You have no idea who I am--let me tell you. I am the Mama of the young girl you harassed on Sunday afternoon.  You may not even remember it; it very well could have been just a passing moment in your life, a moment where you got to laugh a little.  But let me tell you it was a big moment in our lives, we remember--you probably continued your afternoon going to a party, a pool or relaxing.  We didn't.

Let me remind you what happened--a young girl was out running and you drove up next to her and started clapping and laughing--and no, you were not trying to be encouraging.  She didn't look at you; if she had, you would have seen how beautiful she was despite the tears in her eyes.  Just so you know, she is equally beautiful on the inside.  Well she stopped running; she walked home with her sister, and she went to her room.

The rest of us seethed with anger; we shook with anger, and we (okay just me) cried hot angry tears. Not one of the six of us was left untouched by you because well, because We are the O'Doyles.  I decided to go out and look for you, my husband went with me.  (My 17 year old son wanted to go too--we couldn't let that happen.)  We didn't find you, but make no mistake, we tried to hunt you down.

Last night my anger returned, see, you've forgotten this incident but we haven't and last night my eldest daughter for the first time in weeks, went running by herself--our beautiful younger daughter opted out, and so my anger resurfaced with a vengeance.  But you don't win, she's going tonight. Anyway, as my anger coarsed through my veins I thought about writing this letter and what I wanted to tell you.

I would tell you how amazing this young girl is, how she has more strength, courage, and joy than most people ever experience.  I would tell you how this girl lost a pinky, was viciously attacked by a dog, and almost died having her tonsils removed.  I would tell you how this year she has suffered three concussions and has had to sit out most of the three seasons of sports she loves.  And I would tell you how she still went to every game to cheer on her teammates. I would tell you how she had to give up every form of exercise, how she had to give up trips with friends, and many other things that a 14 year old shouldn't have to give up and that she did it with humor and grace.  I would tell you that for the last 18, yes 18 days she has not missed one day of exercise with her sister as they laugh their way through getting in shape.  I would tell you that perhaps that is what you found so funny--that a young girl wasn't in "tip top shape."  I wonder if you are?

As I was washing my face I thought I would tell you you will not break this girl, this young girl, this girl whom I'm certain you have now forgotten, is a child of God, created in the image of God and she is fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14).  And then it hit me, and it hit me hard.  So are you.  I didn't like thinking about you that way...

This isn't a letter about forgiveness; I'm not there yet.  I suspect that young girl you found so "amusing" will forgive you long before her daddy or I do--that's the kind of girl she is.  But this morning as I was thinking about you and composing this letter in my head I thought to myself, "If someone did something like this to you do you have someone who would want to hunt them down?"  I hope so--that's as close as I can get to forgiveness...


Working on forgiveness,
Mama Doyle

Resurrection is Not a Hallmark Movie

Since writing Depression, Death and Resurrection, I have been

asked by a few people what resurrection looked like.  I had one friend say, "Oh, I hope you made up with those friends and it's all been a really happy ending--and y'all (okay she didn't say y'all...) are best friends today."  It didn't happen exactly like that.  That would have been wonderful of course, but if everything was just neatly tied up--if the boyfriend and I reconciled, if I finished school and lived in my hometown forever and ever, and if those friends were all in our wedding party, well, I suppose that would be more a Hallmark

movie and not resurrection.

So I'll answer the question to the best of my ability--I'll try to explain what resurrection looked like for me, in my life. First and foremost, it looked like getting out of bed on a daily basis.  Simple, but true.  Resurrection looked like a roommate who knew I was sad but didn't know how devastating and dark my world was so she just kept being my friend and acting like everything was normal.  (After my last post she apologized for not recognizing how bad it was; there was no need for the apology--her not recognizing was part of my resurrection.)

Resurrection came when I mustered the strength to go to lunch with a lifelong friend (she babysat me and then I babysat her children) where she introduced me to a woman who would become one of my best friends and Boss's godmother.  (Not to mention she introduced me to Chris....)  This woman welcomed me into her circle of friends and resurrection came as each and everyone of them welcomed me as well (The Melrose Place Dinner Club).

Resurrection came when that friend invited me over for drinks with my new group of friends.  I had just finished exams and was tired.  "Just come," she prodded.  "Well," I replied, "I'm not going to shower or get dressed up."  "That's fine." she said, "We just want you to come."  I didn't shower or get dressed up, but that night I met Chris and five months later we were engaged (shh, don't tell anyone, I like to say 6 months--it sounds more responsible.)

Resurrection came through Chris who patiently loved me as everyday I said, "We are not serious.  I am getting out of here as soon as I graduate."  After he proposed he said, "Now can we say we're serious? Oh, and will you please not move without me."

Resurrection came when I took my daddy's suggestion and went and met with The Rev. Donald Fishbourne, and I found the Episcopal Church.  Resurrection came when Chris and I were received into the Episcopal church 9 months before we were married.  Resurrection came as The Episcopal Church, the Anglican Community has become a part of our lives and has seen us through five states and two countries.

Resurrection came through my job as one of my dearest most faith filled friends walked through the door one hot July day and I hired her.  Resurrection came when she and her husband honored me by naming me their firstborn's Godmother (and they are responsible for William and Caroline--good luck with that y'all!!!)

Resurrection came when I finished graduate school with honors, found a job at the Medical College of Georgia that I loved and met mentors on whom I still rely on.

Resurrection came when Chris and I moved to Athens, started (quickly) our family and made the best of friends through the neighborhood and the Episcopal church.  And resurrection came through a group of older women at that church who mentored me, loved me and mothered me.

As to those friends--well I can't say we're best friends today; I can say I miss them; I can say I still

sometimes wonder about what happened all those years ago and how things could have been different, but I can also say that resurrection came through facebook and reconnecting that way. Facebook brought resurrection; facebook brought a place where I have been able to celebrate their lives and they mine.

Resurrection looked different than I prayed for it to look during those dark months.  But resurrection brought new life and resurrection brought hope.  That hope is so important to me right now as I watch others struggle because it is through my resurrection and through that hope that I can hold onto the belief that resurrection will happen no matter how grim it seems for them right now. I know resurrection will come.

Resurrection, not a Hallmark movie came.

Depression, Death and Resurrection

Years ago I was in a deep dark place--looking back I realize I was

in the midst of major depression--situational major depression, but major nonetheless. My boyfriend, who I truly believed I would marry, and I had just broken up; I had a misunderstanding that I didn't understand with close friends, and I lost those friendships with no closure; I was living in a town I didn't want to be in; I was in graduate school, working, and trying to figure out who I was because everything I thought I knew about myself seemed to be changing; and I was struggling with faith and where I belonged in church. (That struggle ultimately brought me to the Episcopal Church--)

Having major depression while trying to maintain both graduate school and a job is, well let's just say, it's not very easy.  I lost motivation; I lost self direction--I wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over my head every morning and simply disappear into the world of oblivion.  This was over 20 years ago and like many other things (eating disorders for example--My Struggle with an Eating Disorder) people didn't talk about depression or any mental illness, or if they did, it was negative and judgmental, and so in addition to struggling with depression, I was full of shame.

Enter my daddy--several times a week as he drove past my neighborhood towards the hospital he would knock on the door, wait until I got out of bed and answered and say "I just thought I'd stop by to have a cup of coffee."  He would sit on my couch and read the paper while I showered and got dressed.  We didn't talk about why he was really there; I suppose I even let myself believe he really was just stopping by.  We didn't talk about the fact that were he not to stop, I may very well have just stayed in bed and let my world fall apart.  We didn't talk about it; we've never talked about it, but it happened.

This morning on my run I thought about those months.  I thought about how much grace and unconditional love Daddy showed me, and I thought about how hard it must have been for him to watch me suffer. I know I would go back to those dark dark months and live them over and over rather than watch one of my children suffer as I did.  And I shuddered because I knew as much as that's something I would willingly do, I couldn't. But what I could do is hold onto the hope that I believe in--the resurrection that I know comes, and then I thought about a conversation from last night...

A close friend and colleague was over yesterday--we were talking about our sermons for this week (okay, truthfully we were planning her wedding, but we did spend a few minutes talking about our sermons--a well spent few minutes).  It's Pentecost this week--you know the Sunday everyone wears red and we have to talk about the Holy Spirit--

We talked about how hard it is to preach this Sunday and yet how important it is.  We can't harness the Holy Spirit; we can't harness God.  God alone brings resurrection--what is so hard is that as people called to preach the Gospel, as my wise, faithful friend said, "we are called to help people walk to the cross; to help people let go and to die because we know the good news; we know resurrection will come."  "Yeah," I agreed, "We know it will come but not through us; all we can do is take the walk together and sit at the foot of the cross with each other knowing it will come because we have faith; we have hope." (Hebrews 11:1 "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." NRSV)

"It's the Paschal Mystery." Rachel named.  "And I believe," I piggybacked on her, "That we are called to name all the death and resurrection we see in the world--even the little things."  We talked about a recent incident in her life (but that's her story) and how it was clearly an example of death and resurrection.  We talked about how new life after death looks different, but that we are called to help people see that the new life although different, can and will be better--more life giving--a gift from God who loves sacrificially, unconditionally--God who loves everyone no exceptions.

This morning I thought about that conversation as I thought about those months of desolation all those years ago, and it struck me that clergy are called to preach the Gospel but we are ALL called, each and every person, as the priesthood of all believers to walk together to the cross, through the cross and into resurrection. And I believe we are all called to share our stories of death and resurrection because it is in sharing our stories that another finds hope; it is in sharing our stories that another can take the walk to the cross knowing that resurrection can and will come--that it has come for others and it will come for them.  My life was different after that time (during one of those mornings Daddy suggested to me I might want to talk to one of his good friends, an Episcopal priest, The Rev. Donald Fishbourne--look where that led.) Resurrection may look different for different people, but resurrection is available for ALL, no exceptions.

We are called to love as God loves, sacrificially and unconditionally. We are God's hands and feet working in the world--hands holding a newspaper, and feet walking up to a front door and rear ends sitting on a couch and lips drinking a cup of coffee--we can be God's instruments of grace and hope and love--someone's path to resurrection.  Guess my daddy knew that...

We Had Church

This morning I came downstairs, walked into the kitchen and found the counters covered with empty

ice cream containers, empty popcorn bags, dirty dishes and crumb covered counters.  (I wasn't surprised except by the ice cream containers; it looked like that when I went to bed last night.  I had to run the dishwasher with the other dishes before these could be loaded.)  I made the coffee (first things first) and then began the process of cleaning up...

But I wasn't irritated; I wasn't angry; tears welled in my eyes but not tears of frustration or sadness but rather tears of gratitude and joy--sacred tears, holy tears.

I thought about the last afternoon and evening and said a silent prayer of thanks. All four of our children were home, our foreign exchange student was home, and the toddler was spending the night. It was good, and it was holy; it was church.

I thought about the morning and how I had shared tears with dear friends as we talked about hurts in our children; I thought about a lunch with women who give me courage and extend me grace; I thought about a difficult conference that proved to be better than I anticipated (perhaps a reason to maintain low expectations), and then I thought about the evening.

It was a "normal" evening. (What does that mean in the O'Doyle house anyway?) But it was so much more; as I washed the dishes it occurred to me, we had church.

We gathered; we came together with our individual days, our individual lives, our differences in age, our differences in culture, and we were one.  We came together as people at different places in our spiritual journeys and with some very different beliefs, and we were one.  We brought our hurts, our woundedness, our disappointments, our fears; our successes, our joys--we brought all of ourselves. And together we were one.  We loved one another simply and wholly--we laughed, we danced, we colored, we extended grace and mercy, inclusion and love, and we shared our stories and they became one.

Cultures coloring

We gathered around a table (okay not really--we held our plates as we gathered around the toddler) and it wasn't bread and wine but rather macaroni and cheese, popcorn, and Curious George fruit chews thrown in with a little milk, but it was good and it was holy, (even if it wasn't nutritious) and we were one.

I remembered the words Rachel Held Evans wrote in her new book Searching for Sunday, Loving, Leaving and Finding Church, "They remembered Jesus with food, stories, laughter, tears, debate, discussion and cleanup." (Clean-up--hmmm should we be doing that together?)  I learned from Barbara Brown Taylor (and I think RHE did too) that it was important to remember that Jesus told his disciples to "do this" not believe this, and that he gave them literal, concrete things to do in eating and being together.  I thought about how one of my children argues with me about infant baptism (he thinks I shouldn't have had him baptized--so that narrows your guessing as to which child) and that our exchange student isn't Christian but that we were together and it was chaotic and confusing, and it was good and holy,  and it was full of grace and of love, and it was church.

I wasn't there for the whole evening--I was gone talking to other women about what it means to be church--this morning, I realize, I had my answer.

Changing the Religious Landscape without Changing Hats

Last week I began thinking about this post--I was writing it in my

head--"My Crazy Multiple Personality Weekend."  I was going to write about how it was a good thing I was good at color coding because I was going to need to carry color coded cards that Chris could flash at me so I would know who I was--starting Thursday I was back and forth between corporate wife, Mama to four (make that 5--foreign exchange student is still here), priest, friend and all in a rotating schedule that was hard to remember.

I was going to write about how over the course of 4 days, I was corporate wife at Pimlico (closing bigdeals, dancing in high heels--wait that's a song, but I was closing deals right Liz?), rushed home to be prom mama (read prom paparazzi), preached and celebrated Sunday morning, quick nap, priest colleague at Celebration of New Ministry (not vesting because....) rush to lax banquet, and then collapse at home counting down the hours until I could be in my therapist office where she would reintegrate my personalities and make me just me.  Yep, I was going to write all that and then for a bonus last night happened and I got to have a flinging fit which put insane woman as part of my personality this weekend (that will probably show up in a blog later), so I was going to write all that and post it on my fun blog Growing Up Doyle.  But....

The weekend didn't go exactly as smoothly changing roles.  Instead I found myself  texting a colleague who was sitting at his mother's bedside as she slowly passed away at the same time I was taking pictures of my husband presenting a trophy; I was transferring money for the teens, answering texts about curfews while placing bets; I was communicating with the girlfriend's mother about the night before while vesting for service; and I was celebrating with my friend Bill and the rest of the clergy of the Diocese of Kentucky as I ran to the lacrosse banquet--the roles didn't change, they overlapped.  Additionally the pew forum research on America's Changing Religious Landscape was released, I listened to the Diane Rehm show, Bishop Chilton Knudsen posted in Breaking the Glass Ceiling, I went running--there was my major mistake--I went running which always leads to thinking, and then The Rev. Tim Mitchell preached a sermon on collaborative ministry, in fact the whole celebration of new ministry celebrated, raised up collaborative ministry--lay and ordained---(stay with me, by the end I think I can pull it all together)

I started thinking about comments I heard or facebook posts clergy were making about why the nominals are becoming nones--basically the people "on the fence", the ones some colleagues would say aren't totally committed anyway, now considered themselves Nones--no religious affiliation.  I was thinking that we the clergy can spin this research anyway we want.  We can say, "we'd rather they just admit they really don't believe anyway." We can deny there is a decrease in attendance (in my nuclear family less than 50% attend on a weekly basis--there I've admitted it my teens don't go to church every week and I'm a priest--one even says he doesn't know what he believes anymore and he argues with me about infant baptism--the world didn't just end when I told the truth); we can inflate the average Sunday attendance numbers, blame transition; we can do a lot of things, but what I think we need to do is take responsibility.  I think we need to listen; I think we need to think about what kept these nominals from falling off the fence onto the side that embraces faith.  I think we need to think about what our role is in the declining numbers and maybe even (read definitely) make some changes.  (Disclaimer: these are my thoughts--I welcome dialogue, but if you're going to personally attack me, please do it before 11 am--that's when I'll be in my therapist office...)

It's not a bug on my collar--it's monogrammed

One of the points the guests on the Diane Rehm show pointed out was  people today don't see the church as the place of authority anymore--they think independently--they don't need to go to the church for all the answers.  They don't want to be TOLD what to believe, how to behave, they want to think. I started thinking how true that is not only in the church but across the spectrum of our lives. Gone are the days when people just accept exactly what a doctor tells them.  Patients bring in their questions, they challenge, they do research--the doctor remains the trained expert, but there is conversation--the patient is not seen as a body to be "fixed" with no input, but rather as a body who knows his/her own body, who has a mind, who has something to contribute. The medical field has had to change or their practices decline--hmmm sounds familiar.  (So most people ask questions, I still don't, but that's because I'm a doctor's daughter and I know I'm going to sign that paper which says the doctor can talk to my Daddy and he'll do the questioning.  One day I'll take over--maybe.)

I think as clergy we have to re-think how we see ourselves--how we view our authority.  We can no longer present ourselves as the paternal, has all the answers, saver of souls, hierarchical expert. Because guess what?  We're not--it's all been a farce anyway and people know it.  We are the trained experts in homiletics, exegesis, Hebrew and Greek (along with many other subjects) and we've had experiences as we've lived out our ministry that is helpful to the conversation, but those who enter our churches (and by the way why do they have to come to us--I think that's a new post to be written), they bring with themselves life experience, expertise in their fields--even and perhaps those most open are our children and youth. If we want people to be open, honest, and vulnerable in our faith communities, don't we have to be too? I believe people want a place where they can bring their questions, their fears, their doubts and we can journey together--and they don't want labels and all or nothing dogma and doctrine.

More and more people are identifying in the political world as independent instead of democrat or republican.  As I was running I was thinking that seems to be indicative of people not wanting a boxed political ideology.  People want to think about individuals issues and not have to "buy into" the whole party line because it's complicated.  I think we have to think about that--if we as the clergy say to belong to this church you have to believe and accept and then give them a list of musts, well, seriously it's no wonder they're leaving.  Let's talk about what we say in the creeds, in the Baptismal covenant, in the Gospels.  Let's hear how people are experiencing these truths in their lives, and perhaps most importantly, let's stop pretending we have all the answers.

Which brings me to Bishop Knudsen (it's coming together, just be a little more patient). she wrote, "the church is losing credibility as a place to bring questions" and that "all of us need to venture into deeper levels of vulnerability and truthfulness."  She wrote in her post on Breaking the Episcopal Glass Ceiling that she feels she is beginning a new ministry that she has been preparing for her entire life.   She has been open about her alcoholism and recovery and both of those have been part of her preparation for this new ministry.  As a person who has been criticized for being too transparent, has been told she shouldn't let people know about parenting mistakes, about any mistakes, who shouldn't be so out there, I give special thanks for Bishop Knudsen and her openness, and I vow to try to have her strength, courage and vulnerability.  Bishop Knudsen brings all of herself into her ministry, I'd like to have the strength, the bravery to do the same--

That's how this post all comes together.  I can't put hats on and off (although I had a gorgeous hat

thanks to Penny--even looked good with jeans and a sweatshirt).  I can't change roles as though they don't overlap, shedding one for the other, because they do.  All of these roles come together as I step into the pulpit and behind the altar on Sunday mornings.  I am a corporate wife who worries I might say something wrong and ruin my husband's career (clearly a dramatic corporate wife) and who also enjoys the people with whom he works.  They are my good friends.  I am also the mother of teens who worries about grades. drinking, and drinking and driving every night but particularly on prom night, because I know it can and does happen, and I am a mother who is grateful she has an open relationship with other parents (even though it may creep Boss out that I text the girlfriend's mother--I really like her--they may break up one day but I've found a friend).  I am a priest that wants to celebrate the new ministry of a colleague, is grateful for shared ministry, who pastors colleagues even long distance and through texts, and who wants to be at every game, banquet, play, and everything else for her children. I am a neurotic person (again that post will come later) who sees a therapist, who has a loving understanding husband, who is the daughter of an alcoholic, and is a person recovering from an eating disorder. All of these things inform my ministry; all of these things are part of my ministry; all of these things are preparation for current and future ministry. All of these things are me..

I believe we can change the religious landscape of America but we have to change first--we have to live into our vulnerability, our fears--we have to stop hiding who we are for fear of losing our authority, and we have to share our questions, doubts, pain and celebration in ministry equally and collaboratively among the priesthood of all believers.  Instead of worrying about which side of the fence the nominals will fall, perhaps we should just tear down the fence.

Waiting for Mother's Day

I woke up this morning and headed downstairs to make coffee.  I could hear the TV still on from the night before which didn't make me happy, but making coffee was my priority, so I turned on the kitchen light and there was the refrigerator WIDE open! I could feel myself winding up--headed into the den and there's Boss asleep on the coach with his dinner dishes still around him.  I may have lost it....

After I got finished fussing at Boss and he retreated to the living room and a quieter couch (because the stupid TV was STILL ON), I went downstairs to start my 10th load of laundry in less than 24 hours.  (Do not remind me that I love doing laundry--I am on a rant and would like to stay on it thank you very much.)

I walked around the corner  to the drying rack to hang SK's "nice shirts" as she directed me to do yesterday as though I haven't been doing laundry for over 20 years--(again do not remind me I like doing laundry) where I see William silently asleep with the clean clothes I asked him to put away STILL ON the floor.  But it was the silently that got me--the dehumidifier was clearly not running--the dehumidifier I had asked him to empty three times yesterday.  I was seething.

I woke him up--maybe with not the nicest tone of voice--"Get up and empty the dehumidifier that I asked you to empty three times yesterday."  Groggily William replied, "I thought I did."  Okay, so now my voice became fairly close to shrill level, "How in the world can you THINK you did?  You either did or you didn't.  Period.  Now get up!"

I stormed back upstairs and started folding laundry determined to ignore everyone--it didn't work, but it wasn't like I was suddenly pleasant either--fill in the blanks anyway you want as to how the rest of the morning went...they finally left and the tears started flowing.  I felt like a totally inadequate mother and overall human being.

Chris came down and I started in about how no one listens to me; they have no respect for anything I say and I'm a complete failure as a mother.  Right as he was going to open his mouth I kept going, "I'm just going to apply for a job out of state somewhere; as long as you find someone to do the laundry y'all will be fine."  Picture my not-a-morning person husband standing with his first cup of coffee in his hand trying to figure out the best way to deal with my tirade--he took too long to decide (yes I think 5 seconds is too long) so I continued.  "You're not even saying anything. You don't care they don't listen."

He'd now had a sip of coffee so he was a little faster on the draw, "I most certainly do care and we will talk to them tonight.  But I think part of the problem is we have to have natural consequences and follow through."  HOW DARE HE BE RATIONAL!?!?!  (and by that I mean perhaps telling rational Boss he was probably going to be grounded and not allowed to take his girlfriend to her senior prom because he left his coffee cup out in my mind was rational).  I was having no rationality--"And now I have to run to school to pick up my car because they took it and my stomach is killing me."  Chris quietly and calmly, "I can take you."  I stormed out of the house my mind completely out of control.

As I started running I thought of what a fake I am--within the first 30 seconds of my run I decided to delete my blog and tell them I didn't want them to come to church with me on Sunday.  I told myself I write this blog and it looks like my children are so great--but they don't listen to me--I'm a fraud, no one should read it--"but," my gentle very small sane part of the brain said, "you don't lie in the blog so it's not fake."  Well they shouldn't come to church with me as though they like me--I continued to argue. I ran faster; even a part of me was trying to be sensible; I just wanted to get away.

My thoughts continued--I can't believe it's Mother's Day weekend and this is how it's starting.  I started thinking about all the other mothers in my life who have loved me and who I should call right this very minute to hear them tell me I'm not a complete failure, but that would have robbed me of the opportunity to wallow...so instead I raged ran on. (But y'all know who you are!) This will probably be the last Mother's Day they will all be here; why would they want to be with me? And they won't ever want to come home when they're adults--I bet they won't even send me a card or if they do it will be out of loyalty.  I bet they will find or probably already have found other women who they think of more as mothers.   I decided I hated Mother's Day--

How they really are

How they are with threats

Maybe what bothers me is that the people all over the world will send and receive sappy cards that extol the virtues of mother's elevating them to almost deity status.  Maybe some people really mean the cards they send--maybe some people really believe they are all those things.  But I suspect there are many of us who search for the right card and can never find it because we're not sure we believe all those things.  And there are many of us who receive cards that speak about how selfless we are and we cringe (for example, maybe running to school to get the car with a stomach ache was more about being a martyr--and getting more steps than Todd Kunze, than it was about being selfless and serving the children), or cards that say we are the best mother ever and all we can do is think about how many ways we have been failed or how many ways we have failed or worse how many ways we still have to fail.

I didn't want it to be Mother's Day weekend and I sure didn't want to think anymore so I turned on my

audible book to drown out my voice.  MISTAKE!!!  Anne Lamott was reading, "You forgive your mother, for having had such terrible self-esteem, dependent on being of value to all men, everywhere, in every way. You forgive her for not having risen up, for not teaching you how to be an autonomous, beautiful woman..."(p. 106)  "AMEN!" I wanted to shout fully recognizing that while I actually haven't gotten to the total forgiveness point I know I want to and at least someone else understands (even if she wasn't specifically talking about Mother's Day), but then I kept listening (I never stop when I'm ahead....) "You mostly forgive life for being so unfair, for having stolen away from and saddled us with so much, for being so excruciating to most of the world. You even semi-sort-of mostly forgive yourself, for being so ridiculous, such a con, a nervous case, a loser."  So I'm working on that too....  (She's older than me she should be ahead!!!)

I went back to thinking about this morning and about Mother's Day--and it dawned on me.  I preach, I write about, I try to live that the Kingdom of God is both here and yet to come.  I believe that we see glimpses of that kingdom through the world around us--through fallible, unforgiven, unforgiving people. I believe we see glimpses of how things are supposed to be, how God wants them to be, and we wait with joyful anticipation for the day when it will be that way always.  And when those glimpses disappear we are left with memories, with longing, with grace and with yes with hope. But we are left waiting... Maybe that's what Mother's Day is about--it's a glimpse into the world we want--a world where our relationships are healthy, life giving and whole.  Maybe instead of seeing it as a trumped up holiday for florists and card shops to make a ton of money we could see it as part of the waiting, we could see it as a chance to glimpse another world or as an example of remembering the both here and yet to come.


Lamott, Anne. Small Victories. New York:  Riverhead Books, 2014.

Nine is Enough

Last night on our way to dinner having just reunited the entire

O'Doyle family, Caroline, SK and I were sitting in the back seat.  Caroline leans over me (yes they put their Mama in the middle...) and says, "SK, I can never really be a surfer dude."  Now anyone who knows Caroline knows most comments are not as innocent or as obvious as they seem.  So if you're thinking, "Of course you can't because a) you're a girl and b) you live in the midwest nowhere near the ocean." (which is a shame itself...), then you don't know Caroline.  I do, so I held my breath as I asked, "Why not?" She puts both hands up starts shaking them and says, "Because making the hang loose sign looks weird with only 9 fingers."

Without missing a beat she says, "Oh that reminds me of biology."  (Seriously I can't keep up with her conversations or how they connect either--and she's not even our ADHD child.)  "I love biology," she continued, "Or rather I love when we finish biology early and play the name the top 10 things game."  We didn't even have time to be worried about why she loves that game, although it did fleetingly cross my mind that it might not be G rated--earlier she told us about looking up words from rap songs on urban dictionary...she just kept right on and said, "Then me and Mr. Karrer look at each other sand say, 'or the top 9 so Caroline can play.'"

The rest of us burst out laughing as we typically do when Caroline is talking, but then my heart leapt. I was bursting with happiness and love for Mr. Karrer.  I put a post on facebook about it (Hello, my name is Katherine and I'm a chronic facebook overposter...) Some people--actually lots of people totally understood the post--but I realize what has become so normal, so obvious to our family, such a non event, for others may be cryptic (or more cryptic than I usually am).  It's true; Caroline has nine fingers--Caroline lost her left pinky at 25 months. (The whole story is here: Caroline Lost Her Pinky).  And yes Aunt Christy she should write a children's book called Nine is Enough.

Over the years our family has worked really hard to normalize what happened--to not make a big deal about what happened, but as any mama knows there have been times of heart wrenching pain as I've worried that people will be unkind and sometimes people have been unkind (read cruel)--I have never wanted to hurt a child until the day in England when Caroline came home from school and said, "The girls don't want to sit with me because I only have 9 fingers. ________ said it's grouse to hold my hand." It hasn't always been children--there was a time a teacher made her hold her hands up in class to show everyone.  Can I just say, this tries to stay out of things Mama was in the principal's office within minutes after hearing that! (It's not just a Mama's pain and worry--Chris has his own, but that's his story which I try to respect.)

Caroline, on the other hand, has embraced her hands just as she's embraced life--fully and with pure joy.  (She asks for a 10% discount when she gets a manicure...)  What made my heart leap last night was knowing there were others who did too--knowing there was someone who didn't shush conversation about it, didn't try to change the subject or allow awkward silence, but instead not only let Caroline embrace her hands but embraced them too.  

There are many reasons I love the Collegiate community, the students, faculty, staff and other parents, many reasons I am grateful we are able to be a part of this community.  There are many more reasons to love Mr. Karrer who has become a favorite in our home, but last night, hearing how he engages with Caroline about her hands--well let's just say, he's now part of my heart family forever (and that may really scare him!!)!

May everyone accept and live  life with the joy of Caroline and the grace and compassion of Peter Karrer. I promise the world would not only be a funnier place but a better place. 

An Ordinary Day Full of Lucky Grace

Monday I had to drop my car at Collegiate for Boss to have after

school.  (Okay I didn't have to, but his truck was in the shop and he asked nicely; plus I didn't want to have to go pick them up--so OVER carpool lines.  Emmanuel folks, remember when I was the parking lot natzi? I have happily retired from that role.) Anyway, it was a beautiful day and I didn't mind walking home (11976 steps in case you're wondering).  As I was walking and listening to Anne Lamott's book Small Victories (I highly recommend it), I thought about how lucky I was to be able to take this time and just walk home enjoying the beautiful spring day no matter how long it took; I had the time (seems I have nothing but time)--and I thought about how lucky I was to get so many steps and perhaps take the fitbit lead...

"Lucky" that wasn't a word I have previously used during this time of what I refer to as "my time of transition."  If I'm honest, I was totally shocked that word came into my mind.  This time of transition is getting longer and my anxiety is mounting (just ask my therapist).  But that was how I felt and that was the word that kept invading my mind, so I decided to embrace it and make it my word for the week.  Tuesday it sort of worked, Wednesday it sort of worked--those two days I experienced moments of "lucky grace" as I decided to call it.  And then Thursday came--Thursday, lucky grace flooded my world.

The morning started early--PA meeting where I was "elected" president for the next two years.  (No one else wanted it and I blame Hope who expertly played my soon to be empty nest Mama emotional heart.  Thank you Hope; I owe you!)  Regardless of how it happened or whether there was competition, I was so happy and felt extremely lucky--lucky that I am able to serve Collegiate for the next two years (three if you count the year of past president service) and that I get to be around with my three as they finish high school.  (And even luckier because they like when I'm around, they like when I show up at school--shhh, don't tell anyone, it will ruin their images) I hung out at Collegiate for the morning talking to other parents and staff (I love Mrs. Page and Mrs. Bilderback--), watched the 54th annual Kindergarten Derby and then headed to lunch.

Lunch with five fantastic, wonderful, inspiring women who meet every month and have graciously begun including me.  Maybe to some it is just lunch but for me it was lucky grace lunch.  They love me; they love my family, and they expect nothing, demand nothing, just let me be me.  (And to top it off we got moved up on the Mother's Day brunch list--)  The only down side was I had to leave early to meet the air conditioner repair man...

As I drove home I realized how very tired I was (I'm living these days as lucky grace but apparently my subconscious is still a bit anxious--I wake up every 30 minutes throughout the night!)  I'm still considering it lucky grace--I can lie down on the couch while the man works on the system.  (I think I may have freaked him out when I said, "I'm going to lie down on the couch if I fall asleep just wake me up when you're finished.")

Off to Miralea to officiate their evening service.  I love being there.  They are so welcoming--I love hearing stories of the past, and I love they share their lives so openly with me.  I left with a huge smile on my face.  Off to table talk with inspiring women and then finished the day watching my boy beat KCD in his final lacrosse game.

It really was an ordinary day--but all day I felt so lucky to be living this ordinary day, to be a part of so many different things and to have the freedom to be available.  It was an ordinary day--nothing major, no philosophical or moral insights (Jim Moyer I'll be looking for some), a boring day to read about, but a day of complete happiness, a day I could embrace as a gift--an ordinary day full of lucky grace.