Living Sanctuaries

"It must be really hard being in Owensboro every week?"  "How do you manage the commute?" "How much longer will you have to do this?"  "You must really miss your family." These are the questions (and statements) I often get asked now that I'm temporarily serving Trinity Episcopal, and I'm never quite sure how to answer, and I always feel a little guilty... 

So here it is--yes I definitely miss my family more than you can possibly know.  I miss worshiping with them; I miss their commentary on my sermons (good and bad); I miss serving them at the altar. But I am so grateful for this summer and how the community of Trinity Episcopal Church welcomed them in and made them a part of the community; I love that every Sunday many many people ask how they each are--by name; and I love technology that lets me record my sermons and send them to the family so I still get commentary.  And I know they will be back here when they can because they too have grown to love and feel a part of this wonderful community.  I love this community; I am a better person because I am part of this community. So yes, I miss my family but I am still surrounded by love.

Manage the commute, well that's hard--not the drive down on Sunday mornings--I'm an early bird, but Tuesday afternoons I'd rather be taking a nap, writing, ironing or polishing silver.  But I have podcasts to listen to and it gives me quiet time to think about my sermon for the upcoming week.  If I'm really bored (read need to be able to stay awake) I call a friend and despite the few dead zones have a chance to reconnect.  It's the gift of time.

How much longer--right now the answer is through Nov. 1.  That's a hard question to answer because if it's longer than that it's because Father Pat needs more recovery time.  I know how much he wants to be back full on, and I know I will have to say good bye (or see you later) to this community. In the meantime, I am soaking up his leadership and giving thanks for this gift of ministry I am sharing with the people of Trinity.

And now the hardest to answer--it must be really hard.  In some ways (read the above answers) but in more ways--well let me explain...

When I was asked that question this past week, the first thought I had was, "actually it's a living sanctuary."  I didn't know where that thought came from, so like the good english major I am, I googled the definition of sanctuary.  Many sites had the definition, "A place of refuge or safety", and yes that was part of it, but yourdictionary.com said this, "The definition of a sanctuary is a place of refuge or rest, a place where you can feel at peace or the holiest part of a temple or church."  Yep, I thought that's it.

Shortly after I arrived in Owensboro in June, I received a text from a parishioner offering me her parents home as a place to stay.  They don't attend Trinity she told me but they know lots of people who do. She said they'd be out of town for a couple of weeks but then they still wanted me to stay.  I hesitated--really?  People I didn't even know were not only offering me a place to stay but were allowing me to use their home having never meet me?  And their daughter who also didn't know me was extending the invitation, meeting me there, showing me around, changing sheets...I was overwhelmed and nervous.  I accepted with the thought in the back of my mind, "Well I can stay there until they're back, and then we'll see."

They're back; I'm still there.  These wonderful people have not only opened their home to me; they have opened their lives.  I figured (that's Georgia speak not UVA english major speak) I would use their home as a place to sleep; I budgeted in eating meals out and hoped I'd be quiet enough for them. They'd have none of it.  We eat together.  In the evenings when I ask how I can help Carolyn says, "You can just sit right there and talk to me while I cook." and she means it.  After dinner they shoo me off to bed while they clean up.  I spend these two nights around their table often with others and experience table fellowship--it is fun; it is lively; it is sacramental; it is holy; it is sanctuary.

Every Monday morning they send me off to work with a "have a good day; see you tonight."

I arrive at work Starbucks in hand for the parish administrator and myself.  I had no idea how we'd get along.  I know her work is harder because I'm only in the office two days a week, and I know how much she loves Father Pat.  I was afraid I'd feel like an interloper.  How wrong I was.

Our offices are connected by a door which is usually left wide open.  I guess in the beginning we forgot we could hear one another's calls--I'm grateful.  I'll never forget the morning Sheri walked into my office and said, "I couldn't help but overhear.  Do you want to talk about it?"  Now every Monday morning we catch up on one another's lives.  We share our fears and disappointments, our hopes and dreams.  Sheri ministers to me and I hope I to her.  It is sacred; it is holy; it is sanctuary.

So yes it's hard, but not as hard as you might think.  It is a time of holiness, a time of peace, a time of sanctuary.  I am cared for; I am listened to; I am refreshed; I am loved.  And so I can go home and offer the same to my family (at least I can try).

It is the place; it is the people.  They know what it means to be sanctuaries; I suspect they would just say, "we're just being who we are" but I say, "because of who you are I am experiencing sanctuary. Because of who you are, I am blessed."

I can't help but think about one of my favorite songs--I have always loved it, but I haven't always understood it--now I do. I pray I too am being prepared to be a sanctuary...
Lord, prepare me to be a Sanctuary

A Jumbled Jewelry Box

Just over 5 years ago we moved into our house.  It was not the best

timing--I was in the middle of CPE at a trauma 1 hospital (translation chaplain resident for a hospital that has lots of trauma--50+ hour work weeks, non-stop ER work and a cancer center), but interest rates were way down and we had been (remember there are 6 of us) living for 22 months in 900 square feet of cinderblock walls.  It was time even if it wasn't a good time.

Because it wasn't good time, well let's just say the packing wasn't exactly my usual organized self. There are still boxes in the garage I have yet to
open--the two car garage that can fit no cars...Chris and I may attack that this afternoon...But the one thing that has haunted me for 5+ years has been my jewelry box.

I have a lovely jewelry box Chris gave me for my birthday right after we were married, and I have lovely jewelry to go into the box, but 5 years ago I put it on the floor of my car where it became one big jumbled mess--and that is how it has remained.  Over the years there have been times when I have said to myself, this is the time, but then I start trying to untangle and organize, and well I just give up.  It's too hard; it takes too long, and so I would close the box (at least as far as it would close) and move onto something else. I had other jewelry to wear; I've been given new jewelry over these past 5 years, and besides it seems that every time the girls see me near the jewelry box they start telling me what they want when I die (I think I need a personal food tester) so I tell myself it's fine, let it go...

Thursday was different.  Perhaps it's because the downstairs of our house is a demolition site, perhaps

Really this IS organized

it's because I needed to control something in my life that seems so out of control, but without thinking, I suddenly moved that jewelry box to my bed and started on the mess.  I took everything out; I wiped it out; I sorted earrings and even got rid of some that had no match.  (Seriously have I really believed I was going to find the match to an earring I lost 4 moves ago?  People don't judge--letting go is hard!!)

Bracelets--won't tangle

As I was working I began to think about how this jumbled jewelry box was a lot like life and relationships.  Life and relationships can become  tangled messes and sometimes it's just easier to ignore, to move onto something else.  As I was untangling some of the jewelry I found pieces I had forgotten about--pieces that meant a great deal to me even some quite valuable pieces.  And I thought about how sometimes in life when things seem tangled and overwhelming it's easier to just stay closed off; it's easier to let relationships that are entangled stop being a part of us--oh they're in the back ground and every once in awhile we see them and think, "I should do something about that" but then we just turn our heads, our minds, and our hearts away and stay in relationships that are easy and convenient.

But I wonder when we do that what we're missing?  It's true that some pieces of jewelry were so badly bent and broken there was no reason to even take them to be repaired--it wasn't worth the money.  And sometimes relationships are that way.  But I did hold those pieces, remember when I got them, times I wore them, and I could smile before I let them go.  I remembered the wholeness of them and not the brokenness.  Are there relationships that need to be let go?  Absolutely, but can we let go remembering the good, the wholeness, the value that was?

There were other pieces--those valuable both in dollars and sentiment that I am so glad I now have

Sabika 

untangled, and I'm again able to wear.  It took work; it took reading glasses to see; it took lots of time, but it was worth it.  No longer were those pieces just a part of the big tangled mess; they were now individual--so I wonder, are there relationships that have been tangled up with a whole lot of other stuff and so seem to have lost their individual value?  I thought particularly about family relationships, family dynamics and how all the people can become so entangled so enmeshed that we forget that we can have individual relationships--relationships can be both a part of the whole--all the jewelry in the box--and individual--each piece standing alone.

I sorted and sorted and sorted.  I thought about the really valuable pieces, how long I've had them, who gave them to me,  and I have to admit I even thought about how I would divide them up.  I thought about relationships in my life that are so valuable to me, relationships that are and will be lifelong, and relationships that I know will continue with my children long after I'm gone.

Thank you Jennie for the idea

I looked at my fun jewelry some of which is waaaaaay out of date (I've put that away to let my granddaughters play with one day--my granddaughters who only exist in my mind but who will think I'm so cool one day in the very far future when I pull that box out), and I thought about how sometimes we have relationships that are really fun and in the moment, but they were there for a season, and then we need to let go, and that's okay.

I looked through and sorted my costume jewelry much of which I kept, and I thought about how we
have relationships that are not as "valuable" not as deep as others but they still have a part of our lives--they are still valuable in their own way, and they're worth keeping.

It felt good when I was finished.  It took a long time, a good bit of patience, but it was worth it. Relationships are too.

Holy Chaos and the Kingdom of God

A couple of weeks ago during the singing of the Psalm, a young boy looked at me and waved.  I waved back.  Suddenly I was overcome with an urge to engage more with that young man, so during the sequence hymn (Episcospeak for hymn before the reading of the Gospel), I marched (and in 4 inch heels march is the only thing you can do--tiptoeing is nor permitted), down the side aisle.  My 18 year old's eyes grew (he was sitting behind him); he may have been my son for 18 years, but I think he's still not quite sure what I'm usually up to.

I leaned across the young man's mama and daddy and whispered (again this is me--whispering is not part of my usual repertoire), "Do you want to help me?"  He grabbed my hand and we marched back to the altar where we processed with the Gospel book.  I read the Gospel as this young man held the Gospel book for me.  (It was a bit of an adventure in aerobics--the book is very heavy and it was a long Gospel....) I finished, "The Gospel of the Lord"; all responded, "Thanks be to God" and then that young man and I high-fived.

The next week I again found a young child to hold the Gospel for me; this time it was a very little girl.  She was so eager--note to self, eager does not mean fully capable of holding a heavy Gospel book for a long Gospel.  Not a problem--motion to the acolyte who came and stood behind my 3 year old friend assisting with the book.  "This I thought is what church is--multiple ages, helping one another.  All together worshipping together.  And an idea began forming...

Monday I headed to Chicago to present my final project for the year long program I have been a part of--Certificate for Leadership in Lifelong Christian Formation.  (Find out more here--Certificate for Leadership in Lifelong Christian Formation )  As we gathered we were sharing moments when formation occurred in our parishes--intentionally or unintentionally.  I shared this story, and I said, "I have no idea why I did it.  It just happened."

Later that evening several of us were casually talking.  One of the other participants and I have been friends since our time together at St. Paul's Mt. Lebanon.  We were telling stories about the years when our children were little there.  We were all laughing as Lisa and I told stories about Caroline tap dancing into the service following the peace--yes even then she was something else--in fact I think the mothers of the teenagers of that parish might be responsible for a large part...I told a story of how Caroline used to stand in the middle of the church trying to decide which family to sit with for the Eucharist.  (It was never her own family...)  One Sunday she marched to the altar during the principal service and Father Bob (or Father God as she called him) didn't flinch.  Lisa said, "That's why you did what you did that Sunday. You were beginning to be formed as a priest long before you were even in seminary."  And my idea continued to form...

This past Sunday at Trinity we had blessings of the backpacks for back to school.  For the Gospel I brought a young girl up who is quite shy.  As we walked to the altar her hand in mine, I could feel it trembling and I really would not have been surprised if tears had begun spilling down her face.  She was terrified--amen sister sometimes I am too. But when she turned around and held the Gospel--when she was only looking at me and not the 155 people in the congregation, the smile on her face went from ear to ear.  After the Gospel she scampered back to get her backpack.

We prayed for students and teachers.  I was thrilled to see all ages coming forward.  And then, then I put my idea into practice (I did ask the staff at staff meeting what they thought and all gave the thumbs up...).  As the children left to go to Children's chapel and before the sermon I said, "Today we will be doing something a little bit differently.  Today seems like a

good day to invite the children to gather around the altar during the Eucharistic prayer."  I warned the parents that I knew there would
be movement, maybe some giggles but they were to stay put--if there's one thing having four children in four years has taught me it's how to handle chaos.

The peace came; I invited the children; no one came.  I began setting the table and was thinking to myself, "Well that was a flop." but then in my formation minded self instead of turning red in embarrassment I asked myself, "What can I learn from this? Perhaps we need to do this more slowly. Perhaps people aren't ready for this."  I looked up as two children brought the offering forward with the ushers (Organic training from the adult ushers--y'all are amazing.  Thank you for doing that!) I told the acolyte to invite those children to stay.  They didn't.

I looked out at the congregation and suddenly it was clear--MOST OF THE CHILDREN WERE
ALL IN CHILDREN'S CHAPEL!!!  What to do? What to do?  As everyone began to stand up for the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer I said, "Before we start, just so you know, when the children return I will still invite them forward.  There will be a pause--God can handle pauses.  Think about life!"

The children did return and miraculously it was at a time when a pause was barely noticeable.  The children came running down the aisle and gathered all around.  One small boy was jumping up and down trying to see (it's a very high altar--my heels help me); his sister was trying to help him but it wasn't working.  I reached over, lifted him into my left arm and continued.  (Again thank you Father Rob Banse).

I really had no plan--this was semi planned but more organic in nature.  It came time to distribute

communion to those serving on the altar and I decided to serve the children first.  As I leaned down and served them looking into their bright shiny eyes, tears filled mine.  They were eager; they knew what to do; they knew this was a holy time.  I finished with the bread and began with the chalice. One young boy said, "I forgot we got to do this part.  I'm not allowed to drink from that.  Can I have another one to dip?  I want that too."  My heart melted as I reached onto the altar and gave him another wafer.  He got it...

I'm calling this blog Holy Chaos, but I'll tell you I created the chaos not the children.  They were quiet and still (for the most part), but I hadn't planned on distributing to them all (I hadn't planned for there to be SOOO many--where did they all come from?).  Nonetheless, it was good and it was holy. Before the post communion prayer I made an announcement.  "For anyone new here today, I have to tell you it's not always this chaotic around the altar.  We don't always have the children up here, but...but I'm going to tell you--I believe what we all just witnessed was the Kingdom of God."

As I've been reflecting on this past Sunday, I've been thinking about all my formation that went into what I keep saying, "I don't know why I did it or why I did it the way I did; it just happened." I was being formed--unintentionally in many ways. Rob Banse all those years ago modeled what it meant to have children included in worship; Barbara Brown Taylor's words that I have read over and over--(not quoted exactly) "on the night before Jesus died he didn't tell the disciples what to believe, what to think about--no he told them what to do."  These messages have become part of my very being...

Formation happens--formation happens in all we do--intentionally and unintentionally, formally and informally.  Sometimes we get to see how it happens and sometimes it takes years, but it happens.  It sometimes takes risks; it sometimes takes adjustments, but it happens.  And we are all called to form and to be formed--we are ALL called.

You may be wondering what the people of Trinity thought--I'll leave it to say we're going to work out the kinks, but on the first Sunday of every month, you'll see the children gathered at the altar--their altar, our altar--the altar of the Kingdom of God.

"It's All About Me" and All or None Thinking

Saturday morning we got up and loaded the uhaul--SK was heading back to school.  I know it's normal and right and amazing that she was so ready to go back.  I know this is part of letting go, part of the cycle of life, part of growing up--I know all that but...

I WASN'T GOING WITH HER!!!!

Yep--it's all about me.  She was leaving and I couldn't go.  I couldn't help her move in, organize her cabinets, make her bed---sometimes this Sunday job....  (I do love it!)  But Saturday, Saturday I was not happy; Saturday as William, Chris and SK pulled away I sobbed--not just because she was leaving, but because I wasn't going with her.  Saturday after she left I sobbed and I guess you could say I was making it all about me.

I hate that phrase--it triggers me deep in my being. This summer on a couple of occasions it was used towards me and it hurt--it uncovered a beast I was trying to keep at bay.  (Hold that thought; I'll come back to it--right now I'm going to keep making it about me.)

I kept thinking (read obsessing) about how much I wanted to be there.  I felt like the worst mama in the world--sending my baby off and not going.  Every once in awhile a thought would go through my mind about how I took myself to college alone every year except the first. I thought about how much fun my sister and I had hauling a trailer through the mountains by ourselves--how freeing it felt--kind of like Thelma and Louise (minus the crime of course).  But I pushed those thoughts down.  I didn't want to think like that--I wanted to wallow like a pig on a hot summer day.

On Sunday I was talking to some of my parishioners about it.  We laughed about times they had taken their children to college.  Then I went on and on about how my parents didn't go and that's why I wanted to go.  And then my parishioner, my friend, and my very wise 7th grade teacher said, "Mine didn't either.  It was different back then."  (Let's make this clear HIS back then is farther back than mine!)

Yesterday morning as I was running I started thinking about two things.  First he was right--it was different back then.  Yes there were some parents that came and helped move their students in, but most didn't stay and the ones that did we called controlling, enmeshed and just weird.  It is different now--now it seems parents that don't go are considered uninterested and out of touch.  (Perhaps also a bit enmeshed...) I suspect there's a balance between the two, but that's not what really got me running faster.  (In case you wondered, you can't out run your thoughts)

"You're making it all about you."  I can barely even type it.  I feel like I've spent my entire adult life trying to NOT make thing about me.  Trying to escape from the narcissistic childhood of my life. I started thinking I had a ton more work to do with my therapist--I didn't even recognize I was making it about me and as I ran faster and faster trying to escape it suddenly hit me like a car turning a corner without looking.

I started thinking about making things all about me or other people making things all about them. And I started thinking that sometimes maybe, just maybe it's okay to make something about you. Sometimes exploring why you're responding in some way (why I was in a puddle in the newly painted laundry room) is okay.  Sometimes maybe it's even okay to wallow for a little bit. Perhaps the danger in making things all about you is not recognizing it and worse not being able to move on from it.  But perhaps if you're making something all about you it is in fact to move on--it is to recognize your feelings, to own your part and then to let go.  It is a delicate dance.

SK is perfectly capable of moving in by herself.  She can make her own bed; hang her own pictures; make her own coffee (she just texted me she's drinking the first cup right now).  She can do all that alone as a capable adult.  I on the other hand needed to feel needed; I needed--I own that.

As I was cooling down from my run I went back on the dance floor gingerly stepping through my thoughts.  What's the difference?  How do you know when you're making something all about you as a coping mechanism and how do you know when you're diagnosable?  I suppose part of it is recognition, probably a large part of it.  Whew I thought, I am able to do that--not as bad off as I thought, but man why didn't I just stop thinking then?

Why I wondered was I triggered so deeply?  (Okay I know that, but why was I still obsessing once I recognized it.) And it hit me--all or none thinking.  I remembered another lesson my daughter taught me this summer.  "Why," she asked me one night, "Do you have to say 'always'?" Back to MCG I went in my mind to the depression management group I used to run--I saw the list on the board--cognitive distortions.  And "all or none thinking" was flashing like a neon sign in Vegas.

As I walked I thought more and more.  If there are times it's okay to make something about me, is there ever a time all or none thinking is okay?  Yes I thought there is one time.  "God loves everyone no exceptions--all people, all the time."  That's one statement I can hold in my heart--one statement that can direct my life.

The rest, well, I guess I'm going back to my therapist....

Through the Wilderness

May the peace of Christ go with you wherever He may send you
May He guide you through the wilderness
Protect you through the storm.
May He bring you home rejoicing
At the wonders He has shown you.
May He bring you home rejoicing 
Once again into our doors. (A Celtic Evening Blessing)

I collect blessings.  I know something else weird to know about me, but maybe not so weird when you consider I'm a priest.  Anyway, I hear blessings, write them down and tape them into the back of my Book of Common Prayer.  Then every week I choose which one I want to use.  I try to choose ones that may have a meaning for that day or for a group of people, or I alternate so both I and the congregation hear something different every week--so it doesn't become rote all the time (read so we don't get bored).

Last Sunday this was the blessing I used--I actually didn't mean to choose it for any particular reason, but when I was into the second line--it hit me.  I got through it, but I suspect more than one person heard me choke up.

I've spent a lot of time this week thinking about this blessing and wilderness in general.  There are so many stories in the bible about the wilderness.  One morning on my walk I decided to head back and make a list of all the stories I could find.  I got sidetracked editing the bulletin and discovered I didn't have to look far--this very week our Old Testament reading is 1 Kings 19:4-8:  (Isn't it amazing how God works?)

Elijah went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. The angel of the LORD came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. 

I've been thinking about how so often in Scripture it is in the wilderness where people are confronted with their greatest fears and have to draw on their inner strength and rely on God to get through.  And how through the wilderness God provides again and again.  (Cakes baked by your head; manna from heaven....)

As I think about this blessing I think about the wildernesses some of us live in everyday.  The wilderness of loneliness, the wilderness of depression, the wilderness of cancer and other diagnosis, the wilderness of broken relationships, the wilderness of--well just the wilderness of life.  And for others, they actually are in the physical wilderness...

I've been thinking about, praying about all those wildernesses and the strength it takes for us to get through them; I've been thinking more about the wildernesses of others--the wildernesses people travel alone--people I care about, people I love.  As I've been thinking about this blessing I have been wondering about the wonders.

Getting better at the selfies

Yesterday I was sitting on the beach alone watching the waves roll in and listening to the sounds of children splashing, and I thought what a glorious and wonderful world God has made, and I gave thanks for the wonders God was showing me right then. But then I thought more (beach does that to me)...

I thought about how much we don't always recognize the wonder of ourselves. It made me sad...

Isn't he beautiful?

I came home and saw a picture of a friend and her brand new baby and I gave thanks for this new person who was "knit together in his mother's womb." (Psalm 139: 13) And I prayed he would have a wonderful life and always know how much he is unconditionally loved by God and his family.  I prayed that he would never not know that he was "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139: 14), that he would never have to walk through any wilderness.

But I know that beautiful new baby boy will some day walk through a wilderness.  No matter how much love he is surrounded by (and there's a ton), one day he will have to walk out on his own. So I prayed that when he did, he always knew he wasn't alone.  That he always knew God would be with him wherever he may go.  And I began to think, could it be that when we're in our wilderness some of the wonders God is showing us is how much God loves us and could it be that God is showing us the wonder of ourselves? So I've taken liberty and reworded just a bit...

May the peace of Christ go with you wherever He may send you out into the world, into your jobs, into your schools, into your homes, into the public, into your minds.
May He guide you through the wilderness of loneliness, trauma, difficulty, day to day life, and the actual physical wilderness.
Protect you through the storms of hardships, of things you think you cannot get through yourself, of life.
May He bring you home rejoicing--home just bring you home.
At the wonders He has shown you--the wonders of His love for you and the wonders of the incredible person you are, the person God created you to be.
May He bring you home rejoicing that you know God unconditionally loves you--no exceptions, rejoicing at the strength you had to get through, the courage you had to stick with it, 
Once again into our doors.

And God gave me a little reminder--God promises to go with you wherever you may go.

That Girl and Belonging

Usually after writing a post I can let something go (usually as in 1 out of 3 times and then only for awhile), but this time I keep thinking about belonging--describing belonging, defining belonging, feeling belonging.  Yesterday's post continues to race through my head like a Derby winner (Belonging--What Does That Mean?).  As I took a short nap yesterday I fell asleep trying to think about times I felt I belonged, and I woke up to this...

I have been blessed in my life with some very good friends.  I have been further blessed with

They are trying to knock each other off

maintaining some of these friendships over many decades (even before facebook), but this story belongs to one.  We've been friends since her eldest son threw sand in my eldest daughter's face when
they were 2.  They've had an interesting competitive relationship ever since. She is one of those friends who you are doubly lucky to have because your families become friends. (Read your husbands put up with you talking on the phone for endless hours and yes they even like each other)

Yesterday as I was thinking about our friendship, I was very tempted to turn it into the perfect friendship and turn my friend into a saint.  But I realized that wouldn't be fair to us--to the work we put into the friendship and while she's pretty darn close, she's not a saint (yet).  We had times in our friendship that were hard, times we hurt each other, but one of the things I love remembering about our friendship, is it was probably one of my first adult ones--meaning, instead of running away, instead of gossiping about one another, instead of just letting the friendship die, we sat and worked through it, we actually talked about what was wrong--sometimes we didn't talk about certain things for years, but eventually we did. (Thank you J--I still remember that wonderful bottle of wine.)

She's Caroline's Godmother--blame her

So we met early in our married lives and went through the birth of five more children between us--this is the friend that when I broke my arm while pregnant with Caroline and Chris worked until 9 pm would come over and bathe the children every night; this is the friend who with another friend cleaned my house the night before I got home with Caroline from Philadelphia after being in the ICU with skull fractures; this is the friend who stopped by my house to drop something off when her children were out of town for the day and a 1 year old William reached out his arms to her and she took

him home--she gave up her free afternoon to give me a break; this is the friend who puts up with my months of silence only to answer and hear about my latest drama--but none of that is the story.

In the summer of 2007 we were living in England.  The children had six weeks off from school so I flew home with them for what we lovingly called our Grisdoyle summer vacation.  We drove through six states trying to see all our friends and ultimately met Chris in Kentucky.  (That's what happens when you move a lot--you collect friends in different states.)

So we'd been invited to my friend's new lake house for five or six days of our trip.  The first day was wonderful (minus the fact her youngest was mad because they weren't allowed to watch Sponge Bob because I didn't allow it--oh for that to be my biggest problem now--why didn't someone tell me to relax?!?!?! I apologize C--you were right.  You should have thrown a fit, but thank you for not.) After the second day I could feel something was amiss; Chris told me I was probably imagining it.  Late into the afternoon of the third day I knew there was something wrong but didn't know what to do about it.  So I did what I always do when I'm uncomfortable, I went into hyper pleasing mode.

I remember this moment like it was yesterday.  I was scrubbing her already perfectly scrubbed counters (did I mention she is a far better housekeeper than me?).  She walked over to me and said, "You are making me miserable."  I scrubbed harder.  "Stop," she said, "Listen to me.  This is no fun for me--you're trying to do everything; buy all the food; clean all the dishes; buy the gas for the boat; apologize for every single thing including the fact that it rained last night.  I can't take it anymore; I am having no fun."

I think I froze; I can't remember, but I do remember stammering.  "But it's so much to have all of us here.  I don't want you to think we're sponging off you or that we're taking you for granted.  I don't want you to think we're not grateful for you inviting us, but there's so many of us--we eat a lot; we make a lot of messes.  I have four children."

At that she put both hands on my shoulder and said, "Do you not think I remembered you had four children when I invited you?  I was there for most of their births.  I am not your past--I don't think that way."  (See she really did know me) "I WANTED you to come, you my friend and all of your children--all 4 of them.  I WANTED you to be here, but right now you are making me miserable." And in that moment I could breathe; in that moment I could relax and let go--in that moment I could be completely me; in that moment I knew I belonged.

The rest of the trip was wonderful--minus Christopher's 57 stitches (a blog for another day).  I have not yet been back to that house--we've seen each other in other places (Go Dawgs!) but deep in my heart and soul I know I'm always welcome there--deep in my being I know I belong.

As I think about that moment and why it was so powerful, I realize it was about a few things--it was about someone who loved me unconditionally--someone who knew my neurosis, who knew my past pain and while she cared and cares very much about that, she wouldn't and won't let me stay there.  It was about someone who could speak the truth in love so we could return to community. And we did.

Belonging--What Does that Mean?

This week at Trinity Owensboro we are having a Welcoming Rite--between 10 and 15 people will be welcomed into the congregation as new members.  While I think this is a very good thing, and while I also think Trinity is an extremely welcoming church, it's also got me thinking.  (Darn walks on the beach!!?!?!?)  It's got me wondering how are welcoming and belonging connected?  How does someone go from being welcomed into the church to belonging, not new member belonging, but 100% belonging?  How does anyone anywhere know they belong? And I guess then I wonder, what does it mean to belong?  

On page 298 of the Book of Common Prayer in the rubrics (fancy name for rules) concerning the service, it reads, "Holy Baptism is full initiation by water and the Holy Sprit into Christ's body the church."  We talk a lot about that--what does it mean to be a full member and how does that translate in the way we treat our children and youth?  Debating that is for another blog, but it's worth beginning to think about.

During the service of Holy Baptism we as a congregation also make some promises about helping those being baptized to grow in the faith and we are asked, "Will you who witness these vows do all in your power to support these persons in their life in Christ?" (BCP, 303)  One thing I've noticed is there is no time frame given so I can only assume (and I think I'm right) that the promise is infinite which means that we are all--all baptized people are to continue supporting one another in our lives of faith.  I also notice it doesn't say, "Support each other only when you are all in church or actively participating in a church activity."  Their life in Christ--our life in Christ is everywhere and in everything--that I believe with every fiber of my body.

And I keep going back to belonging--how does that translate?  If we've got the "newcomers" separated from the "cradle Episcopalians" and the children separated from the adults--who belongs? (maybe not separated--maybe just labeled--but how does that feel?) I think sometimes we unwittingly set up barriers that say, "yes we welcome you but until you've met these criteria a) age b) been a member this long" we will say you belong but you probably won't feel it.

Last week I preached about God always being present just waiting for us to reach out and be in relationship.  We belong to God; we belong in relationship. I believe that is true; I'm not so sure I believe we as humans extend that same community and grace to one another.  I wonder how many people really feel they belong...and so I continue to struggle with what does it mean?  How do you know you belong?

So as I'm thinking all these thoughts I went for a walk on the beach very early.  I was listening to my Barbara Brown Taylor book and gazing at the sunrise.  Apparently I'm not the only person with a routine because I kept passing people I recognized--people who I see each and every time I am here.

As I was walking a couple flagged me down.  They had their three dogs running around them. "Hey," the woman said, "Where are your dogs?  I bet that black one has gotten bigger since April."  "Yes," I responded, "She has."  And then I went on to explain that Winnie had been hit by a car and she wasn't cleared yet to be able to run, so we left her home with our son.  "All your children aren't here?" the man asked.  "No," I said, "He's started sports and couldn't miss."  "Yes," he continued, "That's what happens as they grow up.  Yours have certainly started reaching that point."  "Well," said the woman, "It's good to see you anyway.  Hopefully next time you'll have the dogs.  Have a good walk." and we parted ways.

I have no idea their name; I know they live here permanently; I know they remember who I am; I know they care about my dogs and my family; I know I belong.  I belong to the community of early morning beach walkers--I belong.

Just to be clear--I think a welcoming rite is wonderful; I think gathering people together is wonderful; I think belonging is wonderful--belonging wherever that may be.

When Needs Collide

Speak your truth; state your need--these are words that I have heard over and over during my years in al anon and of course through my awesome amazing therapist.  These are words I have slowly (read very very very slowly) begun to live in my life--or at least try to live in my life.

Okay so I've gotten better at thinking about what my truth is, what my need is.  There have actually even been a few times when I've stated them and guess what?!?!?  They were heard; they were acknowledged; they were satisfied. So I'm getting better at that I proudly say as I break my arm patting myself on the back, just like Pavlov's dogs who received rewards every time the bell rang, I have begun to speak up when the bell rings in my head
and I believed that every time I spoke up and expressed my need it would be fulfilled...until it wasn't.

And now I have something else to learn, something I think may be even harder. I can speak my truth; I can state my need but that doesn't mean someone HAS to agree and even worse it doesn't mean someone HAS to satisfy it.  They can actually say no to me and I can actually have a temper tantrum about it just like a 2 year old.  My temper tantrums are in my head and in my gut; they are suffered alone where I tell myself over and over how unfair it is, and then like a 2 year old that has worn him or herself out, I slowly start to let go.

Here's the other thing I've recently experienced.  Someone else, someone I love fiercely, might have a different truth, a different need, and they too are allowed to express it and to live it regardless of what

I think about it. My initial reaction to this is to pout--to return to my head and begin making lists (I even color code them in my head) of how unfair this is, how victimized I am by it, how much this is in contrast to what I want and need.  I can withdraw.

This my friends is when the hard work really starts.  Two people with colliding truths and needs--

Yes this is where it's time to put on your big girl panties and deal with life.  This is where I realize I have learned about speaking truth and expressing needs not only in al anon or therapy but also in my faith.  I have learned that God seeks to fill my needs, but not just my needs but everyone else's too. Mark 6:56 says, "And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed."

I have said before and I continue to preach that we are the hands and feet of Christ in the world, and that we are to be the healing, loving presence of God to and for one another.  My faith tells me that when we can't be, when our needs collide, God is present for both of us--God meets both our needs in ways we can neither ask or imagine.

I also know and believe that we as people of faith are to speak our truth in love no matter how hard it is to hear from others.  Ephesians 4:15 tells us, "But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ from whom the whole body joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body's growth in building itself up in love."  And this means not running away (darn it), now withdrawing (darn it again), not breaking away from one another (triple darn blasted it to infinity and beyond)--but remaining in community, in relationship and working through it.  It means loving through it, maybe crying through it, but getting through it.

This means sticking with it; staying in relationship, no matter how difficult.  It means being together in our differences, together in our love, together where the healing reconciling love of God also resides.