The Ignored Phone--What I Needed Most

Yesterday late afternoon I went to see my dear friend, Emily. We both have a lot going on and needed to catch up.  (And yes "needed" is the word.) As I parked my car in the drive, I looked down at my phone and thought, "I'm going to leave it in the car.  I'll be here less than an hour.  I don't want to be distracted."

As I walked towards the house, The Toddler (she always makes an appearance in my happy blogs) came running into my arms.  I'm telling you, no matter what you have to discuss/share, it always starts on a positive note when you start with a big, sweaty toddler hug.

We went inside, poured a glass of wine (not for The Toddler) and sat down at the dining room table. The Toddler was singing and dancing, so Emily said, "Let's turn our chairs this way so that's just in the background." We began to talk--or rather I did.  Emily sat and listened her eyes showing she was not only listening, but she was entering into my story, into my world, into my joy, into my pain, into my fear.

When I think back on our conversation last night, I realize she did ask questions, but not specifics about the story, she asked about how I felt in the story at specific parts, with specific encounters. She was present with me in her dining room and in my story. And then I listened to her.

Our conversation was intense, personal and vulnerable--it was powerful and holy and good.  But what I really noticed throughout the short time we had together last night was Emily's presence.  As we sat in the dining room, several times her phone rang, her texts signal went off, and Emily didn't flinch. Her eyes never left mine, she was completely and totally with me.

We didn't have a lot of time, and yet we had enough time--enough time for me to know that I was worth her time, worth her attention, and through that to know I have worth simply because I am me.

All evening I carried that gift with me; I woke up this morning with that gift still surrounding me, and I thought about how important it is that we give that gift to one another in this digital media age. I love technology; I do believe it has a place in pastoral care; I have used it in pastoral care. And yet I have also on many occasions let it interfere with someone having my complete presence.

I like to call it, "being able to multi-task" or "being able to care for more than one person at a time." I believe there is a place for it, and I know sometimes we have to be interrupted but last night I received the gift of total presence and with each phone ring or text alert that was ignored, I was reminded that I was valued; I was important; I was worth it.

WhenI got back in my car last night, my phone indeed did have multiple texts and calls, and I was glad I had left it in the car because I wasn't sure I would have been able to ignore them. And you know what, that's okay.  It's okay that I had to leave my phone in the car in order to ignore it and Emily could just ignore hers where she was.  Phones were ignored; true presence was given. It doesn't matter how it happened; it matters it did happen.

I don't remember every word we spoke last night; I don't remember what song The Toddler was singing; I don't remember what kind of wine we shared; but I remember the ignored sounds; I remember the presence--and that's what I needed most.

P.S. Ironically this is a tweet I woke up to this morning from Church Social Media (#chsocm) Pastoral Care-The ways in which pastoral care can/does/should happen in digital gathering spaces.  This week's chat moderated by Jason Chesnut (@crazypastor) Topics: T1: Have you given/received pastoral care...

And I'm reminded it's not an either/or world.

Just Another Way to Think About Grandparents' Day

Last week a friend posted this on facebook "Glad another Grandparent's Day is over. Not to be a downer but it really stinks for kiddos who don't have grandparents who can come." I had a visceral reaction that surprised and confused me.  Our family has been that family many many times, and we have also lived in the same city.  Why was I tearing up and finding myself angry? I had no idea, so I watched the comments that followed trying to figure out the source of my discomfort...

As I ruminated (read obsessed over) this post and the comments, I swayed back and forth like the swinging pirate ship at an amusement park.  I thought about how sad it could be for children not to have their grandparents there because they live too far away or are deceased, and then I thought about how equally or perhaps more sad it is to have grandparents who live in the same city and yet for any number of reasons (some good) choose not to participate.

I continued to follow the comments and the intense emotion behind many of them.  On the one hand I totally understood, but on the other I thought, "Really?  Grandparents Day was not created to personally affront you. Just like Father's Day or Mother's Day or any other day."  And then I felt terribly guilty for having those thoughts and swore I would never utter them publicly.  (I'm really good at beating myself up as a dear friend and mentor reminded me last night as I cried to him about something else...)

As I squirmed inside and tried to forget the post which I think was really just an attempt to express a valid feeling and not an attempt to create a public frenzy, I thought about all those Grandparents Days my children have experienced.  I thought about all those events (games, recitals etc) that my children have experienced when we lived nowhere near family and while I remembered I was occasionally momentarily bothered during those times, what I really remembered was all the families who welcomed us in to become part of their families. I thought about all the people who stepped up and became extra grandparents for our children, and I gave thanks (and I posted--"We always had neighbors and friends go. It does stink in many ways, but it's also a great way to expand the circle of people who love them."

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to make me stop cogitating (we're working on SAT words in our house)...

I moved beyond thinking about specific days where a "grandparent" was needed--(Although I will never forget Miss Gwen flying out of the office to get to Field Elementary to sit with my babies...we love you Miss Gwen) and I began thinking about people who have just been additions to our grandparenting family--Miss Susan, Dr. Tracy, Walt, Andrea, Christopher, Helena,--people who have life experiences and perspectives different from mine or Chris's and have been so valuable in the development of our children.  (And I haven't even touched the lists of honored aunts and uncles...)

Let me be clear our children are blessed to have 4 living grandparents and an extra special bonus grandmother who are involved in their lives, who love them unconditionally, and for that we are eternally grateful.  But we are also grateful for those who have come into our lives and expanded the circle of love and security surrounding us and our children.

As I sat in church Sunday morning first giving thanks for the fact that I didn't have to preach on the Gospel (Mark 7:24-37); you know the one where the Gentile woman of Syrophoenecian origin challenges Jesus who seems to be refusing to heal her daughter of demons basically calling her daughter a dog...it's a really tough one! (And one that btw, Grace Aheron nailed in her sermon; her words also have been resonating with me--but that's a different post.)

Anyway, as I listened to the Gospel I thought about where Jesus was physically located at that time--not in his hometown.  I thought about how Jesus said in Luke 8:21, "My mother and brothers are those who hear God's word and put it into practice."  These two thoughts swirled together. Lightbulb--Jesus was expansive; Jesus moved outside of the comfort zone of his hometown; Jesus enlarged his circle not just the circle of his family into the disciples and the disciples into the Jews but beyond--into the world of the Gentiles--really just into the world.

I suspect it was hard.  Jesus was not only fully divine but fully human.  I suspect he missed his mama and his biological brothers and sisters.  I wonder if he missed the comfort of knowing the family rituals, hearing the same stories over and over, having common thoughts and ideas?  I wonder if there were times he laid his head down at night and wished he was falling asleep with his mama in the room down the hall, singing the songs from his childhood...

Yet, if Jesus had not moved out, if Jesus had not been challenged by the Syrophoenecian woman (AND CHANGED HIS MIND!! He was challenged to look at the world a different way, to consider a different perspective, to hear a different voice...), I wonder how the world would have changed or more importantly how it would not have changed?  I wonder how many people would not have stretched their minds, become more tolerant and more inclusive?  I wonder how many people would not understand that ALL people regardless of origin are created in the image of God and have something to offer the world?

So yes, I understand all the posts and comments that fly around during celebrations like Grandparents Day about missing the biological family.  But, I also realize how much growth, how much good, how much love can happen when our circles are expanded and sometimes it means not having what we want when we want it for that to happen.  Sometimes it may mean being a little sad, a little uncomfortable.  If we always only had our "real" Grandparents available, would we even reach beyond?

I'm glad we have had to reach beyond and I'm very glad others reached back.  I think about all the love our children would have missed if we hadn't---it's just another way to think about Grandparents' Day.

I recognize that some of these people I have listed are not yet grandparents and of course far too young to be grandparents ;) but they have wisdom far beyond ours so they get that honorary title!

The Church Still Matters

This weekend our daughter, SK's best friend, Mason, drove from South Carolina to Virginia to surprise her for her birthday.  My husband and I had the joy of being there.  (Mason is pretty much our third daughter so we got the added bonus of seeing her too.)  I took a video of the surprise and posted it on social media where many comments were made.

The first comment posted was from Mason's aunt and my dear friend Taylor,  "What sweet sisters they are. Oh, to have one or two friends like that in a lifetime." I couldn't get the comment out of my mind..

She's right, of course, but what I kept thinking about was how they became friends.  They will certainly be lifelong friends, but they haven't been lifelong friends.  They met when SK was in 7th grade and Mason 8th.  They have never gone to the same school; they didn't dance at the same ballet studio; they didn't spend every waking moment at each other's homes (although there was plenty of that).  They did, however, go to the same church and to the same Diocesan camp for gatherings and summer camp.

As we spent the weekend together I thought more and more about their friendship. Over the years they have grown and developed sharing their ups and downs, their highs and lows.  They show up for one another, read each other's minds, challenge each other's choices and beliefs, and push each other to be better people. Both are excellent students and both have a fierce passion for social justice and for standing in solidarity with the oppressed.  These two didn't spend every moment in high school together and yet they did share their faith; they shared the common bonds of a faith language--that of the Episcopal church.  These two are living witnesses to the importance of organized religion--to shared faith formation and to a community that stretches you but also gives you a safe place to fall.

Let me be real here--this weekend was not spent discussing the latest resolutions of General Convention.  They did not debate proposed liturgical changes or the nuisances of high church versus low church. These two went to parties, went grocery shopping, watched football, more parties, studying, and on Sunday morning sat together in church.  Their friendship is expansive, varied and real life, but I believe their faith is the foundation.  If nothing else, the church--the container of organized religion is where their friendship was rooted.

But they aren't the only ones--all of my children have developed
close knit friendships from our community of faith.  These friends show up for each other at plays, drive through blinding snow storms for birthdays (okay I drove but they showed up), go to each others school events, and share their deepest thoughts, joys and fears.

Throughout the weekend I returned again and again to Taylor's comment; I thought about some of my closest friends and how I met them--so many of them come from the churches we have called home if only for a season. I am blessed to have many friends developed during the early years of marriage and throughout the rearing of children, and as I watched Mason and SK this weekend I remembered them and our shared faith.  These are friendships that developed around a common set of beliefs, around a common grounding of values, around a common faith language.

William's Confirmation Sponsor--his camp counselor

It's "popular" right now to say, "I'm spiritual but not religious" or "I don't need the church to have a relationship with God."  I'm not arguing with either, but I do believe there is a solidarity, a grounding, a rootedness that comes through our communities of faith.  And I believe as our children are growing up in an ever changing, chaotic world they need that solid foundation.  I believe that to have a faith community--to develop friendships through a faith community will only make them better, stronger, and more loving people.

Yes, we need to be reimagining church, but I have no doubt the Church still matters.  I've seen proof...

I'll Stand in the Arena and Carry Your Shame

Before I even start I should make a public service announcement that if you set off running with the goal of having courage, be very clear what kind of courage you want and for what you want it.  I left this morning listening to Brene Brown hoping for courage to confront our contractor, instead I'm writing this...

Brown writes about the public arena of life.  She says sometimes we find ourselves face down in the public arena--she began listing ways that happens--divorce (nope), being fired (nope), tough parenting moments (BINGO!).  I guess we've been living in the arena for a few months...

It's true, we've had some tough parenting moments, but not just that, we've had some tough family moments.  One of our children has really struggled and his choice to face his struggle head on has put him in the public arena.  As he walked into that arena, head held high I asked him, "What do you want us to tell people?  What story do you want us to use?"  "The truth," he told me, "I'm tired of secrecy and lies."  (It's almost like he's read Brene Brown books--he's living into his vulnerability, claiming his power, releasing his shame) And so we have.

Now before you think I'm that brave, let me assure you I'm not standing on a corner shouting out the details, I'm not even going to put the details in here, but it's public enough and with publicity comes conversation....lots and lots of conversation--usually not to your face.

Over the last several weeks I have had 6-8 parents reach out to me via email, text, phone or at school events, cocktail parties, even the grocery store because they wanted to talk.  They'd heard about what was happening, they wanted to share their story, their struggle with something very similar.  The thing is the conversation always either begins or ends with something like this, "Please don't tell anyone.  I don't want anyone to know. What would people think?"  "Gosh I don't know," I want to say, "What do you think about us?" But I don't--I usually hug them and assure them I'm hear to listen and they can be assured I won't say a word.  And I won't.

Yesterday I was thinking about this and how awful it is that people can't be open and honest.  I was thinking about how lonely and frightened people must be, how out of control they must feel, and I thought I was glad they reached out to me. I have felt so sad for them and been thinking about how we as a society can come together, need to come together and share our stories--to put down our shame--I've been wondering how do we let go of our fear and be honest? But today--as I was running and listening to Brown talk about shame I realized these people are hiding because of their fear and the shame  they think they carry, and it feels like they want ME to carry their burden.

And then I got mad.  "Seriously?!?!?!" I thought as I ran faster.  "You are calling me; unloading your shit onto me, me who has had to be painfully open and vulnerable, whose children and husband have had to be painfully open and vulnerable but you want me to keep your secret so your precious children can continue to be seen as the precious children they are with no flaws?  SERIOUSLY!?!?!?How dare you?" (And btw--I do think your children are precious...)

That lasted 1/2 mile--I couldn't keep up the pace either with my body or heart.  I couldn't stay angry because I understood all to well wanting to hide, and so I went back to being sad; I went back to feeling scared and vulnerable and exposed and alone.

I started thinking about the story of the woman caught in adultery and Jesus telling the crowd that the person with no sin should throw the first stone.  (John 8:1-11)  I wanted to be Jesus in the story--you know standing with those who called me, but I couldn't make that image happen.  Instead the image I have is being the woman--publicly exposed.  I thought how lonely that must have felt to know there were others who carried her same "sin" and although they didn't throw any stones, they quietly walked away leaving her standing there broken and alone with only her God.  I wonder if she knew who they were?  I wonder if before Jesus spoke and they walked away if she looked into their eyes pleading with them to speak up--to admit they too had made mistakes...

That's how those conversations feel--it's not that any one of these people has wanted to throw a stone at me (I'm sure there are some out there who do), but they also just want to walk away avoiding my eyes, avoiding the public arena, the public humiliation, hiding and still carrying their hidden shame.

I'd really like to wrap this blog up with how much empathy and compassion I have for them; how much I understand and don't have any hard feelings about it, but I also want to be brave like my son and tell the truth.  (Brown calls it bad assery--and let me tell you my boy is one BADASS practicing bad assery everyday!)  The thing is, it does hurt and frankly it's an added burden because I do care--I do have empathy and compassion, and because I don't want people to have to carry this alone, so along with my own shame, I'll carry theirs.

But here's the deal--I'll carry your shame; I'll hold your secrets; I'll pray for you, talk to you and help you walk through this all the while pretending that we're the only family with "the problem."  I'll gladly do all that; I don't want you to be alone, to feel alone, but here's your part of the deal--when my family is back in the public arena, please make sure your children, you know those children you're privately talking to me about?  Please make sure they don't pick up a stone and more importantly please make sure they don't slink away eyes downcast. They don't have to say anything, but don't let them walk away.  And don't you either.  You owe me at least that...

PS--There are many people who have reached out in love and support of our family, and for that we are eternally grateful.  

The Gift of Ignorance and the Beauty of Mystery

Twenty years ago I was pregnant with our first child.  I was so young, so naive.  My sister was pregnant at the same time and we would compare notes on pregnancy, but really what did either of us know?  Her baby's heart rate was constantly in the 160's so we assumed she was having a girl (we were right), my baby's heart rate rarely got above 104 so we just knew I was having a boy (we were wrong).  Baby's heart rate = sex of baby--that's the only think I thought...

The baby was due late August; in the middle of August my OB/GYN asked me to start coming in daily to have a stress test and sonogram done.  "Sure," I thought, "no problem.  I can come in right before work (I worked at the hospital) and plus I'll get more sonogram photos."  That's truly all I thought--I didn't think to ask questions; I didn't have a home computer; I'm not sure web md existed.

The morning of Wednesday August 30 I reported in and had the test.  The technician said to me, "Are you heading up to your office?  Dr. Work may want to call you."  "I am," I replied, "Have a few groups to run, but otherwise I'll be around."  When Dr. Work called me he said that he thought now might be a good time to start trying to induce labor.  He suggested I call my husband and we meet him in labor and delivery within the next few hours.  I never thought to ask why today--the gift of ignorance

We arrived full of anticipation, excitement, and nervousness.  Dr. Work explained that since I wasn't dilating he wanted to do this thing (I still can't remember what it's called).  All through Wednesday night the nurses kept applying something to my cervix; nothing happened (except labor pains). The next morning they added pitocin--nothing happened except more intense labor pains.  All through Thursday, Thursday night and Friday contractions continued...Chris would watch the monitor and tell me, "It's almost over."  He now tells me, "I was totally lying they were still going up."  The gift of
ignorance...

Friday evening Dr. Work told us that we needed to start thinking about whether we wanted to continue this way or have a c-section.  He said he'd be

back in a few hours for our decision; that he'd be there all night and it was really up to us.  We talked for a few minutes and Chris left to get a cup of coffee.  All of a sudden monitors started beeping and people started running into the room.  Dr. Work told me we needed to have the c-section now, the anesthesiologist was on his way to do a spinal block--I started trying to read the papers--Daddy kept saying, "Sign the papers"  I started to cry (I was really tired and I really hurt),  "Daddy you tell me not to sign anything without reading it."  He slammed his hand down on the tray and said, "Sign now."  I still had no clue...the gift of ignorance.

As Chris re-entered the room I was being wheeled out; the nurses threw scrubs at him--everything was moving very fast, but for me it was slow motion. We arrived in the OR and I heard a nurse say, "Dr. Kanto has gone to his office.  He's sent Dr. Bunyapen down."  "Oh good" I thought.  Dr. Bunyapen was a close family friend who I had known since I was a small child.  (She also happened to be a neonatologist).  "That's nice of daddy to have her here; he must not be allowed to be in here because we're family."  (Seriously, denial and rationalization are very powerful tools--gifts of ignorance.)

Within minutes Dr. Work had Sarah Katherine out and she was whisked away to the side--with Chris right behind her--the day I started sharing my throne--I heard a nurse say, "We need to call Dr. Kanto." and Dr. Bunyapen replied, "Tell him it's all fine.  Apgar of 10"  I still had no clue--the gift of ignorance.

Fast forward 20 months; I was pregnant again and living in Athens.  I wanted to try not to have a cesarean, but I kept getting bigger and bigger--(ask Chris to imitate me; it's quite funny).  Dr. Cline requested my records from Dr. Work; as she read them she said, "Well, I don't know.  We don't know why you never dilated with Sarah Katherine and they couldn't investigate because you were hemorrhaging and they had to get you closed up." Excuse me!  Hemorrhaging!!!   Why didn't I

know?  Why didn't anyone tell me?  I thought that for a moment, and then I thought, "Oh well, I'm sure they had their reasons. Everything's fine now and I have another baby on the way."

We agreed to the c-section and on July 21, we welcomed our first son and second child into the world.  As Dr. Cline was sewing me up she said, "Well, you would have died in childbirth 100 years ago.  Your pelvis won't let a baby drop."  (She and I are friends; I'm sure she doesn't tell just anyone how they could die...)  Dr. Cline went on to deliver two more little bundles of joy---all via c-section. (And for the record you can have more than 3 c-sections--something I worried about when I became pregnant with Caroline and called her in tears because people kept telling me more than 3 c-sections were not allowed.  Dr. Cline, "Why do you listen to what other people say? There is only one way this child is coming out."  I returned to trusting and ignorance.)


Over the years when I've told this story I get a mix of reactions--I get a lot of people saying, "I think it's wrong the doctors kept you in the dark.  You had a right to know what was going on all the time." Or, "Why didn't you ask more questions?" I suspect they're right in some ways, but I didn't ask questions (blind obedience stemming from being the daughter of a doctor).  As I was running this morning I started thinking about this again.  I didn't ask questions because I trusted, and I'm glad I did.  Daddy may remember that Friday evening as being scary, but Chris and I, we had no clue.  We didn't know not everyone has stress tests for the final 3 weeks of pregnancy.  We got to continue to enjoy that time--we get to remember the beauty of bringing our first child into the world and the happiness that enveloped us--no fear, no terror, just love.

When I got pregnant with Christopher I continued to enjoy that time (after the first trimester--I had had a miscarriage between the first two--stop doing the math!  I know they're VERY close together); I trusted.

The wonder of mystery

As I continued to run I thought about how we as a society trust so little. We go to experts but then question everything they tell us; I'm not saying it's not important to be informed, but I wonder if we've lost the art of just trusting.  I wonder if we've lost the practice of allowing life to unfold without having to know all the answers, all the possibilities, all the potential outcomes.  I wonder if we've lost the ability to live in mystery.

This loss of mystery I fear has also crept into our spiritual lives.  We want to, need to, be able to explain everything, to have definites, to have proof. We want absolutes so much that I fear we have lost the ability to glory in the mystery of God--that we have lost the ability to trust in God and to not need all the answers. Have we lost the ability to rest in the mystery of God? Have we lost the ability to believe that God is in control?  I hope not.

Today I give thanks for the gift of ignorance and the beauty of mystery it allows in our lives.