Giving Thanks for Being Left Out

When the children were younger and fussing I would say, "Y'all need to get along. Friends will come and go; Daddy and I will die and you'll be the only family you have left. Y'all need to like each other." (Future therapists can thank me now...)

Tuesday night Caroline, Christopher, and SK finally arrived. (PSA--when you are driving from Charlottesville to Big Stone Gap, you do not have to go through WV. And although it may be somewhat creepy--again you're welcome therapists--that I can track the children and am obsessive about doing so when they are on their way home or to wherever I am, they probably appreciated it Twhen I discovered they were in Beckley WV....) Anyway, they finally arrived and weren't even grumpy about the extra 1 1/2 hours together in the car--no fussing, no blaming, just lots of laughter....

We all stood around the kitchen talking to and over each other, and then Chris and I went to bed--it was after 11:00! I fell asleep to the sound of our four now almost adult children talking and laughing...my heart was full.

Yesterday, however, was a little bit different....

I walked into the living room where the babies were on the couch. Caroline, "Do you need something?"  Me, "Just wondering what you're doing." William, "We're talking." But then there was silence. I couldn't just let it go..."What are you talking about?" I asked. "Nothing." William responded. I can't remember what Caroline said but it wasn't as diplomatic as William--it also wasn't the lie William just told me because clearly they were talking about something. But, I got the picture; they were talking about something they didn't want me to hear.

They returned to each other as I quietly turned and walked away--that may be a not quite truth too....I might have hrumphed....

Looking out the window I saw the big kids on the deck. I decided to brave the cold to spend some time with them. As I walked outside, the conversation stopped. Me, "What are you talking about?" Christopher, "Just stuff." I stood there; they stayed quiet. Clearly I wasn't going to be included in this conversation either....

This time I did quietly turn and walk away not saying anything because of the lump in my throat and the tears stinging my eyes. I felt so left out, so unimportant...As I went to shower I thought, "I used to be the center of their worlds and now they don't even want me around." (Yes, I can catastrophize and be dramatic--I realize that.)  And then I thought about what I used to say to them...

Is it hard not being included in everything? Yes. Is it hard knowing they share things with each other they don't want me to know? Yes. Is it sad knowing they are growing up and their relationships with each other are forming separate from me? Definitely.

But I'm also trying to remember this is indeed what I wanted; this is good and wonderful, and natural. I'm trying to remember there are siblings that only tolerate one another, siblings that even as adults do nothing but fuss, siblings that are estranged,  and so I'm trying to give thanks for being left out... someday I'll get there.




We did enjoy lunch out together later...

I no longer have to, (read get to), sit between them...

I'm a Mama and a Priest

This morning I got up long before dawn, made coffee, started

laundry and began pre-Thanksgiving baking--that would mean 2 pies, 2 loaves of pumpkin bread and a lemon poppy seed coffee cake. In between I wrote my report for vestry, worked on newsletter articles and our advent study. As I was showering I thought about all the blog posts I could write about being a mama and a priest-about balancing it all. I was wondering if male priest put this much pressure on themselves--you know the pressure to have holidays perfect and do your job well never asking for help. Then I thought, maybe this is just how it is when you go back to work after being a stay at home mama for years and don't want your family to "suffer" with change. For a brief moment I considered the possibility this could be my own neurosis--washed that thought right out of my hair!

I finished showering, got dressed, woke Caroline (I still need to be chauffeured) and headed out for the 8 am service. In case you didn't notice, I was quite proud of my productivity. (And I know, I know pride cometh before the fall....)

As Caroline and I drove through the quiet somewhat deserted streets with the sun just peeking above the horizon and I listened to Caroline talk, I could feel the lump in my throat grow and the tears that have been threatening for a week begin to well just behind my eyes--I willed them away but wasn't really sure I would be able to for long....

Boss leaves Friday. He goes back to Montana and won't be home until the end of April. Which in case you haven't figured it out means he won't be home for Christmas. Please don't say, "This day had to come one day when they wouldn't all be home for Christmas." I know that--and I certainly hope when that day comes because they are with other loved ones I will be better. But this year, this year he's working not with the love of his life and the rest of us will be here, and my heart is breaking.

As we arrived at St. Thomas I gave thanks I wasn't preaching--wasn't even sure how I was going to get through the services...

During the 8 o'clock service I was distracted and hoped it didn't show. While Deacon Dan preached my mind wandered. I thought about how when the children were very small and I heard God's call to the priesthood over and over I kept saying,"Now is not a good time. I love sitting with my family during the service." I remember thinking there was no way I could be a priest and miss out on those squirmy bodies next to mine, and I remembered seeing all four kneeling between Chris and I as we said the Lord's Prayer (granted one time William had Caroline's bow in his hair, but they were quiet, kneeling, hands clasped and praying) and how much love I felt for this incredible family God had blessed me with. I thought about how much I loved being a priest but how glad I was to have also had those years. And if I'm honest, today I wanted to be that mama from all those years ago--the mama whose son wasn't getting on a plane in five days....

The 10 o'clock service came and as I presided my eyes kept going to Chris and the boys. (Caroline was singing in the choir--I was NOT neglecting her whatever she may one day tell her therapist....). Over and over my mind was taunting me, "he won't be back, he won't be back, he won't be back here for months and months...."

Deacon Dan began to preach and this time I was determined to listen to every word. I did, but...as he was finishing his sermon I heard him say something about coming to the table for solace only...he

was challenging us to not only be about serving our own needs but also about serving others and serving Christ the King. But I need solace my soul cried out. At the same time I thought about a conversation yesterday. A dear friend asked me if I really believed God was in control (there will be another blog about that conversation), I reminded myself I told her yes. I wanted to scream, "But God this is my baby--I want to believe you're in control, but this is MY child who will be alone for Christmas, alone and away from me--MY child!!!! Are you sure you're in control because I sure as hell don't feel in control at all." In that moment I knew I needed the table today for solace and I wasn't going to feel guilty about it; I needed to be reminded that God was in control and that while Boss is my child he is first and foremost God's child. I needed to feel God's loving embrace.

As I began the Eucharistic Prayer I was surprised at the strength in my voice. I kept thinking any minute I'm going to choke up, but I didn't. Instead I began to feel strengthened. I said, "Father you loved the world so much that you sent your only Son to be our Saviour" and I knew God did know how I was feeling, God sent his Son, God knew what if felt like to release his son, and not only that but also God loved the world so much--the whole world and my son is part of that world; God loves Boss so much--I continued...

When I got to the part, ""Grant that all who share this bread and this cup may become one body and one spirit..." I thought, "in just a few minutes I will give to Boss the body and blood of Christ and we will be one body. I will administer to him the body and blood that I consecrated. Me his priest mama..." In that instant I knew God's timing was just right. Suddenly I felt both solace and strength.....

I was doing well, actually if I can break my other arm patting myself on my back, really well. And then I looked into the eyes of one of my parishioners--an amazing woman whose son lives states away and who was just diagnosed with Hodgkins lymphoma. I reached over the altar rail and hugged her, knowing but not knowing what she must be feeling--the distance, the helplessness, the fear.....

And then Boss was next...seriously God?!?!?! I looked into his eyes briefly and released him to God. (I'm fairly certain that release was temporary--I'm kind of stubborn that way), but for that moment I was so grateful I was the priest giving him communion on his last Sunday in Louisville. I was the one, his mama and his priest,  passing onto him the body of Christ that would dwell in him...

As the service ended, I began the blessing:

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  (at this point the choking began) rejoicing at the wonders he has shown you,
And may the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit be upon you, those you love and all those you encounter, this day and forevermore."

I left the altar the tears stinging. I was so grateful Dan was there to give the dismissal so I could have a moment to collect myself before I engaged with others. Before I engaged with others with their hidden hurts, their hidden fears, with others all given solace and strength at the Lord's Table.

Tonight I give thanks for God's timing and for being a Mama Priest

Maybe They Don't Like Me

Three years ago I swore I would never run for anything in the Diocese again. Sitting there year after year (okay really at that time it had only been 3 years...) hearing them read the names of those elected or as I told myself the names of the "winners" and never hearing my name was something I just didn't want to continue enduring-in my possibly dramatic mind I said, "I don't want to keep being one of the losers." But then last year....

Last year a colleague asked me to please run for a specific position; I said, "no." She pursued; I said no; she pursued and she wore me down....(those who know Rose will totally understand). I told myself over and over, "you won't win you're just doing this so Rose can fill all the spots; it'll be okay; it'll be okay; it'll be okay." They brought the results back; I began my now perfected method of looking busy and as though there was something really important I needed to be dealing with on my phone or with my papers--last year the UL/UVA game was being played at that exact time so it was kinda true. They began reading the results and suddenly I heard my name--I was dazed and confused, but also kind of feeling like I suppose Chicago Cubs fans now feel--like a curse had been lifted.

So this year...this year I didn't wait for someone to ask me. This year Rose put me on the nominating committee and I (I wish I didn't have to admit this) nominated MYSELF! My pledge long forgotten with one election...

The results came back and they began reading the names for clergy deputies for General Convention--there would be 4 deputies and 2 alternates--7 of us ran (yes do the math--there will be 1 loser...). They announced they were reading them in order of votes; I held my breath as they began reading and didn't exhale until they were finished and then I quickly reverted to my pre pledge posture of looking down, face reddened because, yep you guessed it, my name wasn't read. I was THE ONE! I felt humiliation begin in my toes and rise throughout my whole body, not only was I the loser, but it was in front of my husband and son and my senior warden who I so admire. I couldn't look at them, and in my now totally self absorbed mind I was certain they were intentionally not making eye contact with me...

Convention was over; I wanted to disappear quickly, but no--now I had to go to a meeting for that position I was elected to last year--and that meeting took FOREVER!!!

Several hours later, after watching football and possibly drinking a beer I blurted out to Chris trying to hold back my tears, "I thought people liked me; I thought I was respected; I thought people think I'm a good priest; I am so embarrassed. I am never running for anything again." Chris very wisely only said, "I don't think it has anything to do with that." While he needed to say it, he also knew that trying to talk me out of my neurosis while I was in full blown mode was, well was frankly dangerous...

Then I started trying to soothe myself and keep myself from spiraling into a bunch of irrational rash generalizations you know the ones that lead to "I am a terrible human being that no one could possibly think has any value" or "I'll never be good enough"--I started trying to be reasonable or at least to rationalize and lets face it, when you're the mother of four teenagers rationalizing becomes an art form. (Becky, I consider this progress btw....)

I have done enough self work to know that while I might stew in those thoughts for a moment, they aren't true. Instead of staying there I started processing. "I really don't even know why I want to go to General Convention. Do I just want to have something to add to my "resume" or do I really feel called to go? Do I just want to see my friends? Do I just want to feel important?"  I honestly couldn't answer those questions, and while I was calming down it wasn't tranquilizing or even numbing my bruised ego or tossing a life preserver to my plummeting self confidence and esteem...

I switched tactics and began thinking about what type of person would be effective as a deputy for General Convention and what type of person I am. "Hmmm," I thought, "A deputy at General Convention probably needs to be someone who can remain calm, see the big picture, hear many voices, you know, a cool, calm and collected rationale person, and quiet (I threw that in), the person definitely needs to be quiet. Maybe that's not me." (It did occur to me I hear many voices--but they're usually in my head, not necessarily a good sign...)

I thought about how my therapist describes me, "An over eager, enthusiastic, excited puppy." I also thought about an incident when my wonderful Bishop said to one of our Canons, "Watch this." and then looked at me and said one word, and yes my head might have spun around three times and I might have become highly animated and loud--very, very loud---so maybe cool, calm and collected isn't me.

Because I can't make anything be simple and I have a hard time letting go of feelings, particularly hurt ones (picture a puppy with a bone who has just been scolded), I am still thinking about all of this. I keep thinking about leadership styles, their differences--their pros and their cons. I have thought about how working with our Canon to the Ordinary I have learned and am continuing to learn how to step back and take in the whole landscape not just the one beautiful tree or the one dying tree right in front of me--a skill that has been critical in my new call as priest-in-charge. I have thought about how I have learned I do not have to respond to everything right away--in fact, many many times it is better when I take some time before responding--time to process (read obsess but in a good way). What this does not mean, however, is that I don't first become highly agitated and emotional spewing all sorts of things--I just do it in private now (or with a few close family and friends that know I just need to get it out...) I have also learned that while I am not skilled at everything or even a lot of things, I am not embarrassed to ask questions and to try to learn, and I am also learning to own my own perspectives as valid even if others disagree.

And possibly most importantly I have learned I'm not one or the other...I can be the priest/person who is cool, calm and collected and even quiet (or at least look that way) at times, but I am also and probably more so the priest/person who cries giving the homily at a funeral, who runs across the room boot and all to see my friends and colleagues I haven't seen for awhile, who shrieks regardless of where I am when I hear good news from others, who might say shit in a sermon, who wears bright clothes and high heels, who wears her heart on her sleeve and is overly sensitive and takes things personally, who is almost completely transparent and takes TMI to a whole new level, and who isn't afraid to laugh at herself.

So I'm not going to General Convention, and I still do want to go. The disappointment is still there and I am still feeling a little bit raw. But I'm no longer obsessively trying to figure out why or to think about what is wrong with me. (I say no longer obsessively trying--it still does cross my mind--back to that transparency thing) I recognize there could be many reasons none of which changes who I am and who God created me to be. I fully believe we all have different gifts and that each of us has our own ministry and sometimes it's not what we "want" or think we want. I definitely never thought I wanted youth ministry!!! For this election, maybe people actually did prayerfully consider and come to the conclusion I wasn't the best fit; maybe people did not see my gifts for this ministry, maybe not enough people knew who I was, maybe it was about representation from various parts of the Diocese, or maybe they don't like me. (Seriously, it's not like I like everyone so isn't it a little bit arrogant to think everyone likes me?)

This morning the other Canon in the Diocese posted a quote from Winston Churchill on facebook

(which was actually the impetus to go ahead and write this blog that has been swirling around my head) and at first I thought about my "losing" and losing means failure and so I wondered if this was God's way of saying, "so stop saying you'll never run again. So you failed, keep trying..." But I actually don't think it's that simple (imagine that!) So, in my head I've changed the quote a little bit and instead of saying "Success consists of" and "failure" I say, "Growing into your true being, the one God created you to be consists of trying things and then trying something else and trying again.." And that goes for everyone--so get out there and try something. I'll cheer you on, cry with you if it doesn't work out, and shriek when it does. That enthusiastic part I've got down pat!

Giving Thanks for My Broken Foot

Today I give thanks for my broken foot (and yes if you're counting

this is the THIRD broken foot in four years--the third time I've broken my right foot.) It means no driving and humility--lessons I learned the hard way (The First and Second Broken Foot Stories).

It's inconvenient and it hurts, but today I am embracing it and giving thanks. Yesterday and today I have had early morning meetings at the babies school, so instead of waking Chris or Boss, I rode in with them. I have no idea why but I just decided to sit in the backseat.

As we rode through the streets with the sun just peeking over the horizons, it was like they forgot I was back there (except when we drove through Starbucks and they asked for my debit card....), and I got to be a voyeur into their lives, into their morning routine, and into their relationship.

I have always known they were close--(We Did Something Right), some people even mistake them for twins, but sitting in the back seat I thought, "It's like their best friends and not siblings." They bantered back and forth, they instantaneously grew silent when Battle of the Sexes came on the radio--something they clearly listen to everyday. They sang; they laughed; it warmed my heart.

As we got closer to the school I said, "Y'all can drop me off before the student parking lot." William asked, "Why would we do that?" Caroline chimed in, "Yeah why would we? You're going to the student parking lot." I hesitated; should I say, "because I figured you would be embarrassed to be seen getting out of the car with your mother? I know I would have been...."

William looked over his shoulder (causing me a moment of panic as he was also passing a car) and said, "Sorry you're just going to have to go with us" as though I would be the one embarrassed. We drove up, parked, and all got out of the car. Caroline petted my coat (seriously she calls it Bobby's (her dog) cousin) as she shouted, "Rachel look it's my mom. Mama look it's Rachel." And Rachel jumped out of her car waving frantically, "Hey Mrs. Doyle." "Hey Sweetheart," I called across the parking lot as I tried to scurry away still worried I would embarrass them.

They continued to greet their friends, but paused for a moment and said, "Bye Mama. See you later." And one stopped to kiss my cheek--I'll let you guess which...

As I walked away I thought, "Tomorrow I may not feel this way, but today I understand that I can indeed give thanks in all things and that God does work for the good in all circumstances." (paraphrased 1 Thessalonians 5:18; Romans 8:28) A promise I needed, especially this week, to remember.

Post Election

I woke up this morning to this text from a friend: "As a person of God--Please help me make sense of this. What do we do next? How do we heal?"

Truth is I started thinking about this early yesterday morning--long before results starting coming in. My son was driving me to work for 7 am Eucharist and we were talking about what we thought might happen. He said, "Do you remember when I was in 1st grade and went over to _____'s house and they had a dart board with the picture of the president on it?" "Yes, I remember." I answered amazed he remembered. "I remember you told me whether you like the president or not you always respect the office of the presidency." I looked over at my son and saw the little boy we talked to that day all those years ago, but I also saw the man he is becoming. A man with his own opinions, his own ideologies, his own faith. I realized while I could guide him, he was no longer a little boy who would go along with whatever I said, so I took a deep breath and said, "And I still believe that." He stared straight ahead and quietly answered, "I do too."

Over the next few hours several things happened. First during both Eucharist and Bible study we read the scriptures for this up coming Sunday. One verse from the Gospel seemed to leap off the page, "This will give you an opportunity to testify." (Luke 21:13)  And second I kept getting texts from the babies talking about how at school everyone was screaming at each other, using profanity and just all in all being unkind. I commented to my parish administrator and a very, very wise woman, "Who thought it was a good idea to send a bunch of know it all teenagers to school on the day of such a contentious election?" She shrugged and said, "Beats me."

Throughout yesterday with these things running around my brain, I started making notes for my sermon on Sunday. I started thinking and praying about how we are called to testify to God's unfailing love for everyone and that everyone means everyone--something I'm not sure we can always really comprehend, and something I'm sure we can only rarely attain in deed. Sometimes, frankly, I wonder if it's easier to think about it in terms of God loving the forgotten, the poor and the destitute than it is to think about God loving the wealthy, the powerful and the privileged? There are so many places in scripture where God calls us to love the widow, the orphan and the stranger; there are so many places where we see Jesus standing with the disgraced woman, the lowly children, the outcasts. Honestly these are the places that resonate most fully with me; these are the scriptures that I turn to time and time again to draw strength. These are the scriptures that propel me to march with my LGBTQ brothers and sisters, that propel me to stand in solidarity with the people of Standing Rock, that propel me to support ministries on the borders, that propel me to visit those in hospitals and in prisons and on street corners.

I suspected the days after the election were going to be hard for so many people, people on both "sides" and I knew I had to preach on what it means to come together and that we as a church are called to bear witness, to testify to the unifying power of God's love and grace despite election outcomes. And perhaps specifically in The Episcopal Church where we strive to be open minded, tolerant, and broad (and perhaps even pride ourselves on it...) I knew I had to, have to, preach on what it means to stand in solidarity as Christians regardless of our political beliefs, regardless of who holds the office of the presidency or controls congress or the Supreme Court. I knew I had to preach on putting actions to our words--actions of loving one another and yes actions in the world--standing with the oppressed, giving voice to the voiceless--those things cannot stop. They must not stop. I'll be very honest; I thought I would be preaching with a different election outcome, but I would preach the same thing. That sermon still needs to be written, but today I must answer my friend....

I have seen on social media the joy, the pride, the pain, the anger, the astonishment, the fear that isn't just oozing but rather is spewing--so many words of hatred but also some words of hope. And I've seen it from both sides. I've never shied away from transparency so I'll say what breaks my heart and brings me to tears the most is reading about the fear in the LGBTQ community, the other faith communities, the people of color communities, and I know I will personally and as a priest in God's church do as my friend posted, "I will continue fighting for my LGBTQ friends, and friends of color and those that need medical care and want to make choices about their own bodies and those of other religions and from other countries."

I have read what some of my friends and colleagues are doing today, taking a break from social media, running, reading, gathering for prayer...me, I am writing. I suspect I would be writing today regardless of the outcome of the election--the division isn't one sided...

This morning William came into the living room as I was saying Morning Prayer. He said, "not my president is trending." I looked up and said, "I hope you won't participate in that. In January Donald Trump will be our president no matter what anyone hashtags. And William, just like I don't want 'locker room' talk in our home...." He interrupted, "I know Mama, I know."

Not 20 minutes later I got a text from Caroline, "Can I come home? I hate everyone. Everyone's just yelling at each other." If you know me, you know my Mama Bear wanted to say, "yes come home" but instead I texted back, "Hold your head up. Remember who you are. This is where we get to put into practice God loves everyone no exceptions."

So here I sit and I suppose the only answer I have to my friend's text is to turn to my spiritual language--recognizing it is not everyone's spiritual language or even the best spiritual language for everyone, but it is mine. In The Episcopal Church we say "our praying shapes our believing" and we believe in common (meaning community) prayer. And so I turn to the Book of Common Prayer...

The Suffrages for Morning Prayer say:

V.    Show us your mercy, O Lord; 
R.    And grant us your salvation. 
V.    Clothe your ministers with righteousness; 
R.    Let your people sing with joy. 
V.    Give peace, O Lord, in all the world; 
R.    For only in you can we live in safety
V.    Lord, keep this nation under your care; 
R.    And guide us in the way of justice and truth. 
V.    Let your way be known upon earth; 
R.    Your saving health among all nations. 
V.    Let not the needy, O Lord, be forgotten; 
R.    Nor the hope of the poor be taken away. 
V.    Create in us clean hearts, O God; 
R.    And sustain us with your Holy Spirit.
(BCP, 97-98)

And we are asked in baptism and each time we reaffirm our baptism: Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?

Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God? Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God? Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior? Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love? Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord? Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ? Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the honor and  dignity of every human being? The question now becomes how do we live them out? How do we come together and bear witness to  God's unfailing love, grace and mercy? I don't have the answers--and I think as a white heterosexual woman of privilege my answers are probably nowhere near adequate, but I believe in the communion of saints--of all saints, and I believe in the  goodness of humanity and the power of God's love. And I want to hear people, all people--people who share my faith, people who have other faiths, and people who have no faith at all--I want to be part of  the coming together and not the continued division. And I believe and pray over and over the words of Romans 8:38-39 "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, or things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation , will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." It's not much, but it's all I've got...thanks for asking.

The "Ordinary" Saints of God

The morning of Halloween my phone rang and the caller id popped

up a name I both wanted to hear from and dreaded to hear from. His wife is in the last stages of cancer, and I have had the privilege of walking this way too short journey with them. "It's not looking good, Katherine. She's no longer communicating." I swallowed hard and said, "Can I come over?" We agreed on a time and hung up.

The irony of the day wasn't lost on me. This woman is a faithful woman of God with a sense of humor and a smile that lights up a room--that had been lighting up the room even last week when I spent an hour with her before leaving town. It was Halloween--or All Hallow's Eve--the night before All Saints. I knew she knew and her Lutheran pastor husband knew--I wondered if they had thought about it....

At the agreed on time Chris dropped me off and I met my friend at the door. We went into the room and I sat on the bed next to his wife, next to my friend--my friend who I haven't had enough time getting to know, my friend who in 9 short months I have grown to love deeply. My friend who has taught me more lessons than she knows, who has helped me stay real, has given me love and laughter, has reminded me not to take life too seriously--a lesson she has continued to teach me even as her life winds down. I held her hand. For the next hour her husband and I talked; I couldn't let go of her hand. Some day I may share all that I have learned from these two, but for now I will say they are a living example of a faithful, loving, devoted, funny, sometimes arguing married couple. I wish Chris and I had time with them--to learn from them, to ask them questions, but most importantly to love them and have them love us back.

The time came for me to go, but I didn't want to let go of her hand. I got ready to anoint her and pray and a wave of self doubt washed over me. You know that feeling you sometimes get (or at least I do and hope I'm not alone) when you think, "I'm actually an adult." but you still feel inside like an adolescent or child pretending to be an adult? That's how I felt, and beyond that I felt inadequate and scared. That was the feeling--the who am I? Am I enough? Am I real enough, worthy enough?

I reached into my purse and pulled out my traveling stole, my prayer book and my oil stock. Suddenly I felt surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Suddenly I knew I wasn't alone. My traveling stole was given to me by the wife of a priest I never knew but suspect we would have had great theological conversations--and I love and adore his family who have welcomed me, embraced me, and loved me just as I am. As I turned the pages of my prayer book I saw the handwriting of another priest no longer alive but very much alive in my life--a man who walked discernment and ordination with me and again his family is a family I love and who love me back just as fiercely. And then I opened the oil stock given to me by my mother when I was ordained. A gift given by a proud mother who believed and believes in my call--who recognizes my adulthood in my vocation.

In that moment I understood All Saints to my very core. I understood that I was surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and I rejoiced in their fellowship. (BCP, p.380) It was a great cloud of witnesses both living and dead, but a cloud of witnesses on who I could depend for support and a cloud of witnesses I was being invited to join.

The next day was All Saints, Nov. 1 and I read this from Frederick Buechner, Sacred Journey,

"On All Saints Day, it is not just the saints of the church that we should remember in our prayers, but all the foolish ones and wise one, they shy ones and overbearing ones, the broken ones and whole ones, the despots and tosspots and crackpots of our lives who, one way or another have been our particular fathers and mothers and saints, and whom we loved without knowing we loved them and by whom we were helped to whatever little we may have, or ever hope to have, of some kind of seedy sainthood of our own."

We all have saints in our lives. In the morning when we make eggs in my grandparents iron skillet I remember, when I look at my hand where my great grandmother's wedding ring has sat on my finger for 23 years, I remember, when I fold a baby blanket crotched by Chris's grandmother, I remember, when I read from books recommended to me by a beloved priest friend, I remember. So many times I remember...

I anointed my friend a saint of God and then walked to the door where I hugged her husband, my friend, another saint of God, and I remembered something written in one of those books recommended to me, "For me to be a saint means to be myself." (New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton; p. 31) And I thought, "Yes there is a great cloud of witnesses who will continue to love and support me, but what I need to be is myself--an ordinary woman, a wife and mother of 4 who is also a priest who wears high heels, is rather loud, and possibly slightly irreverent. I am part of the saints of God."

And each of you in your vocations and lives, you are meant to me one too.