Holy Saturday Waiting

Over the last few days I have been asked repeatedly when SK and William will be in for Easter, and I've had to reply, "They're not coming home this year." Sometimes there is silence; sometimes there is a hug; sometimes there is "I am so sorry." See people close to me know (okay you don't have to be close to me I pretty much announce it to the world), a) how important having my family around anytime is and b) how important having them for Easter is. But this year they couldn't make it work, and the truth is I've felt sorry for myself.

I have spent time today getting things ready for tomorrow--placing the Easter baskets out to be filled and hidden, setting the table, picking up the lamb for Chris to grill, making the my pies, and trying not to think about it. But I can't stop thinking about it...

I can't stop thinking about today being Holy Saturday and how most of us live most of our lives in Holy Saturday--a time of waiting. Yes there are times we live Good Friday days--days of unbearable grief and pain, and there are also times we live Easter days--times of great joy. But many days are just in between and days of waiting--waiting for jobs, college acceptances, retirement, diagnosis, friendships, love and the list goes on.

I thought about the waiting for me right now--waiting until the time we're all together again which I know won't be long and then my heart went back to Good Friday and I began to think about other mothers' waiting....

Waiting for the pain of losing a child you sent to school and he/she never came home to lighten

Waiting to reconcile with a child

Waiting for addiction to stop

Waiting for court dates

Waiting for a soldier to return home

Waiting beside a hospital bed as death slowly creeps in the door

Waiting for a diagnosis and hoping it won't crush you

Waiting to get pregnant

Waiting for your child to find a friend

Waiting for you child to confide in you

Waiting for your child to stop hurting

Waiting for your child to start eating

Waiting.....

Holy Saturday is a time of waiting but because we know Easter has and will come, we wait with hope--an active hope that knows no matter how hard the waiting is, how painful, how lonely, God is at work in the world around us. So instead of wallowing in my own sadness, I decided to continue my preparation with that hope filling my heart--hope for all waiting.

Yes tomorrow I will miss having SK and William around the table, but we've filled their spots with close friends, and yes I will miss having 4 children hunt their Easter baskets, but I've already sent SK's and William's to them and maybe they can convince their roommates to hide them (now that isn't Christian hope but rather wishful and probably never going to happen hope....). And tomorrow as we celebrate Easter, I will also say a special prayer for all mothers everywhere waiting.

A Mother's Fury

Ok, here's the truth--I can write today even though I publicly said I couldn't--yep I lied, or as I like to justify it by saying, "I protected my emotions." Because I don't like what I'm about to write--to admit this about myself--and yet it won't let me rest....


This week I've been thinking a lot about Mary as I have been doing for the past few years especially during Holy Week. I've written about how I can identify with Mary on so many levels. But something happened this week which led my thoughts down a different path--a path of trying to understand her relationship with Peter...

Jesus met Peter and they became friends. At some point Mary must have met him and spent time with him. He was a bit feisty, probably full of personality. I wonder if Mary liked that? I did.

When Jesus began his ministry and  the stakes kept getting higher, I wonder if Mary blamed Peter and the other disciples for encouraging Jesus in his behavior? I did.

When Peter tried to walk on the water to get to Jesus I wonder if Mary was relieved there was someone who loved her son so much he would strive to do what seemed to be the impossible because he believed so strongly in him? I did.

When Peter asked Jesus to stay on the mountain, to let him build a shelter for him a place to stay safe, I wonder if Mary appreciated Peter's attempt to keep her son safe? I did.

When Peter took Jesus aside and rebuked him for the things he was saying and doing, risking their friendship, I wonder if Mary gave thanks for the courage Peter had? I did.

When Peter cut off the soldier's ear defending Jesus, I wonder if Mary was hopeful that Peter would help to rescue Jesus? I was.

When Peter denied Jesus, not once but three times, I wonder if Mary burned with rage and had to resist the urge to physically lash out at him, to want to retaliate, to want to make sure the world knew what a horrible person he was? I did.

When Jesus was resurrected and forgave Peter without getting a true apology, when he reconnected with Peter and elevated him, I wonder if Mary also extended grace and forgiveness. I haven't.

truth

TRUTH

Monograms and Maundy Thursday

The other day I entertained myself by thinking of all the

yes my collar is mongrammed

monogrammed items I have (clearly I am easily entertained). Of course my mind couldn't just stop with entertainment, it had to go deeper and I began to think about identity.

When Chris and I got married 25 years ago this year, there was no question I would take his name. And I know many are going to shudder at this, but just like everything else I'm going to be totally transparent, I looked forward to and still embrace being called "Mrs. Christopher Robert Doyle." It doesn't feel, at least to me, like I am his property; it feels like I belong to him (and he to me) and it is part of my identity.

I was NOT, however, going to give up any of my name. I am named Ann Katherine Kanto--named for two of my great grandmothers. I didn't want to lose any of that, and I definitely didn't want to give up my maiden name. So legally I am Ann Katherine Kanto Doyle--a fact that sometimes (read often) creates issues with writing checks, filing taxes, and flying. Those issues are more bothersome for Chris. For me, not giving up any of my name created a monogram existential crisis of the largest proportion.

I still wear it...

I started thinking about my monogram evolution... when I was first married (actually probably during the engagement period) I thought I would be okay with things not monogrammed but rather with my initials AKKD--that lasted one or two items--this southern girl needs a monogram. I then moved on and decided I wanted everything monogramed  ADK. The truth is, I liked the way it looked--I thought it was prettier, more swirly, more elegant.

And here's the honest to God, I wish I didn't have to admit it--at that point of my life, that's what was most important to me--what "looked" the best; being pretty; being elegant. I'm not going to say I was completely shallow--I wasn't, but I was definitely going for an image and as I think back on those years, that was really hard work. There were times I was trying to be something I'm not; I was trying on different identities; I was not being authentic. And it was exhausting.

Somewhere along the way--possibly shortly after the birth of Caroline and my insistence she have my maiden name as her middle name (an insistence Chris fully supported and embraced), I started thinking about my own identity more--it probably also helped I started therapy....

I'm also on the journey of going paperless

I started thinking about the things that made me me--the past, the present, and what was to come in the future. My past--my family of origin has shaped me not only with genes but with life experience--the good, the bad, and the ugly. Over the next few years I began to live more fully into this--I still cared more than I should have about appearance (but Caroline did go to school one time on a sunny day with a smocked dress, big bow and rain boots--something I would NEVER have done with SK and William was often seen in pubic in a very worn and tattered spiderman costume-- I considered these progress.). And it became important to me to recognize my maiden name, to return to my roots so to speak,  and so my monograms moved to KDK.

I still serve on it

I didn't give any of my monogrammed items away, and I still use them all. They remind me of my journey; they remind me life is a journey and every step is important and that God can use all things for God's glory.

This Holy Week I've been thinking a lot about identity and spiritual journey particularly as we begin the walk to the cross. And although she was trying to be a smart alec, Caroline's comment the other night, "I'm going to miss Maudy Thursday service this year for play practice--I mean it's the same story every year. I remember it." (Actually she may have also said, "Maundy Thursday? Maundy Noway.") She's right--it is the same story; and it's a story we need to hear again and again as we journey to live into our identity--our most important identity--acceptance of being a beloved child of God, recognition that God abides in us and we in God, and then for another year striving to live into that reality.

Taking my monogram bag on my journey

And the Professor Keeps Teaching...

Two nights ago I saw on facebook that one of my dearest friend's father was nearing the end of his life. I deeply love my friend, and I deeply love her father. He is one of the most brilliant men I have ever known--an internationally known philosopher.

One of my favorite things about this man is his intellect (which is FAR superior to mine) but more importantly his skill at sharing that intellect with others in ways they can understand--not dumbing down but rather lifting up.

My body physically reacted to a surge of guilt--guilt I didn't know it was getting this close; guilt I haven't seen him very much recently; guilt I haven't talked to my friend. But I didn't stay there--I recognized I could wallow in that, and I was and am certain I will spend some time in that particular pen in the future, instead, all I knew was I  had to see him the next day. I had some things I needed to tell him.

And one of them was to apologize for not being there more. As I went through my day before I visited with him, I thought about why I hadn't visited more. I pass the retirement home where he lives EVERY DAY! The truth is, I didn't make the time for a variety of reasons--some even good--and then the more time that went between visits the harder it was to visit because of that damn guilt. I reflected on how that happens so often in my life and I'm certain in others lives.

I mentally hog tied that guilt up and went to have the conversation I needed to have...

I arrived to find a hallway full of visitors and a sign on the door that said, "please limit visits to 10-15 minutes." I was prepared to come back, but the other visitors said they needed to be going and so I entered the room. My friend left to walk a guest out; I pulled up a chair and took his hand giving thanks for this time and the others leaving.

Recognizing I only had a few minutes alone with him and also being a card carrying member of the rule followers I jumped right in;  I took his hand and said, "I need to tell you some things. First I need to apologize that I haven't visited more over the last year." He interrupted me, "No apology is necessary," then he looked me straight in the eye and said, "it's not necessary for me, but I see it's necessary for you. I accept your apology."

Tears streamed down my face as I received undeserved grace. I continued, "I want to thank you for the many conversations we have had over the years over a pint, a glass of wine or a cup of coffee. I will never again be able to talk about agape love without hearing your voice in my ear and in my heart." (He's written a great deal on agape love.) "I also want to thank you for holding space for me. For holding anger for me when I couldn't hold it or even acknowledge it myself because it would have broken me. I want to thank you for opening your home and your heart to me and providing me  a safe place to retreat." He looked at me and said, "I did that? Well I guess I did, but never underestimate your own strength. I always saw it."

He squeezed my hand and asked, "Are you happy?" A wave of peace washed over me as I realized I could honestly, and perhaps for the first time in a long time answer, "Yes,I am in a content nondramatic way." His eyes twinkled and he said, "Like the happiness Aristotle writes about." We went on to talk about Aristotle and happiness. "You know," he said, "No one really knows if he's lived a life of happiness until the end of his life." And so I asked him, "Was your life happy?" "Yes," he said, "I might not have been able to say that 10 or 15 years ago, but I now know it indeed was."

His eyes began to close and I knew he needed some rest. I told him I was going to go; I leaned down and kissed his head; he reached for my hand again and said, "Katherine, this right here. This is agape love."

The professor keeps on teaching....

Steak dinner, Shame, and a Walk to the Cross

Sometimes I practice what I preach...often I don't......

Two weeks ago I gathered with the youth of the Diocese of Kentucky. We explored what it meant to be created in the image of God, and possibly even more importantly, we explored and tried to own that despite our flaws we are indeed created in God's image and that we are God's beloved with whom God is well pleased. (Luke 3:22) 

It truly broke my heart listening to these young people deny there was anything redeemable about themselves. So many of them carry such deep regret and shame--and they have yet to even carry a driver's license. Some of the shame is about things done to them or around them, but very often it is about things they have done--things they believe are not redeemable. The range of "severity" of these memories is broad--the feelings are the same.

Brene Brown defines shame as, "the most powerful, master emotion. It’s the fear that we’re not good enough." I was surrounded by youth who carry that fear like a second skin. We had much dialogue. We walked through prayer stations; and we loved. I believe many left with their burdens a little lighter. While my heart was still broken, I also felt some relief; I had some hope they had shed some of the shame and would be moving on.

And then today happened.....

I was texting with a colleague--it was both lighthearted and deep. I was affirmed in my ministry, and I felt good. Dare I even say  I felt a little proud? And then I did something, something so minor, but my colleague "called" me on it. Even though I was alone in my house, my face heated up flushed with shame and tears sprang into my eyes. I immediately apologized and was told the apology wasn't necessary. The other truth is the word "called" is too strong for what really happened but it's the word my emotions felt.

Suddenly other experiences came flooding back as they always do when shame envelopes me--the time in fourth grade when I went to dinner with my best friend's family. I loved this family and they loved me. I called them Mama Lynne and Daddy Jim--they were kind and loving. We were at a steak house; a steak house you can see right off 285 just beyond the Ashford Dunwoody exit (wonder if it's still there). I was wearing a striped sweater and bell bottom jeans. My friend had two barrettes on each side of her middle part. The details are as vivid today as though they happened this morning. We ordered and decided to split a plate (steak and shrimp). My friend's father said, "I think it will be plenty for you both." I looked up and said, "And if it's not, we'll just order something else." My friend's mother said, "No, we can get something else at home."

She did not speak unkindly; she smiled as she was saying it and her eyes had the same twinkle they always did, but I was humiliated. It took all my will power not to burst into tears. I was suddenly sure they thought I was ungrateful, impolite, and I knew without a doubt I would never be included again. (note--I later went on numerous beach and ski trips with them--proof that facts don't erase memories....)

Fast forward 16 years...I was at my cousin's bridesmaid luncheon. We were seated at a long table; I was nervous. I was the youngest and I absolutely adore and idolize both my sister and my cousin. I was laughing, and probably trying to get attention. My sister looked at me and quietly said, "Shh; you're being too loud." I can tell you she said it quietly and discreetly, but I went to the bathroom and sobbed. In my mind she had broadcasted to the world, "You are loud and obnoxious and I'm embarrassed to know you."

There are several other incidents that play a part in this movie of shame in my head. It's a movie I get to watch over and over--sometimes it goes years (well not really) but perhaps months between viewings, but then something happens and I'm back sitting alone in the theater of my mind with no popcorn--a movie that wants to convince me I'm not enough.

I am fairly well adjusted; I have worked through (and continue to work through) my insecurities with the help of a therapist and spiritual director. I can talk myself down from the panic that threatens to paralyze me within seconds, but it still exists and I still have to live with it. 

Brown also says,  "Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light." and "If we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive." 

I believe our stories when shared become part of the larger story--the story of God and God's infinite love for us despite our insecurities and regrets. I believe my story has become part of Peter's story who must have felt deep shame and regret after denying Christ and yet he is the rock upon which the church has been built. (Matthew 16:18) 

It is the beginning of Holy Week. As I walk this journey this week, I pledge to share every story that bubbles up bringing with it shame with someone else, and I pledge to be available to hear others' stories. On Friday I am going to leave them at the foot of the cross, and I invite everyone to do the same. It may be we have to leave them again next year and the next and the next. But I believe we all are truly God's beloved and with us God is well pleased.

Walk with me....