My Crazy Crushes

Growing up I was not one of those teens who had celebrity crushes. Maybe it was because I wasn't allowed to hang posters on my bedroom walls; maybe it was because I couldn't and still can't remember names of actors, musicians and what not. Whatever the reason, it just wasn't me. But....

Give me a good theologian, and even better a published good theologian--and then I become like a

crazed Beatles fan the first time the Beatles came to America. I read everything I can get my hands on and learn as much about their lives as I can. I follow their social media and "like" everything. You might say I become obsessed--I prefer to call it engaged. But I do know that if I lived in North Georgia, there would probably be a cease and desist order preventing me from driving back and forth in front of Barbara Brown Taylor's house hoping she would come down the driveway--yes, it is true, I have done that.

And just like any good fan, I think they hung the moon and I want to, and usually do, agree with everything they say--truth, I want them to like me should I ever meet them. I get dizzy if they ever respond to one of my tweets, blogs, or social media posts...you get the picture...

And then came Sunday morning....

You've probably heard of The Red Hen by now and how the owner asked Sarah Huckabee Sanders to leave. Twitter and Facebook were blowing up with high fives and support--some by my favorite "crushes." So like any good obsessed fan, I jumped on the bandwagon, and guess what?!?!?! One of them liked my tweet!!! It was like nirvana for me, except I felt queasy and a bit uncomfortable. I tried to ignore it--she had LIKED my tweet!!!

Tuesday morning I was driving to my preaching group listening to the news. Someone was being criticized for saying "cotton pickin' mind." I was a little ashamed it took me a few minutes to put together why this was insulting. I had grown up hearing and saying this very phrase never thinking about it's origin (I had the same realization with what my grandparents used to call brazilian nuts). Like a dog on the scent of a rabbit racing through the woods, my mind went all over the place. I reminded myself the world was evolving--people were understanding and bringing to light many ways we have abused, neglected and oppressed others not recognizing the dignity of every human being. For so many years we have looked at some groups of people with one dimensional eyes. Suddenly I spoke these words out loud (another not quite normal behavior). "I'm not sure I do agree about The Red Hen." I hesitated waiting for I don't know what, but the world didn't end, so I breathed a sigh of relief and continued my thinking. I wondered how asking SHS to leave was respecting her dignity as a human being? From what I've read she wasn't disturbing anyone; she wasn't requiring others dining in the restaurant to listen to her. Was asking her to leave really a way of only acknowledging one part of her personhood--that of press secretary--and ignoring she is also a wife, mother, daughter and friend? I admitted to myself I personally wouldn't have wanted to eat with her or even talk to her, but I wondered about Jesus. I didn't want to think about it--I like agreeing with those I admire and respect. But, I admire and respect them; I don't worship them. So I began to think about who I do worship--God, and I wondered what Jesus would do, and I admitted to myself I don't believe Jesus would have asked her to leave. I believe Jesus would have sat down and eaten with her AND even picked up the check. I believe if Jesus was there and saw her leaving, he would have left with her. I also believe Jesus would ask me to do the same even if it meant losing the respect of others I love. (For the record, I do believe Jesus would have lovingly challenged SHS about some of her behavior as well....)

And then that thing happened that happens to me sometimes--the thing that feels like I need to go potty and I can't think about anything else until I do it, except the thing for me is writing. I knew I had to write about what I really thought. But I certainly didn't want to run the risk of one of my crushes thinking I was a terrible priest and/or person. So I allowed my inner teenager, you know the one that knows how to manipulate and justify like there's no tomorrow, take over. I decided I would write about the incident in my weekly letter to my congregation. True some might not agree with me, but it wasn't that many people who would read it, and truthfully I couldn't think of anyone who would lambast me. I convinced myself I could write about it without running the risk of alienating people I admire, my crushes and even some of my very closest friends because they would now know what I really believe and it might be different from their beliefs. I could get rid of the potty urgency feeling and still feel safe.

This morning as I was preparing to write the letter that stinking potty feeling came back stronger than ever along with the thought, "Don't be a coward." More importantly I thought about what hiding was really saying. It was saying I didn't trust the community of faith. It was saying my need to be liked and respected was more important to me than standing up for what I believe is right and being willing to have others disagree. It was denying the opportunity for dialogue. It was denying the three fold sources authority used by The Episcopal Church, the three legged stool -Scripture, tradition and reason, and it was denying this tool was best used in community.

Most importantly it was denying myself. It was denying I had another way of understanding the incident which didn't mean I was right and others were wrong. I believe many who have written, tweeted, and posted share my beliefs that God loves everyone no exceptions and everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect. I also believe we as Christians and leaders in our faith need to practice how to disagree as we walk in love. Hiding was denying we can disagree and still love.

I still have my idols; I still believe they have much to teach me, I will still get giggly when they recognize me, but I also believe I can love them, admire them and still at times disagree and I believe that's okay.

Stop Family Separation--Change the Story

I sat down by the pool to dig into Rachel Held Evans’ new book, Inspired.  I’m currently serving as chaplain to the senior high at All Saints Camp—one of my absolute favorite things to do—but not much quiet time for reading….

I was overjoyed to find in the very first chapter talks about Genesis and the creation story—that is the VERY thing we are talking about right now! High five to God and RHE. I was preparing myself to borrow everything she had to say. And then I read this,

“We know who we are, not from the birth certificate and Social Security numbers assigned to us by the government, but from the stories told and retold to us by our community. Should the time of birth on your certificate be off by a minute, or should it be lost altogether, it wouldn’t change what’s truest about you—that you matter and are loved.” [1]

I smiled to myself thinking how my children love to hear the stories of their births, and then of course, there’s my birth story—born in the backseat of a station wagon. “Yep,” I thought, “RHE (I like to use initials when I can’t use monograms) is onto something here.” Almost instantaneously I realized I could not use this example here at camp. Some of the youth do not have stories of their births that assure them they matter and are loved. Instead they have stories of being shuffled from home to home, often separated from siblings. “But,” I continued to think, “They do know they are loved and they matter and a large part of it is All Saints Camp and the staff and friends they form here. All Saints has become part of their stories—part of their community.”

My heart and mind jumped to the children who are being separated from their families. I don’t know their birth stories, but I am willing to bet many come with the knowledge they matter and are loved. They have families who believe they matter and are loved so much they are risking everything to cross the borders. I reread RHE’s words. Sitting in the 95 degree heat, a chill swept through my body. I wondered whether the numbers the government is assigning these children matter to anyone? And if they are off by even one number—what could that mean for reuniting families?

Currently the stories being written for these children do not bring the assurance they matter and are loved—that they are indeed children of God who as one of the youth said this morning, “Deserve every privilege God’s creation provides to everyone.” (Have I mentioned how much I love the youth?) These stories, however, don’t have to be the whole story—they don’t even have to be an entire chapter. Just like the government doesn’t get the main narrative voice for my children’s stories, I cannot sit back and allow them to author these children’s stories.

We need to take the pen; we cannot erase what has been done, but we can control the next chapters. We have to try; we have to participate for the stories to be different, to be changed, to be infused with love and acceptance, we must take action and we must take it now. There are a lot of resources out there. Here’s one I’m starting with. https://advocacy.episcopalchurch.org/home?8

I may never be an officially published author, but I will be a part of writing this story. Today, that’s enough for me.

---

[1] Rachel Held Evans, Inspired (Nashville: Nelson Books, 2018), 20.

Holy Sticky Notes

If I’m honest, I have no idea why I bought Laurie Brock and

Mary Koppel’s book Where God Hides Holiness. But if I’m really, really honest it’s probably because of the subtitle Thoughts on Grief, Joy and the Search for Fabulous Heels  or the picture of the gorgeous pink stiletto on the cover. What I do know for certain, is in November of 2014, I read that book cover to cover 3 times in one week. Okay, I’m a priest—I cannot lie—I read the whole book cover to cover once and then Laurie Brock’s portion twice more.

It’s not that Mary Koppel’s section wasn’t awesome; it was and is (read it again last week), but in reading Brock’s section I could just, well I could just identify. I thought I was reading about myself. Initially I thought it was because we both seem to cry a lot, both love SEC football (although I question her choice of teams—Go Dawgs!), both wear high heels and both were raised with Southern “rules.”

It didn’t take me long, however, to understand it was because she was speaking directly to the pain, isolation and fear I was desperately attempting to avoid. I had been ordained for just shy of two years, and I was terrified God had made a mistake; I had made a mistake; 3 Dioceses had made a mistake—either one of those mistakes had been made or I was losing my mind. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt lost, lonely and terrified.

I was the associate of a parish full of wonderful people whom I loved and still love dearly, but I felt like I was going crazy. I was seeing things, feeling things, experiencing things that no one else seemed to notice, so I began to think it was me—I began to believe there was some deep flaw within myself, and I began to question and doubt not only my ordination, but my whole being.

I could quote something from almost every page, but the summation was, “In the dark, I felt safe. I felt safe enough to name some of the mutilations—I didn’t feel valued or heard; I didn’t feel authentically me; I didn’t feel safe.” (kindle location 1515). As I read those words I felt both an intense sadness and overwhelming relief (and of course I cried). Finally I could put words to what I was feeling, and I wasn’t going crazy.

I emailed Laurie at her parish and told her I felt like I was living her story; she told me to trust myself and to trust the voice of God I was hearing. Two days later I met with my Bishop and without knowing what the future would hold with his full support, resigned my position.

Fast forward 3 ½ years—I waited semi-patiently for Brock’s new book to come out. I’d been hearing about it and couldn’t wait to read it. Then I was contacted by Paraclete Press and asked if they could send me a copy and would I read and then write about it? Honestly I wasn’t sure they had the right person (still working on that self-confidence) but I jumped at the chance, and then definitely not patiently, waited for the book to arrive.

I wanted to rush through the book and get on with my writing about it, but that was not possible. Just about every page had some sentence or paragraph I needed to read and re read and then process. The book is full of sticky notes, underlining, and journaling. (so no I won't be loaning it out, but I'll buy you your own....)

After the first few chapters I had convinced myself to find a place to begin riding again—I wanted to find the holiness in horses Laurie found. But when I thought about it my soul didn’t sing and I realized what I wanted was to be Laurie—the fashionista, horse riding, amazing priest, and most importantly author.

What’s amazing about her writing, however, is that she doesn’t let anyone stay in the place of dreaming about being someone else. Instead she challenges, pushes, and inspires you to want to find out who your best self is, what your deepest desires are, what makes your soul sing.

Should every female priest read this book? ABSOLUTELY, but so should every male priest. But I’m not going to stop there—every person should read this book, and I mean that—EVERY person—lay or ordained, any faith or those of no faith. This book gently, and sometimes not so gently, pushes you to confront parts of your life that are difficult, that are false, that are deadening and also provides the space to assist you in discovering who your authentic self is and what your deepest desires are—it demands that whether you want to or not, whether you are ready or not, to begin to uncover who God created you to be. And it does it with the ordinariness of riding horses. You never have to sit on a horse for this book to change your life.

I want to write; I want to be an author—is that who God created me to be? I don’t know, but I do know this book has lit a fire in me—not to be Laurie Brock but to pursue what I’ve been talking, thinking and dreaming about for years—to try to discover if being a writer is part of my calling. I’ve been sometimes showing up at the “barn”, but not getting out of the car, and I certainly have not gone into the ring. That is going to change.

I don’t know if I’ll gallop down this path, canter down this path, trot down this path, or take a slow, gentle and deliberate walk, but I do know I won’t be able to stop showing up.

Oh, and by the way, I have found a parish and a position in the Diocese that “let’s me sing my song.” (Where God Hides Holiness, kindle location 1952)

Relationships Dislodged

Two nights ago I got to spend a couple of hours with dear almost

life long friends. I haven't seen this family in person for a number of years, but thanks to social media and texts we've kept up. We spent the time sharing stories--laughing and just enjoying each others company. (We did NOT get a picture which I am sad about except that it is proof that I can live in the moment and being with them was way more important than documenting it.)

As I drove back to the beach house from theirs I thought about how lucky I was to have such good friends not only these particular friends, but the many many friends I have that span decades and with whom I'm still connected.  I may have even fractured my arm that night patting myself on the back while telling SK, with just a tad bit of arrogant pride, that Chris and I are still in touch with everyone who was in our wedding party--a feat not everyone can claim.

Yesterday I started reading Horses Speak of God  again. (You may be happy to know I have now finished it..well finished reading it--I'm not sure I'll ever finish processing it). Anyway in her chapter Dislodged I read these words, "Over this same course of months, what began as a friendship began to feel oppressive." (p.110) and "I'd ignored the signs in my own soul of discomfort and annoyance, of something being wrong in this relationship." (p.111). After wanting to throw the book deep into the ocean, I admitted to myself--I'm really good at collecting friends; I'm just not so good at letting them go even when when it causes me deep pain.

Oh I'm good at talking about it. I've had many conversations with people talking about how sometimes we have friends for a season and then that season comes to an end--no big drama it's just over. I can say it, but I'm also the neurotic, send multiple texts and letters asking what went wrong; how I messed up--if you're one of those people who I "stalked" I apologize right now. I'm also not good at listening to that feeling in my gut (maybe because I trust nothing about my gut due to my past eating disorder--but that's another story) that tells me a relationship is unhealthy. I miss or ignore the signs and like a dog that has run through an electric fence one too many times (yes we had one of those) I don't learn very well. Chris reminds me every time we move if someone who has lived in the new place has lived there for a very long time and instantly wants to become my best friend and do everything with me, it's not because of my effervescent personality but rather because said person has worn everyone else out!

Why am I like this? I think the truth is I am totally uncomfortable with conflict and I have an insatiable need to be liked by everyone (even though I don't like everyone--figure that out). Somewhere along the way of my journey through life I began to believe that conflict is bad and necessarily means failure--necessarily means brokenness. I suspect I'm not the only one in the world who struggles has learned this fake lesson.

But I do detest conflict particularly direct conflict in relationships. I often wonder why relationships can't just be fun and easy and always life giving--then I remember we're human. I suppose I could dissect this gazing through the lens of my past, but that lens is cloudy. Fact is I abhor conflict between people even people I don't know. It makes me uncomfortable; it sends me into my fix it mode. For instance, Sunday night SK and I witnessed a couple having a very heated argument and I could barely stand it; I was antsy, agitated, and way more uncomfortable than the couple in question. (SK did find it amusing and even documented it...) It happened again Tuesday morning on the beach...

When it directly involves me, I want to suppress it, to deny it, to pretend it isn't happening, and to twist myself into whatever pretzel that person wants me to be to avoid. Problem is it doesn't work.

It's not that I don't believe some relationships need to come to an end and not just because the season is over and they come to a drama free end;  I do believe sometimes the life preserver of a relationship must be removed, but it's still sad and people still get hurt. I am, after all, the daughter of divorced parents. The truth is I prayed for them to divorce for a number of years, but when it happened it knocked me on my hiney--both literally and figuratively (I spent some time in the garage on my backside screaming my lungs out). But from that pain for our family came resurrection--new relationships, new life.

Relationships grow and change. People within relationships grow and change. Sometimes what we "need" from a relationship changes. Sometimes we have less time, less energy to nurture relationships and we have to trust the relationship is strong enough to withstand or that we are strong enough to lovingly let the relationship go. Sometimes, and this is where it gets hard, one person in the relationship changes and then Newton's third law becomes a possibly unwanted part of the relationship--you know the one that says every action has an equal and opposite reaction--which in relationships can cause that dreaded word conflict.

Bottom line is conflict doesn't have to mean the end of a relationship though sometimes it does. Conflict can, in fact, bring two people even closer which I can personally attest to--you know who you are. Healthy conflict takes practice and the willingness to move through it--the willingness Brock calls being dislodged or bucked. "We humans, I realize, buck naturally. Our primal souls don't always have the patience or ability to share in soft, comfortable ways the exuberance of life or the anger of life," (p. 111)

Brock ends the chapter writing, "Horses buck. Humans buck. God bucks. To be in relationship with any and all of these means we must always be ready to be dislodged and always be willing to ask ourselves, in the aftermath of being dislodged, Now what?" (p.112)

Now I am going to give thanks for all the friendships God has gifted me with--the ones that continue and the ones that have ended. For each of these relationships has helped to shape who I am and who I will continue to grow into being. And I look forward to the many new relationships I have yet to form.

Envy, Desire, Fear and The Dragon

I have wanted to be a writer my whole life. I used to make books; I

have journals full of poetry; and I have created more stories in my head than I can even begin to think about remembering (and that is not a reflection on my age). But somewhere along the way, just like my desire to be the first woman President, I gave up on that dream--or at least I thought I did.

I'm not a writer, but I have many friends who are and right or wrong, I have taken great pleasure in being able to tell others about the authors that are my friends (and probably a bit of pride...). Talking about confirmation--me, "Oh Jenifer and I are good friends; I can ask her what she meant by that." Passing on ideas for faith information at home, "Wendy and I have been friends for a long time; let me ask her for some more ideas." Asked for a suggestion about a book for seasons of the church year and family living, "Oh let me get you a copy of my friend Jerusalem's book. I'll even get her to sign it for you." Planning VBS, "Maybe I can get my friend Lisa down here. You know I've known her since 2002 and she and Chris taught confirmation together." "Sharon Ely Pearson? Oh yeah, I know her well." And the list goes on....

You get the picture...I took pride in knowing real life authors. Probably too much pride--but this is a blog about envy not pride...or maybe they're connected--who knows. I am, however, fairly certain neither are what God had in mind for healthy living. I also know that every time I was around them during a book signing I would have to leave the area. I told myself it was because I wanted to give room for other people--people who didn't know (that pride sin) them like I do. I not only told myself; I believed it--until today and that darn book!

Several weeks ago (more than several but I don't want to add the sin of sloth to my ever increasing list of sins), I was asked to read a book and blog my thoughts about it. (Perhaps you've read a few of them...) They even said they'd send me a copy of the book (see Chris I don't pay for every book). I was astonished that someone cared what I thought--that someone actually wanted me to write about someone else's book. I was so flattered I was like a senior in high school, long before email college acceptances, running to the mailbox every day to get my book.

It finally came; I began reading it, and then the real problems began. Not only did I love it, but I also hated it. It challenged me; it made me think about things I didn't want to think about; it made me feel.

And this morning was no different. I sat down on the beach to finish the book and gosh, darn, butter my butt and call me a biscuit I had to read about envy! My mind immediately went to thinking about all my friends who are authors, and I started thinking about my life long dream long ago buried. I realized I was indeed proud of my friends, but I was also incredibly envious a word I had never let myself utter about this.  I wanted to be a part of the group.

In Horses Speak of God, Laurie Brock writes, "What might happen, however, if we let our feelings of envy inform us of a deep desire in our soul, something in another we ourselves want to cultivate or attain, not at the expense of another, but for our own growth?' (p. 121) Do I still desire to be an author? The simple answer is yes--kind of. I want to be an author, but what if I'm not? What if it's just that--a life long childhood dream that is unattainable--you know like being the first woman president. Oh wait, that would be a NIGHTMARE!! I want to be an author but am I willing to expose myself? (y'all only think I'm 100% transparent--there's lots more there.) And really, what would I write about?

Brock writes about envy and anger as bodyguards for sadness. I think they are also guarding fear. It's so much easier to leave the room, the arena, the stage when my friends are signing books because I'm envious than it is to actually attempt to write. What if I write and no one likes it? What if I try to write and no publisher pays attention to me? What if I write and people think I'm too simple, too dramatic, too, well too anything except relevant. Envy and fear, it seems to me, are dance partners with fear leading.

"Sometimes what we envy may be a desire, a need, a yearning that has helplessly been cast off in our souls and wants to be loved into recognition. If we let the dragon of envy lead us down deeply into ourselves, we may discover not only something we want, but something of ourselves that needs our love." (p. 122)

Perhaps giving something our love doesn't necessarily mean achieving it, but rather admitting it exists and then allowing it to RIP. Maybe it means recognizing our deepest desires and then being okay with not getting them. Or maybe it means kicking both envy and fear off the dance floor and circling around courage.

What do you envy? What do you desire? What needs your love?

I want to write; someday I might let the dragon out of the cage, will you?

Expectations, The Collect, and The Canary

I settled down in my chair on the beach convinced today's reading would be easy. I once again opened Laurie Brock's book Horses Speak of God, and damn if the chapter I started reading didn't talk about praying for our enemies and forgiving those who hurt us. I even wrote in the margin, "Damnit I don't want to pray for her!" I could feel my heat rising and not just from the sun. Fortunately on the very next page Brock writes, "Unicorns did not dance with rainbows surrounding the earth, and none of the people I prayed for will be invited to dine at my personal table anytime soon, but I will sit with them at God's table." (p. 54) What a relief!!!

Whew--got that over with. Surely the next few chapters will be easy...will I ever learn?

Several chapters later, the chapter entitled Collect, says this, "I feel scattered and unbalanced, too much of me pulled forward by the expectations of others and too little of my own energy grounding me to God. I carry a deep, buried need to be loved and to be useful to people in my life, likely because I carry wounds connecting my value solely to how others value me." (p. 63). I shouted, "AMEN!" (Which could have been embarrassing considering I was sitting on the beach by myself, but the couple next to me had been loudly fighting and I had been convincing myself not to get up and go offer pastoral counseling, so in the grand scheme of things shouting Amen was really no big deal.)

Just reading those words brought back a host of feelings and frankly are a large part of the reason I'm down here...problem is I couldn't leave my thoughts and feelings, or this gosh darn book that is both challenging and amazing in Kentucky....

Just over a year ago I saw someone walking towards me and all I could think was, "Please don't talk to me. I cannot listen to you right now." Immediately as I thought these words shame washed over me in buckets. This person was one of the kindest, most loving, most giving people I know and yet at that moment the thought of having to interact with said person sent anger and irritation coursing through my veins. I realized in that moment, I was spent. I had nothing left to give and needed some time to myself, so I went home and ironed.

As I was ironing, and let's be honest, berating myself for feeling anything less than unconditional love for the entire human species, I thought, "_________is my canary in the coal mine." Like a canary in the coal mines, _____alerts me to danger, but for me the danger isn't around me; the danger is within me. The danger of losing myself.

I'm going to be honest here---I didn't graduate that day from the school of reasonable expectations. I tried; oh how I tried, but instead I just dallied in a few classes and most of them I either withdrew from or failed.

Take the class "Instant Communication." The description of this class is, "You don't have to respond to every text, email, phone call, social media posts or even conversation instantly." One of the learning goals was, "learning to be present." I thought this would be an easy A. I also knew this was a class my family was dying for me to take and pass--I'm pretty sure they knew it wouldn't be with an A.

I began to leave my phone in the kitchen when our family was in the dining or living room.
I tried to leave it in my purse when we were out (I did cheat sneaking a peek when Chris would go the rest room....), and while at work I tried to focus on what I was doing--not glancing at my phone during meetings or even when I was deeply involved. I thought I was doing a pretty good job until....

I began to get questions and comments from others--questions and comments like, "Are you alright?" "Are we alright?" "You aren't responding as quickly as usual." "You don't seem to want to interact much anymore." And instead of basking in my classroom success, I wallowed in my feelings of being a failure as a person--of letting people down--of not being enough.

I could write more and more about this year and the unreasonable expectations I put on myself, and to be truthful some unreasonable (not as many) expectations put on me by others. I could write more and more about feeling like I'm not good enough, but that's not the point.

As I sat on the beach I realized I allowed it to happen and I have to take responsibility for the fall out. I let the feelings of insecurity, sadness, and yes even anger wash over me, and I realized I needed to fix it. As Brock writes, "Oh yes, I need to collect myself." (p.66). But she continues "Or, more correctly, I need to allow God to collect me. I need God to remind me to take time and find the parts of myself and my soul that have been stretched too far by demands and expectations, both mine and others, and bring them back to center. I need God to pull my intellect and heart closer together, to connect them, so I could move through this muck that was currently stagnating me." (p.66)

And that's where I really failed--I stopped connecting with God. I blamed it on time, on life circumstances, on other relationships. But the truth, the cold hard truth is I didn't want to because I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what God had to say. I liked believing I was super woman; I liked believing I had it all together; I liked believing there was nothing I couldn't do. I didn't want to hear God tell me to just stop and to be still. I didn't want to hear God say, "You do not have it all together." Because I forgot; I forgot God doesn't think I'm not enough even if and when I don't have it altogether. God continues, "I do" and "my grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

So I'm going to head back down to the beach this morning knowing as Brock writes, "God collects me back into myself." And I'm going to keep reading this book...

Horses, Books, Bathing Suits, and Finding God

I drove into the driveway yesterday and exhaled as I always do

when arriving at the beach house. It's been a long year and a long, hectic, busy, fun and exhausting month. I needed this week, mostly alone, for so many reasons--they could probably all be combined together with the words, "to find myself again." And this was the place to do it--the place I love most in the world--the place I feel most at peace, most at home, most myself.

The year has been long, and somewhere during it I became unrecognizable to myself (and frankly to others who know me well). I let go of my spiritual practices; I became a sporadic exerciser; and I hadn't spent as much time in study as I want and need to (also which I vowed at ordination to do). I feel disorganized and out of control, so off to the beach I came for a week of spiritual rejuvenation and deliberate, planned study.

I slipped on my bathing suit getting ready to take Winnie for a walk after the long trip. I looked in the mirror not liking what I saw--I've gained 10 pounds this year. I'd like to say it's because I have hit the age of 50 and perhaps some of it is, but the truth that I know is it's because I have exercised less and eaten and drank more than I should. (see the above) I only brought one bathing suit--truthfully because I could only find one after scampering to remove my clothes from the boys drawers as they were coming home--and also because I don't like the way I look in them anyway.

I didn't like this one either.

I called Chris and told him I might go get another suit because I didn't like the way this felt. I'm sure he wanted to say, "Don't spend much." or even, "Is that really necessary?" but since he knows my history and since he knows where I am right now after a conversation we had just last week where he lovingly but firmly said, "You have to stop saying you're fat. Yes you're not as in as good of shape as usual, but you are not fat and it's not healthy for you to say it," he just said okay. As I talked to him I looked in the mirror again and thought, "He's right; I'm not fat." One part of my brain could say it, but the other reminds me I used to look in the mirror and think I looked fine when I didn't--more of that later.....

Winnie and I walked--with each step I felt more free. I thought about how this is the only home our children have known for their entire lives, and I began to scribe a letter to my daddy in my mind thanking him for making sure it remained in the family, thanking him for keeping this home which helped me to remember who I was and to regain myself year after year--a place where I felt confident and sure. (and I will write that letter)  I turned on Barbara Brown Taylor's book An Altar in the World and began listening as I do every summer--the comfort of routines like slapping the pier during a run ground my soul.

After our walk I sat on the beach and opened Laurie Brock's book Horses Speak of God and found my place. I have been asked to read this book and blog about it (a request that may have swelled my head just a bit). But I can't seem to get through it very quickly because it is packed with so much! In fact part of the reason I'm down here for study is because in her chapter Steadfastness she writes about the sin of stasis. She writes, "Never mind
that hearing, "Good job!" when our ease is begin affirmed allows us to stay in stasis," (p. 23) Those words convicted me and so I designed a week of studying leadership and Hebrew and Greek.


I read these words, "My default nature in life was one of apprehension and shrinking. Much of childhood and adolescence had been filled with al list of don'ts that reduced my self-confidence shred by shred." (p. 32) and "No matter how much we grow physically, our souls live eternally at all our ages at once. All the trauma, joy, and life of our younger years lives within our cells and memories. Growth physically doesn't mean we outgrow the heartache of our past. We may have more distance from what is within us or allow our present life to distract us, but the shadows of our past, especially those which cause us pain, do not disappear." (p. 34). Suddenly critical and hurtful words from my past began flooding my mind, some words which had been said on this very beach...

• "You'll never have a body that can wear a bikini"--and I didn't for years. Then when I finally did I was criticized for that
• "You are just big boned--not petite like us."
• "You shouldn't wear jeans they make your butt look big."--10 years ago I bought my first pair of jeans that I felt good in--so I bought 3 identical pairs
• "Don't spend too much on clothes. I know you've lost weight but you'll probably gain it back."--which is probably why I haven't bought a new bathing suit in 5 years
• "I know you think you're a size X but you're really not. They've changed the sizes from when I was your age."
• "Don't wear straight skirts or dresses; loose and baggy are better for your body shape"
• "Black is the best color to make you look slim"
• "I just don't understand why you parent that way."
• and the list went on....ending with this
• "you are not at all pastoral"

I put down the book furious--this was my place of refuge NOT the place these words were allowed to be, not a place where these words could come and continue to try to destroy more confidence. I closed my eyes and thought about this powerful chapter. Yes this place is a place of peace and calm, but to deny there were also times here that were hard and painful is to deny part of my existence. If I am to find myself again, I have to be willing to find all of myself--even the parts I would much prefer to leave buried somewhere in the depths of the dunes.

Brock continues, "All those disappointments, damaging experiences, wounds, and heartbreaks from our past that reach into our present yearn to be brought forth and, with time and awareness, transformed by God." (p. 35) This morning as I was running (and slapping the pier) I thought more

about Brock's words. I love this place; it will always be a place of refuge; it will always be a place of peace; but when I come here, all of myself comes--and sometimes the most broken parts of myself are closer to the surface than at other times and they might rear their ugly heads trying to invade and destroy me. But they can't. And I will no longer (or try to no longer) be afraid because as they come to the surface God does not destroy them but rather transforms them--Brock writes, "If we bring forth the fear within us, we will also find courage. We will also find God." (p. 39) 

I can't escape my past but it doesn't have to define me, and more importantly I don't have to "fix" it all right away--or alone. I have family, friends, a good therapist, God, and yes the beach house--a place of refuge.

And now I will sign off to study a little Greek...

Oh, and I did buy a new bathing suit last night....