Unsolicited Advice is Always Considered Criticism--Doing It Anyway

Not everyone is pictured, but everyone is in my heart

To "The Group,"

First I love you--each and every one of you. I have loved watching y'all grow and mature. I have loved watching you with each other. I have seen y'all have joyful, silly fun; I have seen y'all make mistakes--sometimes individually, sometimes as a group. I have watched y'all support each other as you follow your passions. I have watched y'all hold each other accountable. I have watched y'all celebrate each other's accomplishments and weep together with each other's disappointments. I have watched y'all become as Caroline says every time I ask her, with an eye roll, whose going to be there "The Group."

Some of y'all have known each other forever; some of y'all have come on the scene later. Some of y'all have always been friends; some of y'all didn't even like each other at times. But in the last year I have seen y'all come together and become something very special. I have watched y'all become "The Group."

Warning--here comes the advice...

You're all leaving for different places where you will meet new friends. Some of the first people you will meet will become life long friends, but some won't. It's okay; take your time; find your people. It's worth the wait--y'all are proof of that.

You're going to see lots of stuff on social media; it will look like everyone is having the time of their lives ALL the time. Here's the truth--it's a lie. Everyone will have times they are lonely, homesick, stressed, or just sad. Be honest with each other. Reach out to each other, love each other, be each other's safe place.

You're going to change a lot over the next four years. Sometimes it may feel like you no longer have anything in common with each other; sometimes it may feel some of you are closer than others; sometimes it may feel like you're being left behind; sometimes you may not like the direction someone is taking--it will hurt and it will be sad. Some of you will move back to Louisville, and some of you won't. But know this--just because there may be some times of distance in location or relationships, what y'all have is special and it will come back around. (I promise you this--I am fortunate enough to have had what you have. They are still "my people" even when months or years pass without seeing each other.)

Stretch yourselves--and remember what I always say, "Have fun. Remember who you are. Be true to yourselves."

And now your blessing from me The Reverend (yes I know that's what you call me behind my back...oh, and I love it)

Blessing
May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you,
wherever He may send you.
May He guide you through the wilderness,
protect you through the storm.
May He bring you home rejoicing
at the wonders He has shown you.
May He bring you home rejoicing
once again into our doors. 

The Doyle's door is always open and there will be MUCH rejoicing when you come back through it.

P.S. Learn to pick up after yourselves.  

Sealed and Marked

Last week while driving down Palm Blvd on the Isle of Palms, I saw a young couple putting masking tape on their shoulders--it looked like initials of some sort. I giggled as I remembered years ago one summer a local radio station in Atlanta had a contest to see who could get the best tan with the most prominent tan lines that advertised their station--Z93. 

That summer I was part of a middle school posse hanging out at Brittany pool and oh how we wanted to participate. Our mothers, however, would have none of it. So instead we hung around the life guards, playing hearts, and begging them to take us to the magic market (Do they even exist anymore?) on their breaks. (You may be wondering why our mothers objected so strongly to taped tan lines but had no problem with us getting in the car with college boys...a very good question indeed.)

After my first giggle, I remembered one summer day before my junior year of high school a group of friends (different group, different city) were at the lake. My boyfriend was sitting next to me and had his hand on my leg (get your minds out of the gutter--this was very innocent--barely a PG rating). Late that afternoon as we were all leaving someone noticed the imprint of his fingers created by tan lines. We were teased mercilessly. But I must admit that my insecure, new to the community self was also a little comforted by it. It was, in my mind, proof I belonged--proof I fit in--proof I was accepted.(and no I did not show my parents).

Fast forward a few more years to the first summer we were married. (Should clarify--not high school boyfriend...) I loved seeing the white spot on my ring finger when I took my rings off every night to clean them--it was the first married summer--now I can't remember the last time I cleaned them. This summer I have quite a few tan lines which make me smile--my left wrist that is covered with friendship bracelets given to me over the years by campers, my wedding rings on my left hand, and my mother rings on my right given to me by Chris for my 50th this year. All of these markings remind me of love and belonging, and every time I look at them I get a warm feeling of comfort and peace. In a sense they remind me of who I am--a wife, mother and priest.

I don't have any tattoos, but I imagine that is why some people choose to get them. They can signify membership--teams, fraternities/sororities--even gangs--and membership feels good because you know you belong. Or perhaps they remind you of a special person, a special place, a special memory and each time you look at it you remember and feel love or security or belonging or comfort or all of the above. These are visible reminders of an inner feeling.

As I've thought about this for the past week I keep hearing in my mind, "outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace"--the definition of a sacrament. I do understand, and all my seminary professors as well as my Bishop can now breathe a huge sigh of relief, these markings are not sacraments. BUT, they are outward and visible signs that remind me and possibly others of who we are and that we belong. That belonging, that membership helps to form us--to shape our behaviors, our actions--our lives.

And now I am thinking about sacraments--specifically the sacrament of Holy Baptism when the Bishop or Priest makes a sign of the cross with or without Chrism on the forehead of the person and says, "N. you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own forever." I remember when our children were baptized all day smelling their foreheads--it's not creepy--Chrism smells wonderful. Eventually, however, the smell fades (I don't clean my rings every day, but I did bathe my children--well most days), and the sign of the cross on our foreheads is no longer visible.

There is no marking that announces to the world we are marked as Christ's own forever, but shouldn't our behavior? Shouldn't our lives?

(and I just cleaned my rings while writing this....)

Rearranging the Deck Chairs as the Family Grows Up

It's our annual family vacation--well sort of...I mean it is, just not in the normal way...

or life changing, but keep the crown; I really want a crown.

Caroline and I got here Thursday a week ago before she flew out to help SK move out of her apartment in C'ville. Chris and William flew in Sunday afternoon after their annual trip to New Hampshire (a whole other story). Caroline and SK drove in on Tuesday before Caroline flew to Chicago on Thursday for a music festival, and Boss can't be here at all.

I knew all this going into the week. I was even pleased (you may read overly proud and taking full credit for the close relationship the girls'--well all the siblings--have. Credit that is not mine to take btw but probably helped lead to what happened next...)

Things happened--people were tense from long drives, more rain than we're used to, the calendar closing in on Caroline leaving for her first year of college and SK leaving for her first year out of college which of course means empty nest for us, and William so ready to be back with his buddies in Virginia. There was some snipping, some eye rolling--and the children did some things as well. On or way to dinner there were, what I considered, a few disrespectful and critical comments thrown at me, and I might have lost it. "I am not going to have this," I semi-shouted while trying to keep myself from bursting into tears. Then I promised myself I would not say ONE WORD for the entire dinner. (Y'all can quit laughing...)

I was quiet for awhile--quietly pouting and still trying to keep myself from crying--my throat hurt from trying so hard. At some point during dinner, the mood lightened and we ended up having a decent time. Not perfect--but decent.

The next morning I was running on the beach again trying not to cry. I had been writing in my journal which brought it all back along with some realizations. Mainly, I am not in control. I am not in control of their lives, their relationships, their thoughts, their actions, their ANYTHING! I am not good at being so out of control. As I ran, I remembered writing about a similar less than stellar vacation just last year. (Which is not true but shows my age--I wrote about a less than perfect Christmas in 2016 It Wasn't a Perfect Christmas. It also shows this period of transition started a LOOOONG time ago, and I STILL aren't good at it.)

My feelings had been hurt, but the real truth is I'm feeling sad and confused and also excited and proud. This period of transition is just that transition--transition for all of us. Having four children in 4 1/2 years means everyone seems to go through transition at the same time (well not seems DOES).

The reality is when people go through life transitions, it is "normal" (whatever that means) to be a little self centered, a little inwardly focused, a little sensitive, a little brusque, a little a lot of things--now multiple that by all of us and it's like a freaking pinball machine in our house with all these feelings bumping into each other. Add to that everyone putting on our game day faces and acting like we've got it all together, and you get--well you get what happened.

I have no idea why this thought popped into my head--"we're rearranging the deck chairs." Yep, we're rearranging the deck chairs of our family life, and I'm ignoring reality. I am thinking it's just about rearranging instead of it's about the family changing. And to make matters worse, I realized Chris and I are no in charge of where the deck chairs go or how often they're moved. I'm not sure I like that...

Actually, I am both relieved I no longer have to do it all, and mad as a wet hen I don't get to do it all. I am both ready for the peace of everyone being responsible for the placement of their own chairs and terrified they will put them too close to the edge or even on another deck, AND NOT ASK MY OPINION!  I say I am ready to release control while at the same time I am gripping with all my strength the tethers I believe are most important for our family. I would like things to stay the same, and I'm ready for them to change. And I miss Boss.

Basically I'm muddling through--sometimes figuring it out and sometimes totally lost. And realizing maybe this is the new normal for family vacations--people coming and going--people living their lives and gathering as we can.

And it sure would have been helpful for my dear friend (who actually believes I'm a decent mother and has been around from the beginning- so either she's just a really good friend, really stupid, or I've got to work on my self-esteem) to have sent me this podcast LAST week (or five years or ten years ago)! A must for EVERYONE

My Unprofessional Professional Lesson

A couple of weeks ago as a dear friend was leaving church, he hugged me and whispered, "Lois is in the hospital. Call me after services. It doesn't look good." I'll be honest, I was worried but not terribly worried. Lois is one of the strongest and most stubborn women I have ever met--granted she's 91 but no one would EVER expect that. After the service I called and my heart fell. It indeed was not good.

I met Lois when I was the associate rector at Calvary Episcopal Church. We bonded over many things especially our love for the food and clothing pantry--well that was our first bond--the list has no limits. After I left Calvary, I respected the boundaries put in place. Initially I'd get a note from her occasionally telling me she was thinking about me and missed me. Over the years we resumed our get togethers. Sometimes just the two of us at her favorite restaurant Selena's where she reigned even having a manhatten named just for her--the O'Hara.  More often I saw her with a wonderful group of people who had been friends for years and yet welcomed Chris and I with open arms. We shared Mother's Day brunches, Mardi Gras dinners, and Easter afternoons. But it had been awhile--life had happened and I was constantly saying, "next time" not knowing the next time wouldn't come.

After receiving permission from her current priest (who by the way laughed at me for asking), I headed over to the hospital to see Lois. I walked in the room and her face lit up. "Well look who's here?!?!" she said with a grin. She was weak--that was clear. We talked some and she told me she knew this was the end and she was okay with that. For once I didn't break down but instead listened as I held her hand. As I got up to leave knowing she was exhausted, I leaned down to kiss her and said, "I do love you so, Lois." "I know you do," she whispered "And I love you too. I'll love you even more if you bring me a manhatten." Tears, at that point, welled up in my eyes but instead of sobbing I laughed as she added, "Well I guess you'll just have to have one for me."

Over the next few days I kept up with how Lois was doing--within 24 hours she had stopped responding. One afternoon I was heading over to see her again, but as I pulled into the parking lot I turned the car around. Perhaps it was cowardly, but I just wanted to remember our last time together and how I giggled the whole way down in the elevator with people staring at me--Lois would have understood.

I was asked to participate in her burial service--an extreme honor. I was determined to make Lois proud. The Rev. Ben Sanders preached using the Old Testament reading of Micah 6:6-8 particularly "to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God" weaving the threads of Lois's life together. We were reminded of Lois's fierce spirit, her unwavering loyalty, her blunt speech, and the generosity of her love which she bestowed on everyone. We remembered a tiny fierce woman who never "put on airs" but instead was herself and allowed everyone around her to do the same. And she did all this with quiet confidence, dignity, and humility. As I listened I thought two things. One, I want The Rev. Ben Sanders to preach my funeral and two, I want him to be able to say the same things about me.

Following the Eucharist the four clergy moved ourselves to Lois's cremains and as the final prayers were said I thought about how much Lois reminded me of my Gangan--same button nose, same fierce love and defense of me even when I'm not sure I deserved it. I thought about the letter I had written to Gangan after she died (A Letter to Gangan), specifically I thought about all the things I hadn't had the time or taken the time to learn from her, and then I thought, "And I've done the same thing with Lois. There was so much more I wanted to learn--and she never gave me the recipe for her rum cake. She said we had time!" Suddenly the arm I had just broken a moment before patting myself on the back for how very "professional" I was being, dangled at my side as the tears started falling--a lie--I began sobbing--flat out ugly crying. And I couldn't stop even though I knew I was being completely unprofessional. Fortunately I had another arm that could reach out and receive the handkerchief being handed to me--it's going to take quite a lot of stain stick to get it clean.

I have been embarrassed about that scene--not because I don't think I should have been able to grieve but because it was so public when I was "supposed" to be the professional. I've been embarrassed but more I've not been able to let go of regretting the time I didn't spend, the lessons I didn't learn.

This morning as I ran on the beach, my mind again went to these two women and to many others who I regret not spending more time with and I thought, "What does it take to learn?" The truth is, I don't think we ever completely "learn." I think with every loved one who dies we learn a little more--we are reminded yet again the life is short, and we pledge to do better--to make more time, to reach out, to say I love you, but I also let go, or began to let go, of the need to be perfect. I gave myself a break--yes there were times I had to say no to Lois recently but each one was because of an obligation for one of the children and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way--she forgave me, or rather never felt a need to forgive me, so I needed to forgive myself.

I think what I can truly learn is instead of focusing on the regrets, the missed chances, the lost opportunities to give thanks for the time and love we did share. When we love people fully and completely, there is never enough time...and that's my professional opinion.

Life is short and we have too little time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us. So, be swift to love and make haste to be kind…Henri-Frederic Amiel

I think I'll have a manhatten tonight....