Just like so many others--male and female--this circus that is unfolding around the supreme court nomination has brought up a lot of memories for me. I have spent the last week listening to others' stories; I have listened to people tell me about the trauma they have experienced, and I have listened to (to be honest mostly males) people as they search through their memories wondering if they ever did anything to someone.
I didn't go to Yale; I wasn't in the now infamous dorm room; I don't know any of the people involved; but I do know that story could have happened in many dorm room parties I did attend. The truly sad part is had it happened, while I would have been groused out, I would not have thought that much about it nor would I have reported it. I hope women and men attending dorm room parties today would; I'm afraid they wouldn't.
But that's not my story. This is...
My second year of college I had just pledged a sorority and we had a spring formal coming up. My on again off again high school/college boyfriend and I were off again. I wanted a fun date--someone who could dance well, someone who I didn't have to worry about whether we had anything in common, someone who would be easy to talk to and wouldn't be clingy. So I asked a friend from high school who went to another school.
We had never dated. We went to school and church together. Our parents knew each other. We had many mutual friends. I was very much looking forward to the weekend.
The weekend didn't start great. His car broke down an hour from C'ville. Actually it wasn't a big deal; I just drove over and got him. He had another friend in that town who would make sure the car would be fixed.
We went to the formal and it was fun-- a lot of fun. And then it wasn't....
We went back to my apartment; we had been drinking; we began to kiss and then he became persistent. I told him no. He continued to push. I told him no again. He responded, "You know you want to." I told him I didn't. He continued his persistence until I began to cry. Then he angrily said, "I just never knew you were a tease like this. It's pretty unfair." Those were the last words I remember him saying...those are the only words I remember from the weekend.
The next day I silently drove him back to his car; I cried the entire drive back to UVA. I wasn't angry. I was ashamed. I'm still ashamed. I still wonder if I was at fault.
I didn't tell my parents. If I had I would have had to tell them I'd been drinking and that he stayed in my apartment--the latter being something that would have appalled them. I had enough shame; I didn't need more. I didn't tell my big sister who also was at the formal and to whom I tell everything. I didn't tell my friends even when they went on and on about how much fun he was and asked repeatedly over the next years if he would come back. I didn't tell my husband until two nights ago.
I continued to attend parties when I was home that he also attended. I didn't speak to him. He didn't speak to me. I only told one person one night because this friend asked me to drive the formal date home. I told him no and began to cry. He asked me what happened and he believed me. It was a relief to tell someone but I swore him to secrecy. I didn't want anyone to know both because of my shame and because I didn't want to hurt him.
I know my story is not at all as horrible as others, but it is my story and although not in dramatic ways it has impacted my life.
I still hear those words he spat at me and wonder if I was unfair even all these years later and even though I believe everyone has the right to say no at any time no matter what. I still hear those words when my daughters have said to me, "I'm going to take ______ to the dance because he's just a friend, and I want to just have fun." I've never told them my story, but inside when they said these words I wanted to scream, "No one is ever just a friend. Please be careful." I probably should have said those words out loud. I would also like to state both daughters indeed have taken friends who were, as far as I know, completely respectful. But that's the thing, I don't know. I didn't tell my parents...
My formal date and I have both moved on successfully with our lives. I don't know that he ever said those words to anyone else. I hope not. But he said them to me, and even though I've never told, I've never forgotten.
28 September, 2018
26 September, 2018
Connected
Yesterday I spent two hours with someone and not once did I look at my watch or my phone. I know hard to believe, right? Even harder to believe is that I didn't have to have an inner talk with myself talking myself off the ledge with the anxiety that often comes from not being "connected" at all times.
Instead we had two hours of vulnerable, authentic sharing full of laughter and even a few tears. The "strangeness" (which is not the word I want to use but is the only one I can think of right now) is that according to society/culture "rules" and "norms" we don't, well we don't "fit." We shouldn't be (I detest the word "should"), friends or confidants. But I can tell you, we did fit in a way that frankly is indescribable. The peace I felt after our time together was only the peace that can come from relationship based on mutual respect and that has at its core a foundational belief that all are worthy of dignity and respect and all are equally loved by God regardless of, well regardless of anything.
The other amazing part of this encounter was I did not spend the next hours and a sleepless night obsessing about what I shared and worried I had shared too much. Even I, one of most transparent people--or as my family calls it a compulsive over sharer (actually they aren't always that kind in their word choice...) have a limit on what I share. I have been burned, and it hurts. The scars are still there....
This morning on my run (which by the way was the best run I've had in months probably because I didn't have a sleepless night tossing and turning worried about my chronic oversharing) I thought about yesterday afternoon an afternoon I referred to on facebook as "holy." I also thought about authentic, vulnerable friendships. I believe they are indeed holy.
I believe vulnerability is powerful and brave. I believe that in being vulnerable with one another we connect the core of who we are as people created in God's image with the core of others. I also believe it's scary as hell. So why do it?
Because God did....
How much more vulnerable and exposed can you get than coming as a newborn baby, born to peasants in a manager? How much more vulnerable and exposed can you get than talking, eating and touching those who by society's standards you weren't supposed to interact with much less touch? How much more vulnerable and exposed can you get than to be publicly beaten and left hanging on a cross for all to see? And how many lives were transformed and saved because God did?
I also recognize there were times during Jesus' life where he had to be protected--where being vulnerable and exposed was not the healthy life giving choice. Joseph, Mary and Jesus fled to Egypt; there were times he had to leave a place to be safe, but the transformation of relationships came when he was fully present and fully connected. Jesus connected with others and holy and unusual and life giving relationships were formed.
Yesterday I didn't look at my phone, didn't even want to look at my phone--but I was definitely connected.
Instead we had two hours of vulnerable, authentic sharing full of laughter and even a few tears. The "strangeness" (which is not the word I want to use but is the only one I can think of right now) is that according to society/culture "rules" and "norms" we don't, well we don't "fit." We shouldn't be (I detest the word "should"), friends or confidants. But I can tell you, we did fit in a way that frankly is indescribable. The peace I felt after our time together was only the peace that can come from relationship based on mutual respect and that has at its core a foundational belief that all are worthy of dignity and respect and all are equally loved by God regardless of, well regardless of anything.
The other amazing part of this encounter was I did not spend the next hours and a sleepless night obsessing about what I shared and worried I had shared too much. Even I, one of most transparent people--or as my family calls it a compulsive over sharer (actually they aren't always that kind in their word choice...) have a limit on what I share. I have been burned, and it hurts. The scars are still there....
This morning on my run (which by the way was the best run I've had in months probably because I didn't have a sleepless night tossing and turning worried about my chronic oversharing) I thought about yesterday afternoon an afternoon I referred to on facebook as "holy." I also thought about authentic, vulnerable friendships. I believe they are indeed holy.
I believe vulnerability is powerful and brave. I believe that in being vulnerable with one another we connect the core of who we are as people created in God's image with the core of others. I also believe it's scary as hell. So why do it?
Because God did....
How much more vulnerable and exposed can you get than coming as a newborn baby, born to peasants in a manager? How much more vulnerable and exposed can you get than talking, eating and touching those who by society's standards you weren't supposed to interact with much less touch? How much more vulnerable and exposed can you get than to be publicly beaten and left hanging on a cross for all to see? And how many lives were transformed and saved because God did?
I also recognize there were times during Jesus' life where he had to be protected--where being vulnerable and exposed was not the healthy life giving choice. Joseph, Mary and Jesus fled to Egypt; there were times he had to leave a place to be safe, but the transformation of relationships came when he was fully present and fully connected. Jesus connected with others and holy and unusual and life giving relationships were formed.
Yesterday I didn't look at my phone, didn't even want to look at my phone--but I was definitely connected.
21 September, 2018
#Funrunfriends
Several weeks ago I finally admitted to myself, and to everyone
who happened to hear my sermon that week, that I could no longer call myself a "runner." Okay, maybe I could call myself a runner, but I didn't actually run very much anymore....
During my sermon, and throughout the prior week in my head, I spoke about a friend who, when I met her six years ago, did not call herself a runner. At that time she was in the very beginning stages of becoming a runner. Believe me, she is definitely a full fledged runner now, and that is very much because of her dedication and commitment even when it was hard and she wanted to give up.
Long story a tad bit shorter, she inspired me to dig back in and return to committed running. It is sooooo hard.
After posting about my sermon, a group of us who are friends through our vocations and live all over the country dubbed ourselves the "fun run friends" and we began to encourage one another through social media. One friend mentioned she and another also use runkeeper to track each other's progress. When I read that I thought, "I used to use runkeeper but I wouldn't want anyone to see my running stats now." I kind of laughed about it--possibly (no probably or even close to definitively) because I didn't want to face something about myself...
This past Monday I set out on my run not tracking on runkeeper but rather on couch to 10k (an app no one else can see). As I started the run I told myself I would return to the runkeeper app and to joining with friends when I wouldn't be embarrassed about my stats which in case you're wondering translates into "when I run 3 miles or more at a time, without stopping, in under 9 minute miles."
As I do every Monday I began listening to a podcast on the upcoming week's readings. I must admit I was a little distracted. For one thing, I was not loving every step as I used to (read I was hating every step) and two I was willing myself to ignore my other more practical if somewhat self righteous self who was saying, "you know it's kind of arrogant and haughty not to want others to see you're running because you're running 9+ minute miles. On the other hand using the couch to 10k at least makes you do a five minute warm up and a five minute cool down--show off Katherine would never do that--especially because then it would lower your mile pace and overall average." To add salt to an already open and oozing wound bossy Katherine continued, "Oh and btw you're 50 and they're not."
To drown out this voice I no more wanted to listen to than continue running, I turned up the podcast volume and heard something like this. "Discipleship is a process, a journey. Sometimes we're a follower like in the Gospel of Mark, sometimes it's about believing like in the Gospel of John, and sometimes it's being a student like in the Gospel of Matthew. We embody different parts of discipleship at different periods of our lives."
"Well slap my head and call me silly," I thought (it's not exactly what I thought but it's the G rated version of the southern expression.) This is my whole problem with this running thing...
I don't want to be the student--I used to be the "teacher," the one people looked up to and respected, the one who shepherded others (see me throwing in that biblical imagery?), who people turned to for advice. And you know what? It felt good.
As I continued to run I realized it wasn't just about running--it was about this whole empty nest thing (which isn't 1/2 as bad as I thought it would be) and my sense of identity shifting. I'm not longer the woman who makes all their clothes, decorates their lunch bags, brings them hot chocolate, decorates for seasons, shows up at all their events, volunteers for every activity, and just like the running role, I "liked" it--self righteous Katherine then reminded me, "Yeah you liked it AND you took pride--sometimes too much--in being recognized for it."
I finally got home and began an email conversation with who I will call my "confessor" (her place to identify herself). I told her I hated knowing I used to be able to keep up with our younger friends and how yucky it made me feel about myself. As we went back and forth she reminded me that although it looks different, "success" comes in many different forms at different times in our lives.
I felt a little better...throughout the day at least about my running ability. What was painful to acknowledge was the part of myself that so needed to be the "best." Yesterday as I read the Gospel story about the woman anointing Jesus' feet, I noticed a detail I had never noticed before. It isn't until the Pharisee verbalizes the great sin of the woman (compared to him is the understanding) that Jesus says anything about it. God accepts us unconditionally; we in our brokenness compare ourselves with the hope that we can be "fixed" if we're just better than someone else. I had to admit to myself--both selves- it's easier for me to be the encourager, fixer, advice giver, and expert--it feeds my ego but not, I realize, my soul. And it does not bring me into life giving relationships. My heart and soul is fed by mutual relationship--giving and receiving.
I now use runkeeper and couch to 10k....and give thanks that one day I may be back to being a runner because of my #funrunfriends, but because of them, and many others, I'm getting back on the discipleship track.
 |
| Note the seasonal door :) |
During my sermon, and throughout the prior week in my head, I spoke about a friend who, when I met her six years ago, did not call herself a runner. At that time she was in the very beginning stages of becoming a runner. Believe me, she is definitely a full fledged runner now, and that is very much because of her dedication and commitment even when it was hard and she wanted to give up.
Long story a tad bit shorter, she inspired me to dig back in and return to committed running. It is sooooo hard.
After posting about my sermon, a group of us who are friends through our vocations and live all over the country dubbed ourselves the "fun run friends" and we began to encourage one another through social media. One friend mentioned she and another also use runkeeper to track each other's progress. When I read that I thought, "I used to use runkeeper but I wouldn't want anyone to see my running stats now." I kind of laughed about it--possibly (no probably or even close to definitively) because I didn't want to face something about myself...
This past Monday I set out on my run not tracking on runkeeper but rather on couch to 10k (an app no one else can see). As I started the run I told myself I would return to the runkeeper app and to joining with friends when I wouldn't be embarrassed about my stats which in case you're wondering translates into "when I run 3 miles or more at a time, without stopping, in under 9 minute miles."
As I do every Monday I began listening to a podcast on the upcoming week's readings. I must admit I was a little distracted. For one thing, I was not loving every step as I used to (read I was hating every step) and two I was willing myself to ignore my other more practical if somewhat self righteous self who was saying, "you know it's kind of arrogant and haughty not to want others to see you're running because you're running 9+ minute miles. On the other hand using the couch to 10k at least makes you do a five minute warm up and a five minute cool down--show off Katherine would never do that--especially because then it would lower your mile pace and overall average." To add salt to an already open and oozing wound bossy Katherine continued, "Oh and btw you're 50 and they're not."
To drown out this voice I no more wanted to listen to than continue running, I turned up the podcast volume and heard something like this. "Discipleship is a process, a journey. Sometimes we're a follower like in the Gospel of Mark, sometimes it's about believing like in the Gospel of John, and sometimes it's being a student like in the Gospel of Matthew. We embody different parts of discipleship at different periods of our lives."
"Well slap my head and call me silly," I thought (it's not exactly what I thought but it's the G rated version of the southern expression.) This is my whole problem with this running thing...
I don't want to be the student--I used to be the "teacher," the one people looked up to and respected, the one who shepherded others (see me throwing in that biblical imagery?), who people turned to for advice. And you know what? It felt good.
As I continued to run I realized it wasn't just about running--it was about this whole empty nest thing (which isn't 1/2 as bad as I thought it would be) and my sense of identity shifting. I'm not longer the woman who makes all their clothes, decorates their lunch bags, brings them hot chocolate, decorates for seasons, shows up at all their events, volunteers for every activity, and just like the running role, I "liked" it--self righteous Katherine then reminded me, "Yeah you liked it AND you took pride--sometimes too much--in being recognized for it."
I finally got home and began an email conversation with who I will call my "confessor" (her place to identify herself). I told her I hated knowing I used to be able to keep up with our younger friends and how yucky it made me feel about myself. As we went back and forth she reminded me that although it looks different, "success" comes in many different forms at different times in our lives.
I felt a little better...throughout the day at least about my running ability. What was painful to acknowledge was the part of myself that so needed to be the "best." Yesterday as I read the Gospel story about the woman anointing Jesus' feet, I noticed a detail I had never noticed before. It isn't until the Pharisee verbalizes the great sin of the woman (compared to him is the understanding) that Jesus says anything about it. God accepts us unconditionally; we in our brokenness compare ourselves with the hope that we can be "fixed" if we're just better than someone else. I had to admit to myself--both selves- it's easier for me to be the encourager, fixer, advice giver, and expert--it feeds my ego but not, I realize, my soul. And it does not bring me into life giving relationships. My heart and soul is fed by mutual relationship--giving and receiving.
I now use runkeeper and couch to 10k....and give thanks that one day I may be back to being a runner because of my #funrunfriends, but because of them, and many others, I'm getting back on the discipleship track.
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