Cleaning is Not Always the Answer

Have to be honest--today was a horrible, no good, very bad day--or at least it started that way. 

I woke up and my knee throbbed--the dogs didn't care. We have a routine from which they will not deviate. "Damn dogs," I mumbled, "Why do you have to be so obsessive in your routine?" Thank goodness they cannot answer--I do think they may have given me a look that was equivalent to a snarky toned, "You Miss Color Coding, only use certain mugs are really asking us that?" Anyway the routine involves multiple trips from the kitchen to the backdoor. I looked down at the clean dishwasher and thought, "I just can't stand here to unload this. I'll ask someone else to do it." (Progress right? Asking for help...truth--I never asked. BUT my not so obsessively routine husband did it anyway.)

I sat on the couch with my knee iced and elevated working on articles for work and planning this weekend's youth retreat, and then I remembered the laundry. So back up, down the stairs to the basement, up the stairs, then up the next set of stairs, then back down...you get the point. I did, however, sit back on the couch to begin folding. My knee was now hot and throbbing and all I could think about was the upcoming surgery.

Here's the honest part you may want to skip over--all that thinking (I choose not to call it obsessing) went straight to my gut and I spent the next 20 minutes in the bathroom. That was the first trip...

Meanwhile Chris went out to start his car only to discover someone had gone through it pulling everything out of the glove compartment and throwing stuff around. He came back in less than happy but then admitted he had left it unlocked and warned me to make sure I always locked mine.

On the second or third trip to the bathroom, the trip when my son stood on the outside of the door talking to me because he needed to go to class and whatever he needed to tell me was that important, I realized this all had to do with my upcoming surgery.  And this is where I had to sit (okay I was already sitting) and admit I am terrified.

I have had LOTS of surgery--8 on this particular knee plus many others. I have never been afraid. I mean I don't like having to sign all those consents about anesthesia and the risks. I always think about the warnings they say only 1-2% of people actually experience. But you know someone has to be that 1-2%. I realized it's not that causing my fear.

Another truth--I actually have no idea what all the fear is--I know part of it is how painful I know it will be. I've dealt with pain before....(I also know I am also VERY fearful, but not hours in the bathroom fearful, of anyone else doing our laundry....)

So what did I do? Sit and reflect, journal, pray--nope. I started cleaning. Every vent in this house has
now been vacuumed, and I hung pictures, and I started thinking about whether it was reasonable to clean the baseboards that I cleaned this past weekend again. I resisted in the moment but I reserve the right to fill that bucket up tomorrow...

I finally was able to leave the house only to discover my car had also been ransacked--a slight exaggeration, but I did feel violated and angry and creeped out someone was slinking around our house in the dark of night.

The day gradually got better--mainly because I did everything in my power to avoid thinking about the surgery which is a feat in and of itself since I'm hobbling around on crutches with an orange boa tied to them.

Tonight at our Lenten study I was teaching the process of lectio divina (lectio divina process). We were using the passage in the Gospel of Matthew chapter 5--the beatitudes. In the process of lectio divina the reader or listener of a passage listens for the phrase or word that stands out to that particular person. Clear as day as though it was a neon (hopefully orange and blue) flashing sign the words, "Jesus sat" hit me hard E.V.E.R.Y time. (part of the process is re-reading the passage multiple times)

Is this God telling me I need to take care of my knee by sitting down? Possibly, okay probably, but I think it's a lot more. When I listen with my heart, I believe God is encouraging me to sit down and take the time to think, to process, to acknowledge my fear, and to rest in the comfort of God's love. Frantic cleaning and laundry and ironing are simply bandaids to temporarily stop the "bleeding" but that is all.

The next step in the process is to respond...

This Morning I was Reminded

Yesterday was a really long day. I left the house before 6:30 am and

stumbled in just past 11:00 pm mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. I stumbled in carrying others' anger, grief, sadness, fear, and yes joy. I stumbled in knowing it is a great honor and privilege to carry for others. I stumbled in after having a long talk with God, but I'll be honest, I didn't do a lot of listening. I was too spent.

I went to bed by passing Barbara Brown Taylor's new book Holy Envy that had just arrived--for those who know my obsession (possibly to the stalker level) with BBT, you know that means I was beyond exhausted. I went to bed and tossed fitfully most of the night. Between my heart and my knee I was feeling a great deal of pain. Every time I woke up I sent a prayer up to God--God got many many prayers from me last night--the dark circles under my eyes this morning are living proof.

Seven years ago when I was ordained, my daddy a life long devoted Roman Catholic gifted me, his daughter being ordained into The Episcopal Church, with a cassock, amice, surplice, and alb made specifically for me from J. Wippell & Co. The significance of this gift has so many levels.

Two years ago the dry cleaners burned and ripped the alb. (And took no responsibility)

I couldn't afford to replace it; I bought a cheaper cassock/alb; I continued to wear the burned ripped one. I refused to give it up. Most of the time you couldn't see it under my chasuble--sometimes you could.

February 3, Bishop White made his annual visitation to St. Thomas. Obviously I wore my alb without a chasuble. As I entered Robison Hall for the reception following the service, I was summoned to a table packed with women. They all began talking about my alb and the damage. One had even gone to the sacristy and retrieved it. As they studied it, the consensus quickly was it could not be fixed so that it wasn't obvious--the damage was too much.

Many suggestions of possible solutions were presented--the most logical was too take it apart and save the lace (which also had several holes) and remake it with other fabric. I love these women and the care they take of me, but I inwardly panicked a little bit. I couldn't give up this alb my daddy had given me. I knew it could be remade but I wasn't ready to not have it just like it was. I took a deep breath and said so.

They understood.

"May I take it home and see how I can patch it so it isn't damaged further?" one woman asked. I gratefully said yes. She along with her friends fell into deep conversation about the best way to do it and where to find fabric as fine as this for the patch. A second woman signaled me over...

"My husband and I would like to buy you another alb exactly like this one," she said. "I can't accept that," I quickly replied, "it's such a kind offer but this comes from England and it's just too much." We were both then distracted by the entrance of Bishop White (good timing for me--I'm not good at accepting compliments or gifts).

The next day I received an email. "We looked it up. We know how much it costs. You need to order it because it has to be specially made. Please order it this week. We're sending a check to the church."
I was speechless. (I know that doesn't happen often)

My original alb was returned to me. Yes if you look closely you can see the patches--I look at them as patches of love and care. I sew--I know the effort it took to fix it so beautifully. I'm not sure I will ever be able to give the alb up--it's significance is even more now. It was given and mended for me by people who love me and believe in my call. It was given and mended for me by people who want to care for me. It was given and mended for me by people who want to help carry my load in anyway they can.

This morning I stumbled (remember the knee) downstairs to make coffee. I tripped over a package I hadn't seen last night. After I made the coffee I opened it. It was my alb from England. Tears sprang to my eyes as I felt a warmth spread throughout my body.

Last night I didn't listen to God; this morning God made sure I did. This morning I was reminded of God's love and the love of others. This morning I was reminded that while I have to carry some things alone, others are carrying me. This morning I was reminded of God's timing. This morning I was reminded...