It Wasn't Just a Boa

Last Thursday I was getting ready to watch my beloved Cavaliers take on (or as I assumed then, most likely beat--I must admit I was a little nervous) the Furman Paladins. As I finished dressing I thought of my orange boa and decided I needed it. I knew exactly where it was--hanging on the back of my high heel shoe chair. I walked to my study and was greeted by a room full of floating orange feathers. Immediately tears stung my eyes. 

"This is ridiculous," I thought as I turned and saw a very cute puppy with orange feathers stuck on his face and coming out of his mouth. I didn't clean up the mess; I simply closed the door.

It's Saturday and I still haven't cleaned it up. I have opened the door, but each time I feel a sadness, so I slowly close the door and walk away.

Here's the thing....

In November of 2017, I was installed as the Rector of St. Thomas Episcopal Church. As I walked into the reception following the service, the boa was wrapped around my shoulders as I was enveloped in a hug and the words, "welcome to the St. Thomas family" were whispered in my ear. I had served as Priest-in-Charge since March of 2016; I knew and loved these people. But that day it truly felt like I completely belonged and that orange boa became one of the tangible symbols of that acceptance.

I'm not going to turn this into a Hallmark movie or an ABC after-school special. When the person gave me the boa, I don't think either of us knew what the next just over five years would bring. During that time we shared times of great joy and fun and laughter. And we also had times when we were both angry and hurt (and dare I say stubborn?). The boa, however, remained. 

It remained and it reminded me of the complexity of relationships. It reminded me that in deep relationships we sometimes bring our very best selves--generous, loving and loyal, but that we also sometimes bring the parts of ourselves that are capable of hurting and being hurt. It reminded me that no relationship has a single story or even a single storyteller. 

Every time I looked at it or wore it, I was reminded of my belovedness, my humanity, my vulnerability, and yes my brokenness. The boa became an outward and visible sign of the holiness of relationships. 

I can replace the boa. (I've even been told where I can find another...) But that particular one? Well, it wasn't just a boa. It was a tangible gift and then so much more.