The Elder Brother and Family Trauma

I've read many commentaries discussing the parable commonly called The Prodigal Son. I have heard many sermons, and I have discussed it with family, colleagues, and friends. There are still times, however, I think about it in a new way. This week is one of those....

I keep thinking about the elder son--not about his anger, well kind of about his anger. But I'm thinking about what he's angry about, what is it fueling his anger. I'm wondering if maybe there is more to his anger, maybe his anger is really fear or maybe it's defensive or maybe it's both.

Hear me out...(well, read me out!)

When the younger son left, I suspect the father was heartbroken. We know he saw his son from a long way off. I'm imagining the father (just to be totally honest, I put myself in the story and become the father, so I picture a mother...anyway) finishing each day, and perhaps starting each day, staring down the road dreaming of his son returning. I'm imagining the years his son was gone with no communication. He had no idea if his son was even still alive. And I keep picturing the elder son standing at a distance and watching his father's shoulders droop lower and lower. I picture the elder son watching his father age before his very eyes. 

I wonder if the elder son saw the sadness behind his father's eyes even when he tried to mask it. I wonder if instead of the house being filled with his father's booming laugh it became more and more silent as the father's grief slid out of the corners and crept across the floors. I wonder if there were nights the elder son fell asleep listening to his father's muffled sobs.

I wonder if the elder brother was exhausted--so exhausted from trying to be perfect so he didn't add to his father's grief? I wonder if he was tired of hiding his own feelings of brokenness? I wonder if he was tired of pretending his life was perfect so his father didn't worry about him? And I wonder if, in addition to resenting the amount of work he was now doing, he was also heartbroken because he was taking on more responsibility as a result of his father's crushing depression which led to a loss of interest in work, socializing, and even family. Heartbroken because he missed the father he knew, and maybe even his brother...

So I wonder, when the elder brother came out of the field and saw the happiness on his father's face, was he terrified? Was he thinking of all the days, weeks, months, and years when he saw the despair shrouding his father's entire body? Was he guarding his own heart and trying, and failing, to protect his father's? Was he already wondering if his brother would disappear again and he would have to watch his father shrivel for a second and maybe then a third and maybe a fourth time?

Brokeness in families is pervasive and complex. Maybe in addition to recognizing God's unconditional love and mercy and grace, we are also called to remember that we are all connected. Maybe we are to remember our connections are complicated, and as hard as it can be, we are to offer that same love and mercy and grace to each other--despite the risk and possible pain. 

Jesus did walk to the cross.....

What I Wish I Could Tell You

Dear Family I Saw in the Kroger Parking Lot Tonight,

It was late--well kind of--8:15 and y'all were coming out with your dinner.  There were three of you. I saw you Mama and you middle school daughter exchange some difficult words (I couldn't hear them), but I heard you daughter say, "I hate you." and turn, rolling your eyes and running back to your daddy where you grabbed his hand and said, "She'll never understand."  And you Mama walked past me and I saw tears in your eyes.  This is what I wanted to say to you--to stop you and to tell you (although that might have been kind of creepy).

Daughter--You think she doesn't understand you, but here's the thing--she understands being a middle school girl all too well and she wants nothing more than to protect you from the pain of these years. Your mama wants to breathe all the courage and security into you that she didn't have, and she wants to suck out all the pain and insecurity that she had.  She wants you to know that regardless of what the world tells you, you are enough, more than enough.

When you walked away, her heart broke as it will break many times over the next few years. But she will put it back together again and again because you're worth it.  Tonight you will lay in bed texting your friends, checking social media, and listening to music.  She will lay in bed and wonder what she did wrong, how she is failing you, and terrified you will one day leave home and never come back. She's panic-stricken you won't ever want to talk to her like you used to, and she misses you.

And she will be there for you, I can promise you that, no matter how many times you say you hate her, roll your eyes or slam your door, she will always be your number one fan and love you unconditionally.

Mama--She doesn't really hate you.  It's been a long week, and she's had to keep it together.  She's had to pretend at school that she has it altogether but she doesn't believe for one minute she does. You are her safe spot, the one person she knows she can say anything to and you will still love her fiercely and unconditionally.  She is scared to death of wanting to be different from you and at the same time wanting you to be proud of her and not sure the two can co-exist.

She is insecure and scared and you remind her that she is expected to grow up into the competent loving woman she believes you are.  She doesn't know if she can measure up, and she doesn't understand that you already think she is more than you ever were or will be.  She doesn't know that she is the best thing you have ever done, and all the confidence she thinks you have is one big lie.

She'll give you more credit than you deserve

Tonight go into her room, sit on her bed and even if she's asleep or pretends to be asleep, tell her you love her and that you will always be there for her no matter what.  Or, if she climbs into your bed, take her hand (Holding Hands), do not make her say she's sorry.  Just listen to her; she has something to say and needs the safety of the dark and the comfort of your presence to let it out. Recognize she needs you and one day you won't have all the reminders of her presence--like Sweat Pants and Fuzzy Socks.

The next few years are going to be hard--an emotional roller coaster for you both.  But keep on loving, keep on forgiving, keep on offering grace--it does matter--she will remember, she needs you, and she will make you
more proud than you've ever been in your entire life only because she is going to become herself--the self God wants her to be, the self God created her to be.  You have no idea today how wonderful she is going to become; you have no idea that in a few short years you will be bursting with pride as you watch her grow and change.  She probably won't be the person that today you think she will become--she will be something even more spectacular.  It might happen when she gets to college, or it might happen later.  She's worth the wait.

One day you won't be in the middle

Daddy--You are stuck.  You are stuck between two women you love dearly.  Two women you would lay your life down to protect. You want to fix it; it tears you up seeing them fuss.  Here's a secret--you can't fix it, so do nothing.  It's not about you; don't take sides--keep loving them both, and keep your mouth shut.  (Don't let her be disrespectful--that's where you draw the line) I promise you, it's for the best.  One day you will hold them both, and it will be magic.

Love,
Someone who wishes she had known
Madre Doyle

The Dress and Resurrection

My parents and the dress

I was packing to head to North Carolina and then the beach.  For the first time in years I hadn't bought an Easter dress.  What to wear?  I went through my closets pushing dresses back and forth and my hand kept settling on one and something in my heart kept saying, "wear that one."  I argued with myself, "It's really too dressy for the beach--even for Easter."  "Wear that one." I kept hearing.

I've worn that dress one time--April 2010 to my Daddy's and Marguerite's wedding.  It was not a happy event for me at the time; it was not a night I'm proud of or a night I want to remember.  I've written about it--that too was painful.  (The Death and Resurrection of My Family) Oh we've come so far beyond that night, but that dress just reminded me of the grief and pain.  I don't know why I have never gotten rid of it.  I

The Wedding

really didn't want to wear it again.  It took me back, and I didn't want to go back. We had all moved forward--I didn't want to remember that night.  That was my Good Friday--I just want Easter.  "Wear that one."  I heard again.

Oops--as I drove into Charlotte I realized I had forgotten The Dress.  Oh well..."Wear that one."  I was beginning to think I was losing it.  Why wouldn't this voice shut up!?!?!?!  Fine, I'll call Chris and ask him to bring it.  If he forgets, well oh well..... guess what?  He remembered.

Last night I realized why I had to wear that dress--it needed, I needed, something tangible that reminded me of resurrection.  I hadn't gotten rid of the dress--it was a symbol of some sorts.  For me it was a reminder of pain--but it was just a dress, actually a nice dress, but I just looked at it and saw grief, and pain and figurative death.  I mentioned I was wearing it today for the first time since their wedding.  And I told my dear friend Jamie that Marguerite and I had fought that night.  She was shocked.  "Really?  You two?  I can't imagine that." "Yeah," I said, "It wasn't a good night.  We had words."--Marguerite looked at me and quietly said, "It was my wedding."

It stung; it stung because I knew that I had hurt her and she hadn't forgotten.  It hurt because I knew I had hurt her that night and despite that she has been nothing but good and kind to me ever since.  She had been hurt and she had never said, she had just loved me at my pace--on my terms. Now I was panicked--do I wear the dress?  Will it hurt her?  I do have something else I can wear.  "Wear the dress."  (Seriously voice--SHUT UP!!!)

I got up and put on the dress.  We took pictures--my parents and I--my daddy and my bonus mama. (I also realized this was the first weekend I introduced them to people as my parents--it doesn't change I still have two living parents, but some of us need more than two....) During church we passed the peace; I hugged and kissed Daddy and Marguerite.  After I kissed Marguerite a woman shook my hand and said, "I love your dress." and she concluded with, "I'm glad you and your parents are here today."  "Me too," I thought, "Me too."

This afternoon I've been thinking about Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter.  I've been thinking about the cross and all the beautiful crosses I have and I wear.  I thought about how in the first century the cross was just a symbol of cruelty, punishment, violence and death, and how we now adorn our churches, our homes, and our bodies with them.  That Easter morning over 2000 years ago, Jesus transformed the cross and the world.  Because of God's unconditional love, acceptance, inclusion, and grace the cross is no longer a reminder of pure violence--of grief and pain--but is also a reminder of God's redeeming unconditional love.  We don't have to live in Good Friday, but we do go back and we do intentionally remember--every year.  We remember so that we never forget how our lives, how the world, have been transformed because of the first Good Friday and Easter morning. Remembering doesn't mean we are living in the past, but it reminds us to give thanks for the reconciling love of God and it gives us the hope that the whole world will someday live into Easter morning.

It's a pretty dress; it's fine, but it's just a dress.  We--Marguerite and I-- have a beautiful relationship, a relationship transformed because of love and forgiveness and grace.

Colonel--A Gift from God

It was definitely the beginning of a terrible week--you know the kind of week when you are on your therapist couch starting your session with, "Let me be clear, I am not suicidal but I just want to disappear." (Having been a therapist I'm well aware of the key words that can send a therapist to the phone dialing 911).  Anyway, it was the way my week started and by Wednesday it didn't seem to be getting better.

I had a board meeting for Central Louisville Community Ministries--a board I love serving, a ministry about which I am passionate, and made up of board members I have grown to love. Surprisingly I didn't want to go, but I put on my big girl panties and a smile and headed downtown.  I walked into the library and was greeted by a precious puppy.  "Who's is he?" I think I shrieked like a preteen girl at a boy band concert.  "He can be yours." Linette said in a joking manner, "I found him at a gas station this morning.  He'd been there 3 days and I think he was abandoned.  I have to find a home for him."  I have no idea what came over me, we have two dogs, but I took his picture and sent it to the children, "Should I bring him home?" All responded "YES!" (Boss did say, "I don't think Daddy is going to like this." Did I mention Chris was out of town?)  I think I conducted the board meeting okay, but my mind was elsewhere--I kept being drawn to the puppy--I needed this puppy.

After the meeting I offered to take him outside.  As I was walking him around the parking lot I ran into a man I had served in my previous position, "Preacher Lady," he said (I'll admit it, I LOVE the group of men who call me Preacher Lady and I really love the title) "Who's dog is that?" "I'm trying to decide if my husband will divorce me if I bring him home.  He was abandoned." I answered. "Preacher Lady, you have to take him home.  You have to help him like you helped me."  And that sealed the deal.

As Linette was getting his stuff out of her office, she told me how she'd been having a grumpy morning and this puppy changed her day.  He's been a gift from God.  I knew how she felt.

I took him home and we all immediately fell head over heels in love with him.  He was incredibly sweet and loving.  After a flurry of texts between the children they agreed to name him Ralphie.  For the first time in days I felt light, happy, and hopeful.  He followed me everywhere but he especially loved Caroline.  He slept in her room and if her door was closed he laid outside of it until she came
out or I let him in.

I took him to the vet silently praying he wasn't chipped (he wasn't).  I looked at Craig's list and in the paper to see if anyone was looking for him.  The vet assured me she thought he was abandoned and had been for some time--he was slightly emaciated.  She estimated he was 5 or 6 months old.  

Chris got home and reality set in.  "We simply cannot have four teenagers and three dogs."  I knew he was right but my heart didn't.  "Can we keep him until I find him a good home?" (I didn't define what I considered a "good home."  I'm sneaky like that!)  "Yes," but he has to go, "Or we can get rid of Bobby."  (Bobby is Caroline's dog and definitely not Chris' favorite.)

I texted my sister-in-law who had been considering getting a dog.  She was out of town but said she'd

bring the boys over when she got home and maybe she'd take him if he was good with them.  (I knew he would be--he was so gentle with the toddler.  He even let her boss him around--kind of like Boss--that girl wraps people around her finger....)

That weekend my sister called.  Sanders, her dog of 13 1/2 years was dying and she was incredibly sad.  She was home alone with him for the weekend.  She took him to the vet and they told her it was time--she set the appointment, went home and cried.  "I don't know why I'm asking you this and I haven't even asked Bob, but can I please have the dog you found?"  (We Kanto girls have this habit of not asking our husbands...)  I told her I had already offered him to my sister in law but if she decided no he was hers.

I texted Jenn and told her if they didn't want him I had a second option and I told her the story.  She responded, "I think it's clear; he needs to go there."  (Have a I mentioned I have the most loving, compassionate, wonderful sister-in-laws in the world?  I hit the sister-in-law jackpot!) It was settled and the Sherrills began fighting over names--their story but they settled on Colonel in honor of Sanders who had been named for Colonel Sanders.

My children, however, were not happy.  Boss, "How much more work can it be for you to have another dog?"  Well he did get it right who would be doing the work--but I knew in my heart we had to let him go, and I knew that the joy he brought me he would bring to them.  We made a plan for me to drive him to Charlotte a couple of weeks later.

Later that week Caroline was sent home from school with concussion symptoms.  She was miserable and lonely--Ralphie/Colonel remained by her side.  I really began believing he was and is a gift from God--he was right where he needed to be for all these people who needed to feel unconditional love, who needed to be uplifted, who needed hope.

I drove him to Charlotte--they were in love.  I got to watch my beautiful athletic niece play lacrosse which I loved--they lost, which I hated.  She was so upset-- Colonel loved her through it.  He now sleeps with her. It may sound corny but I see Colonel as a connection between cousins.  And y'all know how I feel about cousins.  (A Letter to Gangan After Cousin's Weekend, Cousin's Weekend--Where Wearing Lipstick and Mascara at the Same Time Means You're Overdressed, Cousin's of the Heart--to name a few!)

Last night at dinner we were telling Bob about the vet visit--(the vet had also fallen in love with him and offered to take him home) he's closer to 8 months which means puppy chewing stage is over; he's springer spaniel/australian shepherd mix which means no shedding; he's mostly housebroken.  Bob, "I just can't believe how lucky we are with this dog--it's like it is..." "A gift from God," Meredith interrupted.

I'm sitting here alone in their kitchen Colonel curled up at my feet.  I'll be leaving in a couple of hours--leaving without Colonel.  I have to admit, I'm glad no one is home.  I'm pretty sure I'll shed a few tears. He brought comfort and love to me when I needed it; he brought comfort and love to Linette when she needed it; he brought comfort and love to Caroline when she needed it; and now he is bringing love and comfort to my sister's family right now when they need it most and for years to come; I truly believe he is a gift from God.  I'll shed a few tears, my heart will hurt a bit, and I'll give thanks to God for the gift of Colonel--a gift I needed.  I'll also give thanks for the gift God has given to my sister and her family.  And then I'll drive away leaving Colonel to love them for me knowing he is right where he needs to be.  He's home--Colonel is home.

Palm Sunday at Big Boy

I'd say this post is a confession except that Merriam-Webster defines confession as:

1. a written or spoken statement in which you say that you have done something wrong or committed a crime 
2. the act of telling people something that makes you embarrassed, ashamed, etc.
3. the act of telling your sins to God or to a priest

I committed no crime; I perhaps should be embarrassed and there is a slight tinge of it but not enough for the full definition, I don't believe I committed a sin even though I am a priest.  But here it is, our family didn't go to church today--we had Palm Sunday at Big Boy.

Truth is, we planned to go to church.  But this morning when I got up and started waking the children, it wasn't going well.  Caroline really couldn't go because of the stimulation (concussion regulations), Boss has been working so hard and late and has to work again today--he was beat, and William, well he's just tired from long days of lacrosse and late nights studying.  Perhaps those aren't good reasons.  They are certainly not reasons I ever thought I would allow to be used in our home, but I did.  

Chris has been traveling non-stop; Boss has been working non-stop; and I'm leaving tomorrow to visit my sister and then my mother (where I am looking forward to going to Tenebrae and Maundy Thursday service) before being joined at the beach by Chris and only 2 of our children for Easter. (Boss is going to the beach with his girlfriend's family--developmentally appropriate but heartbreaking for a Mama; and Caroline is going to New York with a friend--again appropriate but sad.)  We haven't all been together as a family for weeks, and it won't happen again for weeks.  (Don't remind me SK wasn't here, I try to forget that and just live in Katherineland during these memories when all four children are around the table preferably in matching smocked jon-jon's and bishop dresses--instead we were all in sweatpants, sweat shirts and baseball caps.)

So we decided to go to Big Boy.  I will admit I pouted for a few minutes and said I wasn't going. Truth, yes I missed Palm Sunday.  I love the liturgy, and I love our community of faith.  I miss sitting with my family in the pew something we cannot often do anymore; we could have today.  But I also believe that while churches everywhere were re-enacting Jesus riding into Jerusalem, waving palms and chanting "Hosanna", Jesus was also present around our table at Big Boy.  This was one of those times spending time in relationship was more important than the "rule" of going to church.  Chris and I will spend many Palm Sundays over the next decades going to church, more Sundays than we will spend sitting around a breakfast table with our children sharing our lives, laughing and loving.

So, no, this isn't a confession.  This is just the truth of how we spent our day.  I suspect this will become one of those stories our family tells for years to come, probably every time we are getting ready for Palm Sunday services (and perhaps one our children will swear us to secrecy about so their children don't use it against them) "Remember that Palm Sunday Mama and Daddy let us skip church and just go to Big Boy?" We'll all smile remembering that day and the love around the table.