Advent 1--Judgment and Justice

Matthew 24:36-44

Today’s text is a continuation of a question we heard several weeks ago.  “When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately, saying, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”” (Matthew 24:3 NRSV)  The disciples needed certainty—they wanted to have the answers and they used their insider position to try to get the information they believed Jesus had but didn’t want to publicize.  Today they get their answer—not the answer they necessarily wanted.  Jesus tells them no one including himself knows when that will be and then he continues—

I suspect that just like the disciples we want certainty; God wants discipleship.  Discipleship, whether we like it or not, has a cost.  The text today is one of those challenging ones that puts it out there—God loves everyone no exceptions; that is true, but there is more; today’s text talks about judgment and that is exactly where  we don’t want to go.  I believe that is indeed where we need to go, where we are called to go.  I also believe we have to understand God’s judgment and the flips side of judgment—justice.  To do that, perhaps we need to understand what judgment is not.

God doesn’t want us to fear judgment but rather to use it as a motivator for justice.  God’s judgment is not meant to paralyze us—it’s not the “wait until your father gets home” judgment that we as humans use to manipulate and control.  God’s judgment will come but it is not meant to breed fear and anxiety; it is not meant to have us close in and live a solitary life so that we cannot possibly do anything that will bring down the wrath of God.  No, God wants us to use God’s coming judgment-- to embrace the coming judgment as a way to live into a new way of life, God’s way of life, right here and right now.  God wants us to use God’s coming judgment to propel us to living into a life of justice—a life lived publicly, in community, and in the world.   God wants us to live a life that counters the world where power and inside position reign; a life lived under the fear of scarcity instead of abundance—God’s abundant love and mercy and grace. 

I want to be clear that judgment does not mean not being held accountable; God does hold us accountable—God holds us accountable to how we live out justice.  How well do we treat one another and most especially those most vulnerable in our world?  How do we live it out in our everyday lives?  This is played out in so many ways in our lives starting on the playground. I remember one of my children coming home and telling me about how another boy was being picked on.  “Did you say anything?” I asked.  “No Mama, I didn’t say anything but I also didn’t participate.”  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I pushed.  With tears in his eyes he responded, “I was just glad it wasn’t me.”  He was five; we’re not.  When do we just keep our head down, our mouths closed and think, “Thank goodness it’s not me.”  When do we not include those who should be included because we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves? When do we take the easy way, the comfortable way, the expected way so that we can just be glad we’re not the excluded, the marginalized, the left out? We tragically forget that when someone is left out because we don’t speak up it actually limits who we are.  We are a community—and when we don’t acknowledge and embrace everyone, we are not whole.  And then there is judgment.

Our world creates an anxiety, a frentic pace of life, an individualistic mindset, a mindset that manipulates us into thinking there isn’t enough for everyone—I’ve got to get mine first and then I’ll worry about everyone else.  Black Friday is a prime example (or is it Black Thursday?) I was both amused and appalled by the people camping out in St. Matthews at the Best Buy beginning on Monday!  Perhaps there was a community built there but what I saw was people who were willing to give up a holiday of gathering with family and friends to make sure they got the latest and greatest deal—to make sure they got something and someone else didn’t.  We see it in politics, in schools and even in religion.  The world creates and us/them but we are called to love the other, to live a life that honors the other, and to proclaim in word and deed that God’s love and way of life is for everyone no exceptions EVEN when that means we have to give up something or that we have to lift our heads and speak up.

Jesus’ examples in today’s Gospel are not about the grand movements in history.  There is a place for those, but today Jesus is talking about everyday life—eating and drinking and working right where we are—living a life of love and justice right where we are.

At first this may seem like a depressing text with which to begin Advent—don’t we want to wait in joyful anticipation?  Yes we do which is exactly why it’s the right text.  As we begin the “official” holiday season let us not be distracted by the preparations—the decorating, the baking, the gift buying—let’s do those things, but let’s be alert so that those things don’t distract us from what it means to live a life of faith—let’s make certain those things don’t block out the face of God in those we encounter—let’s lift our heads and see the world through God’s eyes—then judgment is nothing to fear.

I'm Still Not Cleaning Up the Kitchen

I woke up this morning to the same old thing--a house that looks like four teenagers live in it.  I brought the laundry down, let the dogs out, lit the candle, and stared at the kitchen strewn with used glasses, utensils, empty cans.  I wandered into the den where I saw the usual--blankets left on the floor, throw pillows all over the place, more empty glasses and cans.  I headed to the basement to start the laundry and again saw the typical morning after debris--dirty clothes, empty slurpee cups (that I specifically had reminded them to throw away) and bits of trash and used paper.  Surprisingly I wasn't angry--just fed up and tired.  "Why," I wondered, "am I the one that always does it?"  (I ignored the fact that it might be because I am always the first up--I rather enjoyed wallowing for a moment.) I started the first of what will be 3 or 4 loads of laundry and headed back upstairs to the kitchen.  I began to collect empty cans to take out to recycle and I suddenly stopped.  I wasn't going to do it today.  I wasn't going to be angry about it, but I wasn't going to do it either.  Every morning I go downstairs and clean up the aftermath of the night before; I unload the dishwasher and reload it with all the dirty dishes I find everywhere--if they would just put them in the sink!  Now to be fair, the dishwasher didn't need to be unloaded because I hadn't cooked dinner last night (keep in mind I lose mother of the year very early on the 1st of January every single year, so by November 29th not making dinner isn't going to ruin anything)--it was a get what you want when you want kind of night--but couldn't they have put the dishes from their get what you want when you want forages through the refrigerator into the dirty dishwasher?   Apparently not.  I promised myself not to be angry and instead went into the living room to write letters and to begin my sermon.

As I sat down at my grandmother's desk, I thought about Gangan and the life she lived.  I thought about how much I loved and missed her and I wondered about the many days she sat at this very same desk.  Did she sit here and write when she was happy, sad, tired, fed up?  I began writing letters that I have put off for far too long--a note to my cousin Hank who just lost his father and very late birthday cards to my Kanto niece and nephew.  As I wrote these notes and checks to put into the cards I wondered if Gangan had sat at this very same desk writing her cards and checks to me?  I wondered if she had written condolence letters at this same desk thinking about and desperately wanting to take away the pain and grief just as I did? I imagine she did; Gangan out lived most of her friends.  Friendships and family were very important to her--she had life long friends with whom she stayed in touch all the days of their lives, life long friends that she desperately and completely loved.  It's not easy to do and sometimes I imagine that she felt frustrated that she didn't get the same response from people, and yet she kept on because relationships, connections were important.   As I sat writing at her desk I gave thanks that she passed this trait onto me.  I gave thanks that despite the times she felt tired and fed up she continued to stay connected and to reach out to others and I said a silent prayer that I would be able to as well.

This morning Gangan's desk reminded me of the importance of staying connected even when it's easier not to, even when life is so busy and everyone would understand why you can't.  Gangan's desk reminded me that I am part of a history, that I am connected to a past and that I am a connection to the future.  As I thought about Gangan and how she lived her life I was reminded that how I live my life matters not only today but tomorrow and for future generations--we are all connected. Most importantly I realized that it has to start today--how I treat and connect with people today connects me to how others may treat and connect with people in the future.  And I was reminded that being tired and fed up isn't an excuse...

Thank you Gangan for continuing to teach me the importance of relationship and connection.  I'm still not cleaning up the kitchen...

God is Present in the Third String

Late Thursday evening I arrived with my daughter and another youth at Trinity Camp and Conference Center on the coast of North Carolina for the Province IV Youth Planning Conference.  It had been a very long trip--12 hour drive.  As we checked in, I looked for our name tags fully expecting there to not be one for me.  I wasn't "supposed" to be there but rather was a last minute fill in from our Diocese.  Our youth coordinator was on maternity leave and the person who was slated to come  at the last minute could not.  There actually was one for me.I found mine and said in a surprised tone, "I didn't know there would be one for me.  I'm the third string from our Diocese."  Cookie, the Coordinator of Province IV Youth, looked at me, smiled and said, "I firmly believe that God makes certain the people who are supposed to be here are the people who are here.  You will learn something, hear something, or add something this weekend that will prove that."  As I looked down at the schedule for the weekend, I thought to myself, "I hope it comes in flashing lights with loud sirens and that it is something that will change the world because I have personally just entered the perfect storm."  The winds were picking up (starting with my mother), and I was in the eye of the storm.

Back when the second string was still in the game, I was going to drive down with her as the second adult; I was going to drop them and head to my mother's house two hours away.  When I was called off the bench and moved into the game, my mother did not take it well--to be fair she took it better than I thought she would, but she was incredibly disappointed.  Because I was third string, I assumed I wouldn't be needed much during the weekend except to sleep there so to diffuse the emotional trauma, I suggested to Mama that she come over and we could see each other there. That was the plan until I looked at the schedule and heard the conversations in the Point of Arrival where I quickly deduced that was not going to be the case and I was going to have to call Mama and tell her I would have very little free time.  Yep, the perfect storm was coming together from all directions--I was going to have an extremely disappointed  mother; at home I had left a jet lagged tightly scheduled husband, my second son William  home sick, eldest son Christopher  on an overnight field trip with a tight turn around to a lacrosse tournament, youngest child Caroline (well she is her own perfect storm), and a missing dog, and I was feeling guilty, helpless and out of control.  The storm was coming and I couldn't even have an emotional temper tantrum in the privacy of my own room because I had a room mate!  As we left the Point of Arrival with me grumbling under my breath that I was too old to have a room mate I didn't know, I thought I left Cookie's comment behind; oh how wrong I was.

As I began getting settled into my room, the door opened and in walked "the room mate."  We introduced ourselves and she said she was going to change.  I noticed she had on a collar and told I her I too was a priest.  "Actually," Kellie said, "I'm a transitional deacon."  Immediately we began sharing our stories and it was eerie how similar they were.  "Maybe this is the reason I'm here," I thought (clearly I hadn't let Cookie's comment go)..

Throughout the next few days I participated, listened, shared, and listened some more.  By mid morning Friday, it was obvious to me that I was on high alert waiting for THE REASON.  I kept waiting for there to be something that was extremely personal, that was meant for just me something to prove Cookie's comment right--that God wanted me there and that God was present with me there. As time went on it became more and more important to me to find it and the sense of urgency was mounting with each passing hour.  Saturday afternoon as the adults sat in our session sharing camp themes--literally just throwing them out there, Emily said, "We did Daniel and the Lions Den." and then she went on to explain how they asked people to name their lions.  THUNDER AND LIGHTNING--THIS WAS IT!!!  Instantaneously I knew this was THE moment--this was why I was here.  My mind began racing with all the ways I could use this theme not only with the youth but in a new group I was forming, Parents in Conversation.  A group that has been weighing heavily on my mind.  I wanted to jump up, run across the room, grab Emily's hands and do the happy dance singing,"Cookie was right, I found it; I found it; I was supposed to be here Yeah God!" I manged to contain myself--which I'm sure greatly relieves Emily.  What I did do, however, was exhale.  I had found it and now I could just enjoy the rest of the weekend--

Yesterday morning I woke early to get a final run on the beach.  As I was running, as I often do, I talked to God.  "Thank you," I said, "for helping me recognize the reason I was here--yeah lions."  I have to admit I was so proud of myself a) for recognizing the "it" and b) for remembering to thank God.  The problem is whenever I put a and b together I don't get c--and it dawned on me--really slapped me like a red headed step child--that while the lions may have been the big IT, there were so many other 'its' throughout the weekend.  And so I rewound and thought and continued to think all the way home about how God was present with me and why I was 'supposed' to be there.

Every night at 11:00 pm, Kellie, the dreaded room mate, and I returned to our room and talked about the day--for the first 15 minutes.  After that we talked about our vocations, our callings, our questions, our families, our jobs--well into the night.  Lights out was supposed to be at 11:30, and while I am a type A rule follower,  I believe God was in our rule breaking.  I know I needed to hear Kellie and because of those hours I have found someone who has become a partner in ministry, a confidante,and a friend.  I needed that, and God knew it.

Friday afternoon Cookie led a prayer where she asked us to give thanks for something.  As we went around the circle I knew what I had to say, "Thank you that I have this opportunity to share a ministry weekend with my daughter and to see her leadership."  In my heart I added, "And thank you God that she has such a strong faith and this community of faith."  Part of my anxiety about being called in from the third string position was that I didn't want to crowd Sarah Katherine.  This was her third year, and I felt like this was HER thing.  She seemed to be respected and loved and I wanted her to have that without my overbearing personality pushing her aside.  So I worked very hard to stay in the background--Province IV people are probably breathing a sigh of relief and thinking,"If that was the background, thank goodness SK was here!"

Friday evening I saw that University of Georgia admissions had been posted, so during a break SK and I sat on my bed (breaking yet another rule--only people who live in that living space are to be in that living space--breaking rules can be a little freeing and definitely exhilarating) and she looked it up.  Sure enough, the first college acceptance was there.  Now we could both exhale--I no longer have to listen to her say,"I'm never going to get in college." and she now knows she has at least one place--a place we all love.  At the same time as my heart swelled with pride, I felt like I'd been sucker punched in the gut.  It was real; she was leaving next year--  She called her daddy, tweeted her acceptance and ran off to be with her friends.  Looking back what amazes me is that she didn't run off shouting to everyone she'd been accepted to college but rather to rejoin the group going on now--to be in the moment with the people there.  This weekend was about these people and the ministry they had to do; she rarely (well at least outside of the family) tries to make things about her.  Her humility inspires me. I, meanwhile, tried to ease my throbbing stomach pains by telling the world; I was completely convinced that if I faked it enough that I was thrilled she was accepted and could potentially be going to college 10 hours a way, I would believe it.

Part of staying in the background for me literally meant sitting at one of the back tables while SK sat up front; participating in the singing and energizers in the back while SK was up front; and definitely making very little eye contact; not correcting manners and only asking questions that had to be asked. Despite my best efforts, I still earned a few eye rolls.  Saturday evening, I was sitting in the back listening to Diocesan reports as I needle pointed Christopher's belt.  I saw SK approaching me; she reached down and moved my purse  at my feet.  I leaned in expecting her to need to tell me something.  Instead, she sat at my feet, scooted back against me, and laid her head in my lap.  No words were spoken but as I stroked her hair, I knew, this was a God moment--a comfort for me in the face of the reality of letting go, (perhaps for her as well) and we needed to be here together for it to happen.

Once again Saturday night Kellie and I stayed up until the wee hours  discussing theology.  (It really must have been a God thing because I was still able to make the 12 hour drive home in--11 hours-- and not fall asleep.)  The next morning we went to breakfast and an assortment of other adults, clergy and lay leadership, randomly gathered at our table.  We brought up our conversation from the night before.  The 8 of us then discussed  Eucharistic and sacramental theology.  We came from different places; we used different lenses, and we acknowledged that.  We acknowledged that we all struggled and were trying to understand each other.  What was very clear in the conversation was that we all respected and loved each other.  Most importantly what was indisputable was what united us--we loved God, we loved each other, we loved the youth, and we loved the Episcopal church.  It was a life giving conversation for me; a chance to participate in a conversation with opposing views, and it felt holy.  I needed that and God knew it.

As we were driving home, all these moments and more (like the connection that now exists between Patti, Beth and myself) enveloped me like a warm blanket.  I was able to honor that Cookie was right; this year I was meant to be there.  As I thought about that, I said a silent prayer for those going next year; I hoped at least one of my other three children would go, and to be honest I was a little sad.  I would miss gathering with this group.  At that very moment, Sarah Katherine, who I thought was sleeping, looked over at me and said, "You should go back next year.  They liked you." Uncharacteristically for my children, she didn't mention that someone liked me with surprise in her voice.    Then she added, "Amelia from Louisiana found me this morning to thank me for bringing you."  I needed that too, for Amelia to say it and for SK to tell me; and God knew it.

Cookie was right--God knows who needs to be where even if it means bringing in the third string.

Cookie, me, and my girl

The Gift of Grace in a Text

Monday morning I had a complete break down. I flat hit the bottom of  the world of overwhelmed with a potty break in the land of self pity.   I suppose I should have seen it coming.  Two weeks ago I scrubbed every baseboard in the house and last week I sorted and organized my sweaters and t-shirts.  My sweaters are now stored based on style--cardigan vs. pull-over; solid vs. pattern; long sleeve, short sleeve, 3/4 sleeve; and  fabric and texture.  My t-shirts were far more simple to do--I only have  three types--UVA, All Saints, and Finlandia (what does that say about me?).  I sorted them by theme and long sleeve/short sleeve.  So yes, I suppose I should have seen it coming.



My family should have also seen it coming if not for weeks then definitely this weekend.  The most glaring "clue" was when I asked Sarah Katherine to make sure she wrote any of her activities on the family calendar.  When I made this request the whole family, who had been milling about in the kitchen, froze.  No one wanted to make eye contact but you could feel the electricity of terror just below the surface.  "You mean you want me to actually write on the calendar and not just tell you so that you can write it?" SK hesitantly asked.  I have to give her credit, she slowed my descent into breakdown mode for a bit-- not enough to actually stop the process and definitely not enough to reverse it, but a definite reduction in speed.  "Yes I replied" a little frightened myself, "but only in your color and make sure you don't write too big.  I think you can handle this."  Chris looked at Sarah Katherine and I could almost hear him saying, "You screw this up and your on your own kid.  I don't touch command central, I mean the family calendar."

There were more clues Sunday evening that neither I nor my family chose to recognize.  We are very good at denial when we need to be.  They have seen this rapid fall before and perhaps they were silently hoping that if they didn't move too quickly or draw too much attention to themselves I would take the dive alone and not bring along casualties.  So they were very quiet as I ran around the house making piles, cleaning out drawers, color coding the chalk board and researching the best apps for keeping track of your calendar and to-do list.  (You know there are a wide range of opinions out there, but most lists include aNote and 2Do.  I already had 2Do and realized I hadn't opened it in months, so I bought aNote and was thrilled to see it syncs with my google calendar and evernote.  Too bad it doesn't with my paper calendar.  (Yep, I'm one of those dinosaurs.)

Sunday night I even stooped so low as to write in sharpie (that is tres serious in this house!) on the list of things for them to do--a list that had been growing ALL day--that if I didn't have Christmas lists by the end of the day there would be no gifts. I was definitely in hot pursuit of Mother of the Year.

Later that evening as I fell into bed exhausted but with my head still spinning rainbow colors and tears of exhaustion seeping from my eyes , Chris calmly and lovingly asked me what was wrong.  I couldn't even answer because frankly, I didn't know.  I just felt angry, out of control, and overwhelmed and now guilty because I could see how I was acting and yet I couldn't seem to stop it.  Definitely not a good excuse.

So Monday morning--I woke up tired and the final clue that I was sinking, or perhaps the obvious sign that I had hit the bottom, I didn't make the children hot chocolate and coffee.  They definitely had the good sense not to complain-in fact they said nothing.  And I felt worse; I realize I do that for them each morning not because they expect it but because I love to do it.  It makes me feel good to prepare it, carry the tray upstairs, and wake them up.    It really is all about me.

When Chris finished showering, it was obvious to him I had hit the bottom, and he, as he always does, tried to talk me off the ledge.  Okay, there really was no ledge--he was talking to me through the shower curtain as I was getting ready for work but a ledge sounds so much more dramatic, perhaps I should say I just wanted to follow the suds from the shampoo straight down the drain--anyway,we talked and talked or rather he listened as I listed my failures--only doing 3 loads of laundry and not four, haven't done as much Christmas shopping as I wanted to have done by now, found my nephew's birthday card and check (from July) on my desk,..well you get the picture.  It was about doing--not being.  I felt like Martha and I want to be Mary.  Chris, who I suspect also wants me to be Mary with a little Martha thrown in every now and then,  listened and said all the right things; not just the right things but the true things.  We are doing a pretty good job; our children are happy, we have each other--relationships are strong.  I was getting so bogged down in what I wasn't "doing" that I had lost sight of "being".  And he also spoke the truth in love, yes some things were slipping through the cracks; but not, he stressed, the important things and we just needed to work together and we could get it done. I began the slow crawl back up from the pit.  Chris left for work and I continued to get ready and to crawl out of the abyss.

It's harder to keep your eyes on the light and to keep pulling yourself up when your solid rock isn't shining the light down and holding out his hand.  But Chris had to go to work, and honestly, some journeys have to be made on your own.  I really tried to stay focused on our conversation, and for the most part I did.  I did feel better; I could rationally think about and differentiate between what were the essential things that needed to be done and what were the nice but neurotic things.  As I said, it's hard to keep the forward momentum when your alone and only have yourself to talk to (and yes I was actually talking out loud), so there were a few times that I slid back down, just a little.  I took another potty break in the land of self pity and thought about all the years I was a stay-at-home mom and how much more I felt on top of things back then, how I got everything done effortlessly and with a perpetual smile on my face--basically I pictured myself vacuuming in heels while singing a tune with a five course meal ready to serve to my family as they came home from school and work all in good moods and ready to have a family sing-along around the dining room table.   (The land of self pity also has a magic drug that helps you forget reality.)  And then I thought of my cousin who really and truly has to be one of the kindest, sanest, most reasonable, and happiest people I know.  William once asked me, "Does Cousin Beth ever not smile?"  I thought of Beth and how she has worked since her children were born and while she may have had her own descents into madness, I don't know about them.  I do know, however, that I am in awe of how she's done it all these years.  So I decided to text her and tell her that. I actually thought I was giving her a vitamin dose so that if she ever did find herself on the downward spiral she would know that someone recognized her amazingness.   And she texted me back--and that text back was the final push I needed to return to the world of being only semi-neurotic. My text may or may not have given her anything, but her text made me laugh out loud--out loud and at myself; her text was a gift of grace.

Everyone should have their own personal "Cousin Beth" if you don't, I can rent you mine!

We Are The Chris Doyles

In the last three weeks Chris and I have been in the same house for five days.  We'll both be home for the next 4 days, and then I'm gone again.  It stinks.  It's  not that either of us cannot handle being the sole parent at home.  The children are still being fed; they're still getting to their activities; they're still being supported in their activities; they're still getting their homework done.  They're not being forgotten--okay, last Thursday I forgot Caroline didn't have a ride home, but I quickly reduced the number of hours she will need in therapy with a desperate pleading text to Mama C. So I would say we are operating at a 98% effective rate.  But it's still not easy--re-entry for all of us is hard; the daily operations continue but....

As I was running this morning I was reminded of a phone call I had with one of my most honest and loving friends, Gillian.  Chris had been out of grad school for two years and we were living in Pittsburgh.  We were still trying to rebuild our finances and Chris was offered the opportunity to go into consulting.  (The children were 3, 4, 5, and 7) We were seriously considering it.  The bump in salary would decrease our debt quickly and thereby increase our budget.  It was very tempting.  We rationalized that we could do it for a few years while they were little and didn't have as many activities.  (By the way, that was the only realistic part of the rationalization, they didn't have as many activities.)  I was on on the phone with Gillian and telling her about this opportunity.  "Have you really thought this through?" asked Gillian in a tone that said, "I'm sure you haven't thought this through AT ALL! And you have lost your ever loving mind"  "Yes" I responded, "It will help so much, and it's not like I haven't been at home with the children during the week by myself before.. Remember the summer between his first and second year of graduate school?  He only came home on the weekends.  I was able to get everything done."  Loooooong silence.  Me, "Gillian, don't you remember?" Taking a deep breath Gillian said, "Oh yes I remember, we ALL remember.  Yes you got stuff done" she said in her most compassionate but remembering she was probably talking to a still somewhat unstable and exhausted person, "but it was HELL!  PLEEEEEASE don't do this again." Only for a moment, but for a very important moment she lost her I'll be supportive of you no matter what persona and entered her own survival mode.   (I should probably be thankful that I was so exhausted during those years that I was experiencing and am probably still suffering from a form of survival amnesia.)  I do, however, remember well one particular episode.

It was a Saturday evening; we had finished dinner, and Chris said, "I'll handle the baths and then come down and help you clean up the kitchen.  Why don't you just sit down for a bit?"  Well you didn't have to ask me twice; I jumped up from the table and moved into the living room as Chris headed up the stairs with a 10 month old, 2 year old, 3 year old, and 5 year old.  I settled into a well worn arm chair, placed a glass of wine on the sill next to me and got ready for some mindless TV.  I was flipping through the channels barely listening to the squeals and laughter wafting down from above enjoying a brief moment of not being touched or talked to when I heard one blood curdling scream.  Before I could get out of the chair a symphony of screams began to bounce off the walls as they made their way down the stairs at lightening speed.  I raced up the stairs already forming a plan in my mind of which of us would take the obviously seriously injured child to the hospital and which would stay home and clean up the mess and calm the others.  I entered the bathroom and came to a sudden stop.  I saw and heard Sarah Katherine screaming and trying to claw her way back into the tub.  William was sitting on the floor with his hands over his ears screaming, "No, no, no" like a broken record.  Christopher was standing in the tub saying, "Please don't; it's not right."  And Caroline--well I can't remember what she was doing--more therapy hours for her.  Chris was standing in the chaos repeating more and more loudly and more and more sternly, "I am the father and you'll get out when I tell you to."  I froze--there was no blood but there were a lot of red desperate and angry faces.  "Mommy, he's not doing it right.  He's not following the rules.  Make him stop." Sarah Katherine barely got out as she hiccuped her way through her tears.  Chris looked at me with a deer in the headlights look--or perhaps it was the look of someone who has entered an asylum and just wants out.  "I have no idea what they're talking about."  Now I have to say that one of the things Chris and I have worked hard at then and now is presenting a united front, but there was that glass of wine and mindless TV downstairs still calling my name although it was muffled due to the cacophony of wails.  "Just let me do this," I said. I just wanted it done and them in bed.   I'm not sure, but I think Chris might have heard those words as words of grace; he definitely heard them as permission to leave with no threat of me crying later and inaccurately saying "I have to do everything."  (not that he'd ever heard me whine or cry about that before) because he flew out of the bathroom and down the stairs saying over his shoulder, "I'll come back for bedtime stories if you want me to."  (I suspect he was secretly hoping I wouldn't.  We love our children, but we also know when we need to step away from the chaos.)

So what had happened?  I had a system, an order.  There was a way of getting the children out of the bath that happened each and every night, they counted on it, and Chris didn't know our system.  Honestly he's always been more flexible than me (I know that is shocking), and he truly didn't understand the big deal.  We had a way of doing things, a way of being a family, a way of operating and he didn't know it.  Later that night I said, "Honey I appreciate you helping tonight, but I just need you to do it my way.  I need our lives to stay the same--orderly and in control or when you leave tomorrow night it is hell for me."  Those words were painful for him to hear and they were painful for me to say.  I didn't recognize it then as well as I do now.

Both Gillian and I were right that night on the phone.  I did manage the day to day routines of the family, but there was a cost.  The five of us became a group and that summer Chris was on the outside.  We loved him coming home, but honestly it was hard.  It changed the dynamics; we forgot to fill him in on how we did things.  He was home, we were a complete family, but he was always a little bit on the outside--a part of us but.... I know there are families that handle this much better than we did, but I suspect there are still always the bumps that come with the re-entry and there might always be the person who always feels a little bit on the outside.  I know for our family we want to feel whole and being together makes us whole--we are The Chris Doyles,  and we need all six of us to be that in all its fullness

As I ran this morning and thought about this I had an "aha" moment.  I often hear the question, "Why does it matter if I go to church every week?  Someone else can do the _____________."  The answer is yes, someone else can do whatever it is that keeps the operations going, but no one else can be you.  No one else can bring to the community what you can as your own person.  So my answer is going to be, You're right--someone else can do your task.  But, we don't need you to do for us; we need you to be with us because without you were are not a complete "us" in all the fullness of  being God's family.

Lessons Learned from Hot Chocolate in Styrofoam Cups

Yesterday morning as I was driving the children to school I looked down and it was 23 degrees--it's going to be a looooooong, cold winter.  As we rounded the curve leading to the school the police officer who was usually standing outside wasn't there.  "Wonder where the police officer is?" I asked.

 As we approached we saw that he was actually parked in the parking lot in his car.  "Must be trying to stay warm, " said William.  "We should start bringing him hot chocolate or coffee in the morning." I suggested as I stopped the car to let them out.  Dead silence and then Christopher looked at me quizzically--I often get that look; my children are not quite sure what to make of me and they're never sure whether I will do something "embarrassing".  "Mama, no" he muttered.  Caroline piped up from the back, "I will just die if you do that."  I tell you it was very hard to resist the urge to tell her I was going to take her up on the challenge of proving her theory.  Instead I said, "We used to take it to the crossing guard in Pittsburgh. Ya'll loved doing it."     "Yeah I know and to everyone else.  And we gave it to the mailman, but Mama I was five!" Caroline sputtered as she got out of the car.   I felt a little sad...

When we lived in Pittsburgh we would take hot chocolate to the crossing guard when we went to pick Sarah Katherine up from school.  We also took it to the parking lot attendant at the Children's Hospital every time we went down there (which was a lot!), and we gave it to the mail people in Pittsburgh, Lynchburg, and England.  The children loved doing it so much that we had to have a chart (color coded of course) for who got to run to the door each day to hand the person the hot chocolate. I was so thrilled when I found that Costco sold Styrofoam cups with lids--that running to the door was pretty messy before I found those.  It wasn't that anyone could stay and talk for very long--long cold routes they had to walk, but we felt like we did get to know them a little.  It brightened our day and perhaps theirs as well.

On one level I understand (or try to) why Caroline said what she did for this particular situation.  I suspect if I pull my car, with its monogram on it,  over every morning and hand hot chocolate out of the window they will be noticed.  Being a middle school girl is not for the weary.  While you want to be noticed, you do everything in your power not to be noticed.  I suppose all of middle school perhaps all of adolescence in general is a life continually lived as a paradox. Nonetheless, it bothered me and has stayed with me.  I can't get the questions out of my mind.  "When does it become uncool to show care and concern for others?" "When do we lose the innocence of a child who finds so much joy in caring for someone else--in caring for the stranger?"  And most importantly "how do we stop it from happening? How do we keep our children from losing the joys they experience in childhood, the joys of helping others, as they enter adolescence and adulthood?" Perhaps the most disturbing questions in my mind is "Do we ever get it back?"  "When do I, when do we adults, fail to notice someone and to care for someone because that person doesn't fit into our world or worse because we don't want to bring attention to ourselves?"

Many people volunteer in soup kitchens, food pantries, homeless shelters, and these are good things to do. It is good to get outside of ourselves and our own insulated worlds.   It helps others, and lets be honest it feels good for us too.  But I wonder do we show that same care and concern for those who are in our "worlds" or pass through our "worlds"?  Do we seek out ways to extend the love of God to all those who come into our lives regardless of the cost?  Or do we sometimes turn into adolescents not wanting to draw attention to ourselves, not wanting to be different.  Do we keep our heads down and our eyes focused on ourselves and on those who are like us, who don't challenge us, who fit the status quo?  Do we carry those things we learn in adolescence into our adult world? My prayer is that instead we carry our child like joy into our adult worlds--it just may brighten someone's day; it just might warm someone's heart (or hands).

I think I will go buy some Styrofoam cups....

"He said, 'Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."  (Matthew 18:3)

We Were Fine

Chris left for six days in Rome Sunday morning shortly after I left for work.   I went to work; Sarah Katherine got herself and the other four to church; and we all reconvened Sunday evening after basketball practices, soccer banquets, yard work, play practice and homework.  We were fine.

On Monday Sarah Katherine and I were off work/school.  The other children went to school.  We cleaned house, did laundry, had lunch with friends, ran in the morning, walked with a friend in the afternoon, picked up from play practice, picked up frm basketball practice, went to ballet until we were all once again back under one roof sharing our day.  We were fine.

On Tuesday I returned to work, SK to school.  I officiated Morning Prayer, worked in the food and clothing closet, worked on my sermon, made pastoral calls,  made doctor/dentist appointments for the children, lunch with friends, finished announcements and the prayers for the bulletin, came home to run, and went to the grocery store before heading off to Caroline's basketball game and to pick up from dress rehearsal (stopping at Taco Bell for the Boss).  Everything was going fine--I was doing fine.  Chris and I had texted some, but the time difference makes things difficult and we weren't able to talk, until---

I was in Trader Joe's and the phone rang--it was Chris.  I answered and as I tried to multi-task; we shared our last three days.  We passed on the need to know information and we caught up.  Chris described where he was in Rome.  We love Rome--it is the only place we have ever gone (since our honeymoon) just the two of us for no other reason than to be together.  He said it was hard being there without me and he beautifully described the collesium all lit up in the clear evening sky.  I so wanted to be there.  And then he said, "But how are you doing?"  (read not what are you doing, not can you handle it without me, but how are you doing as in you the person I love and I miss.)  I choked up a little and said, "Fine.  I really should get checked out and get to the game."  We said I love you and hung up.

I finished checking out and headed to the car with a palpable ache in my heart and soul.  I thought to myself, "I was doing fine until he called.  I can do this fine; I just need him not to call."  And I considered texting him and telling him just that--please don't call anymore; it's easier for me.  I literally stopped in the parking lot--it hit me that if I sent him that text he would be so hurt, and I absolutely could not do that.  In order to avoid my own pain, I could not and would  not hurt him.

Loving someone completely brings great joy, great vulnerability, and sometimes great sorrow.  Loving someone completely doesn't mean you need them or what they can do for you but rather that you love them as they are for who they are and for the joy they bring to your life.  Sometimes loving someone completely means putting your own needs aside; sometimes it means exposing yourself; and sometimes it means pain will come.

And I wonder, how many times in our lives do we avoid love in order to avoid pain?  How many times do we reject love to reject pain?  How many people do we hurt to protect ourselves--to make it easier for ourselves?  How many times do we settle for just being fine?  It's worth considering....

Next to the hotel where we stayed