I Lost Part of Me This Year

Yesterday driving home in the dark, cold, rain from an incredible Thanksgiving weekend, I leaned my head against the window and thought, "I've lost a lot this year. But what I haven't allowed myself to think about is, I've lost part of me." 

I wasn't sure what that thought was totally about, but I knew it was true. I am different today than I was a year ago; this year has changed me; this year has taken a part of me, and I can feel it deep in my bones.

Throughout the night as I woke up during a fitful sleep, the words, but more the truth of it, continued to taunt me. I am still trying to make it make total sense, but this I know.

I am not the same. There is more quiet in my heart and my mind--an introspective quiet. I want to be alone more than I ever have before. I crave solitude. I often can't find the words to express what I want to say, and I have lost some of the energy of trying to figure it out. I ache for quiet. I don't immediately find the positive in every situation, and I have lost the ardor to do so. I allow darkness to permeate for longer periods of time before I move forward. And I feel more deeply than I ever have before, and that is often painful. I would more often than not consider myself in a state of melancholy.

Last year at this time I thought I had the world by the tail. I believed all four of my children were in healthy places and were on the straight and arrow path towards adulthood. I was entering my fourth year as priest-in-charge/rector of St. Thomas and my fifth year as coordinator of youth and young adult ministries for the Diocese of Kentucky, and I believed I knew exactly what God was calling me to do and be. Chris and I were enjoying empty nest; I had just officiated at the wedding of a young couple, and I felt that powerful love in our marriage.  My extended family all seemed to be doing well, and our relationships were solid. I had amazing friends and believed this would be the year I would reconnect with many.

Last year on Advent 1 I was full of giggles and excitement. I thought I understood and was fully embracing the theme of the day. As the first candle, the candle of hope was lit by a sweet family with a small child,  I beamed and my heart was full to bursting.

Then 2019 came.

I've talked to many people about this year. I'll be honest, I have yet to talk to anyone for whom this was the best year. If you're out there, I'd love to hear it. Really I would. It just doesn't hold true for me or for most people I know.

Now a whole year later, I am looking back at the person I was then, and I know part of that person is gone, and I'm almost 100% certain it's a permanent loss.

Some may not notice. I am still pretty out there; I am still loud and "extra"; I still say and do outrageous things. But I am less sure of what the "right" things to say and do are; I am less confident I know how to relate to people. (Just an aside, I am confident and even recently for the first time in probably forever able to verbalize what I know I do well. He was as surprised as I was to hear me do it!) But I am less confident I can handle anything. But this I do know.

I can show up.

I can show up in hospital rooms and funeral homes. I can show up in rehab centers and in the woods. I can show up in phone calls and texts and letters. I can show up in grieving homes and in homes full of joy. I can show up when I am full of energy, and I can show up when doing so takes every ounce of strength I have. I can show up for old friends and new friends and people I can't categorize. I can show up for myself. I can show up even if I have nothing to say.

This morning as a family with grown children lit the candle of hope, I felt tears in my eyes threatening to coarse down my face. This year I lost part of who I was, but I am filled with hope. It is not the hope I thought I understood last year. It is not optimism or exuberance. It is a hope that strengthens me to stay connected to myself, others and God. It is a hope that says through the darkness of the world, there is light. It is a hope that has walked with me through the valley of the shadow of death, and it is a hope that knows to my very core that God was and is there. It is a quiet hope that envelopes me because I know I can't fix everything; I can't stop pain; I don't have the right words; I don't know what is to come, but I can show up.

Giving Thanks--Or Not

I'm going to admit it...

I was both over the moon excited about Thanksgiving and terrified about how it would go. In some ways I just wanted the whole thing to be over. The unknown...ugh!

It's been a really long time since we were all together, and a lot has changed. One of the things I have learned, and relearned, and relearned (it takes awhile) is when change happens--any change good or bad--relationships shift. Not only that, the speed at which they shift or don't shift differs between people. AND, where we each are within the change not only differs between people but can differ within ourselves on a daily or even hourly basis.

It's a lot like grief. We grieve in different ways and are at different places within our grief at different times. I guess, in some ways, change, even good change, is a type of grief. We get comfortable in our relationships even in the bad stuff. I mean, at least we know what to expect. But when we change--well you get the picture.

So I was stressed, and I don't handle stress well. I become quiet, withdrawn, extremely sensitive, completely in my head, and all in all panicked. And it's really fun for my husband when I try to pretend I'm not---like on the drive to Virginia two days ago.

As I was trying to talk myself off the proverbial ledge, my thoughts went to all the hard stuff from this year. And there was a TON. I'll be honest, I'm not over a lot of it. "I know God is present in all of the really hard and painful shit that happened this year to me and to others," I thought, "But knowing it and feeling it, and growing from it, and finding anything about it to give thanks about, is a LOOOOOONG time coming." I thought about 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (mainly because I had just written about it and not because I can just pull scripture from my head citing chapter and verse). “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” I'm not there. I want to be, but I'm not. Oh in my head, I can list the ways I've grown, but to give thanks for it? No thank you. 

And then my thoughts went to others--to those I know and love, and to those I only know about. I thought about how social media will be full of posts with #grateful, #blessings, #thankful. I thought about how people will ask each other, "What are you thankful for this year?" And I suspected there would be many tables where people ask to go around and say what they're thankful for (and yes ours was one of those). My mind and heart went to those who will have a blank stare because I get it. 

Because it was a 4 1/2 hour drive I got to keep thinking....

I thought about those who are dreading going over the river and through the woods (do people still sing that) because of strained family relationships and I thought about those who could not longer go or had nowhere to go. 

As we rounded a curve and crossed the state line it occurred to me, it's all okay. It's okay to be thankful and it's okay to not be thankful. It's okay to be able to acknowledge how the hard times of life have given me and others the opportunity for growth and new relationships. And it's okay to not be there. 

Before Jesus ascended he promised the disciples "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age." (Matthew 28:20) I can't be thankful for everything that has happened this year. I'm not ready to find "the good" or "what I've learned" in some of it. I also don't know if I ever will be. But I know with all my heart God is present in and through it all. I can give thanks for that. 

We, I, Learned from the Best

Today we celebrate the life of Mrs. Hardwick who tried over the years to get me to call her Laurie, but I can't. But we also celebrate the resurrection because we know because Christ came and died and rose again death has been defeated and that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God.

But I think the most powerful verse in the Bible is “Jesus wept” because I think that reminds us that because God came in the flesh, God understands every emotion that we have. He stood at the grave of his friend.  He stood with Lazarus's sisters in their anguish and their grief. He felt their agony and their pain, and he was angry, and he hurt.  As you begin this new normal, I believe God is telling us that all these emotions we are feeling are OK.

As I was thinking about speaking today, I remember being in Mrs. Hardwick’s kitchen in the eighth grade and something had happened. A trip was cancelled, and I had been made to feel a little guilty for being upset.  Mrs. Hardwick said, “Katherine, there is nothing wrong with being disappointed and sad. There is no shame at all in how you feel.”  

And so today is a celebration of the resurrection but I really because it’s Mrs. Hardwick, it's as much about the incarnation, Christ coming in the flesh and asking us all to be his hands and feet as we lead our lives of discipleship.

When we read or pray the Lord's prayer and say, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” I think Mrs. Hardwick lived that—every day.  It wasn’t about waiting for what would happen in heaven after death and for eternity. It was about bringing that here and now to all of us that she touched. She was loving and kind. I’m an Episcopal priest, and some of y’all may know there’s a famous Episcopal priest who preached at a famous wedding.  He talks about God all the time, he’s a much better preacher than I am, and he talks about God and God is love and God loves everybody no exceptions.  God is forgiving and merciful and kind and doesn't seek to denigrate or to shame. And that’s how Mrs. Hardwick was. And my heaven was in her kitchen, growing up.

 I remember one day a neighbor came in and as you walked in the back door there's a little half bath. And Mrs. Hardwick took this young lady, who was our age, into the half bath and they had a conversation and they came out and they joined us at the counter.  Later, because I’m kind of nosey, I asked, “Mrs. Hardwick, what did you tell her?” She said, “That’s between us; it doesn't matter. All is forgiven.z’

She was there with kindness and words leaning against the counter as we droned on  endlessly about whatever it was.

Now just in case you’re beginning to think she might be God, I think there were times that she got really irritated and bored. And I think she really liked when that phone rang and one of the rental properties needed to be looked at. And she would say, “Girls why don't you go with your father. He’ll stop at Dairy Queen on the way home.” If it were the 21st-century I would swear she had texted the tenants to say, “Please call them.”

 I have four of my own children who are young adults. Tthey asked me quite frequently, in fact just a couple days ago I was FaceTiming with my youngest whose in college, and some boys came behind her and started talking to me. She said again, as they often say, “I just understand why people like you.” They’ve said, “We don't understand why people want to come to our house. It’s soooo boring.” So that's just an invitation to any young adults. If you really want to come somewhere and be really bored, you're welcome to come to our house. But two days ago when Caroline said that to me with the boys in the background waving. I said, “Because I learned from Mrs. Hardwick.”

You're beginning a journey and it's not an easy one. Thank you for sharing your wife and your mother with us. I know there were times you wanted her for yourself. I know there were times it was inconvenient. But my life has been changed. Thank you. But as you being this time, let us love you, support you, welcome you, even when it’s inconvenient, because it never will be because we learned from the best.

Snug Hollow--Always What I Need

"You meet the people you need to meet when you visit Snug Hollow." That's what I always tell people....

2019 has not been the best year--knee replacement, multiple deaths of far too young people, family issues, pastoral needs of which I feel ill equipped to handle, and then this past few weeks 5 deaths in 7 days--my grief was beginning to overtake me. I knew I needed to get away and process, and I knew where I needed to go.

Snug Hollow

I started going to Snug Hollow in the late summer of 2016 and knew almost instantaneously I had found a spiritual home. Important Background Information This background information is important but not totally honest. I was in a much darker place that first time...

When I first went to Snug Hollow in August of 2016 I had no idea what was going to happen to me, to my marriage or to our family. I was priest in charge of a wonderful parish--a call I never believed I would take or that I was capable of taking. I was helping to keep the Diocesan Youth program together--a call I never believed I would take and almost 100% sure it was a call I shouldn't take. I didn't believe I had anything to offer the youth of our Diocese or anywhere. I could feel cracks beginning in our family unit--some normal and appropriate for the children's ages and some brought on by pain. Chris and I weren't fighting, but we also weren't connecting. I had no idea what the future held or even what I wanted it to hold.

I left those few days feeling better about our marriage than I had in a long time---and boy knowing now what I didn't know then--that is a really good thing. (As I said, the people you need to show up show up at Snug Hollow--that amazing couple.)

The truth is, despite how difficult these past few months have been, I felt stronger or at least more confident in what I needed to do to feel stronger, so off to Snug Hollow we went.

Monday we decided to go hiking. I should have known this wasn't going to be a Sunday stroll when Barbara, the owner of Snug Hollow, wrote on the map "The Pinnacles." We entered the woods and within 20 yards the climb began.

It was not a gentle uphill but rather periods of steep, needing to hold onto a branch (should have taken one of those walking sticks they offered at the beginning) uphill that was then followed by very brief (think feet not yards) of flat and then more uphill. But all along the way, when we stopped for a breath and looked around, there was so much beauty. The path was steep and rocky and seemingly never ending. We had never been on this path before so really had no idea when we would reach the top. I thought about the last 3 1/2 years and this hike pretty much summed it up.

There have been times of difficult and steep, hold onto each other, our faith and our community periods, with a few short lived times of coasting. Yet in the midst of the journey there have been beautiful breath taking times. Times we wouldn't trade for all the pain and sorrow and grief. Yes we have lost some friends, but we have gained a treasure trove of authentic, life giving, friends.  We have had times we didn't know if we could go on only to be surrounded by the beauty of the world--beauty found in our vocations, in our families and friends, and in each other.

We reached the top, and after marveling at the beauty and basking in our success, we began the descent down. It was harder than the up.

First, sometimes we would start going so fast we would slip, or one of us started going faster than the other and we were separated. It reminded me that in the good times it's easy to get careless, to forget to take your time, enjoy the journey, and stay connected. It taught me that sometimes what we think are the hardest parts of life are not.

As we were trying to find a new hike down, I saw what I thought was the path. It was straight down and rocky. My adrenaline started flowing. I scampered down saying, "Let's do this!" Chris responded, "I really don't think this is the path. And getting back up if it's not is not going to be easy." "It is! It is!" I excitedly said already starting down.

I had gone a 10 or so yards when I began to wonder if he was right. "Wait there," I said, "I'll look around this bend, but this is totally awesome!" (I was pretending I was way more sure of myself than I was.) Chris waited, ready to follow me or to rescue me. I looked around the bend, and sure enough there was no path only a dead end into the rocks. I sheepishly turned around and said, "You were right." and begin the ascent.

As I climbed up, really hoping I could do it, I thought about August 2016 and how I worried about our marriage. "Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit" I thought, "Why did I ever worry? This--this right here. This is us." I am headstrong and impulsive; I get overly excited and don't always think things through. I take off expecting Chris to follow without his agreement. And Chris, Chris lets me be who I am even as he shakes his head and laughs--and sometimes doesn't follow but rather waits for me to understand it on my own. He is daring, adventurous and bold, but he is also methodical and solid and steady. He believes in me. And I believe in him. We are a team. As I neared the top I said, "You didn't think I could do it." "I knew you could do it." he replied, believing in me just like he always does.

I left Snug Hollow today trusting that whether we are still on the uphill climb or whether we are on the plateau or even heading down, we are solid and we are together. I left giving thanks to God for teaching me, guiding me, and reminding me. And I left giving thanks for Barbara and Snug Hollow because it truly is a place where you find what you're looking for even if you don't know what that is.

I left feeling lighter and more grounded and ready for whatever came next.

I Always Listen To My Sister

Hey y'all; I'm Katherine, and I'm a chronic social media post-er. Not only that, sometimes I post things that others consider over-the-top, too much, or even inappropriate. 

But I'm not going to stop. And I'm not going to apologize for it.

Several months ago I had an all too infrequent, but definitely life giving and soul satisfying visit with my sister. As we always do, we talked, we laughed, we shared--for 48 hours we were not only daughters, wives, mothers, a priest, and a guidance counselor. We were those things, but also for those 48 hours we were once again "the Kanto Girls".

Now you've got to know--I am the younger sister (it might only be 18 months, but don't ruin a good story with irrelevant details) and as the younger sister I ALWAYS listen to my sister.

We were actually having a serious conversation about social media and the negative impact it can have on people particularly youth. We both have a heart for youth. We were talking about how inauthentic and fake it can be and how it can make people feel they are not enough. Meredith looked over at me and said with her wicked grin, "But not you. You just put it out there. I can't believe some of the pictures of yourself you post or the things you say. But I love it, and others do too. You give us permission to be real."  (For the record, her husband loves to make fun of me about my postings, and I'm mostly okay with that.)

I know for some people it can be too much. I know there are people who laugh at me and make fun of me to others. I know there are people it possibly offends, for that I am sorry. I also know there are people who have been encouraged, have been uplifted, have been given "permission" to be authentic, have been given "permission" to not be perfect, and have reached out to me for sometimes difficult and authentic and real conversations. And I firmly believe, for better or worse, it is a part of my call to ministry.

Several days ago I was having a conversation with another person whose opinion and wisdom I highly value and whose advice I try to follow. It was a slightly different conversation which I may or may not at some point share, but it boiled down to this. I have to make a choice not about who I am, but about how I present to the world. I am goofy and loud, over the top and self deprecating, but I am also (and you won't hear/read me say this often) intelligent and intuitive, and dare I say it, wise. I feel deeply--both my own feelings and the feelings of others. I don't take myself too seriously, but I take others and their lives and their vulnerabilities they share with me very seriously. And for some ridiculous reason, often the world doesn't seem to think those qualities can all be a part of the same person. And sometimes that is really hard for me, and it hurts when people overlook those parts of me. I'll just say it (because my sister told me to always be authentic and I always listen to my sister), typically those are the more "serious" parts.

But here's the thing--I have spent a lot of years, a lot of prayer, a lot of journaling, and a lot of therapy getting to a point where I'm okay with who I am and with whom God created me to be. It's not 100% of the time, but it's more than 75. Part of getting okay with who I am is embracing who God is calling me to be, and I believe that is to be open and honest and vulnerable and accessible to others.

I guess I could hold back; I could become more reserved and more serious which would probably have others take me more seriously. But I'm not going to.

I'm not going to because if my being out there, over the top, and wide open allows one person to feel okay, then I am answering God's call. If my being silly and vulnerable opens even one conversation that allows someone to feel God's unconditional love and acceptance, to feel they are enough just as they are, then I am answering God's call.

I choose to answer God's call, which my sister reminded me to do, and I always listen to my sister.

Is God a Cavalier or a Cardinal?

The O'Doyle world and our marriage drastically changed in 2014...

Seriously, it was life changing and HUGE and a departure from which we could never return.  I'm only being semi-over dramatic. Let me take you back....

In the early fall of 1992, an over the top football loving girl met an over the top basketball crazed

man--their love was solidified as they fought over the sports section on Sunday mornings. They were married and the two became one--an over the top obsessed basketball/football and all other sports loving couple which soon expanded (read VERY soon) to become a family of six. They lived peacefully together--mostly (there were those few times Georgia played UVA and they had divided loyalties). But then....

In 2014, Louisville joined the ACC and the total calmness and peace which had always been a given (ha ha) in the Doyle home was threatened. Every year, at least three times, a new event impeded the tranquility of our home--#divorcebowl.

(As aside--I still cannot wrap my head around, the other 1/2 of our whole, does not root for UVA the school where his wife, daughter, father-in-law, sister-in-law, and brother-in-law attended. For the record he did NOT attend Louisville. I remind him frequently he paid four years of tuition to The University. He reminds me that's another reason to cheer against them...)

Back to the present...

This year, although for the first time the game was not during Diocesan Convention; I still couldn't go. I was helping to lead a retreat. But then last week happened....

In the course of six days, I was personally touched by 5 deaths. To say I was reeling is an understatement of the year. Grief is real and powerful and persistent and raw and horrible. I felt disconnected and alone as I knew my friends would be gathering together, and I couldn't go. It was a lonely and isolating feeling. In the midst of this, tickets to the game were offered to Chris and me. With permission from the Bishop, I came for the part of the retreat for which I was responsible and then left to attend #divorcebowl2019.

The weather wasn't great--cold and rainy on and off, but we were determined to have an afternoon of

fun just the two of us. I was decked out in orange and blue and he in red and black (although really look at his jacket--doesn't it semi resemble a shade of orange?)

By the time we knew we were going, it was too late to sign up for the UVA tailgate or find other people with whom to tailgate, so we went just the two of us. We were having fun. I didn't feel like I was going to cry every moment; the lump in my throat was at least small enough for me to breathe. We were together.

Midway through the first quarter I went to find a good friend in her section--a Cards fan I might add. I kept looking but she wasn't there. As I turned to go, Virginia scored. When Virginia scores, fans grab arms, sway and sing "The Good Ole' Song." (A song I've known for as long as I can remember...that and "From Rugby Rd to Vinegar Hill" ) All at once those tears that I hadn't been feeling threatened to begin the descent from the corners of my eyes down my cheeks. I was standing in the tunnel between 2 sections of Cardinal fans, alone. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a man wearing a Virginia baseball hat put his arm around my shoulders and began to sing. I looked up, joined arms, and we together we finished "The Good Ole' Song."

Following the song, we laughed. We were clearly two middle aged people in the midst of the Cards section singing (off key) at the top of our lungs. He asked if I was from here and what my connection to UVA was. I explained my husband was from here and we moved here 11 years ago. I probably told him all about #divorcebowl--I don't have much of a filter.

Then he told me he lived in St. Louis and his brother in Cincinnati but they both went to UVA undergrad and medical school so they met this weekend for the game. We discovered we overlapped during our time there. And then it went one step further....

He told me he was from Grundy, Virginia.

Grundy, Virginia an area of the Appalachian Mountains--an area not far from my Daddy's home town of Norton, Virginia. What were the odds?

That is not a huge area, and since we had already figured out we were there for some of the same time, I asked if he knew some of my sorority sisters who were also from the area--he didn't. Then he said, "My uncle also went to undergrad and med school at UVA." He told me the years and he told me his uncle's name. I called Daddy.

Surprisingly--I could get a signal. Even more shocking--Daddy, who was currently in Wise, Virginia at a UVA event, could get a signal and answered. I asked Daddy if he knew Charlie Hess--"Yes!" Daddy said, "I know him well." And suddenly I didn't feel so alone standing in that tunnel--a connection had been made. A connection I needed to feel.

I returned to my seat and Chris and I watched the rest of the game cheering for both the Cards and the Cavaliers. (We were really confusing those around us!)

So the question to be answered, "Is God more a Cavalier or a Cardinal fan?"

I don't know--but I do know with 5:16 left in the first quarter, Wayne Taulapapa rushed for a 6 yard touchdown, and God showed up in the tunnel between sections 205 and 206.

Trust Me Preacher Lady

I love Laundry Love--and it's not because I love doing laundry and holding babies--both of which I love to and get to do when I'm there. No, it's because of the people, the people who minister to me every time. And if I'm totally honest, one in particular--Darren.

I met Darren 3 years ago. Boss had just arrived home from Montana. He went with me and also met Darren. But he didn't stay. It was a hard time for him and he just didn't want to be around people very much or for very long. We had planned to go to dinner afterwards, instead Darren ran across the street to his apartment and brought me some of his homemade bbque. "I know you'd rather go eat with your son," Darren told me, "but this is pretty good too. And trust me Preacher Lady, your boy is going to be alright."


Spring 2017 I was back at Laundry Love. Darren shows up. I begin helping him fold his clothes. "How's your boy?" he asks. I think I might have teared up a little bit. "He's having a hard time right now," I responded. "Trust me Preacher Lady," Darren said as he nudged me, "Your boy is going to be alright." (Thanks to that comment I didn't ball up and destroy the SEVEN Florida Gator t-shirts I was helping him to fold.)

Darren and I have seen each other at least 1/2 dozen times since then. Every time we talk football smack and EVERY TIME he asks about "my boy." EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

That may not seem like a big deal to some, but it was and is HUGE for me. Some of my closest "friends" stopped asking about Boss a long time ago--others stopped talking to me--others spend enormous amounts of time and energy trying to avoid me. But not Darren. Darren asks. Darren cares. Darren doesn’t judge. Darren just has faith. Darren just loves.

Last Thursday I was at Laundry Love and no Darren. I had a great time but was disappointed. Have no fear! Seven forty five (we end at 8) in walks Darren. We hugged each other as he said, "I don't have any laundry tonight, but I was looking out my window and saw you so had to run over here. How's your boy?" I know my smile could have lit up the laundromat if the power went out. "He's great!" I told him. "Living back here in Louisville and working. I get to see him and he calls or texts me every morning. He's awesome." Darren just smiled, gave me a wink and said, "See I told you to trust me. I knew he was going to be alright; I never doubted it from the day I met him. Just got to have a little faith." Then he gave me a big hug and said, "And here you're the Preacher Lady."

Darren walked me to my car as we closed up ("No one's going to mess with you if I'm around," he

told me.) He hugged me again, opened my door and I slid in with a heart exploding with love for this man and his faith.

Then, Darren knocked on the window. I rolled it down. "Go Gators!" he yelled.

Well mostly love....