Name Your Grief

I was fine yesterday. Well, I was fine yesterday until I wasn't.

And here's the thing. I thought I was ready to not be fine, but I wasn't.

After a run and multiple zoom meetings, around noon I headed over to the church to consecrate more bread. For a number of years St. Thomas has been serving the memory care ward of an assisted living home twice a month bringing Eucharist. Each time I go I am amazed at the comfort the familiar prayers bring to people who cannot remember many things but recite the prayers with me. Their faces light up as I distribute communion recognizing their bodies crave the Eucharist.

Last week, as the building was shut down to outside visitors, I took a communion kit to my friend and parishioner, Amy (whose father was an Episcopal priest) who works there. I dropped it at the door; she sanitized it and took it in. Today I was going to replenish it. I also realized it was probably the last day for a while I was going to be able to do that, so I wanted to make sure I brought enough for several weeks.

Truthfully I thought I was going to be incredibly sad doing this and that I would probably cry. But I didn't. Yes, it was hard to see Amy through the glass and not be able to hug her, but I felt a sense of peace. On my drive out to the facility, I was listening to one of my favorite radio shows--The V Show on ESPN 680 (and yes Bob, the host, and Nick, his son, the producer are also parishioners and friends). Not only is Bob awesome to listen to as he talks about sports, but he also talks about and writes about life and living. He is calming, compassionate and reassuring. He reminded us to follow the guidelines put out for social distancing and self-isolation because it would help and we would be able to return to "normal" one day.

As I drove away I decided to go to the jewelry store where my grandmother's charm bracelet had been repaired. It wasn't going to be cheap to pick up, but I really wanted it. I was thinking about how Gangan lived through the depression, at the age of 64 she buried her mother and her husband within 3 weeks of each other, a month later she sold her home and yet continued to live for another 30+ years. Not only did she continue to live, but she lived a life full of love and joy. I wanted to wear her bracelet to remind me of her strength, to remind me of how she modeled living even with great loss. I just wanted the bracelet.

I knew there was a chance they would be closed. Well, my head knew it.

I drove up and the lights were on--SCORE (still listening to ESPN) one for me! I got out of the car and there was a sign on the door. They were closed. I thought about banging on the door. Instead, I got back in my car as tears seeped out of the corners of my eyes. I didn't like it, but I respect Royal Jewelers for doing the right thing. I started the car and then looked left. Nothing Bundt Cakes was OPEN! I felt a little joy returning as I jumped out of the car and headed over. I would bring bundt cakes home to my family! YESSSSS!

But the door was locked. The woman behind the glass door that was keeping me from bringing joy to my family motioned I needed to call. Back to the car, dialed the number and the message said, "You have to order online." (Guess she wasn't able to pantomime that.) No problem, I'll pull up the website, order, have them bring them out to me and shazaam, on my way home to spread joy. Except....

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! YOU HAVE TO GIVE THEM TWO HOURS NOTICE!

And then I did start crying out loud--really loud. I was sobbing and shaking and beating my steering wheel. This went on for a good while. (I might have scared the woman in the car next to me who WAS getting her order of bundt cakes.)

And I realized right then. It wasn't about the charm bracelet (although I still want it) or the damn bundt cakes which I also now wanted.

It was about my aunt dying in Charlottesville, and I was planning to visit her this summer. That might not happen.

It was about not being able to worship in person. It was about no March madness. It was about seeing one of our Godchildren and having him blow kisses to me instead of wrapping his arms around me. It was about not being able to see friends and family. It was about no wonderful Wednesday. It was about anger at those who weren't following the recommended guidelines. It was about loss--some temporary, some permanent. It was purely and wholly about grief.

This morning I am sitting at Gangan's desk getting ready for more zoom calls (bet she never thought that would happen from this desk). I am reading psalms of lament to honor those feelings of grief. Yes we can do hard things; yes we can get through this; yes God is present in our sorrow, and yes we can name it. We can name our loss. There is power in naming. And grief, well grief is part of living and it can be and is holy. Grief is part of living; we are still living.

Name your grief, own your loss and keep living.

Oh, and I just ordered some bundt cakes--

#wecandohardthings #bossgoals

So yeah, I have had a goal that was only semi-public--until now. I posted a little about it in vague fashion using hashtags such as #bossgoals #funrunfriends #icandohardthings and #runningwithegc --the last when a very dear friend who has been a part of my journey joined me in training (virtually).

Some time ago my son started his journey of addiction and recovery. When I joined his journey, I told him if he could stay sober for a year I would run a marathon. (That was pre-total knee replacement.)

The truth is I wanted to run a marathon, and I needed an incentive. He didn't. He didn't like to run, and he never really responded to my challenge (which is another lesson learned--getting into recovery is not about someone else and what that person considers incentive, an important consideration, but I digress from my particular point). Fast forward and I'll say it in a nutshell--I had total knee replacement; I believed I would never run again: I started running again but it was very slow going; Boss started running; Boss started liking to run; we started talking about running--we agreed to run the Derby Half Marathon together at the end of April.

That was five weeks ago. At that point I had not even completed running a mile. I dug in and started training. There were days I really didn't think I would be able to continue training, and I was discouraged. I had to remind myself this was a mini marathon and not a sprint. People reached out to me and offered encouragement--people who didn't even know this story and why I was doing what I was doing. They just knew I was trying to reach a goal. It didn't matter what they knew or didn't know. How they responded, that's what mattered. Just like there have been people who have reached out and supported Boss on his journey that is a marathon and not a sprint. Last Friday I ran (with a few walks thrown in) 7 miles, and people celebrated with me. Today Boss celebrates an anniversary.

Today is also St. Patrick's Day. Today the world is living through unprecedented times brought on by a pandemic. Today I know the half marathon won't happen in April--it's been cancelled. Today I've had to rethink what that goal looks like. Today I have been sad and angry I won't get to run on April 25--or rather I won't get to run in the actual race--I mean I already had the instagram post planned in my head of Boss and I crossing the finish line (or him waiting for me to cross the finish line) with big smiles and a great big hug. And today, just a few minutes ago, all those things converged.

It's St. Patrick's Day--how many times have you heard or read, "Luck of the Irish?" Well I can tell you this--training to run a half marathon in a short time and more importantly living a life of recovery takes anything but luck. It takes hard work; it takes sacrifice; it takes commitment; and it takes a community of support.

Right now many of us are dealing with many disappointments and hardships resulting from this coronavirus pandemic. Events and schools and churches and businesses are closing. We are socially distancing. Anxiety rises and falls with no warning. This is all SO. FREAKING. HARD--just like training for a mini marathon less than a year after knee replacement or being in recovery. We don't know what we're doing from day to day or what we will be thinking or feeling. I believe it's okay to name and honor those things we have lost or are having to delay and the feelings we have around them. I believe we are going to be required to do really hard things and there will be times we feel defeated and discouraged. But I also believe we can do it. I believe we can come together to sacrifice, to challenge, to support, to encourage, and to love. I believe each day we will get better, we will be better and the way we respond and love each other will outlive this virus. I believe Boss and I will run a half marathon someday. We're still training.

But here's the other truth--there are people who will struggle more than others, who will face more hardships, more challenges, and that is a hard reality I don't want to face. I don't have an answer but I have to face it. And I what I can do is this. I can promise to love and respect and value others. I can promise I will treat others fairly and compassionately and recognize I don't know their story and that's okay--that's not important--THEY are important.

I believe there is nothing--not a virus, not addiction, not a challenge, there is absolutely nothing that can separate us from the love of God. I believe we won't get through because of luck, but rather because of God's love, mercy and forgiveness for us, because of our commitment, hard work, support of others, and lots and lots of love shared. Love shared all around--love for God, love for ourselves and love for others.

#wecandohardthings
#postedwithpermission

I Will Finish

I have a goal. It's a good goal and for a worthy reason/cause you choose the verb (and one day I'll share that). But it's not as easy as I thought it would be. 

Not entirely true--I knew it wouldn't be easy--or rather the middle aged, recovering from total knee replacement in April 2019 part of me knew it wouldn't be easy. The frustrated, hardheaded, competitive, adolescent athlete that lives in my dreams--well let's say she had different plans.

Anyway....

This morning I set out for a 4 mile run. I anticipated it would be a little harder than usual as I'm in the mountains. As I got to the first cross walk I consciously made the decision NOT to pause runkeeper so that I could tell myself the reason my pace was slower than I wanted was because of having to stop at red lights. I'm not kidding y'all--these are conversations I have with myself.

I found the green space my friend told me about and was thankful it was mostly flat. I was feeling sluggish, so as I was approaching 2 miles I decided to switch from podcasts to music hoping that would help me push through.

The very first song that came on was "Sweet Caroline." I might have pumped my fist. I definitely started smiling. I thought about my sweet Caroline and knew that because this was the first song that came on I was going to sail through the next 2 miles. This was destiny!

I thought about how hard my sweet Caroline worked her senior year of high school to get through injuries and play what we all thought would be her last year playing basketball. And then I thought about how hard she worked last summer to get in shape to begin playing at Randolph.  I thought to myself, "She is an inspiration to me. I am going to follow her lead."

At mile 2.5 my hamstring tightened...

I tried to convince myself fighting through was the best option--then that ridiculous middle aged, recovering from total knee replacement in April 2019, voice said, "Um, my dear, you always tell your children to listen to their bodies." Why that woman wants to talk to me is beyond me!

But listen I did. Then I had a great idea! I would follow the advice of an old (in number of years knowing each other not age) friend. She says, "Just get out and run. Run one song and walk the next and keep going." Thanks Kit! That's what I'm going to do. (Fun fact--most songs last for about .25 miles).

As I was running I thought about the strength and courage all four of my children have recently displayed. SK started a new job that is challenging and exciting and will both stretch her and let her live into her gifts. I am always amazed at her depth, passion and drive. Boss has shown more courage, humility and grace in the last 8 months than some people show in their entire lives. William's drive to be the best he can be not just for himself but for his team reminds me there is little in this life worth doing if it's not about community. He is hands down the best team player I have ever known.  And Caroline's determination to meet and exceed her goals gives me courage and strength. I am so lucky to be the mother of these incredible human beings. I kept thinking about each of them thinking that would get me through...

And I guess it did. Run one song, walk one song, run one song, walk one song.

I was walking and Carrie Newcomer's song "The Things I've Gone and Done" came on. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to do the run again she sang these words, "Just because the odds are bad, doesn't mean you shouldn't risk. Don't believe it will not happen just because it hasn't happened yet." I started to think--well this goal won't happen just yet, and then--y'all I cannot make this stuff up!

The next song that game on was The Nitty Gritty Dirt Bands "Fishing in the Dark." I took off. I pumped the air. I finished strong remembering the days at UVA running with Dana to this song. I remembered the first 10 miler I ever ran--it was with my Chi O sisters, and it was hard and cold and I didn't finish as fast as some, but I finished.

And I finished today--and I will finish in two months. And my husband who loves and supports me even though he thinks I'm completely nuts will show up and love me (even if it means nursing me through another surgery--which it won't says the hardheaded adolescent.

It's amazing to me how God shows up over and over and over again. God shows up in so many ways and today it was through people and music and memories.

It's More Than a Flag Pole

In the spring of 2008 we moved from England to Louisville. At that

time we had been married for 15 years and this was our fifth move. I truly believed it was going to be the easiest one. We were moving to Chris's hometown; I thought we were moving home.

Except it wasn't my home. And it turned into the hardest move we have ever made.

We moved to a great house in a great neighborhood. I was ready to start planting roots. I painted the kitchen orange, the dining room red, the living room khaki. I started making window treatments and planting flowers in the yard. Chris hung up the flag pole for all our decorative flags to note every season, birthday and event. I sat on the front porch every morning either on the swing or in the rocking chairs, drank my coffee, and said morning prayer. I worked really hard to convince myself I would live in this house forever, and I would be happy. But after 11 months and multiple hospitalizations, we realized the boys were allergic to the house, so 48 hours later we had moved into a 900 square foot apartment at the seminary.

I didn't even pretend it was home or ever was going to be home. They weren't bad times; actually, we had a lot of fun, and I got to run every day in the beautiful parks surrounding us. But I never settled. Why would I? Obviously we couldn't live there forever. We weren't, however, planning on moving  until I had graduated, but in the summer of 2010, we found a house we loved down the street from Chris's brother and his wife. We locked into a great interest rate, and then it all fell through because of the inspection. I was in the middle of CPE (clinical pastoral education--very intense), but we didn't want to lose our locked in rate, so I took 2 days and looked at houses.

Chris said he'd live anywhere except in a neighborhood off Shelbyville Road. I found 2 houses I kind of liked, none I loved, and guess where the two houses were? Yep off Shelbyville Road. Chris looked at them and we settled on one. Settled.

The first morning I went out for a run I felt like a gerbil in a habitrail or a rat in a maze box. That feeling has never gone away. I still miss being able to just run out the door and into the park. Over the years we have done some things to make it "ours." We've painted, added window treatments, replaced the ceiling and floors twice (yeah those aren't good stories--leaking pipes and all). We have rearranged and repurposed. We have planted flowers. And I have continued to complain if not aloud, deep in my heart (sometimes both).

I want a big porch; I want a master bathroom; I want a bigger kitchen; I want...I want...I want.

The truth is I want to feel at home; I want to be home. Over the years, no matter how many times I reminded the children they were all born in Georgia, it became clear Louisville was their home. Now I really felt like an outsider--Chris and the children are "from" here; I just live here.

Except I don't. I don't just live here. I have a life here. I have a vocation and a calling here. I have friends and family and framily here. Over the past week I have talked to my good friend Jerusalem and we have shared our "twinkie" stories, and I have read Jeremiah 29 over and over and over. "Build houses and settle down" (Jeremiah 29:5) runs through my mind non-stop. Well, to be honest, the "settle down" part does. Settle down--settle down---settle down. I am committed to trying to do just that. (remember the verb is trying)

I awoke Saturday with a plan. Off to run errands I went returning home with a flag pole. I asked (it might have sounded like a neurotic order) Chris to find the drill. The temperatures were below freezing and it was intermittently snowing. Chris, "Let's wait to do this until it's a little bit warmer." I'm not sure what my face looked like, and I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "We've lived in this house for almost 10 years without a flag pole." but he headed to the garage, found the drill, found we had no drill bits and promised to have it up the next day.

Yesterday I arrived home to see the holder posted on the column; I flew to the garage and dug out all our flags. Chris watched as I started sorting them and while he did mutter, they're all very childish and some are beyond faded, he too was enjoying this walk down memory lane. I searched for the perfect flag to be our "first" one up. (Chris drew the line at it being the UVA one.) I wanted a Valentine's one but we didn't have one (don't worry it's already ordered). Then I remembered the gift Caroline received last spring when she committed to Randolph. It made perfect sense. It all came together.

The Babies are at Randolph; they're settled; they're happy even knowing it won't be there home forever or maybe Lynchburg will be. They have found their place for now and for however long that will be, and I have too.

Build houses, put up a flag pole and settle down.

Living in Peaceful, Hopeful Exile

When Chris and I first met, he was teaching and coaching middle

Yes, this was at our engagement party
Thank you Meredith for saving this!

and high school, and I was finishing my graduate work in psychology. We dated for five months and during those five months I regularly said, "We are not serious. When I am finished graduate school I am moving out of Augusta. I am moving to DC." Then we got engaged. (We like to say we dated for six months before we got engaged. Not sure why but it seemed to sound better...but now I get stuck on that "Thou shalt not lie" thing, so yeah after five months we got engaged.)

My plans changed.....

And we began planning our life.

We were just idealistic enough to believe we could actually plan our happily ever after, but also just smart enough to know there might be a few changes. Our future was going to be Chris moving up through the ranks of independent school life to become a headmaster, and I would serve as the school's psychologist. We left open for discussion whether it would be for a day school or a boarding school--oh we thought we were so smart!

We also dreamed of running a camp one day. Chris had served as a camp director and we both grew up going to and loving camp and the communities they built. We weren't sure whether we would figure out a way to do it during summers while we still worked in schools during the school year, or whether we would wait until retirement, but we knew this was a passion we both had; we both felt like our lives had been transformed because of our camp experiences, and we wanted to be a part of that for the future.

Rehearsal Dinner

I'm not sure what all Chris had as actual pictures in his head, but I dreamed of our young children skipping merrily through fields of flowers that bordered the soccer fields where Chris would coach team after team to become state champions. I would be the loving, doting wife, sitting in the stands and engaging with my students. We did lean at times towards the boarding schools as then our housing would be paid--remember we were just smart enough--we knew the salaries we would be making were not going to be huge. It was a beautiful dream--the children were always sparkling clean as they frolicked...clearly a dream.

And then we got married, and then 20 months later Sarah Katherine was born, and then six weeks later I woke Chris up to tell him I didn't want to go back to work....

For years our once well thought out plans changed and changed and changed. We had been "smart enough" to consider a few changes, this was a freaking avalanche. We moved five times and lived in four states and two countries. Chris earned a MBA and was working in marketing; I went to seminary and was ordained (who saw that coming?). Sarah Katherine was rapidly joined by three siblings, Christopher, William and Caroline. While we did take long pub walks, sometimes even through fields, I'm pretty sure there was no skipping, and I'm positive they got dirty.

We continued to adjust our life plan--who are we kidding? Our well thought out plan ended that night I said I didn't want to go back to work...

One "plan" that was still talked about was the plan to own a camp one day--now we realized we would have to wait until we retired--guess those advanced degrees helped us get smarter! Over the years the children also fell in love with camps and camp communities. My new vivid dream was full of my grandchildren returning summer after summer to Coach and _____'s summer camp. (Years ago the children decided Chris's name as a grandfather would be "Coach"--there's no agreement for me yet--I keep mentioning "Queenie" would be good...) I did realize they wouldn't be sparkling clean, but I still pictured skipping--it's a dream ya'll!!!

Recently I've been having lengthy arguments with God about life and my plans. I'll be honest, my plan was to be closer than 9 hours to the water. My plan was to work less and travel more. My plan might also include children and grandchildren frolicking on the beach in matching monogrammed bathing suits...God, however, says to me, "For surely, I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope." (Jeremiah 29:11) Guess what? That's not all God says. God also says, "But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare, you will find your welfare." (Jeremiah 29:7) In this city where I have lived for 11 years and that only sometimes feels like home, I have found my welfare. I have found friends and family; I have found a deeper love for my husband and a community for our family, and I have found a calling that brings me great joy and that I believe God is still calling me to, but y'all I'm just going to tell you, being this far from the water--total exile!

Anyone else ever have this happen? You give into God, lay down your own ego, your personal ambitions, and you feel a deep sense of peace and calm, but there are still jagged spots of longing and maybe even a little grief? I hope you haven't, but I suspect some of you have.

A week ago Chris and I were at the All Saints Camp and Conference Center board retreat. He is the newly appointed board chair, and I serve ex-officio as the coordinator for youth and young events many of which happen at All Saints. I've never seen him in a work environment (well minus that time we owned Sylvan together and he fired me TWICE) and I was truly amazed. He is gifted as a leader and a marketer. He is engaging, positive, and collaborative. Because of his leadership and the entire All Saints board, I have great hope for the future of All Saints. But as I sat there watching him I realized something else--it almost seemed as plain as the nose on my face---that plan to own a camp--yeah that hasn't and may never happen, but we are working on and with a camp. We are living our dream to be a part of transforming lives through God and community building and to do it together. That plan didn't die, it changed, and God was and is surely in charge of it all. I was just so blinded by my own plan.

I'm not sure I consider myself any smarter than I was all those years ago as we planned our life together, but I am certainly a tad bit wiser--wise enough to never say never. For now, I'll build a home, plant gardens, and continue to flourish--as for the rest, God's in charge.

Three (negative) Beliefs, Three Authors, and the Trinity

Two things are embarrassingly true about the way I think--wait,

make that three---there could be more, but we're going to talk about three. First, I still have moments when I can't believe people actually saw my call to the priesthood and that I am actually ordained. I rarely feel worthy. Second, I judge/rank holiness. And third, I can be cynical about how God speaks through people to us.

Saturday night the three came to a full blown head-on collision right smack dab in my face!

First, what? I'm really a priest? Who saw that coming? I am so far from the textbook ideal of a priest I'm not even in the library. (Which brings up a whole other conversation about who gets to define the ideal priest...) I'm loud. I am sometimes sarcastic and sometimes have questionable language (language is my star word for the year so hopefully that will improve). I refuse to wear all black. I wear either outrageous over the top high heeled shoes or go barefoot. It is a close call to figure out whether I'd rather talk sports or theology--I prefer to mix the two. I'm often slightly irreverant. I laugh at inappropriate jokes like a middle school boy. I have a very small filter. (You should definitely now be worried about what I actually do filter since you were probably already thinking I have no filter.) And the list goes on.....

Second, I judge/rank holiness or at least my holiness, and I can assuredly say according to how I judge, I am not even on the measuring stick. When I think about holiness I think about quiet people, reverent people, people who can quote scripture in any and all circumstances. I think about people who bring a quiet, peaceful, calm to a room. I imagine people who talk in soft, silky. soothing voices (not porn star silky voices, get your mind out of the gutter). And I am none of those things (not even the porn star)--see above.

And third, I can be cynical about how people hear God speaking to them and through others. It's not that I don't hear and experience God. I do. It's actually how I felt God's call--finding the holy in the ordinary. But those times when I hear people say, "God wants me to tell you this." I'll admit it, I've been known to scoff. Years ago I was in a non denominational bible study for young mothers (think infants and toddlers). The room was always packed. Every week at the end the leader would say, "I hear God telling me there is someone in the room who needs special prayer because she is overwhelmed. Make yourself known and we will lay our hands on you and pray." Every week someone raised her hand and said, "Me." I wanted to be like others who teared up at how God was letting the leader know this about someone, but all I could think was, "No shit, (remember the language thing) we're all overwhelmed because we have all these freaking little kids and we have no idea what we're doing! It doesn't take God or even a semi genius to figure that out!!!!"

This past Saturday, three women decided to destroy my trinity--not the Trinitarian one--the one bouncing around in my mind.

First, I read Sarah Bessey's Miracles and Other Reasonable Things, and she wrote "...a word of knowledge--was a "supernatural revelation of information pertaining to a person of an event, given for a specific purpose, usually having to do with an immediate need." It's one part prophetic, one part discernment, all Spirit-led." She wrote about how it can and is misused and sometimes in very hurtful ways, but she also wrote about several times she and her family had personally experienced it. I've got to admit I was still skeptical, but I, on Saturday morning, decided to at least open my mind to the possibility it could be real. I very much respect Sarah Bessey and believe her.  (And I secretly--I guess not so secretly anymore hope to meet her one day and have a chat.)

Second, this whole holiness thing. In her book Bessey referred to another book, Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Brokenhearted World by Osheta Moore. I circled the book thinking maybe I'd read it at some point. It sounded intriguing, but it also sounded like something I couldn't do. I do know shalom means peace--and remember what my definition of peace is--calm and quiet. The way Bessey described Moore's book made me begin to wonder if there was a different way to think about shalom.

Here's where that whole not much of a filter thing comes in....

We were driving home from Virginia after watching Caroline's game (where I did keep keep from saying any four letter words I can proudly report). I was reading another book by Bessey, but then it started getting dark and my wonderful, only he drives husband also has this thing about me using flashlights or turning on the car light to read in the dark. But I wanted to keep reading. What I had been reading was making me feel alive and inspired and energized. So I did what any neurotic, can't wait until tomorrow and certainly don't want to just sit in the car person does--I bought Moore's book on kindle and downloaded it to my phone! Yes, I admit it--only because it was dark.

You know what?!?!?! Bessey was RIGHT! (I told you she writes truth). Moore did write, "Shalom is what happens when the love of God meets our most tender places." which made me a little nervous because I think of tender kind of like that whole peace thing--quiet and calm. But she writes MORE!!! She writes about how shalom is "the breadth, depth, climate and smell of the kingdom of God." and I know in God's kingdom we are all beloved even those of us who are loud and obnoxious. She also writes about shalom/peace as being fierce and active and alive. I was starting to really get into this book, but then I was interrupted by my need to check social media. (Did I mention I am also easily distracted as well as a social media over posting groupie?)

I jumped over to twitter and one of my favorites was tweeting up a storm! Apparently while I was driving home in the pouring rain reading theology like a mad woman, Laurie Brock was watching a 70's movie about Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. (Going to just admit this right now, it does my heart good to know that a woman I consider exceptionally holy and an amazing writer and priest watches the kind of thing I would....) AND SHE COMPARED THEM TO CLERGY!!! No
seriously, she did!!!!

Suddenly it was like these three amazing women were speaking straight to me--giving me a word of knowledge. (Maybe now is the time to also admit I am secretly over the top jealous of them because I want to be a published author and so sometimes I don't want to like their books--but I always do.) But back to this moment....

I truly believed and believe God was at work on me right there crossing the state line from West Virginia to Kentucky in the pouring rain. I heard, "God needs and wants and loves and desires priests just like you." Y'all I cannot even explain how light and giddy I suddenly felt. It's not that people haven't said that to me, but I didn't feel it deep down into the bottom of my heart.

Monday morning as I was running, I was still feeling that joy. I kept going over and over what had happened in my mind, and I was brand new falling in love giddy. I also know (because I'm also middle aged) that those giddy feelings don't remain constant, and that sneaky self doubt creature finds ways to wheedle himself into life, so I knew I needed something to remind me. I knew just what to do. I slowed down and texted my exceptionally talented niece and told her I needed a picture asap of a clergy woman wearing white majorette boots and holding pompoms! She's really used to me being crazy...but then TWO MORE THINGS HAPPENED!!

When I opened my phone to text her the last text she had sent me told me I had inspired her! And

then she said okay to my request. Mutual inspiration--it was a dadgum love fest happening right there in the middle of the road.

Twenty four hours later, I have the picture. I put it up in my office at the Dioceses and I'll put it up in my office at St. Thomas. I taped it to my computer, and I'll put a copy in my prayer book and another in my bible. I'll probably even stick one in my wallet. They'll remind me not only that God needs me as I am, but everyone else.
They'll remind me to love myself, accept myself, and then I can more fully love others--I can more fully live into shalom--the loud kind of course!

You know what's really cool? It happened because three authors challenged three of my deepest darkest doubts--you get it three? Like the Trinity--like community and unity. The community of authors spoke to me!!! The community of authors shared a word of knowledge with me!!! Yep, God is speaking....

Now y'all go read these books; the ones I listed and EVERYTHING by these authors!!! They're not just for or even mainly for clergy. They're for EVERYONE!!!  (yes, I'm screaming--in my giddy newly in love way)

Osheta Moore, Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Brokenhearted World (Harrisonburg, VA: Herald Press, 2017), 31.
Sarah Bessey, Miracles and Other Reasonable Things (New York: Simon & Schuster, Inc., 2019), 98.

Putting Christmas Away

Telling yourself the truth is really hard...listening to yourself is even harder.

But that's what I got to do today.

Last night I celebrated a dear friend's 40th birthday, and I had too much wine. I woke up this morning mad at myself and kind of dragging. I also knew I had to put Christmas away--an event that even on the best of days leads to my feeling morose, not to mention overwhelmed. I started digging in the drawers and closets to bring back all the "things" that sit out when Christmas is not covering every nook and cranny.

Here's another truth I have to tell myself; actually I told myself this years ago and I'm quite comfortable with it now. I am not good at interior decorating at any level. So every year I either take pictures of (yes I am that neurotic) where everything goes or it's been in the same place for so long, it's seared into my memory. This year is a little more complicated because we have a couple of new pieces of furniture. This is not the year for things to be more complicated!

I decided to take things step by step, you know start with something easy so I don't lose momentum--I chose my desk. That would be easy. I pulled out the pictures that usually sit on top of the desk. I looked at one and thought, "I do not like this picture at all." Now there is nothing inherently wrong with this picture. It's just not my style; it has never been my style; it will never be my style. "Oh well," I sighed as I placed it on top of my desk. See, it was a gift. How could I not keep it out? This person took the time to choose this gift and send it to me to mark a special occasion, of course I had to leave it out. It was required. It was one of those shoulds of life.

The more I looked at it, the more irritated I became. I want LESS stuff out not more, and if I'm going to have less stuff out, shouldn't it be things I actually like? I sat on the floor and seriously argued with myself. The argument turned into a full blown fight--you know the kind of fight they warn you about in pre-marriage counseling? The kind of fight that starts over one thing but then becomes about every negative thing that has ever happened. Yep, that's the rabbit hole I went down....

I have not hidden from myself or the world for that matter, the fact that 2019 was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year. Until this morning, however, I have taken very little responsibility for it. The truth is that is unusual for me, or maybe therapy is just working better than I thought. In the past I have felt the need to take responsibility for every thing including but not limited to the state of the world and bad weather.

Now I am not saying the year wasn't horrible--too many young deaths, too much addiction, too many health crisis, too much suffering, just altogether too much. And I will, grudgingly but I will, give myself some credit for simply weathering the storm and getting through. I just realize now I didn't have to get so soaking wet; I could have put on a raincoat and put up an umbrella.

Throughout this year I struggled with keeping a good attitude, keeping my faith life in order, keeping organized, and just keeping on. So I kept trying to use the same routines that have worked for so many years. Getting up at the same time, weighing myself 3 times, starting the coffee, starting the laundry, sitting down for morning prayer...you get the picture. But it wasn't working no matter how much I tried to force it to.

So then I tried to do what other people do--copy their routines. That definitely didn't work--no matter how hard I try to become a quiet contemplative, it just doesn't work!

And here's the truth I had to tell myself, instead of looking for new patterns of behavior, new coping strategies, new ways of being when the tried and true no longer worked, sometimes, I either did nothing or resorted to less than healthy behaviors like not exercising, eating too much or too little, drinking too much, not sleeping enough or too much and making lots of excuses.

I'm not entirely sure how I made this connection as I sat on the floor looking at this picture I don't like but this thought popped into my head. (I'm not entirely sure how I make most connections--and my family, don't even get them started on it...) But anyway, the connection I made was, all those routines didn't work anymore because they were from the past--they were outdated. They no longer fit me, and it was okay to say so. And other people's routines? They don't work, not because there is anything wrong with them, but because they are not my "style." I don't have to keep doing what doesn't work just like I don't have to put this picture up. I can honor what was; I can honor the gifts I have been given, tangible and intangible, and move forward. Things don't have to, in fact things can't, stay the same.

I started putting Christmas away feeling a little bit lighter. I started rearranging where things have always gone and putting them in new places. I chose to only put things out that bring joy to me and the family. I chose to simplify. I chose to leave some things packed away, and I chose to donate or trash others. It is very safe to say neither Southern Living or Architectural Digest is going to request a photo shoot at our home, but it's comfortable and it's me. And I have learned a valuable lesson in responsibility and moving forward.

(For the record, that picture I don't like, it's tucked safely in a drawer...)