A Good Enough Halloween

Last year

Last year

I didn't decorate for Halloween this year.  There I've said it--and it's public.  Me the person who has always decorated for every holiday and who wore holiday clothes well past the time it was fashionable. Me the person who made sure the children had smocked outfits for every season, me, me, me--I didn't decorate for Halloween this year.

Matching smocked outfits

And not only that, I barely did anything to get ready for Halloween which is in 48 hours.  I didn't get the Halloween plates and mugs out. I bought the candy just today (and no children I will not tell you where it's hidden), but the candy will be handed out from the bag and not in the canvas
monogrammed "Happy Halloween" container.  I didn't go with the children to put together their costumes. (I did give them my debit card to pay for them...) Two days ago I had a brief (read very brief) moment of guilt when I was in a friend's home which was  beautifully decorated for Halloween. But I, I Miss Holiday Homemaker, I didn't decorate for Halloween this year--

I've been thinking about this all morning, ever since I sent the children off to school in their costumes I didn't help them create. I've tried to feel some sort of remorse, but all I can think is, "You know what--what I did this year was all I could do, and it was good enough."

Pippi Longstocking

I wonder, why do we rarely if ever give ourselves that grace?  The grace to be "good enough" not perfect but just good enough?  It made me think of times I've given a sermon and someone says afterwards, "That was a great sermon." (which by the way is always an awkward moment--I want to give sermons that matter, that proclaim the Gospel, but I don't want it to be about me--another blog) but anyway, I hear that comment and when I know I didn't put the time into it I wish I had, I always feel guilty or as Brene Brown would say, "the shame factor kicks in" telling me I'm a phony, that I'm not good enough. But you know what I realize?  Maybe I didn't put as much into it as I wanted, but it was good enough--good enough to touch someone, good enough to make a difference.  And in it was okay to just be good enough.

I know I'm not alone. Just yesterday I was talking to my new best friend and she told me how when she went to seminary with 3 children at home commuting 150 miles each way, her bishop said, "You're going to feel like you're not doing anything well, but if that's okay with you, and it is with me, I fully support you." I have no idea what her grades were in seminary, but I know they were "good enough", and I know she is a great priest.

I also think we send this message to our children.  We tell them "do your best in everything", but I wonder if they hear "be perfect in everything." Because sometimes your best is one thing and sometimes it's another. Sometimes doing your best is just getting through. Sometimes getting an A on a paper after working for hours and hours is what you can do, and sometimes getting a B because you just had to get it done is what you can do, and it's good enough. Do we give ourselves or others the grace to be good enough in that moment--good enough with all the other things in our lives? Do we ever even consider that what we see as laziness or apathy may indeed just be what that person can do--for that moment it may be all they can do. Good enough doesn't mean slacking, it means doing your best in that moment, with the skills you have, all the while dodging the arrows life is shooting at you--

Will these children even read Thompson?

Hunter S. Thompson said, "Anything worth doing, is worth doing right."  After I get past the thought that I'm not sure he's the person to direct our lives, I begin to wonder what he means. Right by whose standards? Right as in perfect?  Right as in better than anyone else? Right as in only one way? Or right as in good enough--good enough at that time, in that place, with what is happening in your life and in the lives of those around you--just good enough.

In the BCP A Collect for Grace says,
Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought us in safety to this new day: Preserve us with your mighty power, that we may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP, 100)

Fulfilling God's purpose--fulfilling it perfectly (reminder we are not God) or fulfilling it the best we

can--doing whatever we can do however we can do it.

There is another prayer that has these words: make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be.  If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. (BCP, 461)

"Whatever it may be" sometimes it is one thing and sometimes it is another.  Sometimes it is decorating for Halloween, making costumes, organizing hayrides, and sometimes it's not.  Either way, it's what can be done in that moment, and it's good enough.

I believe God gives us the grace to be good enough.  (And I just might decorate for Thanksgiving)

Seasonal smocking--I had too much time on my hands!!!

Recycling Bins

Years ago, when we were in our early 20's, my sister and I were

running in the early morning hours (okay, maybe not "early" but early for women in their early 20's).  As we passed recycling bin after recycling bin quite a few filled with liquor bottles, wine bottles and beer cans, one of us remarked, "You can tell where the fun people live by what's in their recycling bins."  We both laughed.

Today when I pass recycling bins I still wonder about the people who live in the homes, and I wonder about the stories behind those bottles and cans.

I wonder if those are bottles an cans drunk by a group of friends sharing their lives or if those are bottles and cans drunk by one lonely person just trying to get through life.

I wonder if those are bottles and cans occasionally drunk by the people in the house or if those are bottles and cans drunk night after night despite promises to cut back or stop.

I wonder if those are bottles and cans responsibly drunk by legal aged adults or if those are bottles and cans a mother found stashed in her children's rooms and she now lies in bed night after sleepless night worrying one is or will become an addict.

I wonder if those are bottles and cans drunk by parents after they've lovingly put their children to bed following bath, books, and prayers or if those are bottles and cans children pick up from around their home as their parents sleep off another "binger."

I wonder if those are bottles and cans drunk at a family dinner where there is much laughter and love or if those are bottles and cans drunk at a family dinner where there is sarcasm, criticism and strife.

All these years later, when I run past recycling bins, I still wonder about those bottles and cans, but I no longer assume I know the story, and I no longer laugh.

Learning to Ask--It's a Process

Getting ready to go run this morning I was thinking about how happy, content, and all together I felt. I even did a little skippy jump as I walked down the stairs--really I did.  Just then my phone dinged with a text, "We didn't do basketball."  My heart skipped a beat and not out of joy.  "I've got to get to the computer." I thought.

Ding--another text--guess I didn't answer the first one quickly enough (I was trying not to fall down the stairs with my skippy jump...).  Told her I'd do it now.  I knew the store was supposed to be closed at this point, but I was hoping since it was open until midnight last night no one had had time to take it down. (Chalk that up to techno stupidity--you don't have to have a person take it down, I learned--apparently you can program that...)

My hands began to sweat and my heart raced.  "I have failed; I have failed" I began to tell myself, "Another thing Caroline can tell a therapist one day."  (I'm a little over dramatic...) Abrupt stop...

"I haven't failed," I corrected, "I made a mistake." and with that I emailed the athletic coordinator and told her so. I told her the truth.  And then I merrily left for my run. (with a little skippy jump)

The long short story is the store is going to be opened this afternoon for a few hours and Caroline and I can place our order.  I paused to send Caroline a text so she wouldn't worry all day (she is my daughter after all).  She replied in her typical snarky fashion which made me both laugh and think...

Saturday night I sat on William's bed as he shared with me conversations he'd had with some of his friends.  He had shared some vulnerable things with them, and I must admit I was a little worried.  As wonderful as these kids are, they are kids. So I cautiously asked, "How did they respond?" "Really good," he said. (I didn't correct his use of good versus well--sometimes I can keep my mouth shut.) "Oh?" I was hoping for more, and I got it. "They were worried about me, but they said they have my back." Huge sigh of relief from me.

Just then his phone dinged (we have a lot of dinging in our house). It was a friend of his who told him he felt like their friends weren't sympathetic about what he was going through.  I was confused. "Why were they so nice to you and not him?" I asked.  "He hasn't told them anything."  Now I was really confused, "How are they supposed to be sympathetic if they don't know anything?" "Good question," he answered.

I was bothered and stayed bothered all day yesterday and last night.  I hate this kid is feeling uncared for and I really want him to ask for what he needs.  So, I brought it up again with William--"I don't know Mom" (the dreaded MOOOOM, not Mama) he answered barely looking up at me, "He hasn't responded to my text asking him.  Can I please work on my paper?"

Asking for what you need, speaking your truth--it's so hard.  It's risky; it requires vulnerability; it requires being willing to hear what you don't want to hear; it requires being willing to be rejected. Recently I felt that rejection when I was vulnerable and it hurt--bad, but I am learning that while vulnerability can bring pain it can also bring power.  And it allows you to be helped.

I thought about how I have been learning that, and I laughed out loud (yes while I was running and yes someone did hear me and yes they looked a little frightened of the crazy lady...). I thought, "This time last year I would have come up with some big story about why I hadn't ordered the basketball stuff yet, but instead I just told her the truth.  I messed up." And she responded, not because I'm special but because I asked...

In yesterday's gospel the rich young man asks Jesus what he must do to have eternal life.  The man asked, he humbled himself in front of Jesus and the crowds--that took courage.  Sometimes I wonder if we focus so much on what he wasn't willing to do--sell all his possessions and follow Jesus--that we miss what he did do.  Here was a man who seemed to have it all, but he knew he was missing something, and he knew who to ask.  He raced after Jesus, knelt before him in front of everyone, and he asked. He just wasn't ready for the answer.

Learning to ask for help, learning to speak your truth, learning to be vulnerable--it's a process.

Understanding Rising Strong

I woke up this morning and looked at the clock 6:09 am.  Shame washed over me--I NEVER sleep this late.  I know that sounds crazy (as opposed to other things I publicly say..).  But shame is indeed what I felt--shame, pain and utter defeat.  

You see, my sleeping until after 6 "proved" to me that I didn't have it altogether.  It "proved" I wasn't as strong as I think I am; it "proved", in my mind, I was losing it; I was weak; I was failing.

I got up and began my morning routine--on hyper mode.  I had to wake the babies by 6:30--how was I going to get all the things done in 20 minutes that I usually take 2 hours to do--more defeat (read more feeling sorry for myself).  "Well," I thought, "The best thing to do is just sit down and read morning prayer.  At least then I'll maybe get back on the right track."  So I sat down and began--

The first Psalm I read was Psalm 121; "I lift up my eyes to the hills, from where is my help to come? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." I wanted this to make me feel better, but it just made me feel so incredibly lonely.  My self pity kicked in with a full throttle, "Yep there is no help except from God, and lately I haven't felt much of that." I even wrote next to it (in this years color ink of course) "I can't expect others to be there--only God."  While there is absolute truth in God always being there (even when you don't feel it), there is not absolute truth in others not being there.  At that very moment my heart sister Christy was texting me...

I'm a little stubborn and don't always get things quickly (or maybe let go of things), plus William walked in and saw my tears.  "Great," I thought, "Now he knows I don't have it altogether.  Now he knows I'm falling apart."  Add that to the list of ways I've failed my children...

As I finished morning prayer, my pain and shame morphed into bitter resentment.  I started with all the "it's not fairs" of the things I had to do today because of others' choices, then I moved to the "it's not fairs" of the last 24 hours and then on into the last week--shoot I was on a roll so decided to go with the whole freaking year.  It wasn't working.  I wanted to spew resentment at others, but it kept boomeranging back at me--how I had "failed"--all the mistakes I've made--all the decisions I was now second guessing, all the choices, the conversations, the doubts...

As I got ready to go for a run, I found my 4th year Christmas formal sorority tee shirt.  I put it on desperately wishing I could go back to those days and start over.  I started thinking about all the things I would change--all the wisdom I wished I had had or the wisdom of others I wished I listened to. I smiled as I took a picture--thankful I had this shirt--and much to my surprise, the crack of resentment was beginning as I also thought about how thankful I am for all those friendships that have continued to this day.

I started running listening to Brene Brown's Rising Strong. (I really wish I knew how to put that accent on her name..) I was listening to her, but I was also lost in my own thoughts.  I was continuing to beat myself up. (There was a crack, but I was trying not to let it grow.)  "What a horrible person I am," I thought, "That with all the rain in SC I haven't even checked on Mason or thought to ask about our beach house.  I wonder what else I've forgotten, who else I have neglected."  (I'm really good at martyrdom and self pity.)

As I turned onto Massie I saw the hills that so often I fail to run all the way up and out of nowhere I thought, "I HAVE to make it up these hills without stopping.  I HAVE TO!!" I began to run as though my life depended on it, and in a strange way at that moment, I believed it did.

I made it to the top--no stopping and as I crested the final hill I  punched the air a little bit with my fists (my children are so glad they don't see some of the weird things I do...). I started to smile and as the smile crept across my face I thought about the words "rising strong."

To rise strong, I thought, you have to be down and more than that, you have to admit you are down.  People who never experience struggle, pain, even defeat don't ever have to rise.  People who don't admit their down don't rise strong they just wallow (I had been practicing that) accepting that this is how life is going to stay. It's not the defeat that defines us, it's how we rise.  It's knowing we have to rise and that rising IS possible. I slowly began giving myself some credit.  Maybe part of rising strong for me today was getting extra sleep, maybe part of rising strong was answering Christy's text when I wanted to hide from her and from the truth, maybe part of rising strong was letting William know I too hurt, that I too was struggling, maybe part of rising strong was knowing I needed to wear that tee shirt and remember those days, maybe part of rising strong was making it up those hills.

I kept running but was so grateful for the train that made me pause on my run--my legs and lungs were burning, tears were preventing me from seeing too clearly.  "Maybe," I thought, "Part of rising strong means knowing that sometimes it's okay to pause, sometimes it's okay to take a breather, sometimes it's okay to sleep a little late."

Psalm 122:6-7 which I also read today says, "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem. 'May they prosper who love you.' Peace be within your walls and quietness within your towers." I'm not alone--I have those who love me and the peace within me to rise strong.

The Ignored Phone--What I Needed Most

Yesterday late afternoon I went to see my dear friend, Emily. We both have a lot going on and needed to catch up.  (And yes "needed" is the word.) As I parked my car in the drive, I looked down at my phone and thought, "I'm going to leave it in the car.  I'll be here less than an hour.  I don't want to be distracted."

As I walked towards the house, The Toddler (she always makes an appearance in my happy blogs) came running into my arms.  I'm telling you, no matter what you have to discuss/share, it always starts on a positive note when you start with a big, sweaty toddler hug.

We went inside, poured a glass of wine (not for The Toddler) and sat down at the dining room table. The Toddler was singing and dancing, so Emily said, "Let's turn our chairs this way so that's just in the background." We began to talk--or rather I did.  Emily sat and listened her eyes showing she was not only listening, but she was entering into my story, into my world, into my joy, into my pain, into my fear.

When I think back on our conversation last night, I realize she did ask questions, but not specifics about the story, she asked about how I felt in the story at specific parts, with specific encounters. She was present with me in her dining room and in my story. And then I listened to her.

Our conversation was intense, personal and vulnerable--it was powerful and holy and good.  But what I really noticed throughout the short time we had together last night was Emily's presence.  As we sat in the dining room, several times her phone rang, her texts signal went off, and Emily didn't flinch. Her eyes never left mine, she was completely and totally with me.

We didn't have a lot of time, and yet we had enough time--enough time for me to know that I was worth her time, worth her attention, and through that to know I have worth simply because I am me.

All evening I carried that gift with me; I woke up this morning with that gift still surrounding me, and I thought about how important it is that we give that gift to one another in this digital media age. I love technology; I do believe it has a place in pastoral care; I have used it in pastoral care. And yet I have also on many occasions let it interfere with someone having my complete presence.

I like to call it, "being able to multi-task" or "being able to care for more than one person at a time." I believe there is a place for it, and I know sometimes we have to be interrupted but last night I received the gift of total presence and with each phone ring or text alert that was ignored, I was reminded that I was valued; I was important; I was worth it.

WhenI got back in my car last night, my phone indeed did have multiple texts and calls, and I was glad I had left it in the car because I wasn't sure I would have been able to ignore them. And you know what, that's okay.  It's okay that I had to leave my phone in the car in order to ignore it and Emily could just ignore hers where she was.  Phones were ignored; true presence was given. It doesn't matter how it happened; it matters it did happen.

I don't remember every word we spoke last night; I don't remember what song The Toddler was singing; I don't remember what kind of wine we shared; but I remember the ignored sounds; I remember the presence--and that's what I needed most.

P.S. Ironically this is a tweet I woke up to this morning from Church Social Media (#chsocm) Pastoral Care-The ways in which pastoral care can/does/should happen in digital gathering spaces.  This week's chat moderated by Jason Chesnut (@crazypastor) Topics: T1: Have you given/received pastoral care...

And I'm reminded it's not an either/or world.

Just Another Way to Think About Grandparents' Day

Last week a friend posted this on facebook "Glad another Grandparent's Day is over. Not to be a downer but it really stinks for kiddos who don't have grandparents who can come." I had a visceral reaction that surprised and confused me.  Our family has been that family many many times, and we have also lived in the same city.  Why was I tearing up and finding myself angry? I had no idea, so I watched the comments that followed trying to figure out the source of my discomfort...

As I ruminated (read obsessed over) this post and the comments, I swayed back and forth like the swinging pirate ship at an amusement park.  I thought about how sad it could be for children not to have their grandparents there because they live too far away or are deceased, and then I thought about how equally or perhaps more sad it is to have grandparents who live in the same city and yet for any number of reasons (some good) choose not to participate.

I continued to follow the comments and the intense emotion behind many of them.  On the one hand I totally understood, but on the other I thought, "Really?  Grandparents Day was not created to personally affront you. Just like Father's Day or Mother's Day or any other day."  And then I felt terribly guilty for having those thoughts and swore I would never utter them publicly.  (I'm really good at beating myself up as a dear friend and mentor reminded me last night as I cried to him about something else...)

As I squirmed inside and tried to forget the post which I think was really just an attempt to express a valid feeling and not an attempt to create a public frenzy, I thought about all those Grandparents Days my children have experienced.  I thought about all those events (games, recitals etc) that my children have experienced when we lived nowhere near family and while I remembered I was occasionally momentarily bothered during those times, what I really remembered was all the families who welcomed us in to become part of their families. I thought about all the people who stepped up and became extra grandparents for our children, and I gave thanks (and I posted--"We always had neighbors and friends go. It does stink in many ways, but it's also a great way to expand the circle of people who love them."

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to make me stop cogitating (we're working on SAT words in our house)...

I moved beyond thinking about specific days where a "grandparent" was needed--(Although I will never forget Miss Gwen flying out of the office to get to Field Elementary to sit with my babies...we love you Miss Gwen) and I began thinking about people who have just been additions to our grandparenting family--Miss Susan, Dr. Tracy, Walt, Andrea, Christopher, Helena,--people who have life experiences and perspectives different from mine or Chris's and have been so valuable in the development of our children.  (And I haven't even touched the lists of honored aunts and uncles...)

Let me be clear our children are blessed to have 4 living grandparents and an extra special bonus grandmother who are involved in their lives, who love them unconditionally, and for that we are eternally grateful.  But we are also grateful for those who have come into our lives and expanded the circle of love and security surrounding us and our children.

As I sat in church Sunday morning first giving thanks for the fact that I didn't have to preach on the Gospel (Mark 7:24-37); you know the one where the Gentile woman of Syrophoenecian origin challenges Jesus who seems to be refusing to heal her daughter of demons basically calling her daughter a dog...it's a really tough one! (And one that btw, Grace Aheron nailed in her sermon; her words also have been resonating with me--but that's a different post.)

Anyway, as I listened to the Gospel I thought about where Jesus was physically located at that time--not in his hometown.  I thought about how Jesus said in Luke 8:21, "My mother and brothers are those who hear God's word and put it into practice."  These two thoughts swirled together. Lightbulb--Jesus was expansive; Jesus moved outside of the comfort zone of his hometown; Jesus enlarged his circle not just the circle of his family into the disciples and the disciples into the Jews but beyond--into the world of the Gentiles--really just into the world.

I suspect it was hard.  Jesus was not only fully divine but fully human.  I suspect he missed his mama and his biological brothers and sisters.  I wonder if he missed the comfort of knowing the family rituals, hearing the same stories over and over, having common thoughts and ideas?  I wonder if there were times he laid his head down at night and wished he was falling asleep with his mama in the room down the hall, singing the songs from his childhood...

Yet, if Jesus had not moved out, if Jesus had not been challenged by the Syrophoenecian woman (AND CHANGED HIS MIND!! He was challenged to look at the world a different way, to consider a different perspective, to hear a different voice...), I wonder how the world would have changed or more importantly how it would not have changed?  I wonder how many people would not have stretched their minds, become more tolerant and more inclusive?  I wonder how many people would not understand that ALL people regardless of origin are created in the image of God and have something to offer the world?

So yes, I understand all the posts and comments that fly around during celebrations like Grandparents Day about missing the biological family.  But, I also realize how much growth, how much good, how much love can happen when our circles are expanded and sometimes it means not having what we want when we want it for that to happen.  Sometimes it may mean being a little sad, a little uncomfortable.  If we always only had our "real" Grandparents available, would we even reach beyond?

I'm glad we have had to reach beyond and I'm very glad others reached back.  I think about all the love our children would have missed if we hadn't---it's just another way to think about Grandparents' Day.

I recognize that some of these people I have listed are not yet grandparents and of course far too young to be grandparents ;) but they have wisdom far beyond ours so they get that honorary title!

The Church Still Matters

This weekend our daughter, SK's best friend, Mason, drove from South Carolina to Virginia to surprise her for her birthday.  My husband and I had the joy of being there.  (Mason is pretty much our third daughter so we got the added bonus of seeing her too.)  I took a video of the surprise and posted it on social media where many comments were made.

The first comment posted was from Mason's aunt and my dear friend Taylor,  "What sweet sisters they are. Oh, to have one or two friends like that in a lifetime." I couldn't get the comment out of my mind..

She's right, of course, but what I kept thinking about was how they became friends.  They will certainly be lifelong friends, but they haven't been lifelong friends.  They met when SK was in 7th grade and Mason 8th.  They have never gone to the same school; they didn't dance at the same ballet studio; they didn't spend every waking moment at each other's homes (although there was plenty of that).  They did, however, go to the same church and to the same Diocesan camp for gatherings and summer camp.

As we spent the weekend together I thought more and more about their friendship. Over the years they have grown and developed sharing their ups and downs, their highs and lows.  They show up for one another, read each other's minds, challenge each other's choices and beliefs, and push each other to be better people. Both are excellent students and both have a fierce passion for social justice and for standing in solidarity with the oppressed.  These two didn't spend every moment in high school together and yet they did share their faith; they shared the common bonds of a faith language--that of the Episcopal church.  These two are living witnesses to the importance of organized religion--to shared faith formation and to a community that stretches you but also gives you a safe place to fall.

Let me be real here--this weekend was not spent discussing the latest resolutions of General Convention.  They did not debate proposed liturgical changes or the nuisances of high church versus low church. These two went to parties, went grocery shopping, watched football, more parties, studying, and on Sunday morning sat together in church.  Their friendship is expansive, varied and real life, but I believe their faith is the foundation.  If nothing else, the church--the container of organized religion is where their friendship was rooted.

But they aren't the only ones--all of my children have developed
close knit friendships from our community of faith.  These friends show up for each other at plays, drive through blinding snow storms for birthdays (okay I drove but they showed up), go to each others school events, and share their deepest thoughts, joys and fears.

Throughout the weekend I returned again and again to Taylor's comment; I thought about some of my closest friends and how I met them--so many of them come from the churches we have called home if only for a season. I am blessed to have many friends developed during the early years of marriage and throughout the rearing of children, and as I watched Mason and SK this weekend I remembered them and our shared faith.  These are friendships that developed around a common set of beliefs, around a common grounding of values, around a common faith language.

William's Confirmation Sponsor--his camp counselor

It's "popular" right now to say, "I'm spiritual but not religious" or "I don't need the church to have a relationship with God."  I'm not arguing with either, but I do believe there is a solidarity, a grounding, a rootedness that comes through our communities of faith.  And I believe as our children are growing up in an ever changing, chaotic world they need that solid foundation.  I believe that to have a faith community--to develop friendships through a faith community will only make them better, stronger, and more loving people.

Yes, we need to be reimagining church, but I have no doubt the Church still matters.  I've seen proof...