The Elder Brother and Family Trauma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus did walk to the cross.....

Out of Control--Also Known as Losing My Sh*t

I really get a kick out of hearing people say, "you're just so good at going with the flow." I suppose having four children in 4 1/2 years can do that to you. The reason I get a kick out of it, however, is because I'm really not....

Well, maybe I am more so than some, but I'm only good at it until I'm totally not. There is no in-between for me--totally laid back or spinning so far out of control because I'm not in control that people who know me well know to just stand clear. 

I woke up this morning and knew before I ever got out of bed I was moving to the spinning...the music to You Spin Me Right Round began playing in my mind before I could wipe the sleep out of my eyes. I tried to ignore it. (Yeah, it's entertaining for me too to believe I can do that.)

Chris got up first--mistake number 1 on days when I'm feeling out of control....I jumped on him for not following MY routine with the dogs. He, because he has lived with me for 28+ years and has learned the hard way, responded with a joke instead of an angry or even rational retort. "They're just dogs," was a part of the joke. It didn't work. I felt the need to explain they weren't dogs, they were beloved creatures of God. (Who probably care less about routine than I do, but again, I was revving up...plus Chris had already left to take a shower so the dogs were my only audience.)

I started up the stairs (you can, if you so choose, read that as stomped) ready to take on the next injustice in my life. It didn't take long--walked into our bedroom and there were two large duffel bags full of

MALE clothes which had been moved over from the apartment. "You said you were going to put those away," I spit out, "when exactly are you going to do that?" Looking back I can see he was starting to lose his patience with me (can't say that I blame him), but he tried to remain calm, "Probably not until this weekend. I'm having a long week with long days."

Oh, Sweet Jesus--Sweet Jesus might have run away with the bluegrass band at this point because my head snapped up. "Well, I've had a lot going on this week too." And at this point, Chris might have just made his acceptance speech to sainthood, "I know you do, but here's the thing. They can both be true. Just because I say my week has been long doesn't mean yours hasn't as well." Butter my butt and call me a biscuit! How did he stay so calm and rationale when I clearly was not!?!?!?

Now because I have the world's greatest therapist, and I have indeed made progress, Chris's rationale (at least to my face) response stopped me in my tracks and forced me to acknowledge what is really going on. I feel out of control...

We are getting into routines here at Boys Home, but they're not natural yet. I'm tired from the time change, but more so from the pain in my shoulder. I do have long days right now, but I know those will end as they are now when camp is over in July and I say goodbye to the Diocese of Kentucky (well maybe just see you later...). I have no idea what will come next. I'm trying to be patient, and I'm pretty good at it--again until I'm not. And while the downstairs of the house is awesome, I still have no kitchen and our bedroom isn't put together. Those are just the things I'm going to admit publicly. 

I knew, again because of an amazing therapist, the thing to do was to find something I could control or that at least would make me feel in control. My go-to's--cleaning baseboards and ironing are out of the question. I mean seriously, even I know it would be coo coo for cocoa puffs to clean freshly painted baseboards, and I can't iron because of the dang blasted shoulder. (See if the doctor who asked if it really hurt knew I wasn't ironing because it hurt so badly he wouldn't have had to ask that question!!!! He would also have had to know ironing is one of my favorite things to do.)

While showering it came to me!!! I could make our bed look like the room was put together even though it's not. Stay with me here. 

When we decided to accept this call, we agreed our bedroom would be one of the first rooms done and we would get all new bedding and window treatments.  I have piecemealed our room together for years. They are on order, but not here yet. I decided several weeks ago (you know prior to losing my sh*t this morning) that it was senseless to put the bed together with the old bedding when we'd have to undo it for the new. Again, this was on the other end of my control spectrum when I was so go with the flow we slept on a mattress on the floor for six weeks....

That all changed this morning. I dug out the bedding, stripped the bed down, got the last set of freshly ironed sheets out of the linen closet, and made that baby right up! I feel so much better.

Life sometimes feels like it's coming at us. We can let it trample us or we can grab it by the horns, swing ourselves up on its bareback, and ride it like the wind! 

---and yes I do know moving the mattress to put the dust ruffle on with an injured shoulder was not the smartest thing I've ever done. At least I did it BEFORE pt this afternoon....

I also consider it a win, I have posted a picture of it WITH wrinkles!!

It's Not Either/Or

 I'm a privileged sometimes spoiled whiny brat. There I've said it so no one needs to add that to a comment or send me a private message--I mean you can, but just so you know I'll only respond with, "I know." Here goes anyway....

Today was a long day--long and productive for a reason. I scrubbed our bathroom floors, unpacked boxes, vacuumed, dusted, supervised moving furniture, laundry, and various other chores--including polishing silver and brass--silver in one of the tubs. Oh, and that was also while I was working on summer camp. I'll admit, I did enjoy it, but I was also doing it thinking about the bath I was going to take late this afternoon. 

Another few asides, I recognize there are some people who are creeped out by baths, but I love them. I was also going to use a Buff City bath bomb, which yes, does belong to my daughter, but I bought them, she won't use them at college, and I'm sure she'll be fine with me replacing them--plus I paid her tolls today...back to the story.

I chose a book, chose a bath bomb, got the towel to cover the window (a whole other story), and began to run the bathwater. I tried to pull up the little thing to stop up the drain--wouldn't move. Tried again, and again, and again, and again. It wouldn't budge. I headed downstairs in search of my hammer--the one from attempting to hang the flag pole. I hit it (up) over and over--still no move. I was so frustrated--called my husband who said, "You're using the hammer again?" Me, "I can use it on the drain or your head." (I can also be dramatic...)

I went downstairs, poured a beverage from my new friends, watched basketball, and fumed, I mean thought and perhaps felt a little guilty.

While thinking, fuming and pouting a good friend called. She is an only child who is caring for a chronically ill parent. She has a job, is married, and is an incredible friend to everyone. Over the past several weeks although she has been walking through hell, every single time we talk/text she always asks about me and my family and celebrates with us. We hung up; I stomped upstairs for a SHOWER!

As I stood under the hot water I thought about all the Facebook posts I've seen today, my semi-temper tantrum, my friend, and what I believe about God. Here it is....

• I can be frustrated there always seems to be something wrong with this house, and have compassion for all those who have no homes. 
• I can be over the moon excited my sister is coming to help me tomorrow, and feel sad for all those who have no family or are estranged from their families.
• I can be filled with joy that today all of our children are in happy, healthy places, and have empathy for parents who have buried children, don't know where their children are, or know where they are and are estranged.
• I can be grateful neither Chris nor I have buried a parent, and hold in my heart friends who no longer have their parents. 
• I can worry about the war in Ukraine, and find joy in watching the boys here play soccer in the sunshine. 
• and the list goes on....

If we read the Psalms, we hear ALL these emotions and more. And here's something else. I believe God rejoices when a baby is born enveloping the new parents in God's loving embrace and at the same time, those same arms can be wrapped around people saying goodbye to a loved one. We are created in the image of God. We can hold multiple emotions at the same time. It's not an either/or.

In the meantime, I'm going to wrap myself in a Hecht hug...

Grace-Or Lack Thereof--in the Grocery Store

 Even before Covid world, I stopped going into the grocery store very often. It just was too darn easy to order my groceries, pull up, and have them loaded right into my trunk. I told myself this was saving money as I wasn't impulse buying, and perhaps that is true. It also, however, disconnected me from grocery store reality.

Several weeks ago I had to go into the store as both pick-up and delivery options weren't available until the next day, and I was in need of a few essentials. It was a cold rainy day late in the afternoon. I pulled up, put on my mask, and ran from the parking lot into the store. Immediately I was annoyed at the many people not wearing masks. Just being honest here...

There was a time several years ago when running into the store would take little time as I knew where everything was. But alas, over the years, things get moved around, and what I thought would be a quick trip in was already beginning to take more time. Music was playing overhead sometimes interrupted by "special announcements," and I could hear several children either whining, talking very loudly, or flat out having screaming tantrums. I huffed and puffed wishing I had my AirPods. I would like to claim I was in sensory overload, but really I was just being a selfish jerk.

I filled my cart with what I needed and headed to check out. There was only one cashier and four self-checkouts open. And there were long lines. I waited in the self-checkout line which really isn't a line but rather a gaggle of people all vying for the next open register. A young woman with three screaming children pulled her cart into the milieu. One child was sitting in the cart with snot running out of his nose and down his face. One child was swinging around the cart knocking into other customers, and the third was shrilling proclaiming every five seconds how hungry she was. The woman was on her cell phone it sounded like making some sort of appointment. Needless to say, she was getting nasty looks from other customers. Out of sheer desperation or complete resignation, she grabbed three bags of m&m's off the shelf and handed them out. The volume immediately lowered. (I was, I must admit, quite grossed out by the now snotty m&m snack.) With the lowered volume, I could hear several other customers whispering about "parenting" and "giving in." I'm sure the young woman heard it as well.

Over the next several days, I couldn't stop thinking about that woman. I had been that woman, sort of. At first, I thought these things

• What was she doing taking her children to the grocery store at the arsenic hour? (That's what I call the hours betweeen 4:30pm and bedtime--you either want to take it or give it.)
• Why was she trying to make an appointment while shopping and juggling three kids?
• Why didn't she just leave the cart and try again another day? (I distinctly remember walking out of the grocery store in Athens with four screaming children as I apologized to the clerk who would have to reshelve the entire cartful of groceries.)

I kept thinking and realized how incredibly judgemental and self-righteous, not to mention privileged my thoughts were. I didn't have to take my children to the grocery store during those hours because I didn't work outside of the home. I could go during their "best behaved" hours or while they were in pre-school/school. Maybe this woman goes to work early and rushes to pick up kids before the dreaded late-fee pick-up every day. I had all day to make phone calls and appointments--but let's be honest, I have also been on the phone while shopping...  Maybe she was trying to make a doctor's appointment to get that runny nose treated. I think the thought that gets to me the most is, I could leave that grocery cart full of groceries and just go home because I had food already there. Maybe she didn't.

I don't know this woman's story because I didn't bother to stop and help. I didn't let her move in front of me. I didn't help unload her cart. And I didn't wipe the little boy's nose. Maybe she is just a give-in to every whim parent who doesn't manage her time well, or maybe she's just trying to do the best she can and could have used a smile, a helping hand, and a little compassion.

Dora the Explorer and Bar Evangelism

We were sitting in our regular spot at "The Spot." (That's what we call it...) No really, it's our spot--we even have a sign, but I digress...

Several tables down a woman sat by herself. She ordered a margarita and took one sip. Now here's where the truth is which isn't very flattering. My friend and I were making fun of her. I'd like to say in a nice way, and I suppose if you can make fun of someone in a nice way, we were. We just kept saying, "How can she not drink that? What is wrong with her? She's pretty lame." I get it not the nicest of people we were being. She ordered some food and the margarita just sat there. Periodically her phone would ring and she'd shout into it, "I AM NOT COMING HOME!" and then hang up. It was entertaining, or maybe not entertaining so much as we were curious, and laughing--again, not my proudest moment.

A few minutes later she called Javier (yes we know all the servers) over and started shouting at him to get her server. "This is the worst margarita I've ever had and I've had lots of margaritas. And do you call these tacos? Get my server that other guy." Now she definitely had our attention. Javier kept trying to calm her down and she kept screaming for her server. What we knew (because we're there all the time) was her server, Marlo, speaks NO English. And not only that, he is our favorite and no one was going to yell at him whether he could understand what they were saying or not!

I stood up to go to the bathroom (I had had more than one sip of my drink) and stopped as I was passing her table. "M'am," I said, "It sounds like you're having a really bad day. Why don't I just pay for your drink and meal? There's no reason to yell at the servers." She turned her fury on me, "Why in the world would you do that?" I responded, "I can just tell you've had a bad day. We're regulars here and really like these people so I'd like to do it." Honestly, I have no idea what she was thinking, but she turned back to Javier and said, "Get this stuff off my table." Javier scooped up the plate and margarita and we rounded the corner. 

As he headed for the kitchen and me towards the bathroom, I took that margarita right out of his hand. I mean come on, I was paying for it! She'd only taken one sip, and we could get new straws...

I passed the margarita through the slot, went to the bathroom, and returned to our table. It wasn't over.

The woman came to our table and said in a somewhat hostile tone, "I want to know why you would do that." I was beginning to soften towards her--I think this is probably where the Holy Spirit nudged me into realizing this wasn't just a funny encounter--"I just wanted to help you out. We weren't eavesdropping" (a small white lie for the greater good) "but heard you on the phone" (She was very loud.) "and it just seems like it's been a bad day." Now her eyes softened and she said, "Well, if you consider not getting unemployment for 3 months, losing your house, and totaling your car a bad day. You're right. But I still don't get it. Is this like where I'm supposed to pay it forward?" "You can do that if you want," I told her, "but that's not why I did it. I just hope your day gets better. May I ask your name?"

I might have lied to her a tad bit, but I won't lie here--this is where it got a bit funny again...

"Dora," she said, "Like the explorer." My friend turned to the wall she was laughing so hard. For the record, she turned to the wall several times...

"Well, Dora," I said, "I'd like to add you to my prayer list."

My friend composed herself and said, "She's an Episcopal priest. She does that."

Dora reared back and shouted, "ME TOO!!!" (Friend again faces the wall) "Oh, not the priest part," she corrected, "I'm Episcopalian." The Holy Spirit just wouldn't leave me alone....

"Tomorrow night we're having a Blue Christmas service at St. Thomas across the street. It's for people struggling during this time of year or wanting to be a support to others struggling. I'd love for you to come."

Dora looked at me wide-eyed and said, "St. Thomas across the street? That's my church!" (you guessed it, friend again faces the wall. I mean she's been a member her entire life and I've been the priest for almost six years and neither of us has ever seen Dora...). 

"Please join us," I said, "And I'll definitely be praying for you."

Dora looked at us a little teary and said, "Well, thank you. I'll see you tomorrow night." And she walked out.

She didn't come the next night, but I have prayed for her, and I have told this story many times. The thing is, we never really know what people are going through, and we never really know when or where the Holy Spirit is going to nudge us. We have to be ready. 

Oh, and that margarita, we got two new straws and split it--and The Spot comped the meal...

Mental Health, Suicide, and Resurrection Living

Sometimes you meet a person at Strawberry Fields, an apartment in DC, and as bridesmaids in a wedding, but it takes over 25 years, a tragedy, and a morning show interview for you to realize how much that person will change your life....that's how I know Dona.

If I'm remembering correctly, the last time Dona and I saw each other in person, or at least for any length of time, was at my cousins wedding in 1994. The thing about our family, is once you're a part of it, you're a part of it, and you get us all--siblings, cousins, parents, grandparents--the whole kit and kaboodle for better or worse.  I didn't see Dona and her beautiful family over the years, but I kept up with her through my cousin-and of course social media!

Cousins' Weekend 2019 Beth was catching me up on people we both knew and mentioned Morgan had been struggling a little with an injury and asked me to keep her in my prayers. I had no idea in less than a week Beth would call me with the news that Morgan had died by suicide. This was the third young adult in less than 5 weeks that I knew who had died by suicide. I had no idea what to say or do beyond daily prayers. My heart broke for these families.  

A month or so after Morgan died, I sent Dona a book on grief. I prayed daily and followed her on social media. I didn't know what else to do. Dona and her family did.

During the late spring of 2020, Dona began to post "cryptic" (in a fun way) messages about something big that was going to launch. I begged my cousin to find out what it was. I cannot explain why I felt so drawn (obsessed) with this. Morgan's Message launched on the year anniversary of Morgan's death. "Morgan's Message strives to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health within the student-athlete community and equalize the treatment of physical and mental health in athletics. We aim to expand the dialogue on mental health by normalizing conversations, empowering those who suffer in silence, and supporting those who feel alone." Morgan's Message

I could write on and on about the good Morgan's Message has done over the last 15 months. I could wax poetically about the speed with which this organization has taken off across college and high school campuses changing and yes, I believe, saving lives. And I'm happy to, as a bystander and cheerleader, but it's not my story. I do believe, however, it's part of The Story.

Last night I watched an interview Dona gave last week. Dona's Brave Interview I began to shake as it became very clear to me what kept me so drawn to this story (other than my love for the family as people who were living the unimaginable). Dona and Morgan's Message was and is telling the story of the resurrection. They are living out an Easter people faith.  In an instant I understood in a whole new way what it meant to be Easter People, what it meant to live into the resurrection. Morgan's struggles were Good Friday. I don't know how long she lived in her Good Friday or how long her family and friends, even unknowingly did, but they did. When Morgan died, Holy Saturday. stretched out before this beautiful family and all who loved Morgan. But out of Good Friday and the depths of Good Saturday pain, Morgan's Message was born and there was resurrection--the birth of and the healing of many. 

Let me be very clear. I do not believe for one single solitary minute that God wanted Morgan to suffer and die. I do not believe this was God's plan so that Morgan's Message could be born. I also don't believe God wanted Jesus to suffer and die. Jesus died because of the brokenness and pain in the world. And so did Morgan. Jesus rose from the dead on Easter Sunday, but that does not erase Good Friday or Holy Saturday or all the days before--the days of laughter and healing and fellowship. Morgan's Message doesn't erase Morgan's life. 

As a mother, I think even knowing Jesus rose again, defeated death, and initiated the Kingdom of God, Mary would still rather he had not been tortured and crucified. I imagine she never got those images out of her mind, and I wonder if she still thought about what she could have done (the answer is nothing) to have changed the way things happened. 

Thanks to Dona and Morgan's Message, I understand what resurrection living looks like. It's not puppies, and unicorns, and rainbows. It's trusting that God truly can and will use all things for good. It's believing that even when the world brings about evil and brokenness, the world NOT GOD, God can bring healing and wholeness.

It's not about forgetting. It's about remembering. Re-membering.

This post was written by me. No one at Morgan's Message asked me to write. They've never asked anything of me, but they are my favorite non-profit. If you feel called, you can Donate here or buy merchandise here. If you are a high school or college student and would like to get involved, find out more here. 

M. Morgan’s Message strives to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health within the student-athlete community and equalize the treatment of physical and mental health in athletics. We aim to expand the dialogue on mental health by normalizing conversations, empowering those who suffer in silence, and supporting those who feel alone. organ’s Message strives to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health within the student-athlete community and equalize the treatment of physical and mental health in athletics. We aim to expand the dialogue on mental health by normalizing conversations, empowering those who suffer in silence, and supporting those who feel alone.

Soccer Drills and the Kingdom of God

Our family moved to Atlanta in January of 1977. I was in third grade. That spring I started playing soccer. I didn't start playing because I was in love with the game (frankly, I didn't even know what it was), but rather because all my new friends played. Oh, and my parents wouldn't let me play football.                                                                                                                       

I didn't start playing because I was in love with the game, but almost instantly I was, and at the risk of not being humble, I was good. (I mean I did make the boys varsity team in the ninth grade--and I was on the select state championship team in 1981...just sayin'--and now I'm uncomfortable, kind of.) Anyway, I started playing and never stopped until I blew my knee out in the 10th grade.

I flirted with midfield and defense (my midfield story and scoring the winning goal in overtime of the state semi-finals is quite a good one!), but my true love was playing in the goal. From the goal, I could see and direct the field. It was like I was one with the game; it made sense to me, and my body responded seemingly on autopilot. 

I've watched a lot of soccer over the years, but last week....

I was in Virginia and I went to see the Randolph women's soccer game. I was middle school girl giddy. I know and love several of the girls who were playing, and I just couldn't wait to watch them play. I was not prepared for what happened.

I was mesmerized. As I watched the game, all the feelings came back. I looked at #22, #11, and the goalie, and I knew what they were thinking. I could feel their feelings. I could read the ball and the field. It was like I became one with the game, and my body and mind just knew. It was exhilarating, freeing, and indescribable.

Now to return to my not so humble declaration that I was good. I was. I had some natural talent, but I also worked my patootie off. I spent HOURS both with the team and individually practicing. I studied plays. I watched film. I replayed games in my head and talked incessantly about could of's and should of's. I did the same drills over and over and over. It's been years since I've been on a field or practiced any drills, but last Wednesday my body and my mind kicked in, and just knew.

I've been thinking a lot about what happened last week and about spiritual practices and faith. We read the same scriptures over and over. We pray the same prayers. When we go to worship, sometimes it can seem so repetitive, and maybe sometimes we even wonder, "what's the point?" It feels like nonstop drills with no game. 

I've been thinking about all those Sundays my husband and I wrestled (literally) our four children into their "uniforms" and headed out the door to church--many times we needed absolution immediately upon arrival! I've been thinking about the times we were so exhausted at night and just wanted the children to go to bed, but we took the time (most nights) to say prayers. Some of our children attend church now more frequently than others. But here's the thing, Proverbs 22:6 tells us, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." 

Daily life is the game. Some games are easy peasy.  We don't have to think much or even try too hard, but every once in a while, BAM! We have an encounter with someone, a diagnosis comes, a struggle, or any number of things, and we are struggling to just stay in the game. We may even want to give up, but all those "drills" kick in, and we find we have the strength, the skills, the fortitude to keep going. Our minds and bodies just know what to do. The game is life, and we play for the Kingdom...

PS--That winning goal in the semi-finals, total luck! Coach moved me from the goal into the field to keep me from getting hurt in hopes we would make it to the finals. The ball came to me, and I just kicked it. I had no idea what I was doing which may be why the goalie missed it--she probably thought the same thing!