Yellow Patchwork Quilt

I made a little quilt, y'all!

I've made them before, but this is the first one I've both pieced and quilted. (On others, I've either quilted one big piece of fabric, or I've pieced rag quilts-- which don't get quilted.)

So, hurrah! I just loved this one. It went to a sweet newborn whose parents I adore-- and I assure you, those are the only circumstances under which I would have been willing to let go of it. It turned out so much cuter than I expected (although I'm still swearing that the binding-- satin blanket binding is surely evil in solid form).I tried to show you the whole thing:

but frankly, I'm not so good with the self-timer and the scurrying into place, so I tried again (overexposed, and then badly corrected...sigh):

Still not great. So, in parts, we have the front:


I love how crinkly quilts get when you use cotton batting-- it shrinks a little in the dryer, and the quilted lines really stand out.

And then the fun scrappy back--I scattered tiny squares like confetti. I added a few Heather Ross chickens that weren't on the front, and they made me grin every time I looked at them:

I had a grand time doing it-- it's machine-pieced, but hand-quilted (which seems to be my favorite way of doing things).

So, that's that! Have a lovely cheerful yellow day!

Wednesday Prayers: A Peaceful Night, and a Perfect End

I've been using Phyllis Tickle's version of the Daily Offices for the last few weeks (or, I should say, I've resumed the habit). Compline might be my favorite office. I love that there's confession before slumber-- it relieves me of all the dumbshit things I've done during the day (that I'd otherwise fret about once the lights go out).

I suppose this points to a specific prayer request of you this week: wiser decisions during the day (and less guilt about old stuff).

Can I pray for you this week? Is there anything that will help you rest easier?

Earworm

I can't get this song out of my head today. Figured I might as well get it stuck in yours, too.

Wednesday Prayers: Don't Watch the Film

I love Inside the Actor's Studio. I love it even when I don't care for an actor's body of work. It's about hearing people's stories.

When Johnny Depp was interviewed, he said that he doesn't watch the films he's in. More specifically, he said that after he's wrapped, "it's none of my business what the filmmaker does with it."

As a spiritual director, I have to really work at remembering that the big picture is not up to me. In fact, it's none of my business. One of the best sessions I ever took part in was while I was training-- my directee used a metaphor to talk about her situation the whole time we were talking. I never knew what her specific struggle was, and I didn't need to. I'm there to ask questions, God's there to lead her deeper into them. What follows isn't any of my business.

Maybe that's true for everything. We do our part, we respond to God's call, and then we forget about the completed film. If we're honest with ourselves, we know we're never going to know the whole story, anyway; we will do good in ways we will never realize, and we'll hurt unknowingly.

So my prayer this week is to be attentive to my role, and let go of the finished picture. What's your prayer this week?

Wednesday Prayers: And for any others you wish to name, either silently or aloud...

This corkboard above the desk in my office is where I keep prayer requests. (Some of you would see your names, or those of your loved ones, typed on tiny pastel squares.) It's just first names, and it's often vague for anonymity's sake. (Confession: there's a little square that just says "Peter in TX." I'm not sure who Peter is, and I only have a hunch about who the prayer-requester might be, but I'm still praying for him.)

I really like having a visual reminder of all the things for which we turn to God. (Perhaps someday I'll remember, "Hey, it's on the board. That means God is carrying it, not me!)

You've all been so lovely and kind this week, I'd like to just turn the prayer requests over to you. Is there something of yours I can add to my board?

Infertility of the Heart

There's a baby boom among my friends, and it's happening to great people. It's so exciting.

It's also excruciating.

We both want kids, have wanted them for years. There's been a laundry list of reasons we haven't had them (including the priest during who told me I'd have to get the bishop's permission before getting pregnant during The Process), but the biggest one I don't talk about much: the fear that maybe there's just a "good parent" gene missing in my family, and my kids wouldn't have a happier childhood than I did.

The phrase I keep using when I think about it is "heart infertility." Physically, people can become parents, but in their hearts, they can't. As a diabetic inherits his inability to produce enough insulin, maybe I've inherited an inability to nurture. I wonder if all the circumstantial reasons we haven't had kids are God's way of protecting me from becoming someone I'd hate.

I talked to a close friend about it, and somehow that made it worse. (At the same time, I'm so grateful she doesn't understand and can't relate.) It's not a logical fear-- of course I know about parenting books and classes. But it's not about knowing what activities to do, or making sure they brush their teeth. It's not even about appropriate discipline. It's a visceral fear that my kids will be the people I'm not able to love, that they'll have a parent who won't see them for themselves and rejoice.

In the midst of all the crying, I've been praying (a lot of it's angry prayers-- it was NOT FUNNY when I sought solace in the hymnal, and opened up to all the arrangements for the Magnificat). Last night, part of the answer was, "You don't inherit love from your parents. You inherit it from Me. Parents can be vessels, but Love originates in Me."

I think that's the right answer, but I don't quite trust it yet. And I'm dreading Advent.

Why Bad Email Gets Me Down

This morning, I opened my inbox to find this forward from someone I like and respect (a former teacher of mine, in fact).

It's OK to have opinions I disagree with. Lots of people I love do. In fact, on one issue or another, surely everyone I love disagrees with something I believe. And I know this woman believes her email is true, she never would have passed it around if she thought it might not be.

But the original creator of that fear-inciting, hate-mongering email? He or she was just deliberately scamming Christians. He was preying on people's ignorance, and he was distracting people of faith from all the things that really need our prayer and attention. That's what makes me crazy. Now, my friend isn't blameless (nor are any of us, myself included, when we don't fact-check), but she's acting out of devotion.

People think they're being faithful, and really they're being led astray. We are like sheep without a shepherd. We ARE sent out like sheep among wolves. We HAVE to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.* So many Christians are fearful of the "other," but too trusting of those who seem like friends.

*My thanks to Mt. 10:16.

Wednesday Prayers: Wearing Purple

I'm wearing a purple cami under my cardigan today, and my blog is wearing a lovely lavender, both for Spirit Day, a day to support LGBT youth.

I try to be honest here on The Kitchen Door (and when I can't, I just plain don't post about the topic), so as crappy as it is, I'm going to go ahead and tell you what a moron I was at 18.

I knew a young man in college who was friends with some of my friends. He and I weren't close, but we were often in the same place at the same time. There were rumors about his being gay, but I thought the respectful thing to do would be to just come out and ask him.

In front of a handful of other people.

I had no idea I was "outing" someone, never even thought about it. While my military background had exposed me to a lot of different cultures, I didn't know anyone who was openly gay. I didn't care either way (my philosophy was that it didn't affect me-- if you're not sleeping with me, I don't care who you sleep with), but I didn't stop to think how much he might care. (In the privacy-invading style of a tiny campus, it never occurred to me that if it didn't affect me, I also didn't need to know.)

The people we were with were all his friends, and he very tactfully dodged the question, but it's something I deeply regret now.

So, today I'm praying for teens in hostile situations, teens in awkward situations, and (like me) teens who need some education.

And I'm so sorry, A. I'd undo it in a heartbeat if I could.

How about you? How are you praying today? How can I pray for you?

Some Thoughts on Being Incarnate

I stumbled across this at Borders a while back, took a picture with the camera in my phone, and then brought it home from the library about a week ago. I recognized the author: someone I loved a million years ago had given me another of her books in high school. Some might think it's unexpected reading material for me. I'm relatively comfortable in my body-- or at least, I really enjoy having a body, which may be unusual in itself. I like stretching and running and playing in waves (all things my body lets me do), and I like fuzzy sweaters and sassy boots (also made possible by being incarnate). But even for me, the subjects of bodies and food are fraught, often feel like landmines.

I think sexuality is the hardest part of body-image-stuff for me. I've always been slim, but I've also been caricature-curvy forever. (My very attractive mother, on the other hand, has the sort of boyish elegant figure that made both Hepburn ladies famous.) I've often felt that being curvy means being presumed promiscuous until proven innocent. I'm fun, and I flirt, and I laugh -- but I've never been anything that comes remotely close to promiscuous.

There are so many reasons not to be comfortable in our bodies.

I'm often embarrassed because I'm thin. In a culture where so many people struggle with their weight, I feel guilty and awkward. (When people ask how I do it, I joke that the women in my family burn extra calories by being really mean. In fact, my mom and I are the only ones who are consistently petite. Rather than a genetic legacy, I think I inherited the Marine perspective that staying fit as we age is expected.)

Though I talk and joke about them, I'm embarrassed about my curves. I was absolutely shamed for growing up, for having an adult body. (It was far more threatening to some people than I understood at the time.) I didn't even have to do anything WITH my curves, just having them was immoral.

When I was in The Process, I could have swapped clothes with any similar-sized 60-year-old, and not had a noticeable change in style. I knew that being young and having a distinctive figure was a liability. Modesty is a must in ministry (a new tongue twister, but true), but my already-confused relationship with my body got worse.

I eat healthy food. I work out regularly. I get enough sleep. For the most part, I like my body. But I don't know how to have a body around other people. These lovely, confident women in all shapes who wear what they want? Amazing to me. I haven't passed self-consciousness yet.

And so, I read Geneen Roth's book, because I thought she might have something to say.

She does. And it's fabulous.

I really want to tell you all about it, but I'm afraid you won't read it if I do. Also, because I think you'll argue with me, and I think she makes her case better than I would. Go read it. Trust me.

Wednesday Prayers: Rainbows

Our friend Stratoz pointed us to a little science on Saturday: "Rainbows are somewhat rare is that you will only see them when there is rain in front of you and somewhat in the distance, and the sun is behind you and fairly low on the horizon."

I thought about that when I saw this rainbow today.

And then I thought about Noah, and the bit from Genesis 9 about the rainbow: "I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. ¹⁴When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, ¹⁵I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh."

For there to have been a rainbow, it must have still been raining.

Now, I know I'm applying science to a story that many of us don't take literally. (Some do, and I think maybe you can stay with me on this either way.)

God made a promise while it was still raining to never again wipe everyone out. I imagine I would have had a conversation like this:

God: The waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh.
Me: Dude, it's still raining. Are you kidding? This looks a lot like flood conditions to me.
God:

Which makes me think of the beginning of the 11th chaper of Hebrews: "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." ²

I've always thought of "things not seen" as those things which are invisible, maybe unprovable, things it might be reasonable to be agnostic about. But when someone tells you not to worry about floods anymore (while it's still raining), you DO have evidence that leads to one conclusion-- and God is saying to believe something else.

I think there's something to pray about there, but I'm not sure what it is for me yet. Maybe it's a starting point for one of you, too.

Wednesday Prayers: Crisis

White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel once (in)famously said, "You never want a serious crisis to go to waste."

It pissed off lots of people. Not me. And not just because I think he's dead sexy admire his work. I agree with his point. Every crisis can be a catalyst. A crisis is something we didn't want, something painful, something overwhelming-- but it's also a potential turning point. Where we (I) get stuck is in wanting to go back to pre-crisis. Not possible. Never possible. Crisis changes us. Even if our actions don't change, our insides do. Crisis gives us a choice between changing, and living a lie.

But we didn't want the change.

We might not have wanted the tide to come in, either, but clearly there's a lot that's beyond our control.

Family members die, marriages come unraveled, jobs end, sickness comes. We cannot go back to where we were before. The best we can hope for is to grow in ways that we wouldn't have if we could have stayed in that comfortable place.

I am in the midst of a couple quiet crises. I can't control the outcomes, but I can grow in my responses. This week, I'd like your prayers-- not that the crises be taken away, but that I choose to become more fully who God created me to be in the midst of them. That I choose (and learn) integrity and truth. That I seek God above easy familiarity. That I work with as God to create something new.

I yearn to be held
in the great hands of your heart--
oh let them take me now.
Into them I place these fragments, my life,
and you, God-- spend them however you want.
--Rainer Maria Rilke

How about you? Would you like me to offer prayer through your own crisis?

The Mirror of the Sea

We didn't make it to the beach this summer (what a pampered thing to be disappointed about!). I took some fun trips, but as usual, visiting people won out over visiting places.

I miss the beach-- having spent several (non-consecutive) years growing up in Oceanside, CA, it's one of the things that holds a sense of home for me. I like the beach best alone-- time to contemplate the vastness, the power of the crashing waves, the ambivalent steely color of the water. I like the ocean on gray days, and on stormy days best, strong and fearless and intense-- not children-with-little-red-buckets days. I don't like it passive.

maggie and millie and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

millie befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles :and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

for whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea.
-e. e. cummings

Housekeeping

I switched things around in blogger so that I sign off as Di, instead of Mrs. M. When I started this blog (a million years ago), I needed it to be anonymous. Since that's no longer the case, it's nicer to be called by my name. If I drop in at your place to comment, don't be alarmed-- I'm still me!

Running with Van

This morning, I loaded my iPod up with today's pray-as-you-go, and the first dozen songs of Van Morrison's Greatest Hits, Vol. 3. That man speaks to my soul-- gravelly lover and awe-struck prophet, all in one package.

As I got to my halfway point, Too Long in Exile started. Just exactly what I needed.

Too long in exile
Too long not singing my song

(And how can you keep from adoring a man who references Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde?)

Not-Quite-Wednesday Prayers: Failure

Margaret Mead once responded to a reporter's question about her divorces by saying, "I don't consider my marriages as failures. It's idiotic to assume that because a marriage ends, it's failed."

Bishop Laura gave a reminder recently that the humane view is to recognize that mistakes are learning opportunities.

These two are not identical ideas, but both add up to the same thing: we're mislabeling a lot of things as failures. Perhaps, as I think about it, the only real failure is to keep making the same mistake, the same foolish choice.

I think there's a mental habit to assume that the end of anything is a failure. If we leave a job or a career anywhere but on the top of it (even the WRONG career for us)... failure. If we leave a relationship (despite our being responsible for only half of it)... failure.

No one would say to an alcoholic, "You just haven't tried hard enough to be a moderate, responsible drinker! Don't give up!" But we do that all the time with other decisions that are damaging to people's physical, mental, and spiritual health.

Part of our discernment as people of faith is deciding not just what to take up, but what to release.

God of all wisdom, help me to let go of the things I cannot keep, the things that keep me from being the daughter you call me to be. Show me how to recognize those obstacles that may not be readily apparent, to separate the wheat from the chaff in my own life. Keep me concerned with your views of failure and success, and no one else's; equip me with the quiet strength to keep my eyes on You.

Do you need to let go of a fear of failure, or celebrate a disguised success? Let me know, and I'll gladly wrap your prayers into mine.

Follow-Up to "No"

My friend Anne reminds me that this clarity about boundaries and respect comes from reading Gavin de Becker's excellent books, The Gift of Fear and Protecting the Gift. Both books talk a lot about trusting your instincts, and being watchful of controlling people. I HIGHLY recommend them. The second book is specifically about keeping kids safe, and I think all parents should read it.

My friend Lillian reminds me that I am A BIG BOOB, and should have pointed out that if you think I'm talking about you here, I'm not. (Well, she didn't say that, because she's not the tactless ass I am, but she did bring my attention to it.) I was clear with this woman at the time that things weren't right. Keeping my feelings bottled up is (sadly) not one of my character flaws. The only new part is figuring out that friends don't try to control friends.

Wednesday Prayers: Affection

My prayer this week is one of gratitude. Over the last couple of weeks, I've gotten to spend time with people who make me smile, and that's one of my very favorite things to do. (You may not have guessed that, as I sometimes sound like a total misanthrope.) It's been good to see people I love, and to get to know others better.

AND I'm getting less wimpy about the phone. With practice, patience, and prayer (yours, maybe?), I might become sweet and friendly again, after all.

On the other hand, maybe not.

How's your people-stuff? Going swimmingly, or needing a lifeguard? Let me know, and I'll pray for your relationships, too.

No Means No

I have an old acquaintance, a friend from long ago, with whom I've felt uncomfortable for years. I knew the incidents that caused my discomfort, but I didn't know why they mattered. I held the relationship in a weird limbo where I dreaded being around her, but I felt unreasonable about that, so I continued to spend time with her.

Once she asked for a difficult favor, another time for details of my personal life. Both times I said no but eventually gave in, afraid I wasn't being a "good friend." I wish I'd realized then that "if you were really my friend" is an awful lot like "if you really loved me." I never would have bought that kind of line from a date. But from a friend? I didn't recognize it. If a man had ignored my limits the way she did, I would have known immediately that something was Very Wrong. Instead, two male friends withing the past year were both instantly respectful when I indicated that a topic was off-limits. It's easy to see the difference between being disrespectful and leaving a door open-- even when the latter is done clumsily, it's simple to distinguish. One says, "I need you to change your mind," and the other says, "I'll be here if you ever change your mind." When someone ignores "No," it means that what they want from you is more important than what you want for you. Period. Their want trumps you.

I've always thought that I am "less nice" because she is soft-spoken, introverted, and non-confrontational, and I am extroverted and .... direct. (That may be a euphemism. I don't always think Dr. House is too blunt). But I still had a nagging gut feeling that I didn't want to be around her. (Full disclosure: there are plenty of times when I really am not nice; I am blunt, impatient, irritable.) Saying no to someone who appears weaker is particularly difficult to me. Holding my own line begins to feel like battery. For years, I felt guilty. Now, I'm beginning to recognize manipulation. (Maybe this is why I've had Sondheim's Red Riding Hood on the brain lately, as she learned from the Wolf that "Nice is different than Good.")

This is a particularly hard, slow lesson for people who were abused as children. There's no frame of reference for our "No" having any meaning-- not consistently, at any rate. And since objecting often leads to more abuse ("no" being somehow heard as "more"), its meaning becomes confused. Since the people we love are the people we aren't allowed to resist, it seems normal when our limits are ignored. It can take years to unlearn this-- for the lucky people who unlearn it at all.

"Loving our neighbor" is not the same as "our neighbor has to be our friend." I want the best for this woman. I want her to be as healthy, happy, and whole as possible. But that does not mean she is my friend.

I am so, so grateful to be learning that my "No" means no as much as anyone else's. It might be basic to a lot of people, but it's a miracle for me.

(Day After)Wednesday Prayers: Teachability

The reading on Tuesday's Pray-as-You-Go meditation was from 1 Corinthians-- the bit about how awful it was that they were suing each other, and wouldn't or couldn't resolve their problems within the community of believers. How might we settle our differences? One way is for each of us to be willing to consider the possibility that we're wrong. The same humility that allows us to be wrong also keeps us kind to others when we're right. My initial thoughts brought about this week's prayer.

God, show me how to be teachable. Help me to be secure enough in Your love to let go of the shame of imperfection. Remind me to see mistakes as invitations to let You show me a better way. Keep my tone with others gentle, so that it's easier for them to be open, too. Heal me from the fear and hurt of those who punished rather than taught. Grant me this freedom that I may share it with others.

What's your prayer this week? Are you wrestling with a dispute, or enjoying a time of peace? Let me know, and I'll hold you in God's light.

A New System + a WONDERFUL Artist I've discovered

I have fun new system, and I'm so pleased with myself that I thought I'd share it with you.

I think a lot of you know about the pray-as-you-go podcasts, put out by Jesuit Media Initiatives (you also know I'm falling for the Jesuits). For those of you who don't, they're short daily meditations that manage the rare feat of being brief but not superficial. Just in the last week or two I discovered YogaJournal's video podcasts (I've used their audio classes, but that can be tricky for me).

And THEN I thought... wait! I could make a mini-playlist that combined the two, and use pray-as-you-go for my meditation during corpse pose (the relaxation at the end of a yoga session)!

I'm disproportionately pleased with myself.

Also, in a fit of playlist fervor, I also made playlists for each of my runs this week, starting each of them off with that day's pray-as-you-go.

AND the rest of my playlist is Sara Groves. I keep meaning to tell you guys about her. I stumbled onto her on Pandora (and thank you, Ms. Kresge, for reminding me that yes, Virigina, Pandora does Christian rock, too). I bought the "Tell Me What You Know" album a couple of weeks ago, and I LOVE IT.

This song was the one that grabbed me first:

The Honour of Your Presense is Requested

Growing up in (mostly) evangelical churches (also Catholic ones-- have we talked about what a mutt I am?), I was taught that there was nothing too big or small to pray for, nothing God might not do. Anything could happen when you prayed. I prayed over all kinds of things. Later, I was taught by an Episcopal priest that either God loves us, or God is omnipotent, but there's too much suffering in the world for both to be true. I tried to receive and share God's love, but I stopped asking for help in tough situations.

I've gone back to praying about everything. First of all: WOW, does that feel better.

But I've wondered-- what can God really do? I believe in free will, I don't think that God overrides our decisions and turns us into little robots. What I've landed on, instead, is that God is continually offering invitations. God doesn't control, but God invites, and those invitations are powerful. I've thought in terms of God's invitations to me for years now (what else is spiritual direction about?!), but somehow I hadn't taken that next logical step of finding hope in God's invitations to everyone.

A loved one has suffered from mental illness for many years. She will not, or cannot, see how her behavior, her rage and her recklessness, affects her family. I don't believe that God will magically cure the illness overnight, but when I believe that God is offering invitations to her (and will not stop offering them), I finally have hope that there might be healing.

A couple does not know how to love their son, and in fact might not know what love is at all. The invitations keep coming, though.

I believe God works like a loving parent who stands across the room, arms open wide, waiting for a child's first steps. I don't believe God forces us, shoves us, holds puppet strings. Our job, then, is to listen for the invitations, accept them as they come, and rest in the confidence that others are being invited, too.

Wednesday Prayers: Using the Scraps

Last weekend, I spent a wonderful day with a handful of people whom I enjoy very much... and realized how crabby I've become. As an antidote to that, I decided to return to an old practice-- using a rosary by letting each bead be a person I'm holding in prayer. I noticed early on that I was praying for healing for a lot of them. There is so much to be released from, to let go of, so many discarded scraps that could pile up. But lest we believe that we have wasted years, lives even, I prayed that God use the scraps in ways that we can see. I know I need that-- when I think of struggles in marriage, struggles in family, struggles in vocation, I need to believe that God can make something good out of my messes. I need it badly.

So, if you're so inclined, you can pray for me to let go of my scraps and let God do something with them. How can I pray for you, when your bead comes around during my prayer time?

(This photo is from Film in the Fridge, which is my very, very favorite quilt eye candy.
She makes beautiful stuff.)

Wednesday Prayers: Rest

I haven't been sleeping well for the last couple of weeks, so when it came time for Wednesday Prayers, all I could think of was Compline.

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness.
-BCP, p. 133

Are you tired, too? Or feeling energized? Either way, leave a note in the comments, and I'll keep you in my prayers this week.

Wednesday Prayers (Erm... belatedly): While We're Working On Our Stuff

Loving God, you made us uniquely, deliberately forming each of us with care. You are the painter, sculptor, and composer of our selves. You imagined and brought into being our bodies, voices, and spirits. You knit us in the womb, and know the number of hairs on our heads.

Let us remember that we are your beloved children, demonstrating your divine craftsmanship. Teach us reverence for your work in us. Let us rejoice in ourselves as we do in all of your creation.

Wednesday Prayers: Friendship

I'm thinking a lot about friendship lately-- what it is and isn't, and the truth that not everyone has to be my friend. (And not everyone who says they are uses the same definition I do!) I'll be writing more about that later, I'm sure.

In the meantime, I figured we might as well pray over friendships.

May the God of love who is the source of all our affection for each other formed here on earth take our friendships into divine keeping, that they may continue and increase throughout life and beyond it, in Jesus Christ our Lord.

-William Temple
(edited for gender)

Is there anything else I can be praying about for you this week? Or do you have a friendship that needs a little extra prayer?

And just as a bonus-- I just love this old hymn. It's been a favorite since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.

The Essence of a Home

Yesterday, Mr. M got word (in what struck me as an exasperatingly vague way) that we won't be heading south to a job in the city of our incredibly beloved surrogate father/grandfather. We're both a little heartbroken. It was amazing that Mr. M got on the short list, and we got our hopes up. It was his Dream Job, and we love this octogenarian so much, and the combination made the "no" just stink on ice.

And so, we're going to be in limbo a while longer, a more indefinite limbo, without any idea of what might be next. (Yes, I know that's true for everyone-- both tragedies and joys jump out from behind the bushes all the time.) We will certainly be fine, but today is a time for mourning. Premature cheerfulness helps no one (and encouragement towards the same might get you socked in the eye).

This morning, it struck me that most of my sadness comes from not being able to make our next home. This place has always felt like temporary housing-- first because we thought I'd be heading off for seminary, but eventually because... well, have you ever just not belonged somewhere? I'm damn adaptable (heaven knows I've had enough practice), but I've never stopped feeling like the new kid in school here. (My theory is that's what happens when most people in an area have roots that go back generations.) I remember talking to my spiritual director a few months ago about how we carry a sense of "home" with us when we're accepting of who God made us to be. It's true. But I'm still yearning for a little cocoon.

We're feeling a bit like orphans, and I badly want to make us a little cozy sweet nest. (Maybe less orphans than runaways, I can't decide. Either way, it's relatively recent, basically unbloggable, and horribly sad.)

This afternoon, I thought about what makes a "home" to me. Mostly, it's hospitality. A place feels like a home to me when there are extra plates set at the table, fluffed pillows on the guest bed, laughter in the living room.

Well, I can get that going again, right? That can happen in transition.

But my heart still hurts. And I still hate our butt-ugly couch.

Wednesday Prayers: Evolving Vocation

There's a common thread in my prayers lately: an awful lot of those on my list are at pivotal vocational points:

• Leaving (or not) an academic career for the unknown.
• Losing a job, but committing more deeply to art.
• Defending a dissertation!
• Nurturing a spiritual direction practice in a new place, pastoring and bishop-ing, staying focused while committed and open to what might come.
• Looking ahead to the mystery of ordained ministry.
• Considering a new direction after a beloved institution... becomes a different environment.
• Waiting, and waiting, and waiting... to hear if the Dream Job is going to come through.
• Looking ahead into choppy chunks of time, trying to find a consistent call (and a balance with motherhood!).
  

At this moment, I am very happy with the freedom of my loosely definitely vocation. Partly because I'm not sure we can define vocation in advance (I've talked about that before). The combined effects of each day's steps-- both bold and tentative-- create each unique vocation. Even something like priesthood-- there's Kate's priesthood, and Jane's, and Stephen's, and they're all different ministries. There are commonalities, but they are not the same priesthood. No two mothers, no two wives, teachers, physicists, even! have the same approach, the same results. Rather than molding ourselves to fit a tidy vocation, we can watch our own evolve, one piece at a time. (Mind, sometimes it does look a bit like Johnny Cash's Cadillac in his "One Piece at a Time!") I'll admit that this is a particularly scary way of doing things. And I may sound like a moron at my class reunion. People like to hear linear plans.

These wonderful people on my list-- they're all doing neat things. They're asking good questions, and it's cool to watch.

All freedom seems to require courage initially. If the only way to get rid of fear is to walk straight through it (and I believe that's the case), then surely the path to our own specific call is going to take some bravery.

But take heart, dear ones! The Lord is with us! And, thank heavens, is patient with us-- "For God knows how we were made; God remembers that we are dust." (Ps.103:14)

Did you see yourself in my list? I might be praying for you. If you didn't, leave a note in the comments, and I will!

Prayer for a Meet-Up

Holy God,
Please open my heart to her,
And her heart to me,
That your love may pass between us.

Perspective (but just a little bit)

A couple of people have just behaved like hateful assholes to someone I adore. Cruel, selfish, putting him down because it's their only possible defense of their own bad behavior.

I have been fantasizing about all the mean things I could say to them. I've been so furious that my arms tingle, my head aches, and my jaw hurts from clenching my teeth.

I suspect this may be how God feels when we all, when I myself, mistreat people. Well, maybe not the name-calling and the visions of boiling oil, but definitely the anger. It's a thought that dilutes fury with humility.

But I still don't think I should talk to them right now...

Summer Academy, Last Day!

Sorry for the delay on this one-- I was tuckered out yesterday!

My thoughts from our last Spiritual Autobiography workshop:

• Ageism in terms of faith drives me totally out of my gourd. I'm really sad to hear the disrespect with which people speak about their younger selves. Mind, I'm guilty of the same damn thing.
• I have a bizarre liberal liturgical evangelical theology. It's a crazy quilt theology, but I absolutely believe that God is active in our lives.
• I feel really angry when Christians make disparaging remarks about other denominations. Seriously? Why do we need to do this? It's clearer than ever that I feel called to an ecumenical ministry. Whatever that looks like. *sigh*
  
• Clearly, I was cranky during class discussion, and not paying so much attention to the writing.
• I notice that it's not uncommon for me to learn something, not appreciate it immediately, but find more value in it later. I suspect that will be the last with the Spiritual Autobiography class. On the other hand, the instructor said that he's going to rewrite the course description, because the part that I was interested in is the part he doesn't do!
  

Last grief class:

• We talked about the importance of "continuing bonds with the deceased, moving from a relationship of presence to a relationship of memory." This makes a LOT of sense to me, and somehow seems like a kinder, more whole way to be. The old way of erasing someone from our lives seems to erase part of our lives. (I guess that's redundant, but maybe still needs to be said.)
  
• One of my favorite suggestions: when someone grieving asks, "Why?!" consider that it may be a protest, rather than a question.
  
• We learned things about child development this week that help explain why sometimes I'm slow to warm up to people (and maybe workshops).
  

I think that's it, folks.

Summer Academy Writing Assignment

I thought about including this with my bullets, but decided it deserved a whole separate post.

This assignment began with a 10 minute timed writing on "a time that we failed."

After we'd done that, we whittled our story into 40 words.

Then 30.

Then 15.

Here's mine:

Denison letterhead:
Semester home, earn return.
Amazing people expect me!
Learned other people fail, too.

I'm not sure it's powerful for other people, but I loved doing it. Try it when you've got a free 20 minutes.

Summer Academy, Day 4

• It's not taking classes that's wearing me out, nor the fact that I'm not getting home until 9:30. No, it's the fact that I'm so wound up I'm not falling asleep until midnight.
  
• My new buddy (?) and I agreed after yesterday's autobiography class: we're bored with ourselves. Tired of writing and talking about ourselves. It felt tedious on Thursday.
• I'd love to break up these classes with... volleyball? Marco Polo in a pool? Something where I can laugh and not think at all.
• I'm noticing about myself that I'm interested in conversation (out loud, in letters, even blog ones), but the one-way stories of writing... this I may not love quite as much.
• Hell is other people. When I'm being irritable, I'm a terrible snob about writing.
• Which is funny, because I'm not Tolstoy myself.
• We talked about gender differences in grief (with the understanding that they're not a rule, just sometimes the way things go). The most helpful thing I got out of this was that when men experience a loss, it may be more useful to ask, "What are the problems you're anticipating now?" rather than "how are you feeling?" This makes a lot of sense to me. I like that it's a way to start to have a conversation. By dealing with the practical rather than the emotional, we can still reach out.
• I LOVED that Prof. Frank was very clear: the things that may complicate grieving might also be the things holding a person together. Let people grieve the way they need to. Whether you think it's the "right way" or not really doesn't matter.
• Also: Grief is more spiral than linear. I'm certainly noticing this in my relationship with my mother. Some days I'm fine, some I'm not, and the triggers and uncertainties vary.
• It's not unusual around month 5 or 6 (this varies, of course), for the grievers pain to peak back up to the level it was at the very beginning. Maybe that's when it sinks in that things are not going back to "normal."

I want you to know how much I've loved sharing this week with you. I'm KICKING MYSELF for not doing the same thing with the Medicine/Spirituality conference in April (though I did a lot of writing on paper, so I may go back and see if there's anything worth sharing from that). It's meant a lot to me to have your perspectives, they've enriched my understanding.

Summer Academy, Day 3

Cats and kittens, I am WIPED. I only had Grief and Loss on Wednesday (no Autobiography), and somehow that one class was more exhausting than both.

• We're reading Viorst's Necessary Losses, which is about the losses that occur at each developmental stage, from birth to death. When I started reading it last week (before the class met), I was overwhelmed. HOLY CRAP. I did NOT get to experience those losses well, at the time. It's given words to grief I've been trying to process over the last year. A friend said to me this morning, "it's a miracle you can make attachments!" She's right. Understanding better helps me to be more patient with myself, also illuminates the path ahead. One step at a time, anyway.
  
• We talked about "disenfranchised grief," some of which comes from avoidable losses. Even when something is our choice, there's often a loss that needs to be grieved, and lots of time people do not respect this. Quitting a job, initiating a divorce, retirement, ending a relationship are all examples of this.
  
• We were reminded that, because everyone grieves in their own way, we will make mistakes when we are with grievers. We can learn from them.
• I'm exhausted, and I'm feeling tender, but I'm also feeling held. I talked to one of the women I love most in the world this morning, and was just enormously grateful to be loved back.

Summer Academy, Day 2

Thoughts from Day 2:

• I made a new friend! Maybe. At least a new running buddy, I think.
• One week of classes is not enough. It feels so good to be studying, to be engaged with other people who share my loves.
  
• It's amazing to be in two classes where a primary purpose is to share our stories. I love these opportunities to turn my flat first impressions of people into something much richer. I hear people's stories, and my heart expands to make room for them.
  
• Unfortunately, I'm so excited that I have to keep telling myself, "shutup, shutup, shutup, shutup!" to keep from babbling. I'm the verbal equivalent of an incontinent puppy.
• I love the writing class (as a group of people), but I don't love the practice, I think. I've got a regular routine of praying via journal first thing in the morning, and my non-prayer "morning pages" feel... a little lonely, honestly. If I'm going to be honest on paper, I need the comfort of bringing that honest to God.
  
• I'm FASCINATED by the grief class. (NOT, I want to be clear, in a carnival sideshow sort of way, but as something relevant to everyone, and as something I'm dealing with right now.) I kept thinking, everyone should learn these things! And then I realized, not everyone is going to learn the intricacies of loss and grief. We can't expect everyone to study this. We need people with understanding to accompany us, instead. Friends, I think this is something we're going to come back to. There's something going on here.

I had to come back and add to that last point: when I say "people with understanding," I don't mean people who have it all figured out or who will tell us what to do. I mean people who can listen, who can be with us, who can respect where we are.

Summer Academy, Day 1

There's SO MUCH to process after my first day of Lancaster Theological Seminary's summer academy. It's my second session there-- I went the summer of '07, and the contrasts between then and now are striking. Not in the program, but in me.

Because there's so very much to process, and because in the past that's gotten in the way of my sharing anything at all, we're going with bullet points this week. (I spent a week in Ohio in August, and another in April, and both of them were profound times of formation. I still want to write about them.)

Here we go:

• I'm taking a workshop on Spiritual Autobiography, and a class on Living with Loss/Grieving.
• There are TWO people that I know and enjoy in my classes! It's a small world of ministry in Lancaster County, and I'm so happy to run into these two.
• Intensive writing and paying attention to loss is going to make for an emotional week, I think. I've packed a handkerchief in my bag.
• There is some serious grace being doled out to me. One of the two people I've run into is a warm, kind pastor of a UCC church that I worshiped with briefly after resigning the process. There's no other way to say it: I've been scared of ordained ministers since I resigned. In light of that, his gentleness and encouragement have been a real blessing. Especially since I didn't join his congregation.
• I really love being in class, talking about the things that matter most to me. The grief class is a great blend of cerebral and personal.
• I think I'm an anomaly: apparently, most people feel more comfortable writing in plain, cheap notebooks. I love pretty journals, lovely pens. I'm not intimidated by them, I find them inviting. I like nice tools--even for the messy stuff.
• I may be more comfortable writing than most.
• Our Loss/Grief prof: "Certain events in our lives have not been dignified with recognition." Well, how powerful is that?! I thought of some right away, truths that we didn't want to dignify, but they were still important. This got me thinking about liturgy, which I've always loved. I've been a bit rigid about liturgy (in fairness, some of this is because I think it's so important), and when I thought about it as commemoration of events, I could see the possibility of more flexibility. I remember learning that a Church of the Brethren pastor and spiritual director held a service of blessing and release to a directee who'd been called to Episcopal priesthood (she'd worshipped in both denominations). Wouldn't it be great to honor those who discern calls out of things?
• "What we grieve tells us what we love." Well, absolutely. But think about it. Because there are a lot of layers in that one.
• Losses and gains are interrelated, but only the griever has a right to name any gifts that might come through grief.

That's it for now, friends, but that's a lot!

Wednesday Prayers: Timelines

Isn't she lovely? I took this picture this morning. I like a rose that decides to bloom when the temperature shoots into the triple-digits.

I quit my day job almost exactly a year ago, and in the months since then, the timeline-based vocational expectations I had have been blown apart. I've grown more in this year without business plans, checklists, and rubrics than I would have believed possible. This is the first time in my life that I've taken things as they've come-- a conference here, a class there. It's been peaceful and expansive (hopefully not in the tedious sense), all at the same time. I've been open to leadings, and they've been much better formation than the times I've had to contort myself to try to fit.

And since I've been able to practice and learn from this vocationally, one would think it would be simple and natural to take that same flexibility and apply it to other parts of my life.

AHAHAHAHAHAHA! *wipes eyes*

So, this week my prayer is to apply the same patience to my personal life that I have to my vocational one.

How about you? Are you praying to tread more lightly, or do you need help plunging ahead? Maybe some of both? Let me know, and I'll pray for you, too!

Totes!

A few years ago, Mr. M and I switched to canvas shopping bags. I LOVE them-- partly because they feel more ecologically responsible, but also because they're much more comfortable for me to carry (and you'd laugh at the lengths I go to in order to only take one trip into the house with groceries). I always remember to grab the bag o' bags for the weekly grocery shopping, but sometimes I have to run a quick errand and have left the bags at home. More often than not I tell the clerk that I don't want a bag, but that's not always convenient.

SO, since we didn't have enough bags to leave a couple extra in the car, I headed to my local fabric store. One day of sewing + 2 yards of upholstery-weight fabric ($7 on clearance!), and we now have four new totes! And they're cute! And I didn't use a pattern at all, just winged it! Very exciting. So, two in each car, and I'm ready to... well, head to the bookstore tomorrow (because I have to pick up my reading for Lancaster Theological Seminary's Summer Academy).

Independence Day

Altar Ego made a great little list of things she loves about our country, and I liked it so much I decided to do the same.

In random order:

1. Peach Pie
2. The Bill of Rights
3. Pork BBQ Sandwiches
4. Cowboys, and their Boots
5. The OSU/Michigan Game
6. Washington, DC
7. Rahm Emanuel
8. Springsteen
9. The USMC Silent Drill Team
10. National Public Radio

TA-DA!

At the eleventh hour, then news has come: Mr. M isn't being laid off. Budgets are being cut instead of staff.

WOOHOO!!!

Wednesday Prayers: Simple Pleasures Edition

This week, we've been wondering if Mr. M will still have a job by Friday. In the midst of worries about layoffs, Mr. M took a little walk into the woods behind his office... and found BERRIES.

Whenever I imagine it, an old Peanuts strip comes to mind. Anyone remember the one where Snoopy kicks his bowl in a fit of pique, but then can't get it because he's afraid of the neighbor cat? In the last panel, his cheeks are stuffed with berries, and that's EXACTLY what I think has been going on. I have good reason to think it, too-- when berries are ripe on our favorite rail trail, I can count on running alone for long, vine-filled stretches. Because Mr. M is snacking.

*snort*

Still, it's a nice thing to have humor (and woods, and berries) in the middle of uncertainty, and I'm praising God today for the sweet surprises.

How about you? Are you lifting up sweetness or carrying something saltier? How can I pray with you?

A Little Glimpse

The good news: this is the lovely view on one of my regular runs.
The bad new? The run starts and ends at the bottom of the hill

Wednesday Prayers: Potluck Edition

These odds and ends are in my prayers this week:

• Mr. M might have fractured his hand. He's getting an x-ray now. He whacked the bejesus out of it a couple weeks ago, and finally went to the doctor today.
• An article in our local paper let us know that Mr. M's employer plans to cut a number of jobs. Of the kind of employee that Mr. M is. They'll decide at the end of June. For the fiscal year starting July 1.
• One the other hand, there was a beautiful heron hanging out by a local pond yesterday, saw it twice. Felt very grateful for the privilege of watching it get dinner.
• I'm taking one major unbloggable situation and, at least for this week, shutting out all outside information, and just praying about it. It's been incredibly helpful. Among other things, I'm knowing God in ways that never occurred to me.
  

Despite some pretty big stressors, I'm doing really well. I'm grateful for all the prayers, and I'm feeling a good bit of peace. Thanks, friends.

And you? What's your motley casserole of prayers this week?

Gratitude for Fear

About a week ago, I wrote about not letting fear run the house. I didn't elaborate on something, and it's too glaring an omission to let go.

While sometimes our fear is disproportionate to the situation (and perhaps would be better called anxiety), there is holy fear that takes care of us. There is fear that is a Great Big Neon Sign and we would do well to respect it. One of the best things I've ever read on this is Gavin de Becker's The Gift of Fear, and I can't recommend it highly enough. A great point de Becker makes is that we shouldn't dismiss our intuition as irrational. Usually, our intuition is an understanding of facts and clues that didn't consciously register-- but they're still concrete evidence.

The tricky thing about real fear (as opposed to anxiety, insecurity, etc.) is that the only way to know for sure whether we're right is to ignore it. We won't get a postcard in the mail saying, "Congratulations! That dark alley really was unsafe! Good job!" We will, however, have confirmation that our intuition was right when we meet the shady character in the alley we decided to risk going down.

A lovely Navy chaplain once asked my mother, "if you thought of your gut feeling as the Holy Spirit's guidance, would you be more likely to listen to it?"

This is a really difficult subject for me right now, because my fear is saying one thing, and my sense of obligation is saying another. My fear is shouting about one course of action, and if I take it I'll lose something I've hoped for. Though that does make me think of missionary martyr Jim Elliot again-- "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

Blessings From My Morning Run

• Getting up and going. Any day I manage to crate the dog and go for a run, especially by myself, is awesome.
  
• An honest-to-goodness bluebird. Definitely not a bluejay. Gorgeous.
• The gentleman who doffed his cap when he said good morning. I was completely charmed.
• Everyone I passed said good morning.
• Including the team of cyclists. Adorable.
• The calico cat sleeping in a window.
• The ginger cat in another window.
• Jerron Niemann's "Lover, Lover" running through my head, keeping my pace.

Obedience School

Last night, I was talking to a wonderful man who hasn't been able to make some of the changes in his life that he really wants to. His fear has been getting in the way. As he talked about his situation, I began to imagine his fear as a big, clumsy dog galloping through his home. The dog wasn't mean, or bad, it just needed its master to set some limits. In fact, it wants limits-- it will be less anxious if it knows where it's allowed to go, and what the rules are. The dog, Fear, needs discipline and consistency. Have you ever watched The Dog Whisperer? I saw one episode, and knew right away the dog is never the problem: that poor Cesar Milan has to train PEOPLE!

I pictured the man as a child, when the dog was as big as he was. The dog was overwhelming then! It could push him over! And none of the adults in the house handled his Fear. The man's an adult now, and he can handle Fear, but it's only just starting to occur to him that he's bigger than the puppy now.

Then I thought about the dog I haven't trained properly. I think it's a spoiled Chihauhau. It yaps an awful lot, and tends to get riled up and nip my ankles. I need to learn to ignore it when it's acting up, but I also need to learn to praise it when it's doing it's job. Because it's a good dog. It loves me, and watches out for me. It just needs to be corrected when it's over-vigilant. Sometimes, it needs to stop pacing (and I need to crate it).

What kind of dog is your fear? How do you need to train it?

Wednesday Prayers: For Courage

I'm struggling with an unbloggable situation, and as I've been holding a few friends in the Light, I realize we're all sharing one common need: courage. A specific kind of loving courage. One that lets us take care of ourselves.

Some of us have been discouraged from doing that. Some of us have been taught to take care of others, even when the other can't or doesn't care for us. Sometimes the "other" that acts against us is another person, and sometimes it's the nagging voice of shame, telling us we're less than we really are.

Loving God, who gathers us as a hen gathers her brood:
May your nurturing teach us who we are,
May your gentleness show us our value,
May your constancy give us strength,
And may your affection and guidance bring us peace in the midst of conflict.

Is there anything for which you need courage this week? Are there any prayers I can lift for you?

Considering a Decision

Loving God of Justice and of Mercy;

Show us when to shake the dust from our feet in Your Name, turning our backs on hypocrisy and oppression, shame and abuse,
And when to stay, invited to be transformed through your limitless healing.

Show us how to love those who answer both calls, to respect their obedience to you.

Give us the integrity to act and speak at all times only as you bid us, not as we, led by ego and insecurity, might do.

And in the midst of discernments, teach us to love both the shaming and the shamed, the abuser and the abused, knowing that each of us is both.

Wednesday Prayers: Keeping Body and Spirit Together

No, this isn't about food (though many of you know I'm usually an excellent eater). Nope, in my prayers today I'm thinking about our tendency to try to divorce our bodies from our spirits-- nurturing one, while denying the other. It's not a separation that works for me.

Mr. M and I have recently started lifting weights together. We'd talked about it for a while, and both finally got up the nerve to join the big burly guys at our gym. (Ever notice how much gender segregation there is at your fitness club? Men by the free weights, women on the cardio machines?)

I've run for a while, and practiced yoga for a while, but lifting is giving me a new perspective on what the body that God created for me can do. It's interesting to discover which parts started out stronger (my calves), and which ones are only beginning to develop strength (my biceps). We could easily make a metaphor about exercising spiritual gifts and practices, and taking inventory of the places we're called to grow, but I want to leave that alone today. I want to pay attention to the way our bodies are uniquely precious. I believe it's holy to celebrate them, use them, thank God for them, and listen to them. They do tell us things about our spirit (why do my arms tingle when I'm overwhelmed?!), but they can be speak for themselves, too.

Some of us have felt (I know I have) like only one part of our bodies defined us (he's bald, her nose is crooked, they have bellies). That's so rarely a positive experience-- even when the attribute is being praised! If we don't want one part of our body to define the whole to the exclusion of the rest, it doesn't seem that we should let our spirits define our selves to the exclusion of our bodies. I believe in wholeness.

So this week, my prayer is gratitude for physicality. I've got a cranky iliotibial band and a hamstring that I have to keep an eye on, but I'm so glad to run, to laugh with giggles that shake all of me, to pet the cats, to hold my friends. I'm glad to have a face that I can scrunch up in concentration, cold toes to slide under my husband, knees to kneel during confession. Thanks be to the God of our bodies.

I'll be giving thanks for your whole selves this week, too. Your fingers that tap keyboards, your hands that garden and sauder and stir stew, your feet that jazzercise, your arms that lift babies, your feet that drive cars, your ears that hear birds, your vocal cords that vibrate, your hearts that swish oxygen through you. I'll be happy to offer thanksgiving or supplication for anything else, too, if you let me know what you need!

Wednesday Prayers: Light in the Rearview Mirror

I was talking to an old college friend a couple of months ago, and she said to me (about a particularly difficult time in my life) something about my wishing I'd never gone through the whole thing.

I was caught entirely off guard. I'd never felt that way. There were times, in the midst of it, that I wished it was going differently, but it never occurred to me to wish it hadn't happened. There were good pieces and bad, but the things I discovered in myself during the difficult pieces were invaluable. I feel sturdier now, I know myself better, trust myself more, and have more peace.

In addition to those perks, I also have more confidence in God. I look back on two specific phases in my life that were unusually hard, and in retrospect, can see God in them. I could not, necessarily, at the time. Now I feel like I can anticipate that hindsight (did you follow that?), which may help to carry me through other hard times when I don't see God.

I talked to my spiritual director about this yesterday morning, and then later in the day found this poem:

We travellers, walking toward the sun, can't see
Ahead, but looking back the very light
That blinded us shows us the way we came,
Along which blessings now appear, risen
As if from sightlessness to sight, and we
By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward
That blessed light that yet to us is dark.
-Wendell Berry, from Given

Isn't that gorgeous? The more I read it, the more joy it brings me.

So, I'm feeling good about what lies behind, but would still like prayers for discernment-- not so much for the big picture of what lies ahead, but one-day-at-a-time discernment, the kind that keeps me close to God in each moment. I'd love your prayers for me in that.

Are there any ways that you need prayers to keep you "going toward that blessed light that yet to us is dark?"

Zippy Pouch!

I finally made something with a zipper (instructions from Stitch magazine)! It is... erm... imperfect, but lately I'm embracing imperfection.

I Can't Imagine

Mother's Day is this weekend, and it has me thinking about a number of different women in my life-- none of whom are likely to have an easy time with the holiday this year.

A college friend lost her mother suddenly in January.

A really wonderful blogger lost her son a year and a half ago.

My favorite girlfriend's mother lost her husband last fall.

Another college girlfriend lost her mother back when we were in school, and still grieves.

My husband struggles with the mothers in his life.

I love my mother, and am trying to live with some extraordinarily difficult things in our relationship.

Another blogger struggles with her relationship with her son, which is nothing like what she expected.

A friend from a former congregation still grieves not being able to have children.

Another friend has shared about her experience with the "mommy wars," and how hurtful women can be to one another about their mothering choices.

One of my oldest friends isn't in contact with her mother, after years of emotional abuse. She struggles with that absence, and also with the hostility with which people react to her estrangement.

This is not an easy holiday, and it reminds me of something one of my favorite bloggers writes about. She hates when she shares about her family's tragedy, and someone says, "Oh, I can't imagine what that's like for you." For the longest time, I couldn't understand why this was so upsetting to her. After all, I don't want to presume that I do know what she's feeling! And, because I respect her so much, I sat with the idea during my quiet time one day. Praying with it was like having a dam burst open-- I felt like the words delivered a huge wave of isolation, condescension, pity. "I can't imagine" suddenly struck me as code for "that sort of thing couldn't exist in my reality, it doesn't happen to people like me." I've had some experience with that. There are wounds in my own family that carry stigma, and people don't want to be able to relate, they don't want to imagine that the grime and the pain could touch them.

On this Mother's Day Eve, I'm holding all these people listed (and more) in God's light. It's a weekend of deep and ongoing prayer for me. There is a great need for tenderness and nurturing right now. Will you join me in my vigil?

Some Small Thoughts on Meditation

A lovely woman I know wants to learn more about meditation, and that has me thinking about my own practice. I thought I'd share some of the bits and pieces that I've cobbled together over the years. It doesn't make up a totally orthodox whole of any kind, but it's valuable to me. Some parts I've gotten from books, others from classes and teachers, and still others simply through the practice itself.

• Meditation (or "quiet time" as I call mine, given that it's a generally a blend of meditation and prayer) is hard. It looks like doing nothing, but it's unfamiliar. Most of us are unaccustomed to silence. Some of us (most? all?) are afraid of what might arise in us when we sit down without distractions. If only in this one area, this is the place to be gentle and patient with ourselves.
• It helps to start small. Whether starting for the first time, or picking back up after a long hiatus, it's nice to start with about 5 minutes. One can always add more time. This is exactly the kind of thing where being respectful of where I really am in my life, instead of where I wish I was is important.
• I learned very early on that it can be very difficult for me to take quiet time for myself when there are other people home. This tends to be true for women, for caretakers, and for extroverts. I also learned that a parked car by a lake or stream can be a great alternative.
• I like to set a timer. I'm pretty compulsive about time, and this helps me to let go of the need to check up on myself. If it's the kind that ticks, I put it in a drawer or cupboard so that I only hear the "Ding!"
• I sit either in a comfortable chair, with both feet on the ground, or else on the floor, with my legs crossed in front of me. I like to hold my hands palms-up, as I discovered in yoga that it's a more open position than hands-down. (A little secret: I do this when I'm listening to people, too. It helps me remember to be open to them, and to let myself be open.)
• Breathing is so simple that, like much of what happens during quiet time, it's easy to underestimate. Just noticing breath, paying attention to it, helps us to be present (which is what we hope for-- present to ourselves, present to the divine).
• I store up emotions in all kinds of places. When I'm angry but feel powerless, my arms tingle. When I'm scared, I often tuck my thumbs into my fists. When I feel very peaceful, my hips feel heavy, like they're rooted in the floor. When I sit down for quiet time, I like to mentally scan my body, looking for tension and relaxing where I find it. I start at the top of my head, and work down slowly to my feet. Clenched places for me tend to be my forehead, my shoulders, my arms, my tongue. This varies for everyone.
• Once I've done a body scan and am paying attention to my breathing, other thoughts will come to mind. That's OK, of course that happens! But it's good to be able to let those thoughts drift by, floating past like a cloud, or a leaf in a stream. If they're worries, we can address them later (provided the house isn't on fire!). This time is a special gift where there's no need to "fix" anything. (I know I'm guilty of thinking that by investing the energy of worry, I'm "fixing" things. It's not true, but it's taking me a long time to unlearn.)
• Sometimes thoughts of clarity or insight come during quiet time, but it's good to let those drift by, too. If I need them, I remember them. I don't need to scurry like a squirrel, hoarding wisdom for winter.
• In addition to focusing on breath, sometimes I sit with a word, a small phrase, or an image. I often think of God's love as a particular color of light, and I'll sit for my time, picturing myself surrounded by that light. Other times, if someone has been on my mind, I'll picture them in that light. Any word can be used-- "peace" or "love" are often suggested, but I've found that the word I'm led to sit with can be surprising. It's good to trust God and myself enough to sit with an unexpected word. There have been times I use one word on my inhale, and another on my exhale-- "worry" out and "trust" in is a pair I often return to.
• In the beginning, I needed solitude and NO DISTRACTIONS for quiet time. Now, I find myself taking it in odd places-- in the doctor's waiting room, in a long line at the grocery store. I've found so much joy in being present in those common places.
  
• One last point-- it's not always going to "work." I have to respect where I am, and not try to wrestle myself to get quiet. For me, it's best to let go before frustration takes over, and return to try again later.

I'm sure I've left things out--these are just some initial thoughts.

Short Love Stories

I'm re-reading Robert Fulghum's Uh-Oh, and there's a brief chapter on "Short Love Stories." I'm such a sucker for this kind of thing. You know what I mean-- a brief connection in a coffee shop with a stranger, a shared laugh in the produce aisle. They're the "ships passing in the night" moments. They don't undermine our real relationships, they just make life a little sweeter. We can't always tell these stories, and there are some people who don't understand that they're simultaneously precious and innocuous. Here are some wee examples of my own:

• I moved to Bethesda, MD in January of my junior year of high school. I walked through downtown each morning on my way to school, using saying hello to the people I passed. On Valentine's Day that winter, a young man was waiting on a corner with a flower. We'd said hello a couple of times, and it turned out he was waiting for ME! Of course, we quickly sorted out that he was in college and I was 16, but it was a charming introduction to my new home.

• The sweet middle school saxophone player who said I looked like a gypsy. (To my 8th grade self, that was a compliment.)

• The handsome toll booth worker who laughed and teased me about getting lost, and showed me where to make a U-turn.
  

There's a whole subcatagory of country music about this-- my favorite being Conway Twitty's "Tight-Fittin' Jeans," but there are many.

Can I hear your little love stories?

Prayer Request Wednesday: Lighthearted Edition

Today is Administrative Professionals Day, and I am thrilled by that. I was a terrible secretary, and I am truly giving thanks not to be one anymore.

Can I pass on any of your gratitude, as well? Or offer any other prayers on your behalf?

Wednesday Prayer Requests: Separation

I'm leaving in about an hour to head for Ohio for a couple of days. As much as I'm looking forward to seeing people I love (and even to having wonderful time on my own on the road), I know that when bedtime comes, I'll really miss having Mr. M next to me (how else am I going to jabber myself to sleep?!). It's just a short trip, though, so I'll be fine.

Actually, I have to confess to you that whenever I'm away from a loved one (Mr. M, my mom, even the cats), I worry that Something Bad Will Happen to them while I'm gone. Eventually, that will be true, of course, because that's how life is. In the meantime, the fear isn't productive, and I hope to have a sense that even when Something Bad Happens, God will still be with me (and with those I love). So, peace during my travels is my prayer request today. What's yours?

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, ³⁹nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. -Romans 8:38-39

Saturday Prayer: Wonder

Almighty and everlasting God, you made the universe with all its marvelous order, its atoms, worlds, and galaxies, and all the infinite complexity of living creatures: Grant that, as we prove the mysteries of your creation, we may come to know you more truly, and more surely fulfill our role in your eternal purpose; in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
-BCP p. 827

We're in DC this weekend, enjoying many things, but especially Mr. M's birthday. As I contemplate the "infinite complexity" of my wonderful husband, I have to celebrate his Creator as well.

April is Alcohol Awareness Month

A good friend made this point on Facebook, and provided a link with helpful information.

I'd like to put my two cents in, too. A lot of people are familiar with Alcoholics Anonymous, but I'm not sure that Al-Anon, the support group for friends and family of alcoholics, is quite as famous. Al-Anon is a great group to help you grow, regardless of whether or not the alcoholic in your life is drinking. When we live with or regularly deal with alcoholics, when we were raised by them, when we're attached to them in any way, we learn behaviors that aren't healthy. Those are our behaviors. Even if the alcoholic gets sober and makes better choices, we still have to learn new, healthy behaviors for ourselves. And we need love, support, and guidance to do it. Al-Anon is a great place for that.

And in fact, you don't always have to live with the alcoholic directly. My father is, as I understand things, a practicing alcoholic. My maternal grandfather is dry, though probably not actually in recovery. I don't live with either of them. I haven't lived with my father since I was 5-- but here's my point: the coping mechanisms that people use to get by in an alcoholic home are no longer useful outside of it-- but they still get passed on. Sometimes the things that save you in a crisis handicap you in "normal" life. And even though I didn't grow up around someone who was abusing alcohol, I still learned the crisis behaviors. I am IMMENSELY GRATEFUL, for wonderful women in Al-Anon who befriended me when I was a teenager. I think they gave me the best parts of my life. They confirmed that some family behavior was crazy, they were my cheerleaders, and they really saved my life-- the great life I have today. Without them, I would have had an entirely different life-- one that I don't particularly like to think about. When I think about God's hand in my life, I see their faces.

_______________________________________
Also, I'd like to pass this on. Mr. Craig Ferguson, who won my undying love when he interviewed Archbishop Tutu, has shared a little about his experience with alcohol here:

Wednesday Prayers: Rent-Free Space

So, I guess there are going to be Wednesday prayers and Saturday ones. That's a good thing.

Today I'm thinking of a phrase from Roger Ebert, ""Resentment is allowing someone to live rent-free in a room in your head." I think that's true anytime we choose to meditate (because what else is it when we turn things over and over in our minds?) on things we can't control. I'd rather meditate of God, and on love, and on hope.

This week, my prayer is to let go, and to understand how to keep letting go. (That is so often my prayer-- though also not often enough, because if I were focusing on that I wouldn't have the energy and attention to focus on the things I can't control!) I'll level with you: I have a family member who's suffered from mental illness for a long time, and I'm trying to figure out how on earth to let go of some of that situation. It's been so good to know that loved ones have carried me in their prayers; I still really need it.

How about you? What's rattling around in your prayers this week?

From the Tomb

A couple of years ago, at Lancaster Theological Seminary's Summer Academy, I took a Liturgical Art class. That, combined with the Lectio Divina I've been doing lately, has created a new practice for me. I'm calling it Lectio Embroidery.

My first piece I took from Matthew 28, and ended up focused specifically on verses 1 and 6:
After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb...He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. I sat and I prayed, and then I took out a pad and some colored pencils, and began to sketch.

At dawn on the first day of the week.
Come and see the place where he lay.

Come and see the place where he lay? Go into the tomb? And as I prayed, I meditated on Easter morning from within the tomb. It's a completely new perspective for me.

Jesus, looking out at a new day, looking out from the tomb, experiencing resurrection!

The women, in the fresh light, experiencing resurrection!

And also me, looking for hope that must come from God, anticipating resurrection.
All of us, buried with Christ in baptism, looking out from the tomb.

The Lord is risen, dear ones.

Holy Saturday Prayers

As we wait for Easter:

In times of despair, O God, rain showers of gentleness upon us, that we may be kindly to one another and also to ourselves. Renew in us the spirit of hope. Even in the depths of the darkness, may we hear the approach of the One who harrows hell and greets even Judas with a kiss. -Jim Cotter

How can I pray for you during the darkness?

Wednesday has moved!

To Saturday. I should have let you know before Wednesday came and went, but prayers on now on Saturdays.