this moment

There's a lovely blogger who posts "this moment" every Friday.  

It's a beautiful, special moment from the week captured in a pretty photo.  

My week has been a little less than lovely.

Probably the best "moment" was leaving the attorney's office, empowered with more information about how to proceed in my divorce.  It's been a pretty heavy week.  I'm grateful for the support of family and a few friends, yet I still feel like I'm carrying this heaviness, this divorce, on my own.  I'm ready for this week to be over. I'm eager for this divorce to be done but there are more steps, more weeks of carrying the heaviness, before me.

We're heading into mediation next.  Will that lessen this load?  Give me a sense of sharing the burden with at least the mediator if not also with my ex?  Make it our journey rather than my fatigued stumbling?  

I used to know how to slow myself down and pace myself in accordance with the energy that I possessed.  But not this week.  My job, my son, my home requires energy, focus, and emotion I don't currently possess and all I perceive is the dissonance.  

I trust that there is relief, peace, loveliness on the other side of this.  

For now, in this moment, this is where I am. 

I am sad… that Little N has Autism

We had an important meeting this week at Little N's school.  It was his Special Ed reevaluation and Individualized Education Plan meeting where the school psychologist and Little N's teacher and in-school therapists discuss his current scores on their examinations of him with us, his parents.  We also planned the goals for his next year of school.  It was an in-my-face discussion of all the places where Little N continues to fall behind peers his age.

I was anxious and preoccupied leading up to the meeting.  When we first received the notice for reevaluation I was nervous.  Little N was thriving in the Special Ed class, what if they wanted to pull him out of it! Then we received his report card.  Little N was scoring below average in most areas of the report.  What if he never got out of Special Ed?  What if he could never hold a job, make friends, offer compassion to someone… the fears and questions took over.

During the meeting, I took notes on all of Little N's challenges.  They are painful to me.  It's as if Autism gets in his way of being him.  But then I also try to be pro-Neurodiversity.  I try to acknowledge and accept and advocate that there are many ways of being, perceiving, and expressing oneself in the world.  We've got a smattering of typical, acceptable ways to be in society but kids like Little N reveal more of what's possible.  Autism doesn't necessarily get in the way of him being him; it's part of him being him and part of what he offers his family, classmates, teachers, future employers, and all the folks that come in contact with him.

I put a good face on it on Facebook.  And it was a good meeting.  Little N is a joy to work with.  Each one of the experts in the room repeated that in one form or another.  They enjoy working with him.  He's eager, playful, fun, retains what he's learned, makes excellent progress.  And... he scores below average on all of their tests.

I brought all of this to my much-loved therapist.  "I'm sad," I told her.  She murmured understanding.  Then she asked me, "How sad do you feel?"  I couldn't answer.  I need time to sit with myself and just feel all the emotions tangled up in my son's Autism.  She could have said, "It's not all about you."  But she didn't.  Because my feelings about my son's challenges are about me.  I'm allowed to feel sad sometimes, even as I get to be encouraging and curious and supportive a lot of the time.

I have some sense of where the sadness comes from.  My grief that the perfect, typical boy I thought I had is gone, along with all my unarticulated dreams and expectations for him.  My memory of the close relationship between grades and self esteem: A means I'm awesome, D means I'm dumb.  What could "below average" possibly mean in that matrix?   My fear of the world out there, of cliques and cruelty, where there is very little room for someone different.  My pervasive doubt that I can in any way equip him for that world and the challenges that await him there.

It was a good meeting.  Little N is a joy, to me and to his team.  He is making progress that all of us can see and celebrate.  Someday he will be mainstreamed into a general ed classroom.  I have reinforcements in the form of his team, and even those dreaded reports, to help me teach him the tools he needs for the days ahead.  All of this is true at the same time that my sadness is true.

Whole30 Day 1 & 2

Here is some of what I ate on Day 1 of my Whole30.

I ate a lot!  Apples, almonds, sugar snap peas, a yam, green tea, boiled eggs, steamed asparagus, delicata squash, sautéed kale with pepper, onion, & garlic.  More green tea.  Melon, banana.

I noticed a couple of things:

1) I was heavy on the fruit.  Cuz I am heavy on SWEETS!  So I'm glad to have recognized that early in the month and start adding more veggies immediately.

2) I depend on food to manage my emotions - in a not-healthful way.  Now all my comfort foods (and addictions - goodbye cigarettes, goodbye gum) are stripped away leaving me alone with how I feel.  Sometimes I feel great, so there's that.  Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, alone, not-quite-good-enough, sad, grieving, pissed off, bored... and these are the times when having a handy helping of ______________ (insert comfort food) would seem to make a difference.  Instead I get to sit with my feelings - through a work day, or doing chores at home, or putting Little N to bed, or in those few hours alone while I have childcare.

What to do with all of these feelings?  Write about them.  Move them - dance, jog, walk, yoga.  Illustrate them - paint, collage, doodle.  Talk about them - call or email a friend.

Here I am on Day 2 (today!)

Ooooh, so dramatic!  But really it's just that I'm under an umbrella in a classic Seattle grey rainy morning waiting for the bus.  And sort of feeling under the weather as well.  In fact, I nearly went home "sick."

I felt lousy this morning.  Exhausted and achey all over my entire body.  As if I'd done some kind of cross-fit power lifting workout the likes of which I have no plans to ever do.  I've been sipping on green tea non-stop but it seems to lack the punch of my usual 4-6 (I know, I KNOW) cups of coffee with milk.  I broke down and hit up the local food co-op for some unsweetened coconut milk and dumped some into a hot cup of coffee.  Not Awesome.  But better than black coffee or no coffee at all.  I am awake again!  I can think again!  My body does not ache any more.

Here's what I'm noticing:

1) I am WAY addicted to coffee.  I'm not sure what I want to do about that right now.  I expect that I'll try to cut back; 4-6 cups does seem excessive, especially since I'm also taking Adderall twice a day which is another stimulant.

2) Moving my body helps everything.  Today I walked to and from and appointment just over a mile from where I work.  Walking there, with my "sick" aching body was slow and difficult but it also worked out some of the stiffness.  The walk back was much smoother and a little quicker pace.  So I have some movement goals for this month: Walk to the office from a far bus stop 5 mornings/week (1.2 miles), jog/walk at lunch 5 days a week (2 miles), practice yoga 3 mornings per week (30 minutes).

The first week is supposed to be the hardest.  Most exhausting, achey, craving week of the 30 days.  If I can keep noticing what's working and what's not along the way, I think I've got a chance at making it the entire month.  Up for tonight - more cooking - protein and produce.

last night

This is me, last night.  So I just want to own, out loud, here and now, that the single mom gig has caught up to me.  It's hectic and exhausting and one night this week I actually had second thoughts about separating from L because Little N was being So Very Challenging with a wild meltdown tantrum.  These days are hectic.  These days are hard.  These days my emotions are showing up as stress, anxiety, and something like sadness.  Not all day every day.  And not enough to change course.  Only as part of this transition phase.  I stand by the decision to separate from L.  I stand by forging a renewed bond with Little N.  I stand by my independence and sanity and hope for a better place for me and Little N.

self portrait Saturday: hard feelings

The hard feelings have settled in. Not hard feelings in the sense of vindictiveness or judgment between me and L.  But hard feelings in terms of feelings that are hard to accept, hard to sit with, feelings that are hard for me to let myself feel. Worry. Doubt. Sadness. Loss. Grief. Anger. Disappointment.  I twist and distract myself away from them.  I overeat.  I smoke.  I make smalltalk.  My mind jumps around and I fidget. 

And then I notice that I've drifted from the very me I want to be.  The very me that much of this divorce and transition is for.  Why make these changes other than to be and to give Little N two whole, engaged, loving individuals for parents - even if they cannot live together.  What I mean is, I want to be wholly me, wholly engaged, with my values and emotions and all of me present and participating in this life.  I want the same for L and for Little N.  As a couple, right now L and I are holding each other back.  And when I refuse and resist my own feelings I am holding myself back.

So while Little N played at the park last night I sat on the grass and journaled.  I tried to recognize each of the hard feelings and give a little attention to how they felt.  I feel sad - to break up our little pod, to have failed in marriage, to shake up Little N's world.  I feel afraid - what if I can't make it on my own,  what if I suck as a single mom.  I feel lonely - I don't have a partner, my friends and family are far away.  It was an uncomfortable exercise.

The hard feelings and the happy hopeful feelings are all equally true.  I am all of them.  They are all due the time and attention to be felt.  And in feeling all of them I am more true, more whole and engaged, more me.  That's what Little N and I both need me to be.

self portrait Saturday: entering the changes

"We never see things changing, we only see them ending"

-Slide, Ani DiFranco

I'm very much practicing a vision that sees things are changing, not ending.  Composting my relationship with L so that some new fertile earth can develop to help us grow up Little N.  Imagining a new home life for me and the kiddo.  Asking questions about what I'll need to support me, to support our family, in all kinds ways, after L moves out.  Recognizing sources of kindness, company, and love that I hadn't previously perceived.  Concerned about all the steps and the questions to be resolved.  Grieving, already, the unified pod that our little family once was.  Excited for a new beginning.  

In classic Jenni fashion, I'm marking this time with symbols.  I've replaced my wedding rings with a large Moonstone ring.  It was a gift to myself that I picked up when I started taking my therapy and treatment for depression more sincerely and seriously.  Only now has it found a home on my left hand.  And I've shaved my head.  I love how it feels though I understand that it can be startling to look at.  It's a fresh start.  (Plus... L never likes it when I cut my hair short.  Now I can do it without anyone's grumbles.)

Maybe the best part of this transition period is feeling freer.  As the habits, compromises, and justifications that L and I have settled into, long cemented around us, start to crack and we each move a little more freely, they crumble a little looser.  I perceive my own senses and sensibilities again, like limbs tingling awake after long inactivity.  I remember myself.  I am renewed.  (I love how it feels though I understand that it can be startling to look at.)

self portrait Saturday: feelings & presence

"The only meaningful thing we can offer one another is love.  Not advice, not questions about our choices, not suggestions for the future, just love." Carry On, Warrior, p.197

The only meaningful thing I can offer myself right now is love.  

I've fallen into a slump this last week or so, and fallen off the wagon with most of my self care.  I'm sad.  I'm grieving.  I'm tired.  I'm lonely.  But this is different than the grey-slug-heaviness of depression.  This is feeling.  And so I'm learning to sit with the feelings.  Hello, Sadness, cup of coffee?  And then help me fold the laundry.  And maybe pause in the quiet for a few tears?  No, no tears yet?  That's ok too.  Right now isn't a time for decisions about the future or about myself.  It's a time to simply feel.  That's good work and requires me to be present company for myself.

commonplace Wednesday: Carry On, Warrior

I'm a newcomer to Glennon Doyle Melton and her blog Momastery.  A friend on Facebook shared one of her blog posts and it resonated for me.  Her book, Carry On, Warrior, is essentially a collection from the blog, with a few new pieces added as well.  I expect it's a great place to start catching up on who Glennon is and what Momastery is all about.

I'm about 60 pages in (288 pages total) and here's what stays with me - Glennon is good company for this work of family and life.  I'm not certain that a book is the best medium for her style of writing but her perspective, humor, and faith are welcomed.  Her commitment to being open and kind encourages me, nudges me, to be live an open and kind life too.  She holds a Christian faith that allows for her own discernment and discovery.  She seems not to be solely bound to the rules and mores of religious authority.  I appreciate that.

This is probably my favorite quote from the book:

I learned that in these disasters, all we can do is tell our In Case of Emergencies that their grief is real, and if it lasts forever, then we will grieve with them forever.
As far as I was able to tell during those two years, there was nothing else worth saying. It was not going to be all right, ever. Everything doesn’t happen for a decent reason. I was Sister’s In Case of Emergency and I couldn’t fix her emergency. I couldn’t do anything at all except feed her, hold her when she cried, pray angry prayers, keep showing up, and hope that time and my home and presence would offer healing.

I learned the truth of this approach to grief & comfort in the early days (years?) grieving the loss of my father.  I was comforted most by the friends who came over to just be with us.  And those well intended platitudes about the better place that dad was in or that it all happens for a reason just landed clanking and empty in my ears and on my heart.  I remember in particular that my beloved Miss G was able to fly home from college for a few days and hang out with our family.  We did ordinary things, like clean the kitchen from all the food that people kept bringing us.  We did these things together, in good company.

In the years since dad's passing, I've been near for other friends and their grief.  I hope that I've practiced what I've felt to be true.  I hope that I've given more time to showing up, bearing witness, living as good company, and grieving with them than the other things.

Life offers, holds, brings, is, a lot of grief.  Both from the blatant disasters and the subtle disintegrations.  I'm still grieving the birth of a child I didn't plan on, even though he's become the son I love dearly and fiercely.  I'm grieving all the advantages and opportunities that I've thrown away.  I'm grieving the independence I had a single child-free woman.  I grieve lost friendships and old lovers.  I think the same kinds of comfort apply to all of these kinds of grief.  It's the comfort of time and good company of friends who are just with us through it, who just keep showing up with us.

These days of job and motherhood are often lonely for me.  It's difficult to coordinate schedules to see people, once I get beyond the difficulty of reaching out in the first place.  So I sometimes grieve alone, which feels incomplete somehow, like maybe grief needs a witness to be truly met and healed.  Sometimes I stuff the grief or put it on hold.  And sometimes I find comfort in a book that comes alongside me like a friend would and says, "Yeah, me too."  For me, Carry On, Warrior is one of those books.  

self-portrait Saturday

Tonight 's reflective posting has been, well, there's a little boy in my room driving a remote control car across the floor, only after sending a Thomas the train across the bed several times, and asking for help each time Thomas crashed off of the bed and fell between the bed and the wall where little arms cannot reach.  The car attempted the same fate but just spun its wheels.  Without ceasing.  At my feet.  And there was some shrieking about how the car was broken.  Followed by "Mommy boogers!!" which is not a term of affection but a request for assistance with a very runny cold. 

Here's the abbreviated reflection:

Bonding with an infant growing into a child develops over time.  An unsteady beginning can still yield a solid loving engaged relationship.  Self-mercy.  Choice.  Attention.  Are vitally important for this to transformation and are also strengthened with time.  I am so grateful for all of this.  

Here's a little more:

They say, "Having a baby changes everything."  Yet another cliche that says it all while telling you absolutely nothing.  Getting pregnant with Little N eliminated my dreams and wishes, darkened the little budding inklings of vocation twinkling in my eye, evicted me from my body, and comprehensively set the world upside down and froze it there.  Some of this I recognized at the time, most of it I didn't understand.  These years later I'm finally regaining my center of gravity, my light and dark, my senses.  It's a different world and a different me and this little boy is part of all of it.  We have a relationship and as much as it complicates my dreams, wishes, vocation...etc. that relationship is real, whole, engaged and engaging, and a rich part of my life.  I am so grateful for all of this.

we all will be received

my turn

hi friends, we're still here and my Little N is simply thriving in preschool. he delights in playing around the other children. he's comfortable in the routine and genuinely appreciates the structure of the morning. his teacher and his speech therapist seem to especially enjoy working with him. at home he's joyfully chatty, mostly in his own language but there's a little english thrown in. he also likes to read, such that he opens a book, speaks his language from a page in it, points to some of the pictures, flips ahead, repeats... until we reach "all done!" Pick up a new book and continue.

unfortunately, I'm not half so well as he is. something about these long months of figuring out what's up with kiddo kind of drained me or maybe the effort of bracing myself sort of imploded. so I started therapy and then quit therapy and then went back to therapy. we're working well together now. she practices a different method than I've tried before and I'm surprised that it works. in any case, the therapist says this is a serious depression. she asked me, "have you ever felt this badly before?" I told her, "oh, I've been worse than this." "well, you got better then and you'll get better now." (it sounded kind & reassuring when she said it.)

so I'm moving pretty slowly these days. my brain is mush, my body is heavy, the world is grey as far as the eye can see. except for Little N. he's a bright light. we went to the library this morning and for the rest of the day he would spontaneously blurt out, "bye-bye bribrary!" pretty cute. and we had a date at a coffee shop this afternoon. he was so excited to sit in a big wooden chair and watch the traffic out the shop window. chattering away in his language. a big red fire engine went by with all its lights and sirens going! it was a good date with mommy.

Little N is blooms and long searching tendrils of green. I'm dry and dusty and due for a little pruning and tending before I'll bounce back. but I always do.

happy solstice

I'm so happy to share a post I've been working on especially for Winter Solstice. Rachelle Mee-Chapman, at Magpie Girl, invited me for a guest post at her site! I've been enjoying her writing since she was still at Monkfish Abbey. So I heartily encourage you to visit her. Here's the post...

Happy Solstice!

Winter Solstice is the day of the year with the least hours of sunlight. Six months of treading deeper into the cold and dark culminates and breaks at Solstice. Tomorrow morning, dawn will crack this shell a little earlier and with each day the light will stretch further into our lives, more muscular and sustaining morning by morning. (Until it all happens again…)

Pagans and Christians recognize very similar events on this day but from antithetical positions. For Pagans, Winter Solstice is a celebration of the sun god born again of the mother earth. For Christians, solstice corresponds with the Christmas celebration of Jesus’s birth. Pagans rejoice in the promise of heat and light that make life on Earth possible. Christians claim prophecies of a messiah and spiritual salvation. The former group recognizes the immanent holiness of the physical world. The latter group honors divine grace transcending the natural world. When held together, Pagan and Christian portrayals of this day inform the meaning that each offers, rendering something more robust and life-giving than I can find in either one alone.

This year, Winter Solstice cradles a shadowy phase in my life. My son is nearly two years old, so my husband and I have shifted from a state of “new parents perpetually reacting” to “new family getting to know itself.” And within that family is a mother, me, getting to know her self newly too. I’m unraveling from an outdated sense of who I am in order to reveal… who?

Parts of me have fallen away. Feelings that I last experienced when my father died have resurrected themselves in my heart. It’s the palpable sensation that everything I was and everything that I did before now is irrelevant to who and where I am today. I am a mother, a financial provider, a believer, daughter, sister, friend.... but how am I these things? What do they mean? Each piece of me begs re-evaluation. Having been here before I’m doing it differently this time. I’m yielding to this unraveling. Relaxing into it. I am letting myself fall apart into the darkness. When the light returns I’ll welcome the awakening.

I recently heard a sermon that surprised me with the image of myself as a Pagan. The pastor preached on Matthew 6:25-33. The passage urges us not to worry about what we will eat or wear because in the same way that God provides for the birds and the flowers, God provides for us. “For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.” (verse 32) I caught my breath. I am so deeply attached to daily life. Not only entrapped by my worries, but also rooted and content in my home, my body, my son and my husband, my coworkers, and all the elements that compose my little world. I cherish the embrace I have around this world, and the grip it has on me.

Pagan practice affirms the intrinsic value of daily life. Life is holy. In both the tangible cycles of waking-tending-working-playing-resting, and the intangible cycles of hoping-grieving-raging-celebrating we participate in the sacred.

But I’ve also felt very constrained since my son was born. His needs plus our limited resources tightly contracted where we could go, what we could do and who we could see. Those restrictions are slowly loosening and my perception of what is possible also expands. I’m not just unraveling an old skin to cast off; I’m unraveling to open myself up.

Just over a year ago we started attending a quirky little Baptist church in our neighborhood. At the time, it was about planting our family within a community. This tiny congregation welcomed us instantly. They even built a “family room” so that we’d have a place to retreat with a fussy baby during services. So I’m afraid I sound ungrateful when I admit that there have been many times when I’ve left church angry about a sermon, or the pastor’s language, or just Christian culture. But every couple of weeks I head around the corner to church. Why?

This community opens me up in unique and loving ways. As a whole they inhabit and model the example of Christ. In the last year I’ve witnessed them comfort the grieving, visit the sick, share food, clothing, and money with anyone in need, celebrate and support recovery from addiction, the list actually goes on and they do it with joy. The faith in these acts transcends my small (precious) world. It contextualizes my life in something bigger, older, and unbounded by the physical world.

At Winter Solstice, the numinous and natural worlds are revealed and revered in concert. I’m drawing on this complementary set of perspectives to help me navigate this place in my life. I expect that many women experience similar cycles of losing and finding themselves. Every handful of years a new life event casts us spiraling down to an unfamiliar latitude and the world feels upended again. I don’t know yet who I’ll be as the light returns.

every tool

silence
is violence
in women & poor people
if more people were screaming
then I could relax

sayeth me

"Vengeance is mine, Sayeth the LORD."

I think she means it.

For the 5 year old Liberian girl assaulted in Arizona

For the high school girl assaulted at Homecoming in Richmond
For the 4 year old assaulted in Fresno
For the countless nameless ones

Hear Me Now

For courage & health for the survivors
For peace for the victims
For comfort for the mothers
For justice for the perpetrators

Hear Me Now

in this heart

I've come across several news articles recently about heinous crimes committed by children upon other children. My heart tears in hot shreads. My stomach churns. I sob. Those babies. Their mothers. These are our children. My son. I rage and grieve. But what can I do? I don't know what I can do.

I'm posting this in memory of each of the victimized children and their mothers.

This is my grief for you
For only the loss of you
The hurting of you
My love
My love
My love

7/28/09

This year would be my father's 60th birthday (if I've got the dates right). I've been seeing him a lot lately in men of a certain age around my neighborhood. Men with bushy white hair & beards, tan faces and limbs, in easy summer clothes. Relaxed, confident men, casually steering a sailboat through the channel or coolly strolling down the sidewalk.

Every time I see him (them) he's alone. Totally at ease. And I know he'll light up in the instant that I call out to him. Oh, but when I take a second look, he's gone already, absorbed into the body of someone else's father, uncle, husband, friend. My father is gone.

I don't know what's brought him back to me so strongly right now. Maybe it's his approaching birthday. Or the stress at my job that prompts me to ask for help from others, when his insight is what I want. Or maybe it's because my friend's mother is dying & that loosened the screen between the living & the dead for us. Maybe it's that I'm nearing the date that will put me at as many years without him as I had with him. Or it might be my son, who has his Grampy's curly hair and all the other features that remind me of my dad, & all my son's characteristics that my dad would have enjoyed. It might be my husband's devotion to our boy, the good parenting he models for me, and the echoes from my father's parenting.

It's good to see my dad, even in others, and to recall him at his best. To imagine him at his best right now. And it hurts so freshly to lose him again to the forms of these strangers.

Whatever may have prompted this visit from him, I've decided what it means. I still love him. His love is still with me. My life is changing so much, both from what it's been and from what I imagined for my life, but all the good my dad gave me is still part of me. It shapes me in these changes. And I share it with my loves today.

Happy Birthday Dad, & many happy returns.

earth

Last Sunday night I did a simple ritual in anticipation of the new moon. I wanted something to focus on and live into for the month, something to see the full moon. I sat with my flickery little candle and asked for a word. One word through which to focus.

But my mind is cluttered noisy place... a blizzard of words blew through.

earth

ground

in real life

my body, money, family, job, to-do list, punctuality

listen

humility

forgive

repent

turn

real change, James, homeless folks, hungry folks

I escape up into my mind, out of real life, out of pain, poverty, inequality, injustice, have-nots

service & justice

what will I do?

"Earth" is the word that all the others root into, and it echoes a commitment I made to myself last Fall to focus on the physical world and let the intangible take care of itself for a little while. "Earth" challenges me to remain present in my pain & discomfort; it challenges me to remain with others & their pain. It challenges me to heed and then to respond in real tangible life to people, issues, facts beyond my immediate sphere.

Monday morning I woke up feeling sick and it got worse before it got better. That will get your attention onto the physical reality... But it can also be an incentive to escape out of a broken body. I chose to stay with it & listen. Dress comfy. Live on soup. Pile on the quilts. And I accepted it as a reminder & nudge: go back to those (friends & strangers) in pain & listen, let them know you are near; share something tangible (cash & company both count) with the neighborhood homeless man; seek new information beyond the media-hype in my face and...

I'm afraid. I don't know what to do. I don't know what will be asked of me. I so want to choose something immediate to me to occupy myself, to be my alibi, my excuse.

turn

repent

forgive

amend

humility

simplicity

listen

ground

earth

3 good things (of which 1 is a poopy diaper)

True to my word, I packed up Baby N and went to church this morning.  While we were there I observed 3 good things:

1. Acceptance, support, gentleness, comforting, sharing - as the community gathered around Sweet Miss K whose mother died a few weeks ago.  Her mom was only recently diagnosed with cancer and we had such hopes that she would prevail.  Sweet Miss K is somewhat fragile, even at her best, so the sudden loss of her mother is such a great grief.  K entered the sanctuary this morning and immediately started sobbing.  "I should leave," I overheard her say to the woman she was sitting with.  "No dear, everyone here knows, everyone here loves you.  Stay."  I held Baby N on my lap and my tears let down like milk.

2. Several folks extended the comfort of telling Sweet Miss K that her mother was in a much better place, she was with Jesus.  K cried back, "But where does that leave me?  I'm so sad.  I miss her so much."  AMEN  Sweet Miss K is so brave to tell the truth about grief.  It's not about who we've lost, they're the lucky ones, it's about us left here without them.  How are we supposed to endure the loss when the one who has always helped us through is the one that we've lost?  The comforters should know better than to offer flimsy facades.  Grief won't be covered up; it will make itself known.  Better to face it truthfully (and in good company).

3. Baby N delivered a massive, stinking diaper 30 minutes into the service.  Fortunately, we had already removed ourselves to the Family Room adjacent to the sanctuary.  I cleaned him up and we stayed put for the rest of the service.  I'm grateful for the refuge of that little room.  I love these people.  I love seeing them support K.  I love the altar piled high with goods for the food bank.  But I chafe & writhe & start gnawing the furniture in reaction to so much of Christian religion.  The hymns are loaded with words & concepts that I reject - "blood" that saves, "I am your son" with no alternatives ever, and a sermon about God shining through the holes in our lives, shredded by loss & trauma... and while that may be true & I might even accept it in an intimate conversation, from the pulpit it sounded canned, like a sound bite.  

I lay back on the floor of the Family Room while Baby N played with the toys there.  They built this little room when we started attending.  It was dedicated as part of N's dedication service.  I'm struggling to reconcile the community that I value with the religion that I reject.  I'm holding tightly to the compassion they show to each other and to the folks in our neighborhood.  I'm holding tightly to the stories they share of God's presence in their lives.  I'm trying to respect and understand their regard for the religion.  

The religion gets in the way for me. As it has for years.  In the past, I've allowed that obstruction to keep me outside the community of believers.  But I want to be able to move in and out:

1) I want a personal practice that centers & sustains me; 

2) I want kindreds with whom to share frustration, creativity, challenges, study, celebration...; 

3) I want to be part of the broader faith community, to hear the good they draw from the religion, to celebrate and grieve with them, to be loved among them, to be included even though I believe differently, to share some of the presence I meet and the good I draw from my faith.

gently, gently

Is it spring...that has me warm and fragile like a baby bird in my own hands?




Partly it's the long slow recovery from the birth, more than a year now but still my body is not quite right. Sadness lingers around the edges of my days, wafting through unexpectedly, stinging and disorienting.

But partly it's the tenderness of new life. Fresh green shoots, vulnerable to the volatile weather of change, yet full of promise. I am healthy; we are a learning & laughing family; each week its seems to me that more is real & possible for our lives. This is how hope feels.

So I'm treating myself gently, gently, in this new season of my life. I've traded the "get-shreaded" weight loss work-outs for yoga. I'm waking earlier in the mornings to visit with my husband over coffee and play with the baby. In other ways too I'm slowing down a little, savoring things like a feeling in my body, or an hour of time with someone. Productive, creative, moderate. It is good.

commonplacing: of the waters

"And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters."

Genesis 1:2 King James Version

They say that humans are 78% water. Imagine that we're made of the very same water of those primordial days. The Spirit of God moved upon the face of us then and so moves within us now. Providing good company, in darkness and in light.

I don't usually read the book of Genesis but this was read to us on Sunday morning and it's remained with me. You can read a little more about what came to me on Sunday at this posting: ִ עִמָּנוּאֵל