The Church

I’ve been thinking a lot about big “C” Church lately.   All of my favorite Methodists (okay, notall of them, but quite a few of them!) are in Tampa for General Conference (or GC12 as it is now commonly known on Twitter!) `I’ve been following the blogs and Facebook status updates of those who have gone to act as delegates, volunteers, witnesses and voices for this great thing we call The United Methodist Church.  For those out of the Metho-dork realm, GC12 is a convening of representatives from the majority of conferences of the UMC around the world.  It is during this time, held every four years, that the important decisions of policy, language and structure are decided for the world-wide UMC.   There are a few very important issues that are being discussed, debated and prayed over in this 10-day period.  Issues on the inclusion of the LGTBQ community, restructuring language in our Discipline to be more inclusive and divestment from companies that invest in war and oppression, to name a few.

As I read the posts of David, Mary and others, I long to be there.  I feel this strong urge to go and represent what the Church means to me.  To be a witness to the decisions made on my behalf.  To stand alongside those who have been hurt but are still hopeful for change.  Many of my friends went not as voting members, but simply (or should I say powerfully) as a voice.  A voice for those whose voices have been shut out, an advocate for inclusiveness, a witness to all that we hope for for the Church.  And I think it is incredibly brave.  There are many different voices and opinions at GC12.   And there is a lot happening in the votes this year that will redefine so much for the Church.  But what I am amazed at, is that despite so many differences, so many barriers, there is still a conversation happening.   Mary has been sharing so honestly about her conversations, even the difficult ones.  But her blog this morning made me tear up.  “It is because this place is so often so full of love that I can continue to be a United Methodist. THIS is the Connection! This is the place where we come together.”  And it gives me hope…

I have a friend from seminary, whom I still keep in loose contact with via Facebook.  A friend that, even during our seminary years, I didn’t always agree with.  I have seen posts on his page (as I am sure he has seen on mine) that have often made me wonder, “why are we still FB friends?  We have nothing in common!”   He has been actively following GC12 via Twitter and the official GC newsfeed, and then posting his views and comments on his page.  Many I have not agreed with.  But then….in the midst of a struggle happening in Tampa, a divisive issue coming to light, glaring pain and all, I read this on my friends page, “It doesn’t matter which side of the issue you are on, that type of behavior (speaking of bullying and blatant exclusiveness) is unacceptable.”  And later, “we can continue to hope for fellowship.”   And in that moment, I was so proud to be this man’s friend.  Despite our differences in theology, rhetoric, political stance, etc…..there is something deeper and stronger that connects us.  To be a part of the Church doesn’t mean we all agree all the time.  It means we love unconditionally, work for justice and peace…together.

I see this in my own church, here in Seattle.  We don’t always agree.  We aren’t always on the same page.  We come from different backgrounds, have varying passions and opinions.  But no matter our differences, there is something so common amongst us, that we cannot help but love one another.  There is something so bold, and yet so quiet, that ties us together that even when our words clash and our heads hurt from discussing and conferencing and meeting and listening…even with all that, we continue to stand unified in our love for Christ, for the Church and for one another.

In the words of Pastor Kathleen following every Sunday sermon,

“May it be so.  Amen.”

Feeling the need to brag a little

Do you ever have those moments where you look at where you are in life and say to yourself, “Yep, made the right decision about that one!”?  That has been my sentiment for the past few days.  Looking at my husband I can’t help but think, “Wow I married well!”

Let me brag a little bit about what an amazing husband I have.

Saturday was the Church of Mary Magdalene/Mary’s Place annual Easter Egg Hunt!  For the third year in a row we were blessed with great weather and lots of kids – some from Mary’s Place, others from the community.  All of the baskets and stuffed Easter eggs were donated by a wonderful MOPs group.  It couldn’t have been a more perfect day.  My husband had the rarest of all rare treats, a Saturday off.  And how did he chose to spend it?  Helping me hide 1500 eggs and pass out pastel Easter buckets to 20 kids (and about 20 kids-at-heart).   He helped the whole day, making sure every kid got their fill of candy, everyone felt included, and walking behind us all picking up trash and keeping our supplies together.

Then, over the course of the weekend, I developed the Death Plague From Hell.  Let me tell you about how I almost NEVER get sick.  Or about how I have only taken 2 sick days in my ENTIRE life.  Seriously, I don’t do sick.  Except for the last four days, I have had a bouncing fever, severe headaches, a cough that sounds like I’m hacking up a lung and extreme fatigue.  So what does my awesome hubby do?  He waits on me hand and foot.  He has made every meal, cleaned the house so I could at least be sick in a clean house, filed the taxes, worked in the yard, taken care of the dogs, run to the store for every little thing I’ve needed, reminded to take my temp and when to take some more ibuprofen, rubbed my back, listen to me whine about how much it sucks to be sick, and even brought me a treat – chocolate!  He has been so stellar this weekend – taking care of me and doing everything in his power to make me feel better.  Nothing like feeling like crap to make you realize what an awesome husband you have!

That feeling of knowing that your favorite guy will always be there to support you in what you love to do, and will be there to take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself – that is what marriage is all about.  Yeah, I married well.

 

Signs that you are getting old…

Let me set the scene.  I’m sitting on the couch with my hubby, watching The Voice.  Its only 9 o’clock, but I’m already in my PJs.  Kris is on the other end of the couch, Googling hairband songs.   Some band comes on as the special music for The Voice, Gym Class Heros?  Raise your hand if you’ve heard of them…….*crickets*   Yeah, me either.

“Who in the world are these people?  I’ve never even heard of them.” ~me

“How am I supposed to know?” ~Kris

“And WHAT in the world is she wearing?  Seriously,. that can’t be comfortable!” ~me

A commercial comes on and I mute the TV, cause that’s how we do ’round here.  Kris starts playing clips from Hair: The Greatest Hits.

“How do I not have this album?” ~Kris

“WHAT ABOUT LOVE!?” ~both of us in unison.

Yeah, we may be old, but we are still awesome.

A St. Patrick’s Day Celebration

Today, every one is wearing something green.  People are celebrating any hint of Irish they have in them with green beer, parades and Shake-Your-Shamrock parties.  And that is fun and great and all.  But today, it is my honor to celebrate something more.

Today I am celebrating selflessness, compassion, creativity, un-ending love, grace, beauty, laughter and dedication.

I am celebrating memories of waking up on this famous holiday to little green leprechaun feet taped to the floor, right outside my door.  Feet that would lead me to the breakfast table, where I would find green eggs and ham, green milk and gold-wrapped chocolate coins. It was always a day full of wonder, excitement and lots of green.  Even when the focus should have been focused on her she made the day, really every day, about fun and laughter.

I am celebrating someone who isn’t afraid to get down and silly.  This woman has an uncanny knack at making babies giggle.  Children of all ages love her silly jokes and warm hugs.  The way she reads a children’s book is nothing short of captivating.

I am celebrating the dedication it took to raise three children, all with different needs, passions and challenges.  Yet each of us knew exactly how much we were loved and valued.  In our different paths through life, she has stood by each of us, cheering us on, encouraging us and picking us up when we stumbled.  In my own journey, one that has led me far from her nest, she has never once tried to steer me anywhere other than where my dreams have led me.

I am celebrating being raised in a home a faith and love – where every day we were told we were loved.  Every day we were provided for.  Every day we were challenged to be the best we could be.  A home where love wasn’t just taught, it was modeled.  Where faith wasn’t just a Sunday dress, it was a way of life.

I am celebrating a woman who called our Saturday errands, “Adventure time” – turning mundane tasks into scavenger hunts.   Someone who helped foster our creativity by expressing her own.   When a story was written or a song sung or a masterpiece was drawn,  it drew instant and sincere praise.  When I was first learning to play guitar, I thought my dad would be the obvious choice to learn from.  One day, sitting in my room, on the floor, frustrated with my lack of skill, she walked in, sat down, and strummed a few easy chords.  I had never known she could play, but she was willing to share with me, teach me, coach me, encourage me not to to be too hard on myself.

I am celebrating someone whose selfless acts of love have carried our family through hard times.  When my dad’s father passed away, my mother was there for the family, opening her home, her kitchen and her arms – even though she had just had major surgery.  When her own parents passed, mere weeks apart, she was there, coordinating details, making sure everyone could be home to celebrate their lives.  She has spent countless hours caring for the people and things that we were left behind.

I am celebrating someone who taught me that tears are healing, and strength is found in our vulnerability.  Whatever trials I have faced or put myself through, I have always known who I can depend on to listen, to give advice, to pray for me.

Yes, today I am celebrating St. Patrick’s Day.  I am wearing my green.  I am eating anything remotely connected to Irish cuisine.  And I am always on the hunt for that pot ‘o gold.  But I am also celebrating my most favorite of the Irish:

Today, I am celebrating my mother.

Happy Birthday Mom!   I love you!

Tagged!

I was tagged by the oh so fabulous Heather and since I haven’t done one in awhile, I thought, “Hey, why not!?”    I’m not tagging anyone else, but if you want to play, leave me a comment and I’ll send you 7 questions.

1. What’s the best advice you have ever been given?

“Prioritize.” ~My Dad.  He taught me the importance of prioritizing things in my life: money, time, tasks.  I specifically remember one day in my room, complaining to him about how I just didn’t have enough time to get it all done.  (ha!  Oh to be 14 again!)  I was having to choose between two different trips that were happening at the same time and I desperately wanted to be a part of both of them.  My dad talked about how learning to prioritize at that point in my life would help me so much in the future.  Learning to really look at what I valued and choosing wisely where to place my time, money, efforts, would make a difference.  So, thanks dad!

2. What did you think you would be doing when you reached the age you are now?

Oh Lord!  I guess it depends on at what point you would have asked me?  When I was a pre-teen I thought I’d be married with a gaggle of children.  Late teens/college – I thought I would be living overseas, working with children.  Guess I’m nottoo far off that mark. 

3. What would you do tomorrow if you could do anything?

Sleep in!  Ha!  Just kidding (well, not really)  If I had the power to do something tomorrow that I can’t do now?  I would work myself out of a job.  I would rather not have to have the job I do.  I would make more housing and sustainable employment available to families.

4. If your favorite author asked you to name their next main character, what would you name them?

If Barbara Kingsolver asked me to name her next main character I might fall out!  That is a hard one.  I don’t know about a name, but I’d love to read a story written by her set in Pacific Northwest.  I love how connected her characters are to their location – how it weaves its way into her stories.  And I just love the culture of the PacNW.  A match made in heaven!

5. What is your bedtime routine?

As soon as the 11 o’clock news comes on I know its time to start my bedtime routine.  Brush my teeth, wash my face, decide what I am going to wear tomorrow (though I rarely set it out) – this includes deciding which earrings I am going to wear – that is not a gametime decision!  Then I usually check email/Facebook one last time.  Closing my laptop and turning off the TV are the sounds of bedtime that send the dogs bounding up the stairs to their beds.  I get in bed, give my back a good pop, kiss my sweet husband good night and curl up on my side.  Detailed enough?

6. What counts as comfort food at your house?

Mac n’ Cheese and ice cream.  Lately, I’ve been exploring family recipes as well – so my Papa’s bread, which is taking some time to craft.  And my great Aunt Doll’s Cheese Crispies – a Christmas Eve tradition!

7. If you inherited a billion dollars, would you still want a career?

Yes.  My passion is working with people, and I don’t think that would go away with money.  I would just probably have a career as a full-time volunteer somewhere.

8. What is the last kind thing you did for another person?

I helped a friend pick up and move some furniture yesterday.  She just got her own place after living in a community home for 3 years.  She is so proud to have a home of her own, and getting to help her move in was an honor for me.  It was neat to be part of something she has waited for for so long.

9. What is the last rude thing you have done?

Oh goodness.  Probably cut someone off in traffic.  There is a commercial here that makes fun of passive-aggressive Pacific Northwest drivers.  I’m the gal that blows past those people, too annoyed to wait for them to figure out what is going on.

10. What is the first book you recall owning?

I don’t know, but I do remember the first collection of books I remember actively seeking out and then treasuring: the Anne of Green Gables series.  Oh how I was in love with those books!  I coveted the kind of relationship Anne and Diana had.

11. How many books do you read at one time?

Usually two.  There is almost always a book that takes me like a year to read.  I just read it in between other books.  I have a problem not finishing a book, so even if I start something and don’t like it, I can’t not finish it!

Belated thoughts on Lent

I find myself entering this very holy season with much excitement.  I know, that is such an odd way to enter a religious season of self-denial, reflection and repentance.  But I am.  I love all the liturgical seasons of the Christian calendar, but Lent has always been one of my favorites.  I love that there is a time within the Church set aside to focus inward.  A time to focus on what in our hearts and heads we can clear out in order to make room for the new.  It is a spiritual sweeping out of those crusty old crevices and preparing for something beautiful.

This year I am a part of a faith community that I absolutely adore.  This churches challenges me in all the right places, and encourages me when I need it most.  There have been few times in my life when I have felt so at home in a church.

The congregation is breaking into small groups this year that will meet once a week, and as a community read “A Clearing Season.”  I am excited to share in this time of reflection with others.  I am happy to bring others along on my journey though Lent.  Because as deeply personal as this time can be, it can also be incredibly meaningful to bring others along with you.

Wednesday night I sat in candle-lit chapel, singing and praying with friends and strangers.  I knelt at the front and felt the ashes that I myself had burned only hours before, gently placed on my forehead in the loose shape of a cross.  I prayed about all that I would give up this season, and all that I hoped to gain.  As we sang our final prayer that evening I thought, “How beautiful and wonderful to have a place and time set aside clear my head and soul and make way for the joy of Easter.”

How beautiful indeed.

Follow-up

An article came out in today’s Seattle Times about the family shelter.  Journalist Nicole spent a whole evening at the family shelter, listening to the stories of the families, and the passions of the volunteers.  I think she captured both the need and the beauty in this article.  With love and community, comes hope and the courage to move forward.

You know those …

You know those mom stories that start, “I need to write this down so I don’t forget…”?  Well, I know I’m not a mom, but this is one of those stories.

I looked over and noticed her wiping away tears before anyone could notice they were there.  I walked over and gingerly sat down on the air mattress she called her bed.  “What’s up?”  Wiping away more tears, furious that they were escaping, “nothing.”   I gave her “the look” and said, “Come on, you can tell me.  Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying” my 13 year old friend said.

“Ha.  I’ve played that game.  I’m 30 years old.  I’m a pro at making people believe I’m not crying when I really am.  You can’t fool me.  What’s wrong?  Are you overwhelmed?”

She took a breath, started to tell me again that she wasn’t in fact crying, and in that breath, she changed her mind and decided to trust me.  “I just want my own home.”  She looked up at me, still testing her lines of trust with me.  Her eyes scanned the large room, church fellowship hall converted into a family living room/dining room and bedroom all in one.  Volunteers were sitting down to dinner with the other families.  Behind us, more air mattresses…beds for families who had no beds of their own.

“I don’t want to seem unappreciative,” she said quietly.  “I’m just so tired of moving all the time.  I just want a place I can call my home.”

My voice caught in my throat.  I didn’t know what else to say other than, “I know sweetie.  I know you do.”  My young friend and her mother have been homeless for four months now.  Four long months having to carry all of their belongings with them every day.  Four months of being transported to her old school district, an hours drive on a good day.  Four months of desiring a place to call home.  And she is appreciative of what they have.  A shelter each night, even if it does move from church to church each week.  A hot meal for dinner.  A warm coat for those cold, early mornings waiting for the school bus.  Four months ago when the state decided to put a lifetime limit on her mother’s financial benefits, they found themselves suddenly without any income.  Mom battles multiple health issues and is unable to maintain consistent work.  They lost their small little apartment – they only place they had called home.  Finding themselves at Mary’s Place, yes, they were thankful for the shelter we could offer.  But that doesn’t keep my 13 year old friend from being sad and overwhelmed.

“I miss my clothes.  The school I go to is full of rich kids.  And I wear the same thing more than once a week.  They notice.  And I’m embarrassed.  I just want to go back to where I fit in, where they didn’t notice me.  Now I feel like everyone is watching.  I just want my clothes and my own home again.  My mom is so tired.  She is scared and I think she is shutting down.  I don’t know how we will find anything.  I can’t do this for her.”

I didn’t have any wise words for her. I could only give her a hug and ensure her that we were working a plan to help move them forward.  “I know it sucks.  But we will be here until you get all those things.  I promise.”  A small smile found its way out.  Her weary eyes looked into mine, trusting that I would keep my word.

How does the weight of the world land on the shoulders of a 13 year old girl?

Nothing New

“There is nothing new under the sun.”

I was reminded of that saying tonight after watching Robert Redford’s “The Conspirator.”

If you haven’t seen it – I would highly recommend you do.  It is a sad and horrifying reminder that nothing is new, and what has been done will happen again. 

We may look around us and wish for “simpler times” – but the more and more I read of history, the more convinced I am becoming that they never existed.  Has there ever been a time without persecution, fear-mongering and blame shifting?  Sadly, I think not. 

Lord help us move forward and create something new…peace, compassion, justice. 

Joy

When people learn what I do for a living, the most common response I get is, “Oh, that has to be so hard.  I just imagine there is so much sadness.”  And yes, there is a lot of sorrow.  A lot of grief.  Anger.  Depression.  Frustration.  Pain.  Being a mother is hard enough.  Being homeless to boot is just plain cruel.  The mothers I work with every day experience all of these emotions and more.  There are days that consist of wiping away tears, calming fears and trying to offer something to soothe their anxiety.  Where will I sleep tonight?  How will I clothe my child?  What if someone takes her away because I can’t provide a roof over her head?  Yes, it can be a sad job sometimes.

But more than fear, more that sorrow, I see hope and joy in my job.  I see mothers struggling to maintain their composure in front of their children, finding strength in their own soothing words.  I see women sharing resources with one another, encouraging each other to keep trying, to not give up.  I see mommies kiss little heads, breathing in the sweetness, and turning that breath into courage to face the next obstacle.  I see families bonding together, emerging strong and wiser, together.

This week I got to share an immense joy with a mother of 5.  Having fled a violent home with only one bag of diapers and the clothes on their backs, this mother never gave up.  When options were slim, when resources were dry, her hope never wavered.  Every day she would say to me, “Well, if not today, then soon.  Soon this will all come together.”  For just over a month they faced the reality of being homeless, depending on others for help with food, clothing, bus tickets.  When she found an apartment that would rent to her, there was a glimpse of joy, only to be dashed by lack of sufficient funds to move-in.  The end of the year is a hard time to ask for financial help from social services.  Everyone’s budgets had run dry.  “Try us again after the New Year.  Maybe we can help then.”  Over and over, this mother never gave up, calling dozens of places a day, trying to find help.  After two weeks, the landlord decided to rent to someone else.  “Well,” she said to me, “looks like today is not the day.  But soon.  Soon it will all come together.”

On Tuesday, the good news came.  A request was heard, and funding came in to pay her entire deposit (when she had only asked for half).  A call to the landlord and she learned that the previous tenants had not passed the background check.  The place was hers if she still wanted it.  She could move in that very day.  As I called to share the good news, I could literally feel her exuberant joy flooding through the phone.  “Its here!  Its here!  Our day is here!  Our day has finally arrived!” she shouted into the phone.

No more fear.  No more anxiety.  No more frustration.  At least not for this moment.  No friends, this moment was made for joy.  For it had all come together.