The End of an Era

So tonight I learned that the restaurant that I worked at while in seminary, Tony Roma’s, closed down.  While I’m not surprised, I still find myself a little shocked.  After all, amidst all of its dysfunction (and oh there was plenty!), it was a place that holds a lot of memories for me.  I’d love to share a few:

*First, and most importantly, it is where I met my husband.  But funny story that many of you may not know.  When I first met Kris, I didn’t like him all that much!  He got on my last nerve, and seemed to enjoy doing so!  But he eventually wore me down (or as Kris likes to say, I started to realize that being an asshole was a part of his manly charm! ha!), and a friendship slowly developed into dating and well…..

*I remember the day I interviewed.  My friend Matt’s roommate Rudy had mentioned that they were hiring where he worked.  For some odd reason when I moved to KY I was determined to work in a restaurant – I thought it would be fun! ha!  So, I go in to interview with Dena, and she asked how I heard about the job.  I said that Rudy had recommended it to me, since Matt had told me Rudy would get a $50 bonus for bringing in new people.  At that moment, Rudy happened to walk by, hearing his name.  He looked at me, totally confused…we had never even met and there I was, using his name in vain!  Rudy, and his wife Carrie, went on to become good friends of mine – both in the restaurant and at seminary.  I am so grateful for their listening ears all those years!

<—-out with Carrie, Kyle, Ricco and Rudy

*Whenever a beloved server decided to move on, their last night was marked by getting “trashed” – literally.  BBQ sauce, whipped cream, food scraps, soda – nothing was off limits.  When my friend Renee left, she was doused in liquid smoke!  That is a smell that just doesn’t go away after 10 showers!  Another time, I can’t remember who was leaving, but I do remember two of the guys dressing up in full on chicken suits, running in after we had closed, “kidnapping” the guy and taking him outside and throwing him in the lake!  We had odd ways of showing our love.

<— the night I got “trashed”

*Roma’s produced many dear friendships.  Good girlfriends: Stacy – who could always make me laugh; Renee who pulled me out of my social shell and helped me just have fun; Tabby – who always listened and gave the best advice – especially on those loooong Monday mornings!  Good guy friends: Ricco – wo loved to cook for me (or anyone really) and always reminded me that faith was paramount to all; and Kyle – who always beat me at the crossword, and helped open my mind to think in different ways.

<—Stacy and Tabby

*And I can’t go any further without mentioning the one friend who meant so much to me during my four years at Roma’s.  He started off as shy host, and turned in to one of my best friends.  Nate was my roommate for over three years.  Two dogs, two houses, and countless late night conversations on everything from faith to love to traveling solidified our friendship.  We bonded over Friends – and watch the entire series in succession.  We took road trips, teased each other over bad dates, and comforted one another’s broken hearts.  He was the first person to know that Kris and I were dating (literally heard it with a glass pressed up against the wall!) and he stood at our wedding and read a poem.  If my time at Roma’s did nothing else for me – it brought my best friend.

<—- Nate and I at Kyle’s wedding

*On a lighter note – there were of course parties.  Oh what fun we had!  We loved to celebrate pretty much anything.  Birthdays, holidays, a Kentucky win (basketball of course – the football team never won while I lived there!) My favorite party has to be the surprise going away party.  Stacy and Tabby did such a good job acting as a cover.  They took me to Renee and Kristen’s house where I was surprised by about 50 of my closest Roma’s friends – all who had come to bid me adieu before I left for Hong Kong.  It was one of the sweetest, most generous things ever – and I loved every minute of that party!

<— about half the crew at my going away party!

*Its hard to talk about Roma’s without talking about Trumps.  I think it is pretty safe to say that at least 2 staff members from Roma’s were there every night.  I know I accounted for that at least two or three times a week.  It was the place to go after work, especially on the weekends, to have a drink, shoot a game of pool, and just relax and get to know your co-workers better.  The great bartenders there became friends as well – they knew us all by name and drink!  Every time we were there, at some point I’d look over, and there would be Nate, digging through my purse, hunting for quarters for the next game of pool.

*The radio that played in the restaurant was controlled by the managers.  Justin loved Christmas music.  Now, if you know me at all, you know my biggest pet peeve is Christmas music before Thanksgiving.  Grates my nerves.  Justin was the opposite!  He would play Christmas music the week of Halloween – I think just to piss people off! haha!

*On a practical level – working as a server and a bartender helped me through seminary.  Working full time and going to school full-time, then part time, I was able to leave with a Masters degree and no student loans or school debt!  I account that to the many, many, many hours spent in that building!

*Working there also taught me skills that I continue to carry with me in my work now: patience in stressful and busy situations; multi-tasking; being graceful even to those who don’t know how to return the favor; and every shifts ends best with a drink and a bowl of potato soup!

I am incredibly grateful for my four years at Roma’s.  The people and my experiences there shaped me into who I am today.  I accredit a lot to that place.  So raise a glass to a time gone by – to Tony Roma’s.

Full Circle

A couple of weeks ago I sat in a beautiful sanctuary, full of the kind of people most churches would never expect.  Listening to a woman many in certain segments of the faith community have shunned.  A woman that, as a teenager, I adored.  Jennifer Knapp was a Dove-award winning Christian artist, full of soul and spunk.  I had all of her cds and went to more than a couple of her concerts.  In fact, my very first “real” blog was titled after a lyric from one of her songs.  I was also a different person back then.  Conservative.  Quite conservative actually.  Evangelical.  I listened almost solely to Christian music, had Christian friends, went to Christian camps, read Christian books.  I was immersed.

And let me be clear.  I’m not bemoaning my upbringing.  I’m not looking at my past in shame.  I am proud of the way I grew up, of the faith community and church family that surrounded me and helped mold me into the woman I am today.  But in the same hand, that doesn’t mean it was not without its faults.

My faith journey has been one of many twists and turns.  One that has led me to a place where I now call myself a Liberal (living in a liberal city, working a liberal job, with liberal friends, reading liberal books).  And again, I am proud of the journey.  I am grateful for the community that has surrounded and shaped me.  For those in college, seminary and in my Young Adult Missionary community who have challenged me and encouraged me to keep asking questions.  Because of them, I am who I am today.  Again, an experience not without it faults.

So there I sat, in the sanctuary of a United Methodist church, listening to Jennifer Knapp tell her story about coming out as a lesbian after years as Christian music artist.  She shared how difficult that was not only because of her profession, but also because of her own faith.   For those who follow(ed) the Christian music industry, you may remember that at what seemed like the height of her career, Jennifer basically disappeared.  Moved to Australia, stopped singing, and wasn’t heard from (professionally) for years.  Her return to the States, and the music industry, came with a confirmation that she was in fact a lesbian, but that didn’t change the fact that she was also still a Christian.  Churches, pastors and other big names in Christianity immediately dismissed her, shunned her, called her a sinner and told others that to listen to her was to follow in her sin.  But sitting there that night, listening to her story, her honesty, I was moved.

“My faith has taught me that I am a person of value.”  Jennifer shared.  And I thought to myself, Is that not what my faith, my church family, taught me as well? Is that not exactly what we hope every person who walks through any church doors feels – that they are a person of value.?  If so, then why are we preaching anything else?  Jennifer’s faith did a great job in teaching her that she is loved and valued by God.  So that even in her struggle with her sexual orientation, she shared, she knew that acceptance by God was a non-negotiable.

“The biggest question I have for myself is, ‘How do I become the kind of person who loves others well?’ My tradition of faith taught me how to love.  I just forgot to check their gender first.”  That got a few chuckles.  “What happens when we assume someone else’s experience is wrong because it is not like ours?”   Those words sent me back to my teen and very early adult years.  A time when I would have been a person of faith who assumed that because she was different, because my “tradition” told me she was wrong, she was.

It has taken a lot of personal work to get to a place where I no longer believe that.  I now find myself in a place that I can confidently say God loves all.  Period.  No “so long as” or “if they confess.”  Created fearfully and wonderfully made, we are created to love God, and love one another.  And if we can’t do that, and if we can’t do that well, then what is the point really? Love is not pointing out what we perceive to be another’s faults.  Love is accepting the person as they are, recognizing their value and worth, and helping them to realize that in themselves as well.

So sitting and listening to Jennifer Knapp’s story, her journey that mirrored my own, even in its biggest differences, encouraged me to continue to love others, no matter the cost.   If I am going to follow a God that welcomes all, then I too have to welcome all.  I too have to believe in the full inclusion of all members in the Body of Christ.  And more than just believe in it, I feel am being called to help work for that holy goal.

At the end of Jennifer’s talk that night, she issued a challenge to everyone, “Break the silence if you have the luxury.  Ask yourself, ‘What does my silence say?’  This can be your opportunity to break the silence. I spent two years missing music and being afraid that someone would ask me (about my sexual orientation).  But wanting to avoid that conversation is disingenuous.  My calling in my life is to tell my story and share my music.  Can you break the silence?”   She was speaking to those in the Christian faith who, by not saying anything at all on the issue of homosexuality in the Church, chose a side whether they realize it or not.

So here I am.  Coming out.  I am coming out as an ally to my LGBTQ sisters and brothers.  I say here and now that no longer will I remain silent when others hurl words of hate and bigotry.  I will stand up whenever and wherever possible to let all know that they are welcome in the Church and into the arms of God.  I will work to build bridges of reconciliation, healing and justice for all those on the fringes.  And I will start by not being silent.

 

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.

 

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!

:)

World!  Meet….Burke Anne!

 

My beautiful niece was born today!!  7 pounds even, 20 inches long and lungs in tact!

I am in love already!

What’s in a name anyway?

It has yet to stop amazing me how passionate people are about their ideas surrounding marriage.  And how, for the most part, they are totally willing to share.  Without even being asked.  So kind.

One of the ideals of marriage that I have found to be most divisive has been that of taking the husband’s name.  People from both sides of the argument have been shocked to find that I don’t necessarily agree with them.  Or worse, assume that I did agree with them.

When Kris and I first started talking about getting married, I knew that the decision of what to do about last names would be one that would take a lot of thought, prayer and discussion.  And that is exactly how we arrived at the decision we did.  It is not a decision I made alone, because I am not the only person in this partnership.  While I can completely understand and support a woman’s decision to keep her maiden name, I will never understand a woman who makes that decision without ever consulting her future partner.  In all things, there has to be true discussion, and possible compromise.  In the same token, I will never understand or support a man who demands that a woman take his last name.  It is a ridiculous demand.  So I appreciated Kris when he first approached me about the subject.  There were no demands, no expectations.  Just a genuine desire to reach a decision we would both be fully happy with.  That, right there, sums up why I love him.

So I decided to take his name.  And keep my own.  But not to hyphenate.  And though it will forever confound people and paperwork alike why I have two middle names, one of which is my maiden name, but have no hyphen, I am completely at peace with my decision.   For many of the same reasons that were brought up in the comment section of the survey, here are my reasons:

1.  It was important to Kris. There was nothing macho in him having a desire for me to take his name.  He was not trying to control or own me in any way.  It was just simply important that he share the same last name as his wife.

2. About a month before the wedding, an old friend and neighbor of mine happened to be in Seattle.  We were catching up over dinner, sharing stories of where life had led us.  Inevitably, we started talking about the wedding, and I asked her if she would mind sharing the reasons she had kept her name after she married.  She told me that she had kept her name, a very plain and common last name, because by the time she got married, she had published many articles and professionally it made sense to keep her name.  That was 5 years ago.  Six months ago she had a baby.  Who, judging by the pictures, is just as cute as can be.  Little baby girl, who has a beautiful, and slightly unique first name, took her daddy’s last name.  My friend said, “One day I took the baby to work.  And my co-worker asked if I had meant to name my baby after a famous singer.  At first I didn’t understand.  But then realized that they assumed she had my last name, which indeed would be the name of this singer.  That is when first realized how hard it would be the rest of my life to have a name different than my child and my husband.”  So, she told me, she was in the process of legally changing her last name to that of her husband’s.  While she would still publish under her maiden name, it was important to share that family name.

And it is important to me to share the family name.  But I realized that it also meant that I wasn’t willing to give up my family name either.  I was so happy to be welcoming in, and to be welcomed in, by my new family.  And I am happy to now share a name with them.  But I did not want to lose that connection, by name, to my own family.  So I kept both.  I considered dropping my middle name, as many women do, to have my maiden name become my middle name.  But that in itself is a denial of who I am.  I always have been, and always will be, Elizabeth Anne.  It is my mother’s name.  And a name that was pieced together from grandmothers and great-aunts before me.  I was not willing to give that up.

So I am now all of those names.

3.  But without the hyphen.  While we considered it shortly, it was not an avenue I wanted to take.  It seems complicated, and leads to only lengthend names as generations progress.  So, no hyphen.  Two middle names.  One last name.

4. Kris’ last name is cool.  Had it been lame, we would never be having this discussion.  (just kidding, kinda).  Also, I sound very Scottish now, which is fun.

All that being said, there is something that is very important in my new name.  While I am now officially a Mrs.,  I am not a Mrs. Kris.  I made it very clear that at my wedding, whenever we were introduced, we were either to be announced as Mr. and Mrs. Kris and Liz Lastnamehere or just Mr. and Mrs. Lastnamehere. I am not my husband.  Wouldn’t it be ridiculous if I were to introduce Kris as “Mr. Liz lastnamehere”? Yes.  Yes it would.

So, there you have it.  My reasons behind my new name.  These are my reasons alone, I totally respect those who make decisions otherwise.

My idea of heaven

An afternoon in the yard with the dogs, the sun shining through the trees, a cool breeze.

A delicious home cooked meal prepared by my wonderful husband.  Pan seared talapia, sauteed spinach and roasted paprika potatoes.

Our favorite game, Scrabble.

A glass of wine at dusk.

Browsing through a favorite used book store, in search of treasures.

Ice cream in our favorite flavors to close out the night.

I love my life here.  I love my job, my home, my community.  I am involved and focused.  My job requires a lot of energy.  And the day to day of it can easily grab all of my attention.  Often, I get so involved in the struggles and joys in the here and now, that I forget where I’ve been. 

Not that I could ever actually forget where I’ve been.  I have been so blessed, privileged even, to have been the places I’ve been, to have met the people I have met, to learn all that I have learned thus far.  I have friends all over Asia who will always remain in my heart.  Their spirits of determination were great lessons for me.  Their kind hearts and contagious laughter are a part of me.  We have connected on some level, and now, even here, they remain connected. 

But it is easy to overlook those connects; to be so involved in what is going on in front of me that I forget those lessons, that laughter, those beautiful endearing faces. 

And then I remember.  And I long for my other home.  For a city that despite its polluted, congested way, still has a hold me.  For the women I grew to love, and who showed me great love and great strength.  For the struggle there. 

I received word today that two ladies from the Bethune House  who I got to know fairly well, passed away recently.  Both were fighting different forms of cancer.  Both went home to the Philippines, and were eventually unable to afford the medications needed to fight the disease.  Tintin - survivor of two brain tumors and surgeries, passed away earlier this year after a third tumor diagnosis.  Gigi – a breast cancer fighter, passed away on May 31st.  Both of the ladies had a smile that seemed to be their source of strength.  Tintin was on of the first ladies I met at Bethune House, and she welcomed me in with her quiet spirit and deep laughs.  Gigi was one of the bubbliest ladies I have ever met.  She loved to laugh and sing and to make others happy. 

They will both be deeply missed.

So sitting here, in Seattle, at another shelter, involved in another struggle, connecting to new lives, hearing other stories, more laughter and tears, I remember.  I find myself connected to two places at once and marvel that I am not torn, but fulfilled.  Though sadness is a part of this moment, there is joy in having known these beautiful women, and joy in knowing there is so much more to come.

A new countdown

Um, I’m getting married.  IN 95 DAYS!!  Holy Crap.  Holy. Crap.

Can you sense my excitement?

So, the wedding planning has taken many twists and turns over the past few months.  While we had originally planned to get married in North Carolina, we had to make some changes.  Though the venue was beautiful and exactly what I had imagined for my wedding,  the logistics just weren’t working out.  So after much debate and prayer, Kris and I decided that the wedding was more important than the venue.  And in order to have the wedding of our dreams, we had to pass on the venue of our dreams.

But don’t feel bad for us.  Because it is still going to be awesome.  We were blessed by a friend of the family offering their beautiful home for the celebration, and other friends have just come right along and offered help in other areas.  This is going to be the wedding of my dreams.  And not to be too cheesy, I’m marrying the man of my dreams – so really, what more do I need than that?

So, in 95 days, in the throws of a Florida summer, I will be walking down a make-shift isle, surrounded by those I love most, and marrying the man I love.  How lucky am I?

Um, 95 freakin’ days y’all!!

On anything that resembles a clear morning, I find myself with a growing anticipation to cross the Aurora Bridge on my way in to work.  There is hope of catching just a fleeting glimpse of the majestic Mountain and the two ranges that surround it.  Some days, Mt. Rainier is a mere shadow before a rising sun, a hint of something powerful.  Other mornings, piercing colors chase away the fallen night, and the snow capped mountain rises alongside the city.

I’ll be honest, living the view of the mountains never gets old.