5 Years Ago Part II: It’s my 5 year ordination anniversary! Pentecost Sunday, June 8th, 2014, a few days after graduation (which was part I of my 5 Year Anniversary Thread of 2019), I was approved for ordination by the ABCUSA, and was ordained at and with the community of Calvary Baptist Church of Denver. As I reflect back, I ponder and share below two things along with some photographs: The Call to Worship, read by my Little (not so little anymore) Theologians, and how it continues to convey such desperation in today’s realities and injustices. (Give me/us strength…) And one of the two poems read by someone dear to me, Rita Berglund, which came from Jan Richardson’s book, In Wisdom’s Path (juxtaposed with the image I used on my bulletin). It sings words reflective of the paradoxical truths of life in ministry, and life in general. (May Wisdom continue to permeate Her Power.)

Five full, and fleeting years of ministry. At times, my pastoral authority has come into question by the ongoing problem of sexism and misogyny. At times, I have been heartbroken and broken open in sacred encounters, in the presence of suffering and death, in reflection upon our nation’s and our world’s flaws and failings. I have processed so much through journaling, and running. Snapshots of tender junctures in this ministry of presence have become part of my bones and dreams. At times I have been exhausted. At times I have been inspired, surprised, affirmed, and delighted. I continue to work on being a better ally, a better practitioner of forgiveness, and I am grateful for my mentors, colleagues, experiences, challenges, support systems, spaces of darkness and flickers of light, and all of my learning opportunities. I smile about how the one thing that might have kept me from being ordained (I used a theological “a” word in my ordination paper- a bit of a source of deliberation on the ordination board…) is still what keeps me drawn to this work and study. (I suppose the board made the appropriate decision…) That a-word “thing”, a theological frame of reference, that concept, is a part of me, and it’s one piece that makes me a good chaplain and deep thinker.

It is important to reflect back on one’s ordination anniversary, and I feel grateful to have Pentecost, the Feminine Fire and Windy Wisdom of this day, set forth and incessantly whirling, to be a part of that remembrance. It is a day of renewal, breath of Spirit, restoration, to form and reform, and receive again. I’m not sure the authenticity of ministry can thrive without these moments of fresh possibility and reconnection especially in times of hopelessness, woundedness, exhaustion, each witnessed and personally experienced. And so, I remember those ancient voices in the Book of Acts, the fresh voices of my children five years ago reading a call to reflect the justice, compassion, peace, and life-giving Essence of the One we are Inspired to reflect. Those ideals were woven into the call I reluctantly acquiesced to, but knew I could not ignore. And I recollect the poetic words of a poem and blessing which affirms Sacred Paradox even in the spectrum of emotions it contains. This ordination anniversary is to me an opportunity to be reminded of the connections, community, questions, and passions which brought me to that day five years ago, and continue the appeal: “Hold me fast, and set me free…”

Benediction

______

Call to worship from Sacraments and Seasons: Peacemaking Through Worship:

“In the midst of a world where people hunger and thirst…Come worship a God who feeds the hungry and calls upon us to do the same.

“In the midst of a world where people hunger and thirst…Come worship a God who feeds the hungry and calls upon us to do the same.”

“In the midst of a world where people are abused and oppressed…Come worship a God who calls for compassion and justice.”

“In the midst of a world filled with wars and rumor of war…Come worship a God who desires nothing less than peace for the world and calls us to be peacemakers.”

“In the midst of a world of spiritual emptiness… Come worship a God who gives life meaning, and calls us to walk with each other in community.”

“Come worship a God whose grace and love know no end.”

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In my turning
and returning,
take me in
and let me go.

At the center
of the spinning,
root me deep
and set me loose.

At the still point
of the spiral,
draw me close
and set me forth.

In the passage
of the seasons,
hold me fast
and set me free.
~Jan Richardson

The following is a devotional I wrote for my church community’s Advent Season. We were asked to write using the theme of “Yes…and” which of course, I eagerly responded to, since the Sacred Both/Ands of life are a spiritual reality I find deeply meaningful, revealing, awakening, expansive, and full of grace, opposing the binary either/ors of myopic and fist-gripped ideologies.

I like to write things both heady, and things poetic and heartfelt. Writing in general, but especially sharing it, feels vulnerable. Sharing both the heady stuff, and heart-y stuff, takes courage, but the latter feels most vulnerable. I almost didn’t share this, not even with my own church community. But I thought about how little is shared about this aspect of parenting of which this devotional is about. Mostly, though, and this is the vulnerable piece, is that it is about me and my response to it.

I think there is a sense of isolation when parents send their kids off to college, or some other path of independent living. Where is everyone else who is doing this? Plus, we just don’t talk about the pain, grief, and sucker punch it is to the stomach. Sure, it isn’t the end of parenting, nor is it an end to the relationship, but it still hurts. It’s the beginning of what will likely be the lengthiest part of this relationship, where mentoring still occurs, support is still needed, but friendship flourishes, and joys materialize, seeing how our young adults are making an impact. Still, this is a threshold that is filled with wrenching emotion and grief. Deaths, literal and metaphorical, are worthy of grief, and sometimes celebration (of a life well lived, of freedom from suffering, etc.). Transitions are worthy of grief and celebration, too. Yes, it’s a celebration, my firstborn’s college matriculation, and it’s a grief- a surprisingly difficult one.

Where/who could I turn to after having just let the fledgling fly? There weren’t many options. So I decided to write and share this, like other brave mamas and papas have, in the hopes of adding another voice to the transition. Maybe it will help normalize the surprising feelings that are deeper than what we might have expected when we came to this stretching of wings. Parenting through adolescence into early adulthood is a messy and agonizing existence (can we please acknowledge how hard it is to raise teens, too?), and can feel especially lonely when those adolescent years are coupled with special needs. At times, I’d have given anything to go back to the infant, toddling, and terrible threes stages. Yet, I valued the budding shift (and admittedly loved it- I mean, now we could watch movies and shows I’d been waiting to introduce, we can have deeper conversations, I begin to learn from her in new ways, all while humbly realizing my generational fade of prominence)…and soon there will be the adult (ish) relationship we’ll have together. But, when we’re new at this, we have babies thinking this will be our life from now on. The diapers, the bedtime stories, extra curricular activities, birthday parties, school functions, summer lemonade stands…But oh, yeah!  That’s right…they do indeed become adults (after all, only about 1/4 of our average lifespan is in childhood…). But we don’t think much about that, do we? Becoming parents, our minds are more concerned with the short, less than two decades part of parenting, perhaps just the first decade of it! We know they’ll become teenagers, then adults, and go forth into the world, but when they do, we’re like, “Wait, what?! WTF just happened?!”

__________

 …I know I don’t possess you; with all my heart God bless you…” (lyrics excerpted from Abba’s 1976 tune, My Love, My Life)

Luke 2:48-50 “Why have you been searching for me?” 

My daughter, Taylor and I went to see the movie musical, Mama Mia 2: Here We Go Again, close to the time she was to leave for college. As the cast’s version of Abba’s 1976 tune, My Love, My Life played on screen, tears rolled down my face. The mother/daughter characters (Meryl Streep, Lily James, and Amanda Seyfried) sing reflecting on thresholds, including themes of new beginnings, letting go while holding on, reflecting on the past with an eye on things to come, trusting in things/loved ones unseen. If you haven’t heard the song, I highly recommend this version in particular! I added this song to Taylor’s, “Going to College Mixtape” playlist. (A mixtape will always be a mixtape, by the way, whether it’s on CD, digital, or not. I was blessed to grow up with the 80’s music/culture influence, and my kids know it. Just raising them right…)

I have recognized as Taylor is no longer a fledgling, how much of my identity as “Mom” was truly prominent. Even as we are told, and trust, at the dedication of our babies that yes, our children belong to God, and that they are ours for a season, nothing prepares one fully for this moment. Even as Jesus reminds us to trust in the steadfast enveloping Grace and Love of the Creator when he asks, “Why have you been searching for me?” I had devoured every article I could find about sending off your child to college as a way to prepare myself, and Taylor. I knew I needed to embrace this transition, and to let Taylor know that she was ready, and how excited I was for her. All the while, my insides were screaming, “Nope! Not true!” (Well, partly anyway.) Yes, I was excited for her, and I was grieving, and filled with wonder about her future, and mine. Yes, Taylor was ready and has been ready (she pretty much came out of the womb holding a book, and has taken that curiosity with her from day one)! And yet, she still has so much to learn (and so do I)! Yes, we were both confident, and filled with some trepidation.

Even though I had emphasized how important and exciting this phase in her life would be, I wanted to say, “Never mind. Forget all I ever said about how valuable the experience and education of college is. Don’t go. Stay home. We’ll just keep watching Gilmore Girls, while eating popcorn and ice cream.” But, alas, we saw her off, adorned in T-shirts and hats with her college logo, embracing the paradox of heartache and joy. Yes, I was feeling like my breath had been ripped out of me, and I was taking in deep breaths of courage, a new courage, earned through 18 years of bearing, comforting, listening, laughing, supporting, advocating, allying, encouraging, balancing, and recognizing how much I had learned from her. Yes, she would continue to write her unique and Sacred Story, and oh, what an addition it was, is, and will be, to the Library of Life. And, in all of that, I will still be her mama.

I will still be her mama. I will always be her mama.

It was a special moment. I have pondered many a time (and written about it before as well), the aspect of being in total fullness of both capability and becoming, all in one moment…every moment, really. And here in this moment, I am reminded of that precious both/and again in this very phase of parenting. How remarkable, that every phase of parenting and childhood, ours and theirs (or any phase in one’s life), is a fullness in and of itself right in the moment. Yes, fully capable, and yet, fully becoming. Imagine if we paused to breathe in that reality more often. I am enough, and I am becoming. This phase is what it fully is, and will become even more. This is my daughter, and this is me. This is all of us, whatever phase we’re in. Enough, True, and Becoming.

A quote to meditate/pray with: “All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” -Havelock Ellis

Spoiler Alert! Link to Mama Mia’s version of My Love, My Life: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xk254EyXLYA

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Note: It has now been half the school year with Taylor off to college. She’s only 45 minutes away, but the distance is meaningless. She’s still not in her room making it her goal to cover as much of the floor as possible with anything and everything. Her room, her space that was hers from the day we moved in when she was four, the room where we now try to keep the door closed to avoid heating a room unused. (Unless the dog wants in. Daisy misses her, too.) She’s still not coming to the table for dinner, I quickly realize as I do an about face with the placemat in hand I was about to set for her. She’s still not bursting out with laughter causing me to smile, even when we were in separate rooms. She’s still not interjecting her fresh, learned, and well grounded wisdom about the topics holding attention in our current events, sprinkled with puns, wit, and humor. I only get to be wowed from a distance now by her artistry, her crafty use of words, her stunning sense of style, her growing knowledge, her beautifully strong sensitivity, her tender compassion, her fiery heart for justice…I only get to comfort her from afar now when her anxiety grips her, as she navigates relationships, buys groceries, makes appointments, and pins on the “badge” of every adult’s vexation: filling out forms…But it does feel a little more manageable, accepting her college life away from home. My heart still aches when I take her back from a holiday break, but at least now I don’t full out weep all the way home. Yet within the heartache, and maybe a few tears still, I’m grateful and proud. Both/And. Thanks be to God.

 

 

When my daughter was a senior, I received a handout from the school stating that if I didn’t wish for military recruiters to contact my daughter, I would need to sign the paper, otherwise it would be assumed to happen. I immediately thought it should be the other way around. (Sign only *if* you want your child to be contacted.) But, it’s just one more easy way to depend on the odds a parent will forget, or a child would lose the paper, or that parents would read the letter and recognize it as an unusual, or less common response to make the extra effort to sign it. It wasn’t included in the beginning of the year electronic documents; how convenient. But here it was, the casual first glance into how to move into our young people’s developing minds and begin the psy-ops of recruitment. And make no doubt about it, it is a sophisticated psychological operation that begins outside the realm of the actual training, and it starts with our youth, newly on the threshold of becoming who they will be in the world…

My partner and I have and will discourage our children to enlist in the military. We have one adult child, and one new high schooler. As adults, they will make more of their own choices, but as l long as I have the obligation as a parent of deep faith to raise them, I refuse to encourage or allow space for my own children, let alone another generation of young people, to be sent off to kill and die in bloodbaths of unending, hopeless wars and battles around the globe. I don’t want them to play any role in the military, direct or indirect, in such an endeavor. The ongoing wars we have currently are perpetual, and for no reason that is rooted in love and goodness, but rather by interests benefiting power. We have to teach our children how to say no, but we don’t often think that would be relevant when it comes to military recruiters. Indeed, it does. I will teach my children to say no to the well organized military recruitment (propaganda) machine preying upon vulnerable, malleable minds, waving the stars and stripes, calling it a patriotic duty to fight only to be pawns in the military industrial congressional complex. I remain unconvinced that it is worth one dime of benefit for even an ounce of risk of trauma. No, not in a country that has billions of dollars for bombers, but people with no financial means to pay burdening hospital bills. It is not a free ticket to college, or a job training program alone. It is, as it boils down to its bottomline, and fundamental mission, a job to fight and win wars…to train to kill and risk being killed, and injured for that matter, physically or psychologically. No matter what the MOS, no matter what the path, the bottom line is the ultimate point. So, yes, I have, and will sign the documents my children receive from their schools refusing recruiters from contacting my children, knowing they may covertly guilt trip them into “being independent” rather than relying on the money we saved specifically for their post secondary education plans. I will stand against the militarization and intrusion of recruitment when there are many more peaceful, viable ways to succeed in life without it, than to take on a role of a system bent on power, might, and othering. Our youth, no matter how well they are convinced, do not need the military to succeed in life.

I am married to a veteran who spent 10+ years in the Army and Army National Guard on top of three years and counting in volunteer service with the Civil Air Patrol, and has spent his career in law enforcement. He has talked with me about the painful reality of knowing his role individually, as honorable as it may be, and the role of the agencies as entireties he struggles to reconcile his life calling with. I pray daily for his heart, and his health, all of which have been damaged by such experiences and turmoil, even as he sees the benefits he had to make the best of…even as he has strived to be a light in dark places. He knows he has my support. I am a Christian who believes deeply in the message of peace, and that living into the not yet involves a clinging to the hope that one day, we will fulfill the prophecy, so impossible to see, of Is. 2:4. I believe we must be able and willing to criticize the systems (and see beyond their promises) that perpetuate war and violence, even as we love and support those who are in it (and one could argue we all are in one way or another). So many have made sacrifices with their lives and health to serve in the military. I even pondered myself at one time how I might follow a calling in chaplaincy with the Air Force, as a way to provide presence for the struggles our soldiers indeed endure in the complexity of the government they are accountable too, as well as what they witness. I have friends, family, as we all do, whom we love, hold dear, and honor for their service and sacrifice. But we should not be blind to the larger complexity that is this nation’s military complex. The entanglement of realities within these realities are part of what makes being human such a challenge. But, God is with us, soldier or not. Might I have felt differently in the 1940’s? Perhaps. But Dwight D. Eisenhower was correct when he stated in 1961, “In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.” Indeed it has. Eisenhower also said formerly, “Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children.”

I have become aware, partly because of the very nature of my identity as a follower of Christ, of the dangers of American nationalism, militarism, and imperialism that hold us captive to a patriotism of loyalty to country over others, loyalty to country above faith- when that faith is blended into a false loyalty to God through American Glory, fooling groups of Christians into thinking their patriotism of nationalism is somehow ordained by God. (Think 4th of July celebrations in churches.) Such a justification is often noted by a misinterpretation of Romans 13. Context would help us more wisely discern that it is not the case. God does not insist upon our complete obedience to government. A deeper understanding reveals that it is rather the case that no government is ever given a moral endorsement by God, and that in reality, governments as independent agencies, do indeed waver from their calling. Context in Romans 12 reminds us of the call to not be conformed to the ways of the world. It is not in suffering of war that we triumph over evil, but it is suffering by Love that we do. (See John Howard Yoder’s book, “The Politics of Jesus”.) Jesus was a visionary. His vision was social, and political, resistant, but it was not violent. Jesus taught about and embodied one of the most sacred words and actions ever spoken and implemented: mercy.

This is how we try, and fail, as humans to live into Christ’s calling to give up our own desires. It is only human to be drawn into the deception of a winning culture and power through what’s rationalized as “acceptable” violence in the name of country, or in the name of what will benefit “me”. But Jesus has another vision. I can only imagine how difficult it would be for a Christian soldier, and other soldiers of faith in war, to hold the tension of recognizing individuals as human, beloved in God’s eyes, while also opposing, possibly, a system of evil those individuals represent. Yet, it would behoove us, and them, to look in the mirror at the evil atrocities the U.S. has perpetrated under the guise of “discovery” and “freedom”. How does a soldier also recognize that they, too, just might be an agent of something rooted in evil and conquest, even if they have been ingrained to think otherwise. (And that’s the point- to be sure they don’t recognize it.) How are we, too, even as civilians, complicit? It’s a complex, messy endeavor that ultimately, I do not want my children to be part of as members of the military. But we should continue to question, reevaluate, and seek better ways of peace. Impossible? Unrealistic? Again, I note that Jesus was a visionary. Visionaries, as I have heard quoted, see what’s not here yet. A visionary strives to look beyond the myopic field of vision which systems of oppression, power, and violence depend upon.

The great Martin Luther King Jr. opposed war from a Christian perspective. His colleague, Dr. Vincent Harding who helped draft King’s speech, “Beyond Vietnam” revealed this about the speech, “I feel very strongly that the speech and his unflinching role in expressing and organizing opposition to the war—and to the foreign and domestic policy it represented—as well as his ineluctable movement toward the call for nonviolent revolution in the U.S., were among the major reasons for his assassination…” Harding also asked the imperative questions, “What does it mean to take seriously this whole idea that our national identity is secondary to our spiritual identity, and has to come under the scrutiny of our spiritual identity? What does it do to the Christian faith when we recognize that our community began in a setting where most [early believers] were outcasts from the empire’s power? What does it mean when the Christian community now identifies itself with the empire, apologizes for the empire, and goes to war along with the empire?”

What will the “sword of the spirit” clear away to reveal how we should endeavor to live into the process of peace and bringing about the Beloved Community? How will we act to live into the far off biblical prophecy in Isaiah of “neither will they learn war no more”? Dr. Vincent Harding called upon us to enter the process. Soldiers need our support, and they deserve our respect. But we can, and should, be mindful of, aware of, and critical of the complexities and motives of the systems within they/we operate. Agencies of war, especially as a system that depends on the pliability of youth, do not fall very cleanly into entering the process of peace, wholeness, and essentially, what it means to be free.

There is a place to discuss biblical interpretation, and a time to have discussion around differences in belief and hermeneutics. Careful exegesis will bring about a more meaningful and sound understanding. And then there is a time to call out what is a disgraceful, downright blasphemous use of something sacred to justify something inhumane, cruel, and sinful.

As an ordained person in ministry, I cannot remain silent about what was stated today. For Jeff Sessions to use words from Paul’s letters to insist that taking children away from their parents is “rooted” biblically, is a disgrace and an affront to Jesus himself and all that is Christlike. It is uninformed. It is uninformed as well for Sanders to reference laws in the bible as a defense of Sessions’ statement. Having laws in place that benefit society is one thing, but there is nothing biblical about enforcing *unjust* laws and oppressive practices excused as “law and order”. Jesus would be the first to choose compassion and mercy, even in the face of leadership shouting about laws in his ears. Jesus would never stand by any child at the border being ripped away from their parents because of “law”.

One of my favorite passages in the Bible is Matthew 22:40. Why? Because it is almost as important as the ones preceding it in 37-39. 37 “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38 This is the greatest and first commandment. 39 And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 40 On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” Verse 40 often gets overlooked, and given what was atrociously stated by Sessions and Sanders today, this is essential: On these two commandments hang ALL the law and the prophets. All. ALL. “All the law and the prophets.” In other words, it is using the lens of Christ and the radical message of love, mercy, and compassion that gives us the wisdom to know better when something doesn’t align with 37-39. What is more important than our belief systems around scripture is that we *live* according to the teaching of Christ. Every word in the bible and beyond must be filtered through those two commandments. If it is not aligned, as verse 40 instructs, it is not of God. Sessions and Sanders spoke today in direct opposition to the Gospel. And so, let us respond in the spirit of:

Dtr. 10:18-19

Mt. 25:31-46

Lk. 4:16-21

Eph. 2:11-22

Is. 10:1

Mt. 25:43

Lk. 10:37

And many more…

A Christmastide Thought: 


The somber and violent reality of the Coventry Carol is haunting, yet the musical phrases end in important resolutions emblematic of light and hope- for a reason, I believe. Listen for it in the tune. Listen for it in the world. How should we move from dissonance to consonance? What part do we play? The Holy Innocents were killed by the same interests that would later bring about the death of Jesus, with similar intent- to stop the birth of any hope that the world may be transformed. Who is birthing such hope today? It cannot be stopped. More than a memorial, these little ones represent the shunned, the silenced, those trying to prevent their seeds from taking root. Remember the victims, but remember who failed: a tyrant’s rage and power. Seeds were planted anyway, and still are now. Especially now. That power, while seemingly unstoppable, is doomed. The baby lives; birthing continues, seeds are taking root deeply, the dissonance will not last. How relevant. Mt. 2:13

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wit-jGD4wCw

A little midnight musing. A sleepy but can’t sleep prose about parenting realities so nebulous:

Hebrews 2:14. God’s awareness of our inner hearts; God’s compassion in connection and succor.

A 10 Minute (or 11, 12 Minute) Reflection on the Community of Family
Shared with Calvary Baptist Church of Denver, Vision 20/20
Rev. Brenda J. Goodman, Mom, Chaplain, and More…

May 16, 2016

A few years ago, our family collaborated to make space for one night a week where we come together to intentionally spend time in some sort of spiritual practice, whether it be a devotional,Bible reading, or poetry reading, an activity with art or music, and a time of sharing. Nathan came up with the idea to meet on the trampoline, and so we gather there for some jump time, too. Some nights all we do is jump- jump away the days’ anger, frustrations, or jump in celebration, or we lie on our backs, gazing at clouds while sharing, or we move into some other activity for the night. Winter nights, we don’t get to meet on the trampoline, but it’s still Family Night Trampoline Time; it’s just what we call it now. Even if the trampoline time begins with rolled eyes, or sighs, it always ends with connection, and profound insights, shifted moods. Some weeks, we skip it. And that’s okay…the community of family needs grace. Here’s snippet of what a typical, plenteous day might look like in my family:

It’s about 6:15am, and I awaken to the sound of heavy, black, punk boots walking down our wood stairs. This is usually my first “alarm clock” of the morning. Thankfully, I don’t hear my 16 year old daughter’s actual alarm go off which happens at 5:30am- way too early for a teenager by the way, but the battle of trying to convince a school district to change start times for high school is another story…Taylor is up, tromping down the stairs to grab a piece of fruit (hopefully) and then to catch the 6:20 bus to school. My alarm is set for 7…sigh…my eyes begin to slowly close, and I drift into a snooze…

At 6:30am, my 12 year old’s alarm goes off, and because he doesn’t turn his alarm off, my eye’s lift open again to the sound of jazz from Denver’s radio station KUVO, 89.3 FM: Nathan’s preferred sound to wake up to. I smile, turn over in my bed (and wonder why I even bother setting my own alarm). As the piano riff from the radio blends with morning bird chirps, I turn over on my side, and because his side of the bed is still made, I am reminded that my husband will soon be on his way home from work, having worked all night as a deputy sheriff. Then I recall one of the other ministries I do (second to the ministry of motherhood), and I think of the other family I sat and prayed with at 11pm last night at the hospital where I work, in the sacred space of chaplaincy, as a witness and companion to their grief and deep love for the one they unexpectedly lost. I wonder what their 10 minute snippet of sharing about family might look like. And I realize that so many family stories are being holy-woven into time. As I rise to dress and slip on my running shoes, I realize I only had about 4 hours of sleep last night. I wish I could rewind back to 8:45pm, when I was singing Blackbird by the Beatles as my son rested his head on his pillow, and my daughter flipped through her studies. Thankfully getting only 4 hours of sleep doesn’t happen every night. But even when I’m not on call for work, 9pm to midnight or so, is a kids-are-finally-in-bed, night owl, introvert’s dream!

As the morning moves on, and after grabbing a banana, watching my son pound down a bowl of cereal with the spoon going from mouth to bowl in a circular blur, I hear a soft half-bark from our docile fur baby, Daisy the greyhound, gently reminding us that we neglected to let her back in when we let her out to do her business 20 minutes ago. I place the harness on her, remind Nathan to grab his trumpet and lunch, and to put his helmet on as he puts on his back pack, buckles his lunch box strap to one of his pack’s straps, slings his soft carry case with trumpet in tow over the top of those loads, and goes out the garage door to hop on his bike for his 2 mile ride to school. A click of his helmet buckle, and a push down the driveway, and he’s off. “Love you!” We exchange. A few minutes later, my husband arrives home, and I quickly thank God he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel, beside the fact that he returned safely from the pandemonium of the law enforcement world. We high five each other, exchange a few words, and he’s off to shower and sleep.

Since he works 12 hour shifts, 3 and 4 days alternating, we won’t see JohnE until his work week is over since he is either sleeping or working. I take our dog Daisy out for her two mile sniff…I mean, walk…and then get home to get myself ready for the day. As I walk past the kitchen: depleted pantry shelves, unopened mail, and unread school handouts stacked on the counter, remind me of chores to be done, bills to be paid, calendar dates to be added, sorted, negotiated. The next hours of the day either involve hospital visits, perhaps a meeting with my colleagues, or a continuing education event, or errands to be run, a verbatim to write for peer group supervision, and yes, even days with just a book, or a laptop to write, or a hike, or just me, myself and I at a movie theater, because I refuse to be too busy (or for my children to be!), as much as I can help it in family life.

The community of family needs grace.

In the middle of one of these daily happenings, I might see a phone call come in from…
Nathan’s school, let’s say. “Oh, please let it not be the dean again…
Oh no, it is the dean again!
Okay,” I think to myself, “He’s either making silly noises in class again, or…
…he’s being bullied again.”
But addressing the epidemic that bullying is, is another story…

In the meantime, my 16 year old texts me to remind me she’s staying after school for creative writing club, and that she lost her cell phone charger, and one of her books, and that her boyfriend broke up with her. I suggest some places to look for her lost items, I give her some encouraging words, remind her to breathe, and then I remember that she’s taking that dreaded test in chemistry today. She replies with the good news that she lettered in speech and debate! “So at least there’s that,” she texts with a half-smile emoji. She asks who is driving in tonight’s carpool to the Colorado Childrens Chorale rehearsal, and I remember that it is me. “Oh wait,” I think to myself, “Tonight’s Nathan’s first baseball practice of the season. Oh, whatever, I’ll figure that out later…” (Perhaps a favor for my parents to help with, and thank God for them!) Taylor and I text a bit more about when we might find an hour or two for her to drive so she can get her required hours in for her driver’s license…

…and then I wonder how her day’s experience will affect her socially, and emotionally, this precocious, bright, and sensitive one. So we’ve gone through about half of what a typical morning might look like. We’re at about 10-10:30am here when the phone call from the dean comes in.

Feeling full yet?

Well, I won’t narrate the rest of the day, but let’s shift to a Sunday, and see what that looks like. Thankfully, my kids do not have games scheduled on Sundays, which I know is a reality for many families. We commute on a 20 minute drive to church (because Calvary is worth it!) connecting and experiencing worship from 9am-noon, unless we came early for the Common Table Common Life chapel service, if it’s my Sunday to lead, which would make it 7:45am-noon, and if John’s working nights (he rotates every three months), then the kids have to come with me at 7:45. Thankfully, they are budding little musicians, and can participate in the chapel service, learning leadership, gaining confidence, finding purpose in their have-to, early Sunday rise.

After church, we grab lunch before going to piano lessons at another church about 25 minutes north of here, unless there’s a meeting after church, then we might leave early or skip a piano lesson (which might be good anyway, if it’s a week where practicing slipped a little…the community of family needs grace.) By the time we get home after piano lessons, we usually have about an hour before the kids leave to come back for youth choir and youth group. Good news for me though! JohnE is awake, after having slept most the day, and he’s off work on Sunday, so he takes the kids to church while I enjoy a space for a good evening run, or a chance to connect with my two best friends who are also mothers, and we laugh, cry, commiserate, and hold each other up.

It’s a challenge to balance family life with work, church, and play. But the blessings that surface in the beautiful messiness of it all fill my heart with the paradox of aching joy. It’s this little things, you know, like singing “Blackbird” and then being inspired to write a poem about singing lullabies to my children.

It’s nights where things don’t always follow the routine, like when I’m talking with my kids before bedtime, and right after I say, “Okay! Bed!”…we start talking about something else, and it repeats, again and again, until I’ve lost count of how many times the, “Okay! Bed!” behest has been hopelessly sandwiched between bizarre subject matter. Rich, silly, and sweet, and I am once again in awe of the wisdom filled, fresh-hearted reflections my children share. It’s things like Family Night Trampoline Time, when by what seems a miracle, all four of us sit together in a holy circle of sharing time.

It’s the moment I support my teenager who has unique struggles, and I remind her of one of my favorite quotes from a movie (Phoebe in Wonderland) I resonate with as a mother…it says “At a certain point in your life, probably when too much of it has gone by, you will open your eyes and see yourself for who you are, especially for everything that made you so different from all the awful normals…and you will say to yourself, ‘but I am this person.’ And in that statement, that correction, there will be…love.”

And I get to mother her through that hopeful revelation. It’s when my son in the middle of learning struggles, and grief over not wanting to grow up, being bullied, and the angst of middle school in general, takes time out of his afternoon of lego building to put a gift box on my desk with a folded up copy of a sacred painting he received in children’s church here at Calvary…along with a rubber lizard…just because he thought I would like it.

It’s watching the pure joy of grandparenthood gleam in my parents eyes, when their son-in-law, JohnE, or granddaughter Taylor with quick witted humor makes them laugh, or they smile at the homemade card (always homemade!) that grandson Nathan gave them.

It’s the comments about the Sunday morning sermon, or church school discussion, as we drive from church, revealing that my kids were actually listening, and the energy of church community begins its weekly infusion into the in-between Sundays of family life.

It’s seeing that marriage and family have taught me abundantly about God, about patience (something I really thought I had!) and about how my children, my little theologians that is, remind me of what’s precious about living. Our family, and so many communities of families are creating meaning in every space of challenge and delight, sorrow and discovery, in every day balancing, living and loving. It reminds me of Jesus’ prayer to God as he prays for his believers in John 17:26- it is Jesus praying with a parent heart, with maybe even a motherly heart, when he says, “I have made your very being known to them — who you are and what you do —and continue to make it known, so that your love for me might be in them exactly as I am in them.” It mysteriously makes sense.

And so the wonder of messiness, purpose, and sacred revealing in family life continues in God’s grand, Family Night Trampoline Time.

Jump! Or simply relax…

Thanks be to God.

Have you ever thought of the words, “Do not be afraid” as a blessing? Autumn is here, a new season, new program endeavors (school, church, etc.), new harvest, the blanket of cooler weather arriving to rest the earth, new dying to new beginning. I decided to post this blessing on my blog so it may continue to be a blessing for me and for you. I wrote it after being invited to provide a blessing for students, faculty, and staff during the Opening Convocation at The Iliff School of Theology. Often when I sermonize, or prepare for blessings and prayer, I ponder the yearnings in my own heart. I recalled my own visceral emotions from being a new student in graduate school, and asked myself what I would have liked to have been blessed with as a beginning seminarian. 

I also recalled what one of my dear mentors, Rev. Greer said as he commented about my first sermon that I gave in my ordaining congregation. Knowing me well, he could see how I had preached from a vulnerable place. “[Sermons] are not only windows for others into the ancient stories of our faith tradition. They are windows into ourselves. Good preaching, in my humble opinion, speaks as much of, and to, the soul of the preacher as it does to the souls of those listening.” This is what he called preaching with integrity. When I preach, bless, write, pray, lead, it comes from my own sacred space of wonder, infused with Spirit to whom I call upon with open heart, mind, and body. Where do your thoughts and prayers take you? Is it to a place of head or heart? Is it to a place of attachments, or freedom? Do you take risks in response, or remain comforted by the same wineskins unable to receive fresh wine? (Mk. 2:22) 

It is easy to fall into fear when something new presents itself. My teacher, in the Benedictine Spiritual Formation Program, used to greet us, encourage us, and send us out with the all important reminder to not be afraid. Fear is an unfortunate, driving force in much of our world, even in some religious circles, and it warps and shadows the light of release, vulnerability, possibility, and willingness to listen and to change. Brene Brown, a research professor and writer, talks about people who have a profound capacity for joy, and how they can lean into vulnerability because of it. (I quoted her in my first sermon by the way!) She explained that being joyful is vulnerable because we tend to go straight to how that joy might be taken away. Fear sneaks in, and we imagine what might go wrong instead. I think this falls inline with new beginnings as well. She said that people who “soften into joy” (or, as I would add, begin something new, or courageously begin to change) instead of using a blissful moment as a “warning to start practicing disaster, they used it as a reminder to practice gratitude.”

While the context of the following words are within a seminary of new/seasoned students and professors embarking on a new year of academic studying, teaching, and reciprocal learning, may these words also be a blessing in whatever newness you find yourself in. The running theme is a blessed reminder to not be afraid. (Is. 44:8, 54:4, 51:7, Acts 18:9, Joshua 10:25, Jeremiah 46:27, 30:10, Zech. 8:15, Lk. 12:4, Mt. 28:10, 14:27, Mk. 5:36, Jn 14:25, and so on…you get the point…I could go on and on. The words “Do not fear”, “Do not be afraid”, “Fear not” are all over the sacred scriptures, and for good reason…and for a blessing):

Pentecost Sunday. Romans 8:6 says, “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” I often find that dance, art, journaling, pondering, praying, breathing, grieving…are ways in which we attempt to embody and reflect Spirit’s furtive, yet ubiquitous nature, engaging Spirit with experiences of the inexplicable. Even as Spirit intercedes with “sighs too deep for words,” this poem is my attempt to describe through poetic prose the way in which Spirit shows up, transforms, sustains, and breathes through all of life; evident, but never fully in our grasp.

“Gripping, as a melancholy, musical drone…Fiery, as a jazz blue note, unable to be written on the score of life…” Having been ordained on Pentecost Sunday last year (wow! it’s been an entire year!), I share here an excerpt from my seminary/ordination theological papers. I wrote in one section, as was required, about Spirit:

“Spirit cannot be chained in a word; its historical manner is ever the moan…” -Jones and Lakeland. This reminds me of a musical drone-constant, erie and mysterious. The Song of Athene, by contemporary composer, John Tavener, begins with a vocal bass drone. It is one, very low note, continually sung throughout the entire piece. It is soft, resonate, distant, but without it, the rest of the notes would not be filled and supported the way in which they are. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7q1VRiwZF0 Song of Athene, Tavener) I invite you to listen to the piece and imagine that continuous note as a metaphor of the Holy Spirit. (This piece includes a reference to Luke 23:42, “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”) On the other hand, Spirit is also aligned to the energy of jazz: fiery, motivating—as opposed to, but in addition to, subtle and quieting. “…the jolt of joy when a jazz note finally leaps off the map of meaning into the improvisational nowhere of “insanity”. -Jones & Lakeland. Spirit is like this. The “blue note” in jazz, akin to Spirit, plays in a slightly lower tone than the major scale note, expressing itself in a way that changes the entire feel. It cannot be written on the score, it is not a drastic shift, but its influence is profound. In much the same way, Spirit cannot be “written” on the “score of life” but it has a profound impact on a life of faithful discernment, contemplation, and action. Wynton Marsalis, trumpet player and composer (a favorite of mine), can play using what musicians call circular breathing. The instrumentalist breathes in through the nose while continuously pushing air out of the mouth so that the notes are not interrupted. (http://vimeo.com/39864391 Cherokee, Ray Noble, arranged by Wynton Marsalis- Circular breathing example begins at 2:12.) Watch the continuous breath at 2:12 as Wynton plays. It is incredible! Spirit is like this movement of breath.