tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73198621169632679612024-03-12T23:41:14.668-05:00Now what?Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-9571456638861624072016-05-18T12:28:00.002-05:002016-05-18T12:28:54.502-05:00DeadThe past few years I've been very, very close to addiction. My brother, my only full sibling, is a meth addict. He has been for years. I first learned of his addiction almost 9 years ago at a birthday party I had thrown for my aunt. His then-wife came to me and told me that he had been arrested, that he was in trouble. Until that moment, I really had no idea what was happening. <br />
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My brother and I grew up in the same house. He was 4 and a half years older than me. We were never close as children. We did not spend a lot of time together. My brother was rebellious. He didn't like school. He had lots of friends, but they weren't my friends. I was a rule follower. I didn't like conflict and I wanted desperately to please my parents. When he was 18, he moved out and worked a few jobs before my dad helped him get a great job. He excelled at the job. He made lots of money. He married his high school sweetheart and had a few kids. I was closer to his children that I ever was to him.<br />
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Fast forward. I went away to college and then law school. I never again lived in our hometown, which he never left. The friends I made as a child were no longer my primary support system, and neither was my family. I built a life, a family and community elsewhere. I married, and started my own family. I would spend time with his children, but he worked a lot, so we didn't really connect very often. When we did see each other - the occasional wedding, funeral, Christmas dinner, we made small talk. We didn't dislike each other, but we had very little in common. We never really knew each other.<br />
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Then, everything changed. In 2005 he quit his job and decided to operate a strip club. He began actively lying to our parents, but somehow thought he and I should be on the same page and I should help him deceive them. His behavior seemed increasingly erratic. One moment he was talking a mile a minute and the next he seemed to be so tired he couldn't stand up straight. He seemed volatile and unpredictable. Still, I didn't really suspect drug use. <br />
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In early 2006, he showed up at my house late one night to show me a contract. He wanted me to review it. I was 8 months pregnant with my son. My brother was all over the place. It was then I first got the eery feeling something was really wrong. He came to the hospital the day after my son was born. He was again all over the place, ranting and raving about how he wanted to kill our father. I knew then something was seriously wrong. <br />
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In June, 2006, I found out he had been using and selling drugs. His wife told me. In the car, on the way to try and see if I, as a lawyer, could see my brother. She was crying, and knew things had spiraled out of control. I had no idea just out of control things would get.<br />
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My brother spent the next year continuing to use, lie, hide from the authorities, and ultimately he was sentenced to federal prison. The rest of the family spent that year trying to get him help (my parents paid for a lawyer and rehab) and trying to understand how things ever got this out of control.<br />
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I was at a distance from a lot of it. I still lived an hour away, and while I spent time with my parents and niece and nephew, I wasn't living it every day. I went to see my brother sporadically with my parents when he was being held, and ultimately in the federal prison camp he went to. I listened to him talk, and hoped he had beat his addiction. But, I had my doubts from the beginning. He talked a lot about the raw deal he got. About the dirty cops and the dirty lawyers. He talked like he was still using. It was everyone else's fault or issue. I worried about what would happen when he was released.<br />
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After he was released from prison and living in a halfway house, I hoped that perhaps he had softened some. And it seemed he had. But then the cycle started all over again. The signs of his use, the lying. But now, add to it the stealing, manipulation and blaming. He has stolen from my 84 year old father, his 17 year old son and probably from various others I don't know about. He manipulates the truth, and has cut off ties with me to the degree he can. He treats my mother, the one person who has continually tried to support him, with disdain and contempt. He will likely wind up back in prison as he is on probation and has tested positive four times for drug use. <br />
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What I'm about to say probably seems harsh. And it is. And I have no excuse for it, nor do I want to feel this way. But there are days, more often than I'd care to admit, that I wish my brother was dead. The havoc he has wrecked on my family and in particular his own children and my parents is something I can't quite forgive. My parents have systematically sold anything they think he can steal, sell or otherwise ruin. They lock their home now. This is something they have never done in my nearly 40 years. They lock it so their son won't steal more possessions from them. He has stolen money, my dad's guns (which belonged to his late father), but mostly he has stolen their peace. My mother doesn't sleep well. My father worries that he will bury his son. And what's worse is he tries to guilt them at every turn so he can manipulate more money from them. He lies to them continually. He has told his son that if he stops using meth, he will kill himself. He has told his daughter she is a worthless piece of trash. <br />
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And honestly I'm tired. I'm tired of worrying about our next family event and whether my brother will (1) show up or (2) show up high or (3) steal something or (4) make everyone feel bad. It's a strange place to be. I don't know my brother. Perhaps I never did. But it's extremely hard for me to find compassion for him. I want my parents to have peace in their lives. I want his children to have peace in their lives. And at this moment, I don't think that's possible if he's alive.<br />
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I suppose more than anything I wish I knew how to magically fix it all. What could I do to make him see that he needs to get cleaned up? Is there something I'm missing? I wish I didn't feel the way I do. But I also know this is no time to be dishonest about where things stand. Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-11005545587322086212015-01-11T21:00:00.002-06:002015-01-11T21:00:42.104-06:00HopeThis is the year I will turn 40. I've never been big on numbers, mine or others, but 39 (and 2014 in particular) has been a rough year, and I've never felt my age as acutely as I have in the last year, so approaching 40 has me feeling anxious and a little ill-prepared. <br />
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Then, as if some sort of cosmic joke, at Christmastime I also learned I was expecting a third child. This realization came down on top of my head like the figurative sky falling in.<br />
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When I married my husband over two years ago, we talked about having a baby. We both had our children from prior relationships. We thought about it, considered it and ultimately we made an unspoken decision that we were too old, too tired and had our hands too full with the children we already had and our lives, jobs and responsibilities. We started dreaming about the next chapter. The post-children-living-with-us one. I had never really considered it before. I always assumed I would have a third child. We could move wherever we wanted to, we could go out to dinner when we wanted to, and we could start over in 10 short years when the kids were grown and out of the house. We became excited about the possibilities. My 40's were going to bring a new normal, and I was ready for it. I've settled into the busyness of kids' sports, school events and continuing to develop the middle of my career as an attorney. But I also had my eye on the future. I began cleaning out the basement of all of the baby/toddler/little kid stuff. The kids even helped me. We donated things, gave them to friends and generally moved post-baby.<br />
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I also mourned in some way. I had always wanted a third child. And I felt like it would be fun to have a child with my husband. Seeing what we would create, and parenting a child together were things I thought sounded wonderful. But I didn't stay sad long. I was comfortable with our life together. And besides, after the year we've had, another child seemed unthinkable.<br />
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2014 brought a lot of things our family's way. A few close friends were diagnosed and treated for cancer. This scared me, and shook my foundations more than usual. These were women I knew and loved. Their journey through cancer treatment and the pain of facing their mortality, brought mine to the surface as well.<br />
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My brother relapsed into the abyss of drug addiction. After some years of sobriety, this past year brought a full and complete relapse for him. He is engulfed in his addiction, and all of the behaviors that go with it - stealing, lying and creating chaos for everyone. His relapse brings me to the realization again that my own anxiety, depression and addictive traits could spiral out of control.<br />
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My father is dying. As he loses his sight, his hearing and his mind, the rest of us wait and watch and hope that his passing can be easy for him. He is reliant on all of us, and especially my mother. It is hard for him and probably even harder for her. His loss of his memory and ability to talk about things is sad, and of course reminds me that perhaps one day I will be in his shoes.<br />
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My daughter is growing up so fast. She is officially taller than I am, she started her period (she'd love me sharing that), has hit the "I don't tell my mom everything anymore" phase and is turning into a young lady. While I am enjoying seeing her grow and change, there is a bittersweet feel to it all. No<br />
longer my own, but now becoming her own person. Her eyerolls and attitude frustrate me, but her growth makes me happy and proud.<br />
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Michael Brown was shot in the streets of Ferguson only 8 miles from my home. Tamir Rice was shot in Cleveland. Eric Garner was choked in New York. None of the people who killed any of them has been held accountable (yet). These events have brought back into the forefront the race, socioeconomic and class issues our country, and closer to home our community has to deal with. While I could've predicted the non-indictments in these situations, I am saddened by it. I am disappointed and angry at the world we live in, and the failure of our systems of justice. I worry about my children growing up in a world that remains divided and not just.<br />
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I have left my church home in search of something different. So far my journey has been more discouraging than encouraging. My visits to churches have confirmed my own suspicions - we remain a divided community on Sunday mornings in much the same way as every other day of the week. This leaves me sad, and feeling a bit homeless.<br />
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So, in the face of all of this, I stand in the middle. Expecting another child. A child I did not plan for, and that when I learned of his/her existence I cried tears of fear. How do I bring a child into the world I experienced this year? This child will likely never know his or her grandfather or uncle. This child will have very few extended family members. This child's siblings will be 9 and 12 years older than him or her, and therefore not have a playmate as my other 2 had in one another. This child's mother is OLD. And so is its father. This child is born into a family without a church home. This child is born into a world where his or her race will still matter. While I feel more financially secure, and my marriage is certainly stronger than it was when either of my first two children were born, I feel even less prepared this time around than I did the first two times. I know too much. You can't unlearn life experience. I know about children who have cancer, friends who have miscarried, had stillbirths and have lost children to illness. I have known women who have died in childbirth, died of cancer and in car accidents. What if I die and my child grows up with his or her mother?<br />
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And yet, here I stand, expecting my third child. I am in a different place than I was at first. This baby feels more like defiance. Like hope in the face of incredible tragedy and sadness. Choosing to bring another child into the world at 40 years old, knowing so much more than I did when I brought my first into the world at the age of 28, feels like a statement, a manifesto.<br />
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This baby feels like hope. It feels like shaking my fist at the sky and saying "I refuse to give up on this world and these people." It seems like I'm saying that my husband and I and our love for one another and this child will be enough. That despite my fears and doubts and uncertainties and worry and sadness and anger, I can do this. I can carry and deliver a healthy child. I can raise this child to know love and certainty and joy. This child is the manifestation of the things I could not find on my own. This child is exactly what I needed and a gift I had no idea I would receive. This child is my hope for my world. And for my husband's. And maybe for other people's worlds, too. Even at 40, this baby is offering me more hope than I know what to do with. May it always be true.<br />
<br />Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-9191667283007465332014-01-01T20:22:00.000-06:002014-01-01T20:22:33.453-06:00Binding and LoosingI made a fairly strange New Year's resolution this year. I committed to binding those things and people that needed to be bound to me and loosing those ties that needed to be loosened. I got the idea in the final days of 2012 when I heard again the text from Matthew regarding loosing and binding.<br />
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"and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." Matthew 16:19<br />
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I am, to put it in an odd way, a "hanger-oner." I have a hard time letting go of people, ideas and places. It's been part of my make-up since I was a little girl. Even after I've seen that it's time to move on, let go, do something different, I still struggle with doing so. By way of example, I knew years before I ever married my first husband that this was not who I needed to be with. I knew in ways that I didn't or couldn't express that we were not meeting one another's needs. And yet, I hung on tight for over a decade after that realization. I've had friendships that if I examined them closely, I would've seen clearly needed to be let go of. Still, I struggle with being able to walk away. It's part of who I am.<br />
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The problem is...when I hang on to people, things or ideas that I shouldn't be hanging onto...I am not attending to that which needs to be bound up. Those peoples, places and ideas that serve to make me a more loving and just human being. Those are the things that I need to be binding on earth.<br />
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So...this year my New Year's resolution has already been one I've had to think about and act upon. I've had to let go of two different friendships. Quite honestly, I didn't want to let go. I wanted to see if I could somehow figure a way through or out. But, ultimately I reached a point when I realized (in the past few days) that the friendships aren't healthy. Not for me. Not for the other two people. So, at last, I've decided to loose those ties. And already I have seen how this has allowed me to refocus my time and energies on those things which I want to bind.<br />
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The relationships that are the most integral for me are my husband and my children. They are what need and deserve my attention. My husband is an amazing man. And he has sat by while I have struggled to loose that which needed loosed. He has listened, held my hand and loved me through it. I couldn't ask for more from anyone in my life than what he has offered. And I know that regardless of whether I made the choice to loosen willingly or not, he would be there, willing to hold my hand and love me through the process. <br />
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Binding and Loosing in 2013.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-89976145832855755512014-01-01T20:20:00.001-06:002014-01-01T20:20:55.565-06:00New Year - The Bird's NestI've discovered something I love. New Year's. I love to formulate ideas and think about all I want to accomplish. I will admit up front, execution is not my strong suit. I recently thought of an analogy that reminds me of these two things.<br />
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A year or so ago, a bird built a nest in my hanging basket plant. I didn't realize the nest was there at first, but one day, when I took the plant down to water it adequately, I noticed the nest, and I noticed 5 small eggs in the nest. One egg looked a little strange, but the other 4 were the ordinary blue robin eggs one sees all the time in the Midwest. Over time, I watched the eggs, and I talked with my kids about the eggs and how they may hatch soon, but we shouldn't disturb the next or touch the eggs for fear the mother bird might abandon them.<br />
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Soon the eggs hatched...or actually in reality 4 of the eggs hatched. The strange looking egg never hatched. Of the four babies, one died quickly. Another fell out of the nest at some point. The last two grew, and I assume flew away at some point, as they no longer returned to the nest. <br />
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All of my ideas and thoughts are like the eggs. Sometimes the idea never makes it past simply rolling around in my brain, never hatching at all. Some of my dreams or hopes make it to hatching and the sharing with another person, but because of time, money or practicality, the idea never makes it out of the nest. A few of those ideas though, they make it. They take wings and eventually a life of their own. <br />
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New Year's is a time to develop eggs for the year. This year I decided to write them down as a way of solidifying what I want to see happen in the next year (and beyond). <br />
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I ended up with 5 major (and somewhat lofty) goals.<br />
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1. Take control of what I can control about my health.<br />
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For me this means eliminating candy and fast food from my diet. It means eliminating artificial sweeteners and taking vitamins again. It means exercising 4-5 days per week. It means trying to learn to like vegetables (one a month is what I wrote down). It means accepting my body today, but realizing that I have to make the changes I know are necessary to live a long, healthy life. <br />
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2. Write.<br />
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For me this means getting back to blogging, but also getting started on the 2 books I've been wanting to write for sometime now. In an effort to make my goal more attainable, I have decided to set aside 2 hours each week (at a minimum) to write.<br />
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3. Build money in retirement.<br />
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I'm not getting any younger. Someday I won't be able to do what I do for a living. I want to feel like I'm doing something to prepare for that day.<br />
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4. Work on the nonprofit I started in 2013. <br />
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This means setting aside two hours per week to work on the direction and administration of this Board.<br />
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5. Set aside quality time each week for my husband.<br />
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The primary relationship in my life deserves more intentional time than I always give it. I want to nurture this relationship and be sure that we stay connected. Thankfully I have an amazing partner who wants to spend his time with me. I need to take advantage of this.<br />
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So, that's it. My set of resolutions for this year. I'm hopeful as I always am at this time of year. 2014 will be a good year.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-22476675114222169712012-12-10T22:22:00.000-06:002012-12-10T22:22:46.971-06:00PrimaryThese past few months have been full of joy for me. I met a man several months ago who I fell in love with. But, deeper than that, I chose him. And he chose me. We decided to marry. And then we did. It didn't seem like a hard decision to make, but that isn't to say I took it lightly. In fact, I take the decision very seriously. I have no desire to live through the pain of a second divorce. My husband is in all ways the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I often think about how strange life is...to meet such an incredible man now. In my late 30's. <br />
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However amazing my marriage has been thus far, my life has been marked by sadness over other situations. My law partner and friend's husband was diagnosed with two forms of cancer in August. Her life has changed in ways she could have never imagined. Her pain and sadness is palpable. She is far braver and more loyal than I ever could have given her credit for. My husband is searching for a job. One that will make him feel good about working and a job that he can feel is contributing to our world to make it better. My best friend and I are at odds. Again. This time I see that perhaps there is no way forward together. And of course that brings with it a sense of sadness and regret. My former husband is behaving in ways that cause my children pain and fill me with rage. <br />
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I have had to consider, and draw conclusions about what I will seek as primary in my life. There are few open spots in life. From early on, we are forced to choose primary relationships. And I have over the years had to choose these things. My first husband never really occupied a primary place in my life. I had friends, church, kids and other things that filled those spots. The man I have chosen at 37 is occupying the central place that another human can occupy. And I made that choice. To let him in. To love him and make him a priority every day. That wasn't in the vows necessarily, but I have chosen it nonetheless. What perhaps is even better is that he has also made that choice. <br />
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What this choice means is that my ex-husband's antics no longer get a central spot in my life. My best friend's decisions and choices take on a secondary role. It doesn't mean that I don't care. It simply means that I won't allow myself to invest in these situations as I would have in the past. The losses aren't made easier necessarily. But they are losses I am choosing. My responses are less emotional and more matter of fact. There have been moments when I have been angered or saddened by what has happened, but ultimately I can let go in a way I would have struggled with a year ago. <br />
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What I have discovered in the past few months is that when we seek to be someone's primary relationship knowing that the other person isn't fully available to us...for whatever reason...we are not loving that person by seeking the relationship. My ex-husband was not capable of placing me in a primary role. For many reasons and perhaps the reasons don't matter. And when our relationship failed, it was at least partially because of the lack of primacy that either of us placed on it. However this is not to say that primary relationships can be sought out. In fact, I would say it's the opposite. If we are fortunate enough to pass into someone's life at the right moment, it is an amazing thing. But asking someone to choose us who is not free to make a good, sound choice is selfish. And the relationship will never have the quality it needs to last the storms. And trying to force ourselves into a primary place in someone else's life is manipulation in it's worst form. It seems life a loving thing, but in fact it is only to meet our own need to belong to someone.<br />
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The moment I knew things had deteriorated in my marriage was when I began to lie to those closest to me about what was happening. When I could no longer maintain friendships and familial relationships because I knew things were a mess and I feared everyone's judgment. While I care less about others' judgments now than I used to, I still recognize the gauge as a valuable one. <br />
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I believe in primary relationships and the importance of choosing with not just our desires but also with our minds and hearts. And I'm finally in a place where I'm choosing healthy ones rather than ones that can only end badly. Life is good. Even when my days aren't always so wonderful. And I'm excited that the man I have chosen to be primary in my life wants to hold that spot. Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-41310933467371466522012-10-01T21:21:00.004-05:002012-10-01T21:21:55.417-05:00PlansI'm a planner. I like to plan things. Whether it be a special dinner or a party or just when I'm going to read a new book, I enjoy thinking about how things are going to go. I must admit that this sometimes lends itself to disappointment. When I "plan" in my mind how things are going to go and then...something or someone interferes. My plans are either thrown out the window or have to be revised. This never makes me particularly happy. I have a certain rigidity about my personality that makes me irritated by the sort of haphazard way life really is. <br />
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This brings me to my latest revelation. My life, thus far, really hasn't gone according to my plan. That is...when I was a young girl, I was like many other young girls I think. I thought I would grow up, "find myself", get a job, get married, have babies and live happily ever after. What I didn't plan was that I would struggle with figuring out what to do with my life. That I would fight to find a job that I could really love. That I would get married, only to subsequently get divorced. That my baby would have health issues. None of that was part of the plan. Still, I survived it. And ultimately came out the other side of those times stronger and more whole than before.<br />
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Now I find myself in love. It seems strange at 37 to be so enamored with another person, but I am. And I'm enjoying getting to know him and his plans, hopes, failures and losses. The more I know, the more I find myself drawn in. Still, this is outside the plan. My amended plan when I divorced at 34 was to remain single. Raise my babies. Enjoy their lives. Live somewhat vicariously through them. They have been the sun I have revolved around for the past three years. There is a certain comfort to that. Of course I know children grow up and life moves on, but still...I thought they were enough for me. I didn't need another marriage.<br />
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Recently I have come to realize that I am now called into another adventure. This one, I will travel with a partner. A man who is my equal. He doesn't want to be rescued from anything or saved from something. He is smart, loyal, funny. In the beginning, I wasn't sure. I wondered if this made sense at this time, in this place. But eventually I was able to let go and accept the gift standing before me. It's been an awesome journey so far. I can't wait for the next 6 months, 5 years, 50 years. <br />
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I have to admit, life hasn't went according to plan. And yet I'm more optimistic than ever about what direction I'm heading in.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-58697660638410824002012-05-06T21:15:00.000-05:002012-05-06T21:15:34.195-05:00Thomas (Still)Every year it happens...I listen to the Gospel of just after the Resurrection. And I sit and think about Thomas. Usually the story makes me cry.
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"But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails, and my hand in his side, I will not believe. A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, Peace be with you. Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe. Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." (The Gospel according to John)
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Every year I feel some mixture of pain and shame when I step into Thomas' shoes in this Gospel. I feel as if I lived Thomas' life 2,000 years later. I want badly to believe, but I doubt. And I look for the signs around me. Some days I'm pretty good and accepting the unbelievable story of God's grace and love for humans. And other days, I must confess I think maybe we're all part of some strange cosmic joke. It's complicated. The past few years my life has become about embracing the doubts that once plagued me and accepting they are just as important to my faith as my...well...my faith is.
This year my view of Thomas has shifted a bit. This year his story made me cry. But not because I knew in that moment this man's shame. Instead it was I knew in that moment his disbelief and then his elation.<br />
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I cannot imagine being Thomas. Following the rabbi known as Jesus around. And then ultimately watching him die a horrible death. The feeling of abandonment and loss had to be excruciating. And the fear of what was next and how to go on had to be weighing the man down to the ground. So, when he hears the rumors - that Jesus is alive - well...what should we expect? There had to be a part of him that simply could not allow that possibility into his mind and heart. The news was simply too incredible and amazing.
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The past few years of my life have been about trying to learn how to manage my expectations. I left a bad marriage only to find myself wandering around a bit lost. While I was hopeful I would find a partner, I really didn't allow myself the genuine hope that this was possible. And to find someone who was smart, loving, loyal...well that seemed like something that was just too wonderful to hope for.
And then I woke up from the past few years and there was someone standing there, wanting to be those things for me. I have to admit, I reacted a bit like Thomas. Unsure, doubting. Part of me was frightened enough that I had to fight the urge to run away.
Not to be misunderstood, I do think there are good things in life. And I think there is more love most days in my life than I can hold in my heart. But still, that hope. For someone to be my beloved is a really big hope for me. One I almost can't quite grasp.
So I understand Thomas differently this year. Not as a doubter who just didn't have enough faith. But as a man who was afraid to hope for something as wonderful and life-changing as his teacher rising from the dead. And ultimately as a man who cries tears of relief and elation when he finally lays eyes on Jesus and is able to touch him.
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And as for me, I feel like I finally have the thing I lost several years ago. I have a real sense of hope for my future. Not as mommy or lawyer or friend...but a hope that my future includes someone amazing who can be my partner, my lover and my friend.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-23554401246828171672012-02-19T19:56:00.002-06:002012-02-19T20:42:17.095-06:00Transfigured - There are no wordsIn the story of the Transfiguration in the Bible, Jesus instructs the few disciples he has with them "not to talk about it." I've always wondered why that was. At one point, I thought it might be because Jesus knew that if they told the truth of what they saw and heard on that mountain, people would think they were insane and they would be rejected and stigmatized even more than they already were. At another reading, I thought perhaps Jesus was tired of people chasing after him. After all, he is/was human, and I'm sure he was worn out and tired. At yet another time, I thought perhaps it was reverse psychology - "Don't tell." Wink, wink. Today as I listened to another discussion of this event, it occurred to me. Perhaps none of these explanations make sense to me in the here and now. (Warning: this latest thought is subject to, and most likely will, change without warning.)<br /><br />There are certain experiences in life humans get to have that are simply inexplicable. The birth of a child, the tragedy of great loss (whether to death or other circumstances), falling in love. These experiences are the subject of poetry, bad country music songs and much discussion. But really, nothing does them justice. It's just not possible to put into words, song or painting what it feels like to hold your newborn child in your arms. Breathing in her scent, gazing at him, feeling a child's weight in your arms for the first time. It is an experience that surpasses expression. It is not possible to explain it adequately to another person. No matter how artfully one tries, the experience is too rich, too textured, too beautiful to put into words that make sense to anyone who has not experienced the same event. And even someone who has experienced the same event will have a different experience and the words that I think are helpful in describing the experience may mean nothing to someone else. <br /><br />I was reminded of this reality recently when it became clear to me I was falling in love again. It has been a very, very long time since I felt this way about a man. At first I wasn't even certain what to think or how to feel about it. I had the long-forgotten butterflies in my belly and I wasn't able to hold an ordinary thought in my head. I wasn't able to eat much and all I could think about was this man's voice in my mind. The term "falling" seemed to fit perfectly for this out-of-control state of being more than alive. The more I tried to be logical and resist these feelings, the more profoundly they became made manifest. Despite just having spent the past 5 minutes trying to explain how I have felt this past month, my words do not serve any real purpose. If you've ever fell in love, you might be able to relate...but your experience is undoubtedly different from mine. That's just part of being all too human. And mostly I don't want to try and express how I feel to anyone but my beloved, because it almost seems to cheapen the experience. How can one explain the fire in the belly that is part of falling in love? What words are there to use? If I were a painter, I could paint you a picture...but still my hues and designs would not bring to life how I feel about this man clearly enough. <br /><br />All of this to say, I can't help but think that Jesus got this. I wonder when he told the disciples to "not tell anyone" if implicit in his instruction was the idea that no one else would get it. After all seeing some one's clothes change colors and seeing dead people wasn't what most of us would think of as an ordinary day. I think Jesus understood that some experiences in life are so amazing and incredible and beautiful...that all the discussion in the world will never do them justice. We can try to find the words, we can create a painting and write incredible melodies...but still we cannot fully put the experience into anything that makes sense to anyone but us and the other in our experience. I think Jesus lived his life fully alive...and therefore he had these sorts of experiences regularly. And yet he spent little time trying to explain the events of his life to others. The Bible indicates he wept at the death of his friend. That he sweated blood on the final night before his execution. That he expressed anger. But you don't find him waxing on eloquently about his life experiences. He doesn't appear to try and convince anyone about the amazing nature of life. <br /><br /> I suppose my latest thoughts about the Transfiguration are colored by my latest thoughts about finding love and then perhaps losing love in short order. But I can't help but think Jesus got it. Most simply put...there are no words. And so then why force them? Of course I recognize my "Peterish" way of looking at the world - I need to say something. I must try and stammer my way through explanations and lovely turns of phrase simply to ultimately admit there are no words to describe the feelings and experiences of life. I think Jesus got this, and rather than try and explain what was happening to him, he avoided the cliches and catchy phrases to describe what was indescribable. And he gave us an incredible gift in doing this...we can have the experiences for ourselves. We can create music and art and prose to try and expound on how we feel (perhaps being a little like Peter). And then we can find the silence where our own thoughts and feelings about the experiences of life are quieted, perhaps even suspended somewhere between earth and heaven. And we can be grateful for the experience in that suspended space.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-7212720139043938272012-02-01T22:06:00.003-06:002012-02-01T22:50:23.186-06:00SexLately it seems, it's everywhere I turn. Sex. <br /><br />Recently some children were visiting in my home with my children. One of them asked me if "my man" had bought my house for me. To his surprise (and maybe my own), I blushed a little and then laughed. No, my man wasn't the owner of my house. And by the way I don't have "a man." <br /><br />I read a blog about how women in many evangelical circles these days are viewed as the "weaker vessels" and therefore unable to resist men if said men want to have sex with them. Apparently our free will flies right out the window in the presence of a penis.<br /><br />It reminded me of the gender issues of my childhood brand of Christianity...that is...if a man strayed in his marriage, it was because a temptress had taken over somehow. He couldn't help himself. Men could not be expected to control their carnal urges when women flaunt themselves in front of them.<br /><br />This reminded me of the women I know who think a man is incapable of being faithful and monogamous, because they are, well, men. And that reminded me of men who think women are all secretly lusting after some other man, not their mate.<br /><br />This reminded me of the demise of my own marriage and how I spent a long time thinking about what all I had done wrong, and how perhaps my yo-yo weight lead my husband to look elsewhere for sex.<br /><br />This reminded me of recently watching my 8 year old daughter flirt with 14 year old boys, and how uneasy it made me. That she already felt the need to try and impress these boys with her charm and lip gloss. <br /><br />This reminded me of all the conversations I've had with female friends that have included some sort of discussion of men and how they want sex too often and how <br />"we" don't need sex nearly as often as "they" do. <br /><br />This reminded me of how, in the end, societally speaking, it comes back to a few assumptions. None of which are flattering to women. Or flattering to me.<br /><br />First, women are really only here to meet men's desires for sex. Second, we are on one hand really powerless and yet we hold all the power when it comes to sex. Of course neither position is tenable. Third, the pressure to be "desirable" or "acceptable" to men is so pervasive and strong, I'm unsure if my daughter will learn any of things I want her to learn when it comes to relationships, sex, men.<br /><br />When I was still a young girl, I remember having so many ideas about men and sex and marriage and babies. From my earliest memories, my father used to talk about women being whores. My brother was supposed to avoid pornography, because having that around the house would "turn your sister into a whore." I was to avoid boys because all they wanted was sex, and they didn't really like girls. "If you kiss on boys, you'll end up pregnant." I thought I was pregnant when I was 9 years old because I let Kenny, the kid down the street, kiss me. I spent months looking at my belly in the mirror, trying to think of what I would say when I had a baby at 10. While the kiss from Kenny wasn't much to write home about, it made me feel special. Loved. Worthy, somehow. A few years later, it became evident to me that men sometimes just took what they wanted from you. And as I had no say about that, neither would I have say about whether a man would "pick me." I remember in my female-dominated college feeling as if I needed to dumb it down so that men would desire me more.<br /><br />Even now, all these years later, there is a certain discomfort I feel when someone says I'm single. While I am, and I chose to be, this feels a bit like when Kenny kissed Terri. Even though I had rebuffed his advances, I knew he had chosen her over me. And it hurt. I wanted to be desired. Deep down, I suppose I still do. But yet, that desire...to be desired...still feels a little like being a whore. Good girls don't want sex, do they? <br /><br />While I would like to claim to be highly evolved. Afterall I'm a feminist. I'm a lawyer. I'm raising children on my own. And still, there is some sense of shame in being alone, not having "my man" to buy me a house. And perhaps even more shame in admitting wanting to be wanted. <br /><br />I want more. More for my daughter. More than the tired old stereotypes and strange misconceptions I know about sex. I want more for me. I still want to believe that people, men and women, can be well-intentioned and good and decent and loving. And that sex has a place in there somewhere.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-74969807230231367502012-01-01T21:00:00.002-06:002012-01-01T22:53:51.671-06:00LeavingAs I've struggled to find words in the past few months...or at least words to write anyway...I've been largely unsettled. At first I didn't identify what it was I was feeling, but now I remember this. Unsettled. <br /><br />Ordinarily unsettled would be a bad word for me, but not at this moment. At this moment, it actually seems highly appropriate and a welcome time in life. <br /><br />The past few years have been out about settling in. Adjusting to being divorced. Adjusting to being mom and dad to my kids 95% of the time. Adjusting to a different church community. Adjusting to a new set of friends and peers in my career. Finally about a year ago, I began to realize, by and large I was settled again. And it was a nice change, turnabout. It made sense.<br /><br />Now, in the normal course of life, change comes again. More and more I have felt a change coming. I'm not getting re-married, my kids are still the priority of my life. But, I have realized that the faith community I find myself involved in isn't really what I need. And in the same moment, I realize the community is also not what I want. The needs I had, the needs they had...they coalesced briefly. But, now, it seems more and more that leaving really is the next step. It's not a running away sort of thing. It's time to move on. <br /><br />I find myself preparing for the journey I know is coming. I'm being lulled out of the comfortable, roomy place I have been hanging out in for the past few years. Instead of that making me uneasy, it actually makes a lot of sense at this moment, in this time. <br /><br />The church I've lighted at the past few years is a nice place to visit. But ultimately I don't fit in a permanent way. I'm not a lifelong Episcopalian. While I still find myself drawn to the Episcopal Church, I don't find myself drawn to the small, often inwardly-focused sort of place I currently myself in. The debates over programs and liturgy are not meaningful for me. While I have found myself drawn into the discussions at times, I don't feel drawn in because this is my family. Rather, I feel drawn in because I think I can help. And of course that's not really relationship. Everyone needs a community. I have to believe that in fact I'm like most other folks, I'm made for community. The question is what community? When? How does it look?<br /><br />The only community I really think is authentic is one formed out of relationship. While commonality is useful, it really has little to do with community. When I think of my circle of friends - the ones that are also friends with one another - while we share some commonality - our relationships are not built on the foundation of need. Instead we are a community because we want to be. There is a desire to be with one another. A want - to be involved in each other's lives. I want to know these people better. I want to share our journeys - because I have presence/presents to offer them and I am able to receive from them those things that make me a better person. This community is gift. While it has its share of difficulties, miscues and pain, it is by and large a great thing.<br /><br />Each community in my life seems to be present for a reason, a season or some such thing. What I feel called to these days is a faith community that it outwardly focused. Where we meet, who's in charge or how it looks isn't really of much concern to me. What is of concern to me is what the point is. Is the point to build relationships with the least of these? Is the point social justice? Is the point to serve others first, and ourselves last? I sure hope there is such a thing. That's where I want to go. And if it doesn't exist, then God help me, I feel the need to create such a community. <br /><br />So, for once in my life, change actually seems imminent, and it's not making me queasy. I know something that can exceed my expectations waits, just down the road. And rather than staying for the sake of proving I can stay, I look forward to leaving in search of a new sense of being settled.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-45058730799730202052011-11-22T21:44:00.002-06:002012-01-01T20:58:39.349-06:00ResurrectionI've had a hard time writing for the past few months. Part of my issue is that I feel somewhat exposed in the past year. I have kept this blog largely hidden from most people I know. It felt safer and more secure to write in obscurity. I didn't have to be concerned about being confronted by my writing by anyone. As people have discovered the blog, whether on purpose or by accident, I have had to contend with feeling as if my thoughts and feelings are really "out there" for anyone who has the inclination to look. This is not comforting. Still, I have felt the need to begin again (again). When I started writing in this forum, well over two years now, it was a place to record the difficulties of my life at that time without fear of having to "explain" myself to anyone. I was in a tough spot - my marriage was ending, I felt something new beginning, but couldn't identify what it was, I had started a law practice and was still concerned about survival.<br /><br />A lot has changed in the past nearly three years. And yet, much remains as it was. I'm divorced, and most days the trauma of that event feels as if it is over. My children are thriving. I am still managing a law practice that continues to pay me enough to support my children and I comfortably. And largely I have realized that my vocation has little to do "change" at this moment in my life. <br /><br />The issue that most stands out as "needing to be dealt with" these days is my weight. I've regaled myself (and lots of other people) with my up and down weight stories. I've lost and gained numerous times. The last time I lost, I lost big. About 140 pounds. It took 2 years, but I felt physically great. Mentally and emotionally I couldn't get my act together. I still felt over 300 pounds. I weighed myself obsessively. I couldn't stop thinking about calories and exercise and weight loss. Slowly, over two years, the weight came back. I've regained approximately 85 pounds. My focus went away as quickly as it had come. My singular focus became my divorce, children and life. <br /><br />The past few months my weight has begun to really bother me. I feel like a giant in a small world. I'm making myself sick overeating. I'm vomiting, having heartburn and having other physical symptom that make it clear I'm eating myself to death. I'm struggling to walk very far, losing my breath and have aching feet on a daily basis. I realize that the time has again come to make some changes.<br /><br />Ultimately I'm not certain I know how to do this again. Of course I know how to count calories and work out and do all of the things that must happen to coax my body to shed the weight. It seems to me though that there is more to understand or know.<br /><br />I've been reading several books that reference the 12 steps lately. I can't help but think this goes beyond coincidence. I'm not certain how it works next. But, I seem to be "being resurrected" in a lot of different ways. Now what?Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-89483731407157676922011-07-24T21:37:00.006-05:002011-08-05T21:53:16.729-05:00CommunityEvery now and again I have a moment of clarity that seems a tad negative...even for a girl who considers herself to be at least somewhat cynical. Still this morning at the place I attend church each Sunday, I was moved to think "what if?" with not just a little skepticism about what the church (as I've experienced it - mainline denomination-style)can do and offer those of us who have by and large outgrown the institution and don't feel quite at home anymore.<br /><br />Each week during the principal service in my parish we have a few moments in the middle of the service (post-sermon, pre-Eucharist) where we offer prayers for people who had a birthday that week or for people who are going to be traveling somewhere. We also offer prayers for people who are celebrating their wedding anniversaries. I've always kind of liked this part of the service - many of the members of my church are pretty advanced in age. I feel like they deserve to be celebrated along with the children, who often seem to be growing up before my eyes.<br /><br />Today, after the usual birthday and traveling prayers, our priest asked if anyone had an anniversary to celebrate. A young man who has just recently begun attending services with us got up and said he was celebrating his third anniversary of "working." Some of the folks who are ordinarily in our midst looked at one another and rolled their eyes at this "newbie." A few seemed happy with his announcement. Our priest quickly offered a prayer for him, and we moved on to Eucharist. This young man has been playing guitar (and some other instruments) with an outreach program of the parish for the past year or so. I've seen him and spoke to him at some of the recitals and performances of the group. <br /><br />It occurred to me, again, how much it seems we in the church (or perhaps in my church) are missing the message about community that Jesus seemed so hellbent on modeling. What if...we were a place where people could stand up and announce their sobriety anniversary, whether it was one day, one month, one year? What if we could share, out loud, that we are struggling with what to do with our feelings about heaven, hell and the afterlife and not fear being labeled a heretic? What would happen if someone stood up and announced to the community his infidelity and asked the group to heal both he and his spouse? How would we, as a community, be different if we were able to actually speak of such raw, painful things with the people we say are our community? It would seem we would be much closer. We would be much more invested in one another. <br /><br />The realistic part of me recognizes the danger in such openness. Of course it invites judgment, and sometimes further isolation. Still, it seems in my other close communities (albeit these are smaller groups of folks)...if someone has a particularly bad weekend, or something really great happens or someone is struggling with a health issue...we all talk about it. We text each other, we talk on the phone, we email jokes about it. We may laugh, we might cry, but ultimately we care for one another. Of course nothing is perfect, still it seems that we know how to love each other pretty well most days. Still, it seems the church isn't by design a place to be honest with each other or to love each other unconditionally. How paradoxical.<br /><br />This strikes me as tragic. After all what's the point? As someone at the festival I was at recently articulated better than I can...do you really think God needs you to say the right words or praise Him/Her? Do you think Jesus is concerned with praise songs and lovely sentiments shared aloud? Really? Is that what we were made for? I don't think so. We were designed for community - we were meant for one another. How can we care for one another if we don't really even know one another? If I'm unaware of my brother's struggles, how do I pray for him? How do I love him? Love implies a certain level of intimacy. A certain knowledge. While I recognize this is risky, difficult stuff, I can't help but think it's what Jesus called us to, as the church.<br /><br />I've been fascinated with Mary Magdalene for a long time. Her feast day just passed a few days ago. Depending upon who you believe (the Catholics vs. Orthodox) after Jesus died, she disappeared. She lived her last 30 years in a cave in the southern part of France. She was so distraught at the loss of her Jesus (and my interpretation)her community, that she lived in isolation, where she allegedly had many divine experiences of Jesus in her final years, but ones that were mostly alone.<br /><br />My point in throwing Mary into all of this talk about community is to say that her passion for this Jewish carpenter was so strong, that when he was no longer there in the flesh, she ran to a cave to hide out from the world. Community was no longer something she could take the risk to commit to. I find this very tragic. And yet, I get it. Community is hard. It's counter-intuitive. It's radical. It requires a commitment, an openness, a mercy that I cannot always find in my own heart. It's complicated and messy. It can't be accomplished in an hour on Sunday morning. It probably can't be accomplished completely in a lifetime. Still, I find this more and more, my call. <br /><br />To be part of...to build...to grow...to encourage...perhaps even to dare to love those that are around me...to build community, one life at a time. Even when it's hard or seems complicated and messy. While I'd like to think I'm a peacemaker at heart, I recognize my own hard-headed-ness enough to know that I, too, need growing up, transformation, conversion. At the end of the day, I hope I get there. And I hope I'm surrounded by other people who are just as confused, befuddled, amazed, humbled, scared, thrilled as I am to be there and to be there, together.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-16817130703317726922011-06-28T16:06:00.004-05:002011-06-29T16:04:46.075-05:00I heart Jay Bakker and Peter Rollins...all at the same time.I traveled east this past week to attend the Wild Goose Festival. I had heard about the Goose some time ago, and knew I wanted to be there for this first-time event. I coerced (gently) my best friend from college to go with me. I picked her up in Nashville, and we had a good time laughing and talking all the way to North Carolina. I was longing for something...a connection to something bigger. A renewal of hope and of love. The schedule was jam-packed with all sorts of folks I have read about, friended on Facebook and admired from a distance. Shane Claiborne, Tony Campolo, Brian McLaren, Ashley Cleveland and the list goes on and on.<br /><br />I must confess something. I have a minor crush on Peter Rollins. It may be the Irish accent or the fact that he gestures even more than I do when he talks - or that he's brilliant...I'm not sure. Regardless, one of the things I looked forward to was listening to some new ideas of his that he was going to present at the Wild Goose. <br /><br />My second confession...I also have a thing for Jay Bakker. I came upon his first book some six months ago, and have followed his sermon-writing and second book closely. For entirely different reasons, I like Jay. He's the adorable bad boy with the tattoos and loud music. He seems to wear his broken heart on his sleeve. He and Peter and I are members of the same generation. One man appeals to my emotions - my desire for grace above all. The other appeals to my thoughts - and challenges my ways of looking at faith, doubt and the complexity of both.<br /><br />The weekend was fun - it was good to listen to voices I've heard and read before - like Nadia Bolz-Weber, Shane Claiborne, Becca Stevens and Richard Rohr. It was maybe even more fun to meet new voices that I had not heard before like Ian Cron (what a fantastic storyteller!) and Karyn Wiseman (she's a smart cookie). <br /><br />Ultimately though, I awaited the talks/sermons/ruminations of...Pete and Jay. I had already heard Pete speak in Springfield, Missouri in an academic setting back in October. I've listened to some of Jay's sermons online, but I had never seen Jay in person or heard him speak. <br /><br />Ultimately I can only say this about my experience with my favorites. For as different as these two fellows may be in their approaches to speaking...they represent the best of emergent church, faith, grace and life for me. Pete is my inner mind talking - things are not always as they seem - or perhaps they are...but they may not exist at all. Jay is my heart speaking what I only dare hope at times -that there is a love and grace big enough to hold me and ultimately us all. <br /><br />I'm so grateful to have been there for the first of what I hope will be many more Wild Goose Festivals. And I hope that the message that I received is the same one that gets communicated year after year, decade upon decade to each new generation of geese lovers - God loves us with a ferocity that seems impossible and that we in turn are able to love one another and our world with a wild and mystical love.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-84922075379779649052011-06-19T20:39:00.005-05:002011-11-22T21:37:39.323-06:00Faith of my fatherToday is Father's Day. I did the obligatory thing. I bought my dad a gift card and his favorite pie from the bakery. I had my kids color some stuff and we took it all down to him. On the ride to his home, I thought about my ambivalence about today. My dad and I have never been close. In fact, we have been sort of the opposite of close and loving. We have spent months alienated entirely. We have argued. We have disagreed. I have never felt I was what my dad wanted. And of course I'm fairly certain that in my own ways I have made him feel he was not what I wanted.<br /><br />As I thought about it some more, I realized that I've never really had a warm, fuzzy relationship with any man in my biological family. My brother and I have been distant since we were kids. Separated by nearly five years and what seemed like a million miles in the way we thought about life, love, faith, whatever. He has spent the past 4 years incarcerated. I write him occasionally. I've traveled to see him. But, we haven't really bridged the distance that has been there since we were small children. <br /><br />My mother's father was a quiet man. I remember him vaguely. We spent time on the floor playing with toys when I was very small. He was neither affectionate, nor effusive. He was quiet, seemingly in his own world...a world that I didn't understand. My father's father (his biological father died when he was a small child, but he was adopted)was also a quiet, seemingly cold man. The only distinct memory I have of him as a child was being confronted by him when I had eaten some candy I wasn't supposed to eat. He reprimanded me. I apologized. He walked away. After that I was fearful of him. I felt some strange sense of shame around him. <br /><br />None of these men were abusive to me in the most visible sense of the word. That is, no one was physically harmful. But, I also never felt really bonded to any of them. And perhaps that is the greater harm in many ways. I've never understood my father entirely (or either of my grandfathers). I've wanted to. But, still I must admit I don't. I've spent a good part of my adult life making excuses for his bad behavior. The lesson I've learned is that while I've never really stood up to my father when he has been hurtful to me, I have no tolerance for his behavior when it is directed at my children. <br /><br />Today the kids and I were eating dinner with my father, my mother and my niece and nephew. I have watched my father berate my nephew occasionally about his weight. My nephew is not a fat kid by any stretch of the imagination. There are times of the year when he gains a bit of weight, still he is an active 14 year old boy. He plays sports and bikes everywhere. I have expressed frustration with my father on occasion over this. Tonight my father took aim at my 7 year old daughter and began chastising her. To put it simply, I lost it. I recognize some of my angry words have been stuck in my throat since I was my daughter's age. Suffice to say dinner was eaten in silence after my tirade. My father didn't react in the way I would have anticipated. He was fairly quiet. He said a few extra things that he knew would be hurtful, but then he was silent. As I was leaving his house, he said he wouldn't bring up the subject with my daughter again. Of course I don't believe him, I recall him saying the same thing about various subjects over and over when I was a child. Still, I was surprised at how quiet he was.<br /><br />My child had begun to cry at the table, and I took her inside and washed her face and held her as she cried. I told her that her grandfather was wrong for saying what he had, and that I loved her very much. As I drove my nephew home, he finally said, "I remember you tried to stick up for me when I was younger. At least you stick up for your kids. Grandpa is just mean sometimes."<br /><br />My own inner armchair theologian would say that my father's faith and my own are as different as they can be. My father was raised attending church on Sundays with his adopted parents. My grandparents were pillars of their church community. My grandfather was an elder in the church, my grandmother taught Sunday school and was part of every part of the life of the church women could be part of. My grandmother would be the first woman to acknowledge that my grandfather was the head of their household, and that this was God's will. She waited on my grandfather, cooking and cleaning for him. When they would pray at dinner, everyone would wait for my grandfather to lift his head after praying silently, and take the first food on his plate before beginning to serve themselves. <br /><br />My father was a bit of the prodigal son. He left home at his first opportunity by joining the military. He was then sent to Korea to fight in a war. He was barely 18 years old. When he returned home, he continued to avoid living anywhere near his parents, staying in the big city, St. Louis, and working any number of odd jobs. He has told me he was mad at God in those years, completely avoiding church of any sort. Eventually, after 2 failed marriages and 5 children, he met my mother - 19 years his junior and married her after 3 months of dating. She compelled him to return to church because for her, it was the responsible thing to do. Because she had never had a church affiliation, they returned to my father's Lutheran roots in a town 20 miles away from my grandparents. Over the next several years, up until I was a teenager, my father rarely darkened the church's door. He did enjoy throwing around a random Bible verse here and there..."spare the rod, spoil the child" or "an eye for an eye." But, mostly religion, faith, God was seemingly absent from his thought process. <br /><br />In the years since I was teen, 20 or so now, my father has returned to the Lutheran church, taking his place as an elder, usher and in various other capacities. And his daughter has wandered around, mostly aligning with the Episcopal church in a loose, non-conformist way. I've had phases of being mad at God...but the church is always where I end up, sometimes surprising myself.<br /><br />Ultimately I suppose what we share is a gnawing sense that God is there and that we can't really figure it all out. My father seems to think God is waiting to strike someone (anyone perhaps) down for their misdoings. And I seem to wonder if God is hiding from me. I still cling to a mainline, traditional denomination that I largely don't identify with anymore and that lacks the authenticity I crave. My dad continues to show up each week despite the fact that he can't hear the service and doesn't much care to anymore. While I have always sought to distance myself from my father in many ways, in some ways we remain linked. As always, I wonder where my children will land. Will I judge them in the way that my father judges me? Will they judge me the way I have judged my father? <br /><br />I hope my kids get the awe and they mystery that is God. I hope that they find a community that loves them and that they can love. I hope that whatever touches them is available to them, whether it's a ritual, music, art. I hope that they see the Spirit in everything.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-40395198293540006842011-06-09T21:02:00.002-05:002011-06-09T21:57:41.407-05:00LetterLately I've thought a lot about what I would say to my younger self. There's an entire book on the subject - women who have written letters to themselves at younger ages. It's had me thinking.<br /><br />I realized recently that I have finally reached a point - now nearly 2 years post-divorce where I look back and see good intermixed with the bad. For some amount of time, the vast majority of my memories of my dating/marriage life were focused (incredibly so) on all of the bad stuff. Those times when we fought, or times where I felt abandoned or unhappy. In the past few months I've started to remember the good things too. It's taken awhile. And it's a welcome moment for me. It's been awhile. <br /><br />There are so many things I know now that I wish my younger self would've known. I think about how much easier life could have been. So I've started to work on my own letter written to my 23 year old self.<br /><br />Dear Michele-<br /><br />You are so young. Slow down. Stop wishing the years away. Life is wonderful and full and so are you. You are complete on your own. Stop looking for a man, a job, a degree, whatever... that's going to fix you or complete you. There's no such thing. <br /><br />Continue to love the man you've chosen to spend your life with. Don't take him for granted. Trust him, love him...do the things that are your instinct to do. But don't expect him to always be who you want. He has his own history. His story. The only way you can love him better is to recognize your own story - Her story. You have your own complicated and rich story. Don't deny it. While some of it is painful, it is yours. And you have done such a great job in surviving the bad and enjoying the good. Still, the time has come to face up to the rough stuff. Trying to push it down with food or addictive behaviors isn't going to make it go away. <br /><br />Most of all, please know that those things that happened that have made life hard weren't your fault. You were a child. You never chose that. It was a decision made by someone else. You are brave. And you have survived unthinkable things. You must believe that God has been with you. That She never wanted these things for you. Still, She is with you. Hoping for your healing, knowing it will come in the time it takes to heal - which sometimes seems a long, long while.<br /><br />Life is going to take twists and turns. Some of them are going to be beyond your wildest dreams - and you will get to experience things, people and love that you never imagined. Some of it will be hard and not make sense. Try not to make decisions based upon your fears. Keep the faith. The faith that sustained you through some rough years remains, and it is what makes you who you are.<br /><br />Enjoy every moment. Laugh. Out loud. And love. Out loud. In your finest moments, that is who you are.<br /><br />-MicheleMichelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-69338994143424864552011-05-21T21:49:00.005-05:002011-05-22T22:16:17.709-05:00Altar CallI've been fighting with myself the past few weeks. It's a strange, self-absorbed place to be. While the argument is one I've felt, lived and experienced before...it seems more complicated these days. Tonight the argument was driven home in a very real way at my children's first altar call. And the ensuing questions it brought.<br /><br />A confession: One of the reasons I cannot be part of most sects of Christianity is because I cannot affirm the notion that human beings are fundamentally bad. I don't believe in the "old Adam." I do not agree with the notion that at our core we are all seeking to do bad things, and only when God intervenes at some point, do we stand a chance. This has never made sense to me. Perhaps it's my life that makes it difficult.<br /><br />From a very young age, I got the sense that I was indeed bad. I recognize my own makeup has a lot more to do with this than even I realize. But still, I internalized every negative comment, criticism or even perceived slight. I took it all in, and I believed that for all the good I might try to do, I would never be enough. That no matter what I was when I grew up, I could never really be anything very good or loveable. It wasn't until I had my own children that I finally understood how this thinking impacted me and my decision-making continually. Suddenly I knew I had to figure out a new way to be. This realization led to the loss of 150 pounds for me. It led to my divorce. It led to some confrontations with my past and people from that past that have been difficult for me. Perhaps the most significant thing it has led to is that it has changed my faith and my relationship with God. All of these transitions in a short period of time...and all emanating from a change in my thinking that didn't seem very significant at the time.<br /><br />I wish I could say that I've learned to live happily ever after. Or that life is now much easier than it was. But the honest part of me must admit that isn't true. My own self-doubt, that damaged part of who I am, continually rears her head. I've gained back 60 pounds, my divorce ripped my heart apart and has affected my ability to trust men, and my faith has seemed tenuous and shaky at times. Still, I'm certain of very little except that this is where I was meant to be at this moment in my life.<br /><br />I was watching TV this past week and a woman who had lost over 100 pounds was describing the wonder of finally feeling some sense of worth - she tearfully said, "I finally realized, I am not nothing." This is where the trouble enters for me.<br /><br />It seems to me that a large part of "church" (as defined in many of the "altar call" sort of churches) involves affirming, again and again, that we are indeed nothing... perhaps even worse than that that we are dirty, evil, no good and terrible. And that if we say the right words, God might intervene and fix us. But not everyone gets the opportunity to be fixed. And those who can't see their way to choose to get fixed will burn for all eternity. I cannot and will not affirm these things. I will not allow my children to be abused by an institution in this way. Because quite honestly, that is best word to describe what happens to a lot of people looking for answers inside of churches.<br /><br />Every now and again I come into contact with a teenager that has been abused by her family of origin. She wanders into a church. Only to be told of how dirty and filthy she is. And yet there is a strange attraction to the message there...the church is only affirming what this girl already knows from her own life experience. What sort of damage is done to her through this message? I don't know. But I know I've got some of those scars myself. And I won't choose this sort of god for my own children. <br /><br />As my children sat with me through the altar call, they both looked at me quizzically. And my son, caught up in the moment, raised his hand when asked if he wanted Jesus to make him clean. I wasn't certain how to react. My daughter has had lots of questions about it all. Still, I know I've done one thing right in 7 years of parenting. I've taught my children that they are not nothing. And even better, they are wonderful, beautiful, capable and gifted. And they were born this way. It's not my parenting or DNA or some sort of intervention. They simply are. <br /><br />I want my children (and myself) to know God. But not because they're fearful of hell or feel dirty or bad. But because God is love. And because they can't help themselves but want to know God because of her vast and endless affection for them and for all of creation. And because they feel a need for God that goes so deep that they are drawn in, even when they resist. I want them to long to know this God of love more and better as they grow older. I want them to experience God and the divine in and around us. <br /><br />So, what is my conflict these days? I think it's in the realization that while I try to shrug off my own inner critic, I'm not as successful as I'd like to be. And that each time I allow that voice to speak to me, I am not affirming who I want to be and who I believe God is. As I listened to the altar call I realized that part of me still worries that the preacher is right. What if we really are *that* bad? Can we ever be redeemed? I hope at some point the voice of God - of love - of all that is good - in my life will overpower the voices of doubt, self-loathing and pain. I would say that is as close to heaven as I will ever get.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-68173684855990529412011-05-18T22:20:00.002-05:002011-05-18T22:58:03.312-05:00Swinging/Gaining PerspectiveAs is so often the case in my life, a sudden shift in my perspective makes all the difference.<br /><br />I was recently at my son's martial arts class when he had to use the bathroom. He came out right as class was ending. His belt was tucked into his white uniform. I helped him right himself, and realized a little too late, that he had gotten himself a bit dirty while in the restroom. Sort of par for the course at barely 5, he hadn't really gotten himself cleaned up, and now his uniform pants and belt were a mess. <br /><br />It had been a long day. I was worn out, and just wanted a warm bath and my bed. I tried not to react to him, as he was obviously embarrassed and wanted me to take care of the mess. I was able to get his belt and shirt off him (he had a tshirt on under his uniform) and into a bag I had with me so his classmates didn't realize what had happened. After we got home, and I got both kids cleaned up, read bedtime stories and tucked them in, I went downstairs to deal with the uniform mess. As I washed my son's uniform in the kitchen sink to get the stains out, I found myself overwhelmed and tearful. I never "planned" this. <br /><br />I didn't want to be a single mother. I hadn't signed on for this. I began to dive into a deep pool of self-pity. After wallowing for a bit, I realized this: Most days, in most ways, I love life. I wouldn't trade watching the kung fu boy punch and kick to have tea with the President. There's no greater gift in my life than getting to watch my kids grow and learn and become who they are to become. All in all, they are worth the poop and puke and tears and moments of being overwhelmed and times of feeling inadequate as a mother.<br /><br />A few days later I sat next to my ex-husband and watched our son graduate from preschool. As he waved at me from the stage and blew me a kiss, I knew that I wouldn't trade a moment of my life. And I realize what a gift to be in this place nearly 2 years after getting divorced. 2 years ago it didn't seem possible that I could sit in the same space with my ex-husband and not want to alternately cry or scream. And yet, it seemed natural to watch my son next to his father. It felt right. Finally.<br /><br />It seems to me that life is a bit like swinging on a swing on a spring day. There are moments where we are pushing up and out - times of anticipation and growth and new heights attained. There are other moments, those times of swinging low - the times of difficulty, challenge and sometimes sadness. And there is the life in between...the suspended space. In those moments, there is such a potential for growth. Life is about those moments between the now and the not yet. <br /><br />I am exceedingly grateful to be back in the suspended space. Not living for the next high...and not feeling as if my whole life is over...being back into the space of full and rich life.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-4434366088641279202011-04-26T22:25:00.002-05:002011-04-28T22:33:45.112-05:00Can I be with you?My son turned five this week. The day passed with very little fanfare. He was excited, and we had a good time at the Magic House the day after his birthday. He has grown so much in the past few months. He's almost becoming unrecognizable to me. I remember his sister going through this phase a few years ago. It surprised me with her, too.<br /><br />When I learned I was pregnant with this boy child, I was less than thrilled. I hadn't planned on another baby at that moment in my life. My life was chaotic and I had a lovely little girl who I had built my whole life around from the time she was born. She had just turned two when I found out I would have another child. I adjusted to the shock of the pregnancy, and soon I found myself excited about the arrival.<br /><br />I had decided from the very beginning of my pregnancy that I was carrying another girl. My daughter had been such fun from the day she was born that I was very content to imagine another child just like her. When my husband and I went to our routine ultrasound 5 months into the pregnancy, our doctor announced we would have a son. I was stunned. And not at all happy. A boy? What did I know what to do with a male child? I knew how to fix hair and paint fingernails and buy frilly dresses. <br />Still, I adjusted to the idea of a tiny baby boy coming into my world. By the time my son arrived, I was ready to welcome him.<br /><br />On April 21, 2006 he arrived and has joined his sister as one of the two people who are the most important to me. Now that he has decided to grow into a boy, and leave his baby-ness behind him, I find myself wondering where the years went. I wonder what I will do when he turns 10, 16, 20, 30? He is very much my life.<br /><br />There's this longing that comes with children. It has taught me much about God. I thought I understood love and desire and fear and pain. But, really I knew very little about any of these things before my kids came to be. There's a song by the late Rich Mullins that I've been fascinated with for some time that has a line after talking about the world sort of falling away. The line is said with more than a little longing, "Can I be with you?" It's directed at God. But until I had children, I didn't really get it. Romantic love has never held me with as tight a grip as the love for my children does. While I've certainly been infatuated with, obsessed about, in love with...a few different men in my life. I've never felt that gut-level longing, can I be with you? for a man.<br /><br />It seems to me that the God of my understanding, the one I've laid claim to, is just the sort of God who inspires that sort of longing for. I don't want the 'all powerful, distant, sometimes angry kind of' Father. I want the 'I feel the need for him in my bones' Father. I don't want some sort of heady intellectual understanding of faith or the need for faith. I want the experience of God. The closest thing I know to this is my experience of Melena and Rudy. <br /><br />I don't just love my kids because we share some DNA. It really has to do with who they are. I love the 'hand on my hip, rolling my eyes' girl. I love the 'i've jumped off the couch for the 10th time today and smashed gold fish crackers into the carpet' boy. While they are part of who I am and I am part of who they are - I long for them. I want to be near them. I want to understand them. I want their lives to have purpose and meaning. I want to shield them from all the bad things out there. I want them to have a full and rich experience of life. I want to continue to long for them because I feel fully alive when I can experience who they are. <br /><br />Ultimately faith isn't a belief thing for me as much as it is an experience thing. It's not about what beliefs are in or out this month. Or what beliefs are correct under someone's interpretation of what faith is to be. No, faith is the experience. It's the longing. In the same way I would never give up being the mom of a five year old named Rudy, I cannot give up my longing to be with God.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jCpmKcS670"></a>Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-35293606700256094312011-04-19T21:19:00.003-05:002011-04-19T21:53:03.494-05:00ResurrectionThe past few months have been full of speculation from theology types about heaven and hell. And while I feel a bit like a child with my nose pressed against the glass as the grown ups talk inside about grown up stuff, I have enjoyed following the debate...from a safe distance. Not committing one way or the other, just observing.<br /><br />This morning it occurred to me when watching my son why it is I'm not fully engaged in the debate. I can't say I much care about the afterlife, conceptually. Maybe that's short-sighted. Or immature. Or maybe it's the freest I've felt since I first got into "God" stuff at the tender age of 10 or 11. Regardless it's a matter of "whatever works." It works for me, here and now.<br /><br />I watched my nephew get confirmed into my childhood denomination this weekend. Afterwards he and I took my two young children to a local park. As my kids ran and played, he and I hung out on the swings. We talked about confirmation, church, religion. He's a great kid. I'm really proud of how well he's done. He's smart and personable. But more important to me, he's grounded and compassionate. As we talked he expressed how the pastor at his church doesn't get it. He wants him (and the other kids) to spend more and more time at church. He finally said, in an exasperated tone, "as if God lived at the church anyways!" I laughed. And I was reminded what a bright kid he really is. At his age, I was pretty convinced God did live at my church. And He was waiting for me to screw up. And I had better have a good explanation when I did, because it was inevitable. I was, after all, worthless. And I would be burning in hell for all eternity if I didn't get it right. I'm so thankful his experience of God is so different from mine. He gets resurrection more clearly than I did at his age. It really has nothing to do with what goes on in church buildings.<br /><br />The pastor who confirmed my nephew preached for a time about how this was the time for my nephew and his peers to "stand on their own two feet" as individuals. That they no longer could rely upon the faith of their parents or older family, they had to make a personal decision to be followers of Jesus. I wanted to object to his sermon (being a lawyer never comes in useful at church). Being confirmed and accepted into the body of the church has absolutely nothing to do with "standing on one's own two feet." In fact, that's the whole point. Community is about having hundreds of feet to stand on. We don't have to have all the answers or get it all at once. The community is there to help us remember when we forget the fundamental truth - God still loves us. Even now, after all this time. I don't know if I get to go to heaven, but if I can experience even a glimpse of this overwhelming, all-encompassing love, I'll be ok if there is nothing else after this life. I've already been resurrected to that truth. I have died to the image I had of God as the mean dad and replaced it with the resurrected reality of God as the One who is with us and in us.<br /><br />Back to watching my son...this morning as I dropped him off at preschool, it was pouring down rain. We ran into the building. We hung up his coat and did our usual kisses and hugs. As I reached the door, he called out. He had forgotten his blanket in the car. I was a little confused, as he has not been especially attached to this blanket for some time. I asked him why he needed this blanket from the car, particularly since it meant I was going to have run back out in the rain. He, through tears, explained that the blanket in the car covered his feet, and the one he currently had at school doesn't. I went out in the rain and retrieved it. I was rewarded with a kiss and another hug. His need to be covered, all of him, while he rested stuck with me for the rest of the day. It seems to me we all hope for this, to be covered. <br /><br />And the resurrection is about this. I don't know why Jesus had to die. I know all the theories about it. I don't know why all of the kids I work with have to be abused. I understand the theories - the drug abuse of their parents, the cycle of abuse, etc. Still, it doesn't make sense to me. The only Jesus I can understand at all is one that is with us, covering us, standing with us. Otherwise the crucifixion/resurrection story seems pretty tragic with a sort of supernatural ending that I can't reconcile. I need a Jesus that wants to be sure my feet are covered, and one that helps me live in a community where my feet are covered whether with my own blanket or someone else's for a time. A Jesus that thinks there is good in me, even when I can't recognize it, and sends me friends to remind me of this when I forget. I don't know if I'll get to meet that Jesus in the afterlife. I suppose I hope so. But in the meantime, I'm happy knowing Jesus here and now in the context of my communities as we struggle, laugh, love together.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-54464980488747190342011-03-19T19:56:00.003-05:002011-03-27T19:41:30.318-05:00WonderThe past few weeks have felt stressful to me. Work has been incredibly busy, combined with kids who have been at each other's throats continuously and add in a relatively minor conflict in my church community and well...life has been chaotic to say the least. And for me, chaos typically means I feel stressed.<br /><br />The kids and I ventured to Chicago this last week and for part of the weekend. It was a fun trip, even if too short to do all the things I would've liked to do. We went to the large aquarium in Chicago first thing Saturday morning. After a few hours of taking in all the sights and sounds and smells, we got a lemonade to share and sat together on a bench overlooking Lake Michigan. It was an awe-inspiring moment, one where you draw your breath in and then release it slowly. A moment where I realized yet again how amazing life is and how abundantly blessed I feel. And as young as my children are, they sat quietly staring at the lake, sipping lemonade, snuggled into me, one on each side. Their feet dangled over the side of the bench, and every few minutes one of them would speak...almost in a whisper. As if they might disrupt the moment being created around us. After a few minutes, we finished our lemonade and walked to the car. Rudy returned to his normal busy self - running ahead. The wonder I saw on their faces and in their voices won't soon leave me. I have to believe life is meant to be lived in such a state of wonder.<br /><br />On the drive home, I was thinking aloud with God about why things seem to turn out the way they do. My community has been shaken up recently with what I would call a disruption of sorts. The leader of our community made public a decision of his. I'm fairly certain he had no idea what would ensue. When I first learned of his decision (which wasn't even an earth-shattering sort of decision in my opinion), I didn't see the tidal wave coming. When the wave knocked me over, I was still rather stunned by the developments that came quickly behind that initial wave. At some point, I commented to a friend that I keep thinking I am able to read people well, and then I find out differently...again. I never cease to be surprised by the rest of the human beings on earth with me. <br /><br />And I suppose that's part of wonder, too. Sometimes I'm disappointed by others' actions. Other times, I am amazed and not just a little thrilled with them. Regardless, that sense of wonder that accompanies what I didn't know would come about is pretty awesome. I think that's why I enjoy being around children so much. They never cease to be amazed and awed by the world around them. Of course there are moments that frighten them or cause them upset...but that thrill at seeing a dolphin jump out of the water for the first time...or the simple joy of a first kiss...or the taste and texture of an ice cream cone on a hot day. There is so much in this life that is wonder-filled. <br /><br />I sometimes wonder about the idea of heaven because of this. Is this world crazy and mixed up and violent and tragic? Absolutely. Is it at the same time beautiful and amazing and incredible and sweet? Yes, I think so. I can do without streets of gold, if I could hear my son giggle one more time. I don't need angels singing if I can hear my daughter tell me she loves me. The wonder of the world I live in is all around me.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-34215778672224147662011-03-09T21:09:00.006-06:002011-03-09T22:42:20.590-06:00Giving Up GodFor some time now I have read (and appreciated) the writing of Peter Rollins. But, tonight was the first time I think his ideas really permeated my own thinking and feelings about God, and finally something he talks about with regularity made perfect sense to me.<br /><br />Today is Ash Wednesday. One of those holy days that I've been observing since I was a child. I've always felt like it was a day of beginnings, not endings. That is - it has ordinarily signaled the beginning of Lent - a time of deeper reflection, righting the things that need righted and a time to figure out how I've gotten off track. While the day is about recalling that "from dust we come, and to dust we shall return" - it also marks a change in seasons and is full of not just a little anticipation of the main event for Christians - the resurrection of Jesus.<br /><br />As I sat in church this evening, I felt something shift in my thinking. For quite awhile (probably most of my life), I have grappled with two fundamental questions. The first - why do bad things happen to people? And the second - when bad things happen to people, where exactly is God in the midst of it all? Or in other words, why doesn't God step in and stop it/fix it/heal it? <br /><br />My questions are something I wonder for those around me - for all of the children (and adults for that matter) I see who continually suffer and have suffered the worst indignities. But, the questions are also deeply personal and painful for me. In those times when I come undone remembering my own trauma vividly, I still question God why? And where were you? And why didn't you save me?<br /><br />Over the years of my life, I've felt and held different answers to these questions in my heart. <br /><br />For some time, particularly when I was a teenager, I felt that if perhaps I had been better or done better or been more...whatever...that God would have intervened. That in fact all the evil we see done to others is the result of someone's sin. If I could just get "clean enough" God would make things better for me - for all of us. Getting clean really was a matter of faith - if I believed the right things, said the right prayers, did the things I knew I should, God would bless my efforts with His love and healing.<br /><br />Later on, as I got older, and rejected such an arbitrary God, I started to think that while God didn't cause the horrible things to happen to people, there still had to be some intervention by God. Surely, a loving God couldn't stand by when his children were raped or abused or harmed. It still had to come down to some logic, right?<br /><br />Still fast forwarding, at some point I began to believe that God really did weep for the terrible things that we humans do to one another. But I still clung to the notion that God, being God, would exact some revenge on those who harmed His children. And that after all "what goes around comes around." Or in the words I have said to my own children, "that's what you get." Still, I wasn't quite comfortable with this sort of judgment, probably because I feared I would be judged just as harshly as I judged others.<br /><br />At some point in my recent history, I began to understand my faith as entirely relational. That is - that faith to me is not really an individual pursuit so much as a communal thing. I only understand God in community and through community. If we are to be united to God - not in an afterlife, but here and now - then the kingdom of God must begin now - in all of us - together. While this faith doesn't provide any easy answers to my questions, it has led me to a place of: Shit happens. We don't know why. And trying to figure out why is an exercise in futility. Together though we can dig ourselves and one another out of the shit. And God is found in the digging out. Right in the middle of the pile, God (through each of us) picks up a shovel and steps right into the dung heap to get us through the mess.<br /><br />So, where does this leave me? I think it means I'm giving up God for Lent. That is - I'm giving up all of my limited ideas of God, faith, relationship, forgiveness, even resurrection. I don't have answers to my two fundamental questions. And for once I actually feel that while I don't have the answers, I'm closer to the fire that is faith than I've been before. I think Lent is less about burning off that which needs burning off and more about getting our hands dirty, both figuratively and literally. It's about giving up our fear of the questions, doubts and conflicts faith (and God) naturally bring us, and rather seeking to hold them in the same space we hold those deeply held beliefs that have sustained us in the past. Faith isn't about a fidelity to ideals and truths we have clung to out of fear or bitterness or a need for justice. The only truth I know is one can only be found if one has been lost. And getting found sometimes involves giving up entirely on the notion that someone else will find us. <br /><br />If I can give up on God for Lent, then I am free to step ever closer to the all-consuming fire that is God.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-35521428169813903522011-03-01T21:59:00.002-06:002011-03-01T22:21:12.656-06:00How can I keep from singing?As life rolls forward, sometimes it seems so quickly, I realize that I spend a lot of time thinking about, worrying about, concerning myself with...things that really have little to do with life as I experience it. I get caught up. And before long, a week, a month, a year has passed, and I've forgotten just how *good* life is.<br /><br />As I drove home from work tonight, I began humming an Enya song I used to listen to here and there called "How can I keep from singing?" Today wasn't a particularly fun day. My work has seemed increasingly hard lately. And still, I find myself in a place of gratitude, how can I keep from singing?<br /><br />Tomorrow morning, God willing, I will wake up. I will rise from my bed and have clean water to bathe in. I will wake up two sleepy children, and cuddle, cajole and prod them to get ready for the day. After we play, I will drop them off in the care of people I know love them and want what's best for them. I will drive a running car to my office. People, both adults and children, I barely know will trust me to help them. They will tell me their stories, and I will have the privilege of guiding them through the turmoil they face right now. I will get to each lunch with my friends. We will laugh and laugh. They will care for me, in small ways and I will care for them. After I finish my day at work, I will pick up my kids. Melena will read to me. Rudy will recount what he did at school and ask me funny questions. We will eat dinner together, and we will say our prayers, asking God to take care of our friends and family.<br /><br />Each day I am gifted with so much. I have the most amazing people in my life. They are a hodge podge of incredibly talented and loving individuals that form the net of safety I can fall into if I need to. <br /><br />My children are healthy and happy. They are funny, inquisitive, smart and loving. I get to watch them grow and change and learn how to navigate this crazy world.<br /><br />I can read and write. I can think and understand. I can laugh. Often and loudly. I feel. I've known and loved a man with all my strength.<br /><br />For all of my angst and stuck-ness at moments, I really can't be sad. Or angry. Or bitter. Life is too damn good. How can I keep from singing?Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-64354197255154077702011-02-19T15:33:00.004-06:002011-02-19T22:20:56.455-06:00AbsolutionMy relationship to and with my ex-husband has changed significantly in the past few months. It's hard to explain or articulate, but our lives and our ways of relating to one another have shifted. For a long time, we were distant. We didn't speak unless it was necessary. I avoided interacting with him. I was angry with him. His actions, words and seemingly just his being on earth annoyed me somehow.<br /><br />In January, things began to change. He came over one night and we talked for awhile. We were both hesitant. I'm not certain how much of it I really heard. We were physically affectionate with one another. It felt somehow familiar and comforting, but also somehow terrifying. It seemed like I was opening up Pandora's box.<br /><br />Since that day, we've been friendlier. And quite honestly it's been a relief not to feel so angry all the time with him. He seems to be trying harder to do what needs to be done with regards to our children, or perhaps it's that I'm taking his actions less personally. Regardless.<br /><br />Last night, as we were talking late into the night, we began to argue. Not in a hostile way, but in a somewhat heated way. When our discussions turn to the demise of our marriage, my ex-husband tries to do what I would call "apologize, while somehow minimizing his behavior." In other words, "I know what I did was wrong, but a lot of people have done worse things." Or "You know I'm sorry, but everyone makes mistakes." I began to argue with him. Not that he wasn't sorry but that he wanted what I cannot give. He wants me to say that we can reconcile. That our marriage is something we can save, even now, after 18 months of being legally divorced. <br /><br />Of course, I cannot say this. While I'm no longer angry with him for his infidelity, I will never trust that he can be faithful. I'm not certain he's capable of it. I really think that at some point he learned to lie and deceive with such ease, that it is somehow second nature to him. And I can't live that way. I can't spend my life worried about what my husband is doing or not doing everyday.<br /><br />Early on in our relationship, I told him that the dealbreaker for me would be an affair. That I could handle almost anything else that came to us. Anger, fighting, passive/aggressive-ness, a sick child, financial disagreements, societal pressure, our race differences...all of these things I could survive with him. But, for me, once he chose to seek affection from another woman, and then subsequently hide the relationship from me...the trust I had for him, the belief that he could somehow behave differently...it is gone. <br /><br />What it seems he wants from me is complete absolution. That not only do I forgive him (which I finally do), but that I desire to enter back into a loving relationship with him. If I'm honest, I wish I could do just this. Not just for my children, but for me, too. I loved this man like no other. He was my first wild, crazy love. I loved him deeply and completely. His physical presence still feels a bit like coming home to me. The loss of him as my friend and lover has been devastating to me. But, still...I cannot give him what he desires. No matter how hard I have tried to move past the...past...I cannot believe he has changed or learned from this entire experience. In fact, I know he has not changed. The fact that he is in my home, seeking affection from me, while going home to another woman, tells me precisely what I know deep in my heart. He is not able to be true. It is not who he is or can be. If I choose to enter back into relationship with him, he will continue to behave as he has in the past...he will have affairs, and he will lie to me. And I simply cannot live that way. I finally value myself enough to refuse to be subjected to that kind of abuse. And if I'm really honest, my heart still hurts so badly from his betrayal. While my anger is gone, and I forgive him, I still ache with the pain of the loss of my innocence, my trust in this man.<br /><br />So here we find ourselves. Him unable to understand why I cannot give him the one thing he so desires. And me, finally unwilling to live the life I lived for 12 years, unwilling to sacrifice my heart for the man I desire more than anyone else. All of it saddens me. I'm overwhelmed at his loss and my own. There are moments in all of this that I wonder if I will ever feel whole without him, healed from the wounds. I wish for my own absolution, I suppose. Not just forgiveness for my own mistakes, but to finally be restored to myself.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-25370441609026919002011-02-12T21:27:00.003-06:002011-02-15T16:58:54.292-06:00EuphoriaI recently attended a concert. The two artists were ones that I grew up listening to, and who I watched in concert a few times back in the late 80's/early 90's. I've always enjoyed their music, more so one than the other, but still I was interested to see both of them again. I think I wanted to see how we all had changed - 20 years have passed.<br /><br />Shortly before I made my way to the concert - it was three hours away - I found out that a friend's wife had passed away unexpectedly. His wife is a few years younger than I am - in her early to mid-30's. She had no health issues, her death was the result of a doctor's mistake. <br /><br />As I sat at the concert, my thoughts returned to my friend many times. He is a good person - funny, hard-working, caring. I kept thinking how much he must be hurting right now, and how hard it must be to know what to say to his three young children about their mother's death. I enjoyed the show. Still, part of me struggled to enjoy the time. My thoughts continued to fall back to my friend.<br /><br />As the music turned more religious in nature, I was a bit surprised at the crowd's reaction. The crowd was clearly of the conservative Christian bent, and they identified more fully with this genre than I did/do. And while I recalled that part of the artist's music from years earlier, I was still sort of taken aback by the euphoria that swept the crowd. People were crying, lifting their arms to heaven and swaying with eyes closed. The concert turned into a bit of a revival. I felt more than slightly out of place.<br /><br />I have always struggled with this manifestation of faith. I'm not certain why. After all, I cry more than the average person. I feel things deeply, and I'm not particularly embarrassed of being emotional most days. As I greeted my friend at his wife's wake tonight, he and I both cried. I embraced him and we both shared tears for his loss. This display of emotion didn't bother me, in the sense that it felt natural to share my tears with his. I told him I loved him and I was so very sorry for his loss. He cried into my shoulder and thanked me for being there. I don't harbor any notions that I was really all that helpful, but my feelings overflowed, and it felt like the most natural thing to have happen.<br /><br />Still, I've never really understood the hands lifted, teary-eyed sort of worship. I used to think my reservations were really just a matter of upbringing. I grew up in a stoic, Germanic Lutheran tradition. We didn't cry. We didn't laugh, and we didn't applaud during church. It was as simple as that. In college, I made my way to the Episcopal church early on, and again, we aren't known for our effusiveness during worship. Still, I've experienced enough charismatic worship over the years that it doesn't shock my sensibilities at this moment in my life..<br /><br /> <br />I think at least part of me looks at the displays and finds them disingenuous. People can't all be moved at the same moment by the same things...I think maybe some of it seems too much of an act for me. As I was waiting to greet my friend at his wife's funeral visitation, I was talking with a friend who is far more conservative and outwardly religious than I am. As he approached the grieving widower, he began to tell him that "God would see him through." And that "God had a plan." His words struck me. Not because I agree with him necessarily, but because he was doing what he knew to do. In his moments of distress and fear, these things were all he knew to offer. He didn't cry, and he didn't offer much of an embrace. It was clear the entire messy business of life and death was making him uncomfortable. As I held my friend, and cried with him, I patted his back like I often pat my children when they cry. It was all I knew to do. <br /><br />On my drive home, it struck me, we all have different ways of connecting to God and to each other. Some of us are called to cry with one another when the pain gets too intense. Others of us stay strong because it seems like the person who is hurting needs strength. Some of us sit quietly in our pews listening to someone(s) talk about God. We pray, we hear and we leave. This experience of God is part of our lives, but is not IT for us. My encounters with God are ongoing, deep and authentic. But they tend to be quiet encounters. God comes to me where I am, and how I am. <br /><br />Some people I know need a different way of meeting God. They want emotion and they want it to "feel" like something. This hasn't been my experience, but it is not any less real for those who have this experience. My friend at the funeral was saying what comforts him most in his own distress. And that is a gift, even if it is awkward or ill-informed or perhaps even insensitive. It was what he knew to do. I believe God hopes we can give this - to do what we know to do. To love one another, even if imperfectly. <br /><br />I'm not likely to ever feel at home in a "worship band" sort of church experience, but I recognize those who do as my brothers and sisters.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319862116963267961.post-91610660500826783982011-01-31T21:33:00.005-06:002011-01-31T22:01:47.411-06:00AmendingWhen I logged in tonight, I noticed that this is my 101st post to this blog. What started as a way to vent a little, to throw words into cyberspace, has turned into being at least to some degree therapeutic for me. I can feel the pressure valve being turned when I write. There is a release for me. Whether anyone is following along really doesn't matter to me. Actually it's easier for me to think that no one reads what I write. So much of what I write is ill-informed. Not well thought out. Ideas that haven't matured all the way. Sentiments that I can't entirely explain. Reflections of someone who isn't so sure most of the time.<br /><br />This past week I've been down. I'm not certain why. As seems almost commonplace these days, I don't often feel in control of how I feel. For someone who used to be fairly in control of herself and her emotions, this new way of being is often disturbing to me. I've been stressing about a choice I made awhile back that wasn't very smart. My brother turned 40 this past week - in a federal prison in Minnesota. A liberation theologian I have followed died. <br /><br />Saturday I attended an ordination ceremony. It was for a guy I got to know as part of a few classes I took through my church body. He is a smart, funny, wonderful person. I really enjoyed getting to know him in the two very, very small classes we were in together. He will do a wonderful job in his role in the church, and I'm happy he completed his process. The service itself was incredible. It was joyful, beautiful, moving. As I felt the tears coming at a few different points, I wondered what was behind them.<br /><br />I think the conclusion I have drawn is that I'm still so uncertain. While I'm fairly certain I am not called to follow the path of my friend, I still don't see clearly the path I am to follow. And while most days this fact doesn't really upset me, other days I just wish for some semblance of certainty.<br /><br />Today I called off court. I have never done this. The only other time I missed court since becoming an attorney, my son was in the hospital. It just isn't something I do. I cleaned my house, scrubbed, did laundry, just locked myself in the house and worked. The distraction was just what I needed. To feel in control of "something" helped me get through some of my angst.<br /><br />A line that was part of the liturgy on Saturday has run through my mind repeatedly. <br />"And for the grace of the Holy Spirit to amend our lives, we pray to you, O Lord." What does it mean to "amend my life?"<br /><br />Attorneys use the word "amend" a lot. We amend our pleadings. We amend our plea. We amend our requests. We file Motions to Amend Judgments. It's something we spend a decent amount of time working on. In this context, what we mean ordinarily is that we need to change something. Whether we "forgot" to put something into a court document or we made a mistake or we simply learned new information that requires it, lawyers tend to amend stuff a lot. Something I tell my clients often at the beginning of a case is that we can "always amend" our court filings if things change or if we get new information. This seems to help people relax a little.<br /><br />As I prayed that prayer, I wondered if I really want what I'm asking for. Change is not something I'm particularly adept at. Does this mean I have to give up my control? I'm fairly certain if that's what the prayer means, that I would probably pass on that one. I think perhaps all I'm certain of at this point is that there are cracks and crevices and weak spots in my heart. And that perhaps asking the Holy Spirit to amend my life has something to do with those places. It has at least something to do with allowing that spirit, that breath of life, to seep into those places. And it helps me to relax just a little to realize I can (and perhaps should) always be amended. That no matter how far gone I feel, there's still that possibility that my life can be amended. <br /><br />And so, today I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to be doing. And I'm sad that my brother passed into his 40th year in prison. And I'm disappointed that one more "hero" for me is no longer on this earth with me. And I'm bothered that I can't maintain any sense of control these days over my emotions and how I react/feel about things. <br /><br />But, still I will pray that the Holy Spirit amend my life. In all the ways that only She can.Michelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519924145413576127noreply@blogger.com0