You can't go home again.

If there is one thing I have learned in my 34 and half years on earth, it is that you can't go home again. I mean that metaphorically, literally and probably figuratively as well. The first time I learned this lesson was in kindergarten. Of course I wasn't as profound back then (or as wordy), but I sensed my first day of kindergarten that my world was changing drastically. And that it would never be the same.

I started kindergarten shortly after my 5th birthday. I had been a fairly sheltered kid. I had not attended any sort of pre-K or preschool. So this was my first foray into structured, American public school. And I didn't know anyone in my class. In fact, the moment I realized I wasn't going to be able to go home again, I was on the playground. I walked up to another kid, and she said, "Hi my name's Dana." I knew one Dana. She was the kid down the street. This was not that kid. So I said, "No you're not. You're not Dana." She looked bewildered and skipped away to play with a more normal kid. It was evident to me in that moment, I didn't quite fit.

Fast forward 12 years...I left my small, decidely midwestern, semi-rural, Lutheran existence for 3 states away to a Southern Baptist college in the south. Again, I was quick on the draw. It didn't take me long to realize, I could not home again. In fact my first long break back home I felt awkward, out of place and realized despite all of those promises, I was not going to stay close with the people I went to high school with forever. We seemingly had little in common and I felt like someone in a foreign land. My adjustment to college life in the south was a little rocky, but just about the time I had figured it all out, it was time for another transition.

This time I wound up at law school closer to my hometown, but still 150 miles away. When I traveled back to Tennessee to visit my "home" - I was shocked to learn that again, you just can't go home once you've left. This transition was decidely the most difficult for me. I felt like a fish out of water. I had no soft place to fall. My fellow law students were seemingly competitive and oddly self-focused. I had been an activist in college - both politically and to some degree in the religious left as well. Here, nothing seemed to matter to anyone. Everyone appeared to be out for #1 (himself or herself) and all my relationships seemed very, very surface. I was back to that strange playground where "Dana" didn't seem like Dana at all. Like there was a code that no one had let me in on.

After law school, I transitioned back in the St. Louis area - complete with a boyfriend that I had stuck with for most of my law school career. He got me through those years. He gave me something to look forward to. A soft place to fall I guess. Ultimately we married two years after I graduated.

Soon I was expecting our first baby - a fat and happy girl. Still I felt some sort of loss - that longing for my past life maybe...or a longing for getting back to who I was. I couldn't go home again. And I knew that my image of "home" was forever changed by this little person I had brought forth. A few short years later came a beautiful boy - but again I learned quickly that home had again moved out from under me. My little boy was not perfect...he was sick. And I felt as if the sun was hiding its face from me. Our second baby pulled through it all though, with some sort of determination that he might've picked up from me.

This past year brought another transition, and possibly the chance for even more transitions to come. I left my marriage. After several years of pain, and a complete loss of who I was, I made the painful and sometimes still questionable (for me) decision to leave. Once that card had been placed on the table, I again understood, although more intuitively than I have in the past, that I could not go home again. Home, again, had shifted. As I look down the path I have begun to travel, I sense yet more upheaval.

For someone who has never been particularly good at change, I'm scared. I'm frightened of that feeling of alienation. Of separateness. Of isolation. These were the markers of each of my journeys away from home. And although I realize that life has worked itself out at each of these junctures in my life, I am still scared. Scared of what leaving this "home" will look like and feel like. I was reading the alumni magazine from my college today. And perhaps this is what brought on this blog...but I realized I can never go back to that place and find acceptance. And of course in all of these transitions, that is what I have craved more than anything else. And in some places I found it. And in others, I didn't.

When I say that you can't go home again, I don't mean that I was ever meant to go back. Because of course life moves forward, and that momentum is not a bad thing. But sometimes, on tough days, I wish I could go back to certain times and places. If nothing else, to feel some sense of unconditional love and acceptance that I so crave. And perhaps that is how I know that I am not currently home. Because I lack those things in large pockets of my life at least as I'm currently living it.

The only thing I know for sure in this moment is that I'm sad. I almost feel as if I'm in a sort of mourning. In preparation for leaving home again. Because I know that the day is drawing nearer, and my heart hurts at the thought of leaving home, yet again.

Quiet Month

I'm usually more wordy. It's been a *really* busy month at work and at home. My older baby was struggling this month. I think sometimes we delay adjustments, and then they hit you all at once. She was seemingly fine with the divorce, and then suddenly fell into a difficult period with it. She's stabilizing and seems to be doing better again. I'm hopeful.

As for me, well I'm here. That's about all I can do today. I'm not sad or mad or anything other than too busy to really think about what's next for me.

I got a mass email yesterday (or maybe the day before) from the guy who wrote Conversations with God. It said something to the effect of "your inner life is begging for some attention...are you listening?" I always seems to get these emails when I need to hear them. I've been so busy with work, kids, reading for my ESM class, just keeping my head above water, that I really haven't taken much time to meditate, pray and think. And I find myself missing that. Lent is coming, and life seems to slow down around Lent. I'm hoping to think of some good, healthy disciplines to take on this year for Lent.

For now, I'm content to have a break from self-examination.

A conversation

My God, where are you?
I am here.
God, where are you?
Here
Abba, Father, I need you.
I am in the wind, all around you.
Help, Father.
I am with you, always.
Help me to see you, to feel you, to know you.
Are you ready?
I want to be. Still scared.
My child, why do you fear me? I would never hurt you.
I hurt Abba.
I know. Trust my love.
I can't. I still hurt.
Let me heal you. I so want that for you.
Do you?
Yes. Trust that. Can you? Start by trusting my intentions.
Struggling. But I desperately want this.
I want to know you. For you to know me.
Me, too.
You have to take the second step.
The second step?
Yes. I have taken the first...so long ago.
I can't remember that.
I know, but I was there...still am.
Can you love me?
I already do. I always will.
Why?
It is your destiny - my destiny - both of ours.
I love you.
I know. I love you, my child. You are my beloved.
I want to accept this.
Open your heart - not your head.
I see you Abba.
With your heart...see me with your heart.
I do.
That is faith...

The moon is full and so am I

It's New Year's Eve...which typically means I should be reflective and thinking of all I want to do in the coming year. As I drove home tonight the moon rose in all its full splendor. I have a thing about the moon. I love to look at it. I still find it fascinating, and I wonder if something is living there and looking at earth and wondering about what goes on here too.

It's a great metaphor for the ending of the year for me. It's been a tough year. A divorce, building a law practice, gaining weight that I worked so hard to lose a few years ago, some challenges. But in the end, my life feels full. I feel full. Despite the painful moments (and there's been a lot of those), I have some peace about my life. About what's next for me, for my children.

I've felt anxious the past few days, and I think I know why. Tomorrow would be the 12th anniversary of my first date with my ex-husband. We got engaged on this night 9 years ago. In addition, 10 years ago tonight we were together in Detroit and for the first time I felt a strong sense of separation from Walter. Part of me knew on New Year's Eve 1999 very distinctly, this was not the person I was meant to be with, but I wasn't strong enough then to halt the trajectory. I couldn't give up the relationship then, the illusion of togetherness we had. It has taken me a decade to gather up the strength. It's funny, because in some ways it seems like everything happened overnight, and in other ways I can see the seeds of this year in a year that began 10 years ago.

I begin this year a divorced mother of two. An attorney. A guardian. One of the faithful. A follower of the man born over 2,000 years ago. Last night I was reading part of a book about grace. It's not a topic that's easy for me. In my life, it has always seemed that I must be earning things....earning love, affection, degrees, promotions, job titles...what have you. The concept that God would simply love me just because has always unsettled me. And of course the sort of response does that evoke...that unsettles me too. If I'm being honest I know that my heart has been called in another direction. And despite the unsettledness, I need to find out where that road leads and where I go next from here to follow that path.

Despite the not-knowingness of my life right now, there are things I know for sure. I know that I am a good mom to my two babies, and they are thriving and healthy and happy. I know that I do my best to protect the interests of the children that I am guardian to and for. I know that I am growing stronger and more capable of love everyday. Life is full.

What happened?

Tonight I attended church with my kiddos. It was a nice service, Christmas Eve after all, so familiar hymns, familiar readings. My kids were fairly tame, so I got to hear a decent part of the sermon. It was a message that I suppose I needed, but still somewhat painful.

I put it out of my mind, came home and got busy with our Christmas Eve "stuff." Baking cookies with the kids, watching Christmas movies, and then after the kids fell asleep in my bed, dragging all the presents out of hiding and filling the stockings. I snapped the train tracks together and got the batteries put in. Everything is ready for the morningtime. The kids will be happy and excited. Both of them really wanted one thing, and lucky for them, Santa pulled through. Their dad is coming over first thing in the morning so he can see them open up their gifts and bring his to add to the pile. I'm glad that we are at least far enough through the divorce process that we can do this together with our kids.

The sermon, and a movie I've watched several times this year, reminded me again that I must revisit the path I have chosen and perhaps make room in my heart and mind for a different path. When I approached the end of the my college years, I contemplated going to seminary. I felt some sort of tug in that direction. I'm not sure where I got derailed. But somehow I ended up in law school instead. Now here I am, more than 10 years later, with two children, a job I enjoy most days and a freshly failed marriage, and I'm left wondering what influences made me run all those years ago. Perhaps it was fear of losing my family entirely. I'm fairly sure they would not have been able to support my attendance at a seminary, particularly if I was considering ordination. I think perhaps some of it was the fear of the unknown. Some of it was fear of choosing a path that seemed crazy for a woman (to me at the time...particularly after 4 years at a conservative university). I think at least some of it had to do with the idea that I would be giving up my shot at a husband, kids, a stable life. Or maybe fear of not being good enough or smart enough or *enough* enough. I'm not sure. Somehow understanding why has become important to me now. It seems the place to start in figuring out where I go next.

Part of me still feels that tug. Even now, all these years later, I feel drawn to God, to the study of theology and to the church, for all its dysfunction. We all have our dysfunction I suppose. I'm not sure where that leaves me, or what it means for me next. And perhaps I'm ok with not having those answers today...or tomorrow...or this year or next. At least I'm asking the questions again.

The hope and promise of the Christ child has descended upon my life in a new and fresh way. Merry Christmas indeed.

Letters

My heart was light today as I did some Christmas shopping. I found some things that were wonderful, and I bought my usual cards.

Each year I write a few letters at Christmastime. It started as something I enjoyed doing to express love and gratitude to friends. Over time, it has become something I like and feel is important. I don't write one to every person I think of as a friend or every person I'm grateful for. But, I sit down to write and the first 5 or so people who pop into my head get a card. As I was writing one of the cards today I started laughing. The card was to a guy who I've known for a few years, but got to know better this year. He and I have had sort of a love/hate relationship this year. On one hand we've had some fairly heated arguments, and on the other hand he is funny and caring. So my card to him was kind of funny... it was like... "I really like you, but on the other hand you are weird, a little odd, crass at times..." I started giggling as I was writing it. Then I thought to myself, what if God was writing a letter to me...trying to express that he loves me and loves being in my life and in relationship with me...but also being honest enough with me to acknowledge my faults.

I think it would go something like this,

Dear Michele -

I love you a lot. I am happy that you are in my life, and happy that you have sought me out so diligently this year. I hope you know how much joy that brought me. I am seeking you too, and hope you feel my presence as a real part of your life.

Sometimes you do stupid things - you are mean-spirited, impatient and judgmental at moments. At times I wonder how you got so impatient and whether you realize your lack of patience sometimes costs you things you want and desire. Sometimes you are really funny, and make me laugh. Other times I think you use humor to hide who you are and it becomes an expression of self-loathing. I know your heart is in the right place though, and so I look through these things and love you for who you are and in fact because of who you are.

I know this year has been a tough one. You left the primary relationship you have had for over a decade. I know your heart aches at times from the loss of that relationship. And I know that have had a lot of fear of what that decision means for you and your babies. Please have peace in your heart that you have only done what you knew to do. And by leaving, you are returning to who you are and who I always hoped you could become.

I have sent you communities and friends this year to love and nurture you. And you were able to open your heart to the people I sent you. You have become more honest this year, and less judgmental. Sometimes it takes hurt and pain to learn lessons. While I didn't mean for you to hurt, I know you know it is part of the life you live. And you handled it with the grace and love that I meant for you all along.

Keep on walking the path that is set before you. Keep loving, even when it seems that it yields no fruit. And keep searching for who you are, who you were meant to be and who we can be together.

Love,
God

Thirst

"The Spirit and the bride say, "Come." And let everyone who hears say, "Come." And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift." (The Revelation of John 22:17)

This was one of the lessons that we read this past weekend in the community I've been spending time in each month. It reminds me of a lot of disconnected things. My first thought was "Come as you are." That first and foremost, we are acceptable to God without prettying ourselves up or somehow making ourselves more presentable (borrowing a word my mother used on me as a kid). The second thing I thought of was the phrase, "Let everyone who is thirsty" - who isn't thirsting for something? Whether for love, relationship, transformation, intimacy...we all are thirsting for something deeper, something real. It's what leads most of us to God, to the Church, and perhaps to community. Certainly my life has been an exercise in thirst these days.

I thirst for normalcy. I thirst for calmness, for peace. For some sort of tranquility in the midst of a tumultuous time. There are times at church, when it is quiet, that I find myself tearing up. I crave that quiet, that silence. And so often I'm unable to get there on my own, because my own life seems so...well...noisy...these days anyway.

Even more so, I find myself thirsting for the love of God in a way that I am unaccustomed to. My opinion or image of God is changing. Rather than a distant force who put his own son to death to fix my sins, more and more I see God as not only wanting relationship with me, but in some ways *thirsting* for it himself (or herself). And my response..."let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift." I wish. I want the relationship... and so I take the water of life from my God.

This brings me to my third thought, (or fourth or fifth)...I'm not very used to "taking" anything. I'm more of a giver. I'm not used to receiving, to accepting help, to taking something from another. It's a challenge. But it is only in the receiving that I am made whole. I cannot do it on my own. And all the giving in the world won't get me there either. I must be able to receive, and the word "take" is even stronger. It is a word of claiming. Claiming one's God-given gift(s), redemption, love. Not sheepishly holding one's hand out, embarrassed of being needy. To take is to recognize one's entitlement. And to speak it. To know it, intimately.

I'm not where I want to be in so many ways...but I feel strongly...a knowing of sorts...that I am thirsty. And that I don't have to remain that way. There is a gift. Given freely. And perhaps now that I have heard, the next step is to tell another to "Come." There is enough for us all.