Waiting... hoping...

Grief.  Death.  Loss.
They do funny things.
Twisted things.

I sit here with my grief in my lap,
rocking it.
I do not want to hold it,
I want to let it go.
But if I let it go, will I have let them go too?

It feels like this,
this bit of nothing,
whole of everything,
is all I have left of them
at this moment.

My soul is calmly watching.
Listening, humming.
Her knitting needles are gently
clicking, tapping, winding,
as she knits a prayer covering
that never seems to end.
She knows this too shall pass,
That all is well, really.

But my spirit- it is wounded.
She looks like a rag left in the street,
dull, tattered, useless and unattractive
in its disrepair and overuse.
Run over and over, it lies there.
Waiting.  Hoping.
But too tired to do anything.

And my mind, well it goes places.
It remembers last breaths.
It remembers smiles and love.
It wonders what it is like
when our soul leaves here.
It twists and turns and wonders,
wonderful, gruesome, morbid things.
Beautiful, sad, poignant things.

The New Introvert- or rather "Net-rovert"

"It requires more work on the part of networked individuals to make their way successfully in an always-on, quickly moving world, and a new set of norms and skills-just as the transition from rural, agrarian life to urban, industrial life required."

In his book, NetSmart, How to Thrive Online, Howard Rheingold writes a chapter on how "Social Has a Shape" and explores the ramifications of the social aspect of the internet on our social lives.  Many argue we are losing our social ability for the sake of computer screens and minimalized contact online.  But the above quote really got me thinking.  We have both extroverts and introverts in both physical social circles and online as well.  Online, they tend to be what I call net-roverts.  The ones who aren't completely against the use of the internet and social media, but they really don't want to get into it too far for a variety of reasons.  They are the ones who still have an egg for thier Skype image or an outline on facebook.  The lurkers or the newbies that don't know what to do so they have the account but really, the tool sits still in their hands.

The point is, it takes work to be online and connect.  A LOT of work.  You must keep up with the newest waves of technology and know when to let a sinking ship sink or when to jump to the next bandwagon.  You have to be willing to put yourself out there in order to use the tools and all the more so to use them well.  It doesn't take less to be connected online- it just takes the same effort in a new way. 

Text from Netsmart, How to Thrive Online by Howard Rheingold, 2012.

Sometimes They Say Things That Hurt and M.E.

Today Madelleine L'Engle (M.E.) writes about being new and yet staying the same.  She loves Bach and finds a newness in his music even when she thinks she knows it already.  There is something to be said for this concept in relationships too.  When we think we know someone we can fall into traps of stale murkiness.  In fact, when we think we know our own life the same can happen.  We think we know who we are or what we are called to do and that is that.  But, if there is one thing I have learned in seminary, it is that discernment is a forever kind of thing.

It goes to show then, that we need to keep our minds and hearts open.  Even more, we need to keep people in our lives who keep us on our toes.  A life full of comfy cozy people is not the best for making us get up and get busy living the way we need to be.  We need people who challenge us, call us on our crap and love us enough (or sometimes dislike us enough) to be brutally honest with us and say things that hurt.

The other day I vented some frustration and pain to a collared friend.  Suddenly I said, "So there it is.  I am done now.  What do you think?"  In all his wisdom and truth he said, "I don't think you are.  What else?"  At which point I burst into tears.  I had, of course, known I was close to crying (which I hate to do) and tried to avoid it by ending my vent and turning it around to him and his thoughts.  He knew enough to call me on it and force me to try.  The funny thing is, we are new friends.  Kind of a big-brother mentoring thing.  We walk and talk through the struggles aligned with military chaplaincy and seminary.  But he already gets it, his role.  The one of brutal and up front honesty.

I have been blessed with a few of those in my life.  One is long gone now.  Lost to suicide.  Her gentle nature was not lost in the force of nature that I tend to be.  Instead, it was an opposites attract kind of thing.  Still, her words of truth and love live on.  If anything, the gentleness is all the more powerful than every because she is gone.  I never thought I would say this, but she is still teaching me, even by her own death... and it hurts.

I have a couple of others still.  They are in my life to varying degrees.  One, if I need her, and occasionally she pops up with a word of wisdom on fb too.  Our shared birthdays gave us a day once to get to know each other far better and yet, I really didn't need to know her better.  She was already being steel sharpening steel.  What I was seeing on the outside was what I saw more of.  She was just her, being her.  No apologies necessary. What a powerful lesson all on its own, but man did it hurt to look in the mirror some days.

My sun worshiping one is not in my life as much as I like, but she is doing some good things for her soul and that makes it okay with me.  It isn't about my needing her or her needing me.  Instead we teach each other constantly kind of like a sparring match.  I love it.  It invigorates me and some days makes me cry when I realize how little I really know. Because of that I would not trade her for the world.

Then there is this one who is almost daily in my life and we go through cozy days.  Then suddenly, like a freak summer thunderstorm, her words of wisdom and strength pile in and force my attention.  I love thunderstorms.  They are a little scary when you really think about them. They are all the same yet very individual.  They are full of surprises and energy and power beyond our imagination.  Beyond beautiful, they are awesomely cool.

But each of these lovely people say and do things that hurt.  Not to be mean. Not to vent their own needs.  But because that is what they are supposed to do.  Be real. Be honest. Be loving.  It is in those moments that I thought I knew my own life that they surprise me by being the most fantastic mirror and showing me more of who I am than I could find alone.

I think when we wonder where God is in our lives, we need to stop, be quiet, and listen to the voices already around us.  They may very well be God right in our living room turning fashion magazines and drinking tea, or on skype with coffee talking about new eye makeup, or baking up a storm for the unit bake sale and corralling kiddos.   They may seem to be the most mundane, ordinary, unsurprising part of our lives. Until they aren't.  But don't be angry when they say things that hurt.  Instead, love them and honor them enough to hear their words and ponder them... you might be pondering the words of God in your heart.  

Imperfection and M.E.... sharing the TMI at church

I have attended many churches in my life.  The moving has created an opportunity to see and experience more fully how people do and see 'religion' differently.  One aspect never changes though.  Perfection.  Or rather, expectation of perfection.

Whether you attend a service that is dressed to the nines or wear jeans and t-shirts to church, there is still an expectation.  We don't want to see imperfection.  We don't really want to know what is happening in our neighbors home- that might get messy and we would have to give up our precious time to help or support.

We don't want to know the pastor is lonely or struggling with a bully in the congregation (yes, there is always one and pastors won't tell you who it is, but trust me, they are there and they are mean because they can get away with it because pastors won't be mean back).

We sure do not want errors in the bulletin or errant slides or heaven forbid, a bad sound system or musical gift.

We want perfection.

As I read M.E.'s thoughts for today, she speaks of false expectations and at first I was caught up in the friendship side she mentions.  But after some time in silence and meditation I read the passage again and the words "we have false expectations of our holy days, of our churches" jumped off the page at me. Immediately I knew I was guilty of that.  I want my church holidays to deliver some meaningful, emotionally laden and personally life altering experience.  That is not what the church is for.

The church is also not a place for us to put on a face of perfection.  The fact is, you go to church with people who suffer.  They fight inner demons of alcohol, drugs, cruel fists, sexual yearnings and more.  They are not perfect and neither is your pastor.  We are just human.  All of us.

A few places we have been my first complaint to Lance was that I felt like I wasn't being 'let in'.  Really.  I was welcome to help at church and worship there but the personal lives were bricked off like Ft Knox.  I wanted relationship. I wanted personal.  I wanted real.

 How can I pray for you when you won't tell me?  But why on earth would you tell me if I am going to judge or blab about town? I get it. No wonder we build those walls thicker at church than at home.  We are afraid of the judgement.  I know that feeling very well.  I am blessed with a daughter who knows no sense of secrecy when it comes to 'life'.  Her greatest desire upon being hospitalized for depression was for us to tell people where she was and why.  She figured they might be able to find their own inner demons and fight them if she shared hers.

 The hardest part was being so transparent to others at church and her school.  Let me tell you, offering up in verbal prayer to the whole congregation that your daughter is hospitalized for suicidal thoughts is not easy.  It had me quaking in my boots.  I remember thinking, they really will think this is TMI (too much information) but my heart yelled at me, "this is not about them, this is about Sandy and what she wants and needs to heal!"

So I did it.  I prayed for her safety and health and spirit out loud.  I shared with her friends and then, I left service crying several times over the weeks she was not with us. What I found though was not judgement. (*Caveat, there was fear deeply wrapped about the 's' word- and that is another blog for another day- shame and suicide).  Instead I found arms of solace and even more shockingly, as I shared, more and more people came to me crying themselves for the pain they had never shared with another soul or outside their little families.  They worried for grown children, for teens at home.  They mourned their own years of despair spent alone and afraid.  Some of these wounds were dozens of years old!  One woman had watched her little brother go through this when she was a teen, now she is in her late 40's.  Not one word to anyone else in all these years.

As I lowered the mask of perfection, what I saw, felt, heard and experienced was a freedom.  For me, yes.  But for those around me too.  When I took that first step (coerced by mothering instinct alone) I gave them permission to open up too. This allowed my daughter's and my cry for help to be their cry for help in those moments.  Together we grieved and found solace. That would not have happened if I had maintained "perfect" standards.

Don't get me wrong, church is not the place for broad, personal, verbal confession, but it is a place we should find imperfection and we must follow that up with the gifts of grace, mercy and absolute forgiveness. Let's let the message really work.... but first, we have to admit we are imperfect.  

M.E. and Remembering what I Forgot and The Impossible

Today (day 2) M.E. writes, "One of the great sorrows which came to human beings when Adam and Eve left the Garden was the loss of memory, memory of all that God's children are meant to be."

In the following questions we are asked to ponder the impossible we have to do in life and when God enabled us as well as how we know our will is one with God's as we ask in the Lord's Prayer.  For a moment I was stymied.  I don't recall doing anything I thought was impossible.  Does that mean I don't accept challenges from God?  Am I that chicken and don't hear God?  Then I realized. Hello?  I am in seminary.  A place I never thought I would be.  Then I realized, it is time to share some of how I ended up here.

You see, for many years I was interested in pursuing politics as a profession.  When I was looking to join the Air Force, I wanted to go in to be a political spin person, like Olivia Pope in ABC's Scandal.  I wanted to be the one who helped turn what didn't look so good or was dangerous for the American public to know into something innocuous and insignificant.  For years! In Savannah, I even had a wealthy gentleman from church tell me he would fund my first run for the Chatham County School Board (talk about a political good old boy system!).  That would have been my first 'in'.  But we moved.

In New Jersey I watched my Great Aunt Ruth die of cancer and in those drives to visit with her I had a lot of time to think and pray.  I also had a pastor, Dave, who was convinced I was supposed to be in seminary when I was thinking it was my husband who was supposed to go.  By the time I watched those shovels pour dirt onto Aunt Ruth's casket, I knew where God was calling me and it was not Politics.  A little sad, I gave up that dream and began discerning a call to ministry.

When Lance asked me recently if this made me happy to be in seminary and if being a pastor would make me happy I had to answer yes and no.  It made me sad at first and that was the no.  But I told him I could be very content being a pastor and that was even better.  He replied he did not want me content but I explained to him that this was a far better happiness.  See, deep down inside, what I want more than I wanted a career in politics was to follow God's will for my life.  In giving up politics and following a call to ministry, I am not doing something I do not want to do.  I do want to do it.  Better yet, is the knowledge that God wants me to do it and that brings a peace and joy so deep down in my soul I cannot express it thoroughly enough.  So more than politics, I want to be a Pastor, because God has called me to that and is equipping me for that life.  In a way, this is my 'impossible' scenario.  I know I would be a rotten pastor on my own.  But God is giving me all the gifts and skills I need to do God's will.  In that then, I am pursuing my dream and achieving the impossible WITH God.

Oddly enough, a few years ago I helped get the walk on Washington and annual Press Conference on the Capital lawn off the ground.  Talk about political.  I had to call all the secretaries of all the US Representatives and Congress to see if I could send an invite to them to speak at this instead of the 9/11 10th anniversary event the next day in NYC.  If you think anything is impossible, ask for a representatives personal schedulers email!  Easier to get the rep's email but not as effective.  I managed the over 200 calls over the weekend for those who would speak to me.  By the time all was said and done though, I was wiped out and ready to cry.  By the time I opened our press conference on the lawn I was so done with politics that I think I still have post traumatic stress over it.  In those moments of clarity, I realized, God had blessed me with that side job as I was entering into seminary that coming fall .  It let me see that the dream I had for myself was not at all what I thought and it reassured me that my will now is in line with God's will.  Talk about doing the impossible again... but only WITH  God, not on my own.

I may not recall too many impossibles in my life, but I think that is because I have learned to forget that I am alone.  God is with me, walking beside me, carrying me when I am weak or unable and that, that is what I am remembering that I forgot in the Garden.  

Madeleine L'Engle and Pastoral & Family Care

I am engaging a 40 day journey with my favorite author of all time, Madeleine L'Engle.  You may know her from her "Wrinkle In Time" books.  As I journey through this study, I thought I might share some thoughts that pop up.  You will find me referring to her as "M.E.".  Here goes~

I read a new definition for the word agape today.  It spoke of a love that does not seek control, thanks or enjoyment- just loves.  M.E. said it taught her "not only about forgiveness but about how to hope to give guidance without manipulation."

This kind of love never excludes.  She mentions the weak or old or enemy, but it went so much deeper for me.  It was about control.  It is easier for me to relinquish controlling those I do not like or spend time with by choice.  It is far more difficult to imagine not controlling those dear to me.

I am a control freak by nature.  I would make a horrible drug addict because I cannot stand the feeling that I have no control when I am on pain meds.  I can only imagine it is like that a million times over to be a drug user or addict.  Did you ever think you might find a situation where someone using drugs might be preferable?  Well, there it is.

My need for control steps over into every area of my life.  I want my kids to have perfect hair and skin or at least not to embarrass me in public... or what I imagine others might think about them and then me.  How very selfish.  How unloving.  I want my husband to act and be a gentleman all the time, the perfect suitor.   How very selfish and unloving.  I want others to like me, to find me enchanting and funny, smart and witty, passionate and inspiring.  How very un-agape of me.  In those moments, it is about me.  It is not as M.E. described at all.  It is a love that seeks control, thanks or enjoyment at every turn and is exactly the opposite of the love that Christ seeks in us.

I cannot control those around me and if I were really honest deep down inside, I don't want to because then I would know the results are false positives.  I don't want to control my God either, then I know that it is about me and the promise of forgiveness and salvation then rely on my works, my thoughts, my needs as opposed to the work of the Spirit and Christ on the cross.

I would lose so much in that control.  I would lose a promise that I glimpse every so often.  One that does not ignore my ineptitude or vile selfishness.  Instead it is a promise that lives on in spite of these.  That gives in spite of these.  It forgives my controlling need and leaves a place for me that does not need me to be any of those things I want others to think about me.

As I ponder the lessons of my Pastoral Care class from June, I cannot help but apply them to this concept.  As I seek to support, guide or honor those around me, I cannot in any way expect control. In fact, I will more than likely find myself regularly in the deep end with no sense of control whatsoever.  It is there, in that murky cold and scary water that I will find myself the most accurate.  How I respond then, how I give up the right to control and allow God to move and protect and save will be the life or death of me as a shepherd.

Right now though, it starts at home.  With the little things.  With the ones I love, but may not agape very well.  Today, I learn to live in agape.

Amid the boxes and packing paper

Lately it seems my blogs have ended up in my seminary blog, but today, this is just about me and my life.  Not about how it works with seminary.  Today, it is about the fact I sit in this house, as it is almost empty of our things; things that made it our home.  I look around me at all the space- which by the way, feels really good in a whirlwind of busy-ness- and I think of all the room that was made in my heart for my friends here.
We were blessed with a great little congregation.  Not that there have not been times I wanted to rip my hair out over frustration with them, but just like marriage, I believe a congregation chooses you, not the other way around and you stay; a commitment.

Our house is not the only empty place we will leave.  By sheer volume of Kelly bodies alone, we will leave an entire pew empty in our quaint little sanctuary.  And we worry.  Will someone sit and lead other parents and adults in study on Sunday mornings now?  Will the archiving of church photos be completed?  How will the youth groups fare when losing a large number like this?  Not that my family is the be-all end-all for this congregation, but we are a small one and we are not the only ones leaving.  One of the members is leaving to live in warmer weather, another has gone home to await us all.  Many empty spots will appear over this month and ours will be among them.

I look at my boxes, labeled with things we own and often think, they are just things, they are not what matters.  Yet it is the moment I unpack those things that I think of the ones I love and memories we have made along the way.  The Austrian cowbell from friends who took thier parents all over the continent when we all lived in Germany.  The crystal returned just days ago from co-hosting a fancy fundraiser dinner that will now make me think of her as I put it away in my new home.  The vintage map of the Hudson Valley that will be framed and hung to make me think of my dear clothing designer friend, who loves all things vintage.  There will be beach passes to empty from my wallet to make me remember a summer spent learning to walk on an injured ankle down to a hidden cove where we sat, sunned and swam with local friends and read trash and fluff all summer.  And little things will stay on for a while- probably like my A&P and Shoprite store cards on my keychain- that will be months before I remember to take them off- but see them every time I put a new one on for L.A. groceries and pharmacies.

What is always hardest is realizing that like the forwarded mail, the daily thoughts will become fewer, less noticeable.  I will make new friends to add to my growing list of blessings along the way.  I will find new haunts for coffee and new local spots for swimming and hanging out.  I will not forget NY, nor the friends made here- the family of choice that comes with Army life.  I will treasure them and when I pick up these things to pack them again, to leave L.A., I will think the same things again.  So they are not just things.  They are reminders, they reveal in a way the memories that get forgotten in daily life.  They will keep my friends close in my heart, even long years from now when we may have lost touch.

 For now though, I wrap them up with care, I label them and I move on to the next item.  Because if I don't, it isn't about not being ready in time, it is about not being able to function.  I have to set them in those boxes and move on.  I have to say farewell and start again, just like I did in Savannah, in New Jersey, in Wisconsin, in California, in Germany, in Colorado, in Florida, in Tennessee, in Kentucky, in Virginia, in Michigan, and now, New York.  

25 things, for my friend Fran and becuase of her. (from Jan 26, 2009)

Edit

25 Things, for my friend Fran and because of her

by Julie Kelly on Monday, January 26, 2009 at 10:26am

1. If I could change one thing about my life, it would be to live as a missionary with basically nothing. Simple is good.

2. If I could take back one thing in my life it would be that I never sang to my Great Aunt as I sat beside here during her end stages of cancer. Like the little drummer boy who had no gift to bring, I wanted so badly to give the only gift I could give, a song. Yet I sat, mute and afraid. I did not open my heart in song for her until it was too late, at her graveside in the pouring, icy, October rain.

3. I have 5 brothers and 3 sisters. Mike, age 40, Wayne, age 38, Rick age 33, Anne, age 33, Lisa, age 33, Rich, age 31, Irene, age 30, and Josh age 24. We are a mix of his, hers and ours. In one family I am the oldest child and in the other I am the middle. No wonder I am messed up!

4. I have moved 39 times in my 35 years of life. 'Nuf said.

5. When I turned 9 I refused to admit it. I declared that I could not turn another year older as I had not done anything with my life yet to change the world. I thought keeping my old age of 8 would give me more time to fix my horrendous mistake and a chance to do something to make the world a better place.

6. Most people say I am confidant, but I am scared stiff and unsure of myself 90% of the time.

7. If I could take any vacation right now I would take all my girlfriends to a lonely beach with a huge hacienda and tons of good fresh food and yummy wine. We would spend the week eating, talking and working on our skin cancer risk. No men allowed.

8. I am quite nervous about the idea of Lance retiring and us not being so involved in the Army anymore- it is all I know!

9. I don't have too many interesting things to share because you all know what there is to know already. I try to live transparently- that is why so many people don't know how to take me; they figure there is something else behind it all... but there isn't.

10. My best writing happens at night when I cannot sleep. I type in a stream of conscious style (thanks Pat Sperry!) until my brain is empty.

11. I have never taken any classes on how to use a computer but I think I am allowed to call myself a mini geek. (what do you say Jason?)

12. I first kissed a boy in 2nd grade... but I kissed my first boyfriend in 7th grade.. Shane Nesmith in Clarksville TN.

13. I learned the facts of life at age 9 from the book "Where did I come from?" (great book to teach kids this stuff!)

14. I fell in love with Lance at first sight but thought I would never have a shot with him- until I started dating Tony Campbell (Fulda) and told Lance after church one Sunday and the look on his face said it all. I have never broken up with someone so fast in my life! Sorry Tony buy true love was waiting!

15. I found out I would never grow any taller when I was 15 and skied over my thumb (yes I am talented like that- that will be number 16 here) and had to have an x-ray. I have pretty much worn high heels ever since... not wanting to admit I am short for life. (5'4")

16. I have skied over my thumb (youth group ski trip from Fulda to Zugspitz). It is hard to describe- if you realllllly need to know how I achieved it hit me up for a real message.

17. I used to have to wear glasses- but at 16 I got hit in the head with a locker and ended up in the hospital for a week with a concussion. I missed out on the volleyball season and I still have the card my whole Jr. class made me. I could not see any writing for around a month without vomiting and somewhere around 6 weeks it cleared and voila- I had better than 20/20! Now I wear reading glasses due to age.

18. I have had 6 operations in my life. All for different things. Let me tell you- having a varicose vein removed realllllllyyyyyy hurts. Do NOT go Black Friday shopping only a week afterward!

19. My favorite color used to be green growing up. Now I would have to say it is tangerine orange. I am not sure what that says about me.

20. When I need to reset mentally I picture myself standing on a hill, standing between fresh white sheets hung on a line, as they blow in the stiff breeze. The sky is sunny but I cannot see the sun- I am simply caressed by the white and sheets.

21. When I had my first surgery I remember thinking how nice the "nothingness" was. I heard a voice saying "Julie, breath or I will have to put your tube back in" several times- but I really didn't care. I did not "know" I had a loving husband, 60 day old twins and 2 other lovely children waiting for me to come back to them. That scared me stiff. To this day I am affected by it- grasping life for all it is worth.

22. I HATE painkillers. They don't get rid of the pain, they just make me not care- and I HATE not caring or losing control- I am a control freak!

23. My favorite book in the Bible is Ruth. The story of friendship, devotion, love and the power of chosen family is so inspiring to me.

24. I am named after my Great Aunt Julie whose real name was Violet Jewell Torricellas. She died when she was verrrrry young of a massive heart attack. She also had twin boys. I kind of freak out her living siblings every so often when they see me as an adult because I remind them of her very much.

25. I love to make tortillas and I hear that mine are pretty darned good. (especially my flour ones with oregano in them.)

question

  Originally posted and written 2-19-2009

I hear this friend,
her mom is dying.
Soon 

she will no longer

hold her mommy.

I watch the tv,
stories of 

reaching,
grasping,
desperation
and I think...
how horrible for them.

I know 

divorce and
death and
poverty
are all around, 

most times not so silent.

My husband
feeds a huddled vagabond
on his way to the train
from a warm office.

The world is starving
and in Haiti
the 

only

hope
is what is eternal
where hunger
is 

no

more.

I see this
I hear it
I wince and
hear the stories and
watch
the tears
in my dear friends eyes.

So what right do I have to feel sorrow for myself?

What right have I
to feel unaccomplished,
incomplete with
no end in sight?

What right have I to
shed a tear
over little time for "me"
in a selfish society?

In Rwanda
there is
no thought to "me"
instead,
will I
survive

HIV to
raise my child?

And I sit
in my
comfy bed
at my
shiny laptop
with tears
in my eyes
ache in my throat...

wondering....

who am I that
I am
so special
special enough
to be sad

that I am not 

what I dreamed.

it feels like the first time- all over again- starting a new degree

You would think that once you have been to a couple of colleges, they all would start to have a large degree of commonality.  Not so.  I am floundering around again to learn new terms for a new college and, in the mindset of BK, doing it "their way."

Let me back up a moment and clarify a few things.  I started college and still did not understand, at age 32, what the difference was between an associate and bachelor degree.  It was not until about 2 years ago, at age 36, that I understood the difference between a bachelor of arts or sciences.  I am still struggling to understand the whole graduate and undergraduate component.  So, being the first generation to successfully attend and complete college in my family, I am learning the hard way- through a lot of mistakes, failures, missed deadlines and even more questions that really make me feel uneducated.

Having a bachelor degree under my belt, I thought I would feel smarter.  But not really.  I feel more uneducated than ever before.  I believe someone once said they were once too dumb to know what they didn't know and the more they learned the more they knew what they didn't know.  That would be me now.

I am all set for my classes to begin at Luther Seminary in Minneapolis.  For those who didn't know yet, I am a Master of Divinity student (MDiv)in a fairly new distance learning(DL) program.  (that is a whole different post!).  I will be learning from home, via Internet, but also must spend a month each year (2 weeks every June and January) on campus doing intensives. I also have to volunteer here locally  and keep up with my cohort (that is my learning 'group') weekly.  It is a far more structured distance learning program than most colleges offer, especially at the graduate level, but I believe that is fully necessary given the degree.

Being the first ever MDiv, DL  student for the New York Metro Synod of the ELCA (a Lutheran denomination), I am a guinea pig in a fishbowl- that is, watched quite closely.

So I have observed a few things at this point.
1.  Every college forgets what it is like to be a brand new student with them and misses opportunities to make it a little less frustrating or fear inducing.
2.  Greek doesn't count for credit toward an MDiv degree but you have to take a bunch of it.
3.  Minneapolis is supposed to have amazing stuffed burgers and I am making the list of places to try now.
4.  There is an app for Greek flashcards!
5.  It doesn't feel any different from starting at any other new school- no matter what it is all new and scary.  This is my 14th new start at a school since kindergarten so I think I know the drill but am still swept away by the newness.
6.  Nothing is centrally located for information.  It isn't just at schools, it is that way in life.  Who is supposed to be in charge of SOP's for life? (standard operating procedure)
7.  Reading the whole Bible in 90 days is harder than I thought but much easier than reading it in a year.  (less time to mess around and get behind!)

The answer is... suck it up and drive on

Many a time I am asked, "How do you do it?  How do you live with a man, give him your heart and bear him children, all while knowing he may leave for battle and never return?"  They even ask, "How does he do it?  How does he live with the fact that his job may take his life?"
All too often I want to say, "we don't".  But we do.  We just don't think about it too often and when we do, we pull up our big girl panties, suck it up and drive on.
That is what got every soldier through every battle.  That and the knowledge that 'someone' was back home, praying they would return.
Recently we were blessed to see a dear friend home on R&R (rest and relaxation in the middle of deployment for those non military).  When it was time for us to go, I hugged him and whispered in his ear, "Come home safe. Come home whole.  Not in a box.  Please."  As we walked away all I could think was I love his wife dearly, but I did not know if I would have her strength to help HER through that if it were to happen.
The point is, it happens.  So we cannot ignore it.  We don't "not think about it".  But we do avoid it when we can and live this life, this day, this moment.  We savor this kiss, this hug, this great marital intimacy, NOW.  We even find a way to savor the fights and frustrations.  I may complain that my beloved leaves his dirty underwear on the floor (apparently this is not an uncommon male trait), but as I do, I say a silent prayer of thanks, "he is here to do this, capable to do this, may he always be so."
I teach my children to be proud.  I cry when the National Anthem is played, when any patriotic song comes on.  I teach them and myself to let ourselves be caught up in this moment.  Why?  Because someday, that moment may be all we have left to remind of the one we loved and lost.  But we cannot dwell on it.
I make sure our ducks are in a row. Every good Army wife is trained too.
  Do you believe me?  Our training is subtle, but constant, and as necessary as theirs.   I know where all his paperwork is.  I know whose name is on every policy and what it will deliver should that day come.  I know how to put his ribbons back in order for an open casket.  I know what to expect if that black car pulls up and a chaplain and another officer get out. I know how long I have in housing, how long it will take for the first gratuity to fly in loved ones, what protection is granted us- and what isn't (Westboro baptist thugs) I know these things because if- that ever looming 'if' that is asked all the time of me- if it happens to us, I might be able to lean on that training when nothing else will work inside my broken heart and mind.  My training will be what I act upon by instinct.  And should I never need it, I am surrounded by my sisters in arms, who might need me to be there to gently guide them through in case their training just didn't quite kick in.  That applies in reverse too, which is why I am so invested in training Army spouses (God forbid in all this, but I am being real here.)
So there you have it.  We live with it.  We don't ignore it, we cannot.  It won't let us.  But if we let it consume us, we will drown. What we can do is treasure here, now, and today.  We allow ourselves our moments to delve deeply into the subject, like Memorial Day, when we remember all who have given thier life before us.  We let ourselves shed a tear.  We must do that- to honor them, to remember them.  Then we must let the others take on that task the rest of the time so we can do our job- which is not just to protect and serve, but to live.
Last night a friends husband shared that his mom always tells him"Carpe Diem". I wish that I could, I certainly try.  The thing is, we cannot ignore, we cannot dwell, and some days, we just cannot seize the freaking day.  All we can do is pull up those big girl panties.... suck it up.... and drive on.   That my friends is the answer to how we do it.

facebook gave me roots

We hear it all the time, "facebook ruined my marriage, my friendship, got me fired...".

Well apart from the fact that a computer program cannot do those things, I am here to say that facebook has done something really good, really true, of value, of moment, in my life.

I am a Brat.  yup... proud to say it.  Military, Army to be specific, Brat.  It is what I know.  It is what I do now, I am a BratBride.  I traded one ID card for another.  I had a civilian life once, many years ago, before my parents remarried and I was given a prefix to my sponsors ID#.

To be fair, that first life was when I was young, by the time I was 12 I was a Brat.  But the moving started much earlier.  I love my parents, let me just say that.  I am not trying to be unfair or mean, but the fact is, in general, every time my parents split up or got back together we moved.  So we could argue my training for Army life began early. Add to that, my father is a GOOD solid German Norwegian.  In good Scandinavian style, "we" don't speak about family, it might be gossip.  But that rule also stopped me from learning about my heritage. I lost an invaluable treasure trove of stories about who I am and who I come from.  I know what I learned from my mom's side and can only IMAGINE what I would feel if I had been able to connect to my fathers family in the same way.  I didn't even know what I had lost until I lived in Wisconsin.  There the women of my church and quilting group taught me old family recipes.  They shared thier stories of thier families in that odd womanly way that doesn't qualify as gossip somehow.

Let me back up though.  I have always felt like I had no roots, no home.  Once told that there is no way anyone doesn't have a place they truly call home, they said emphasized by asking where I want to be buried.  In all honesty, with a straight face, I answered, " Dig a hole beside my body and role me in."  I was and still am serious.  I have no place I call home.  None.  In face, I have few places I can go where anyone would recognize me if I showed up today.  My life is that ephemeral. Thus, I have no roots.
That is, I didn't.  Until facebook appeared.

Somehow, the roots to my high school- that no longer exists (due to BRAC, Base Realignment and Closure started in the 80's) were found through this neverland of the world wide web.  There have been reunions, there are groups, there are close friends reconnecting and recalling the fun.  Even the icky stuff too- but all of that is required to have roots.  You know, it takes poop to make good plants grow deep roots too.

 I have found many a dear friend on here.  Some, we find, we read up on each other and we then settle into a non-interactive connection again.  Others, who may not have been my closest confidants, are now quickly becoming the ones to whom I go for support, connection, encouragement and truth.  I know the rules.  I don't do that with the guys.  I have a loving hubby and I am not willing to risk that.  But that doesn't mean I won't add a guy to my friends list.  They are a root too.  Maybe one of those tiny ones, but they count.  They are a part of my past, a part of my now and will be a part of my future, even without facebook.

I have connected with cousins.  I have been shown pictures I did not know existed of me as a young girl.  I have found distant relatives through my grandfathers cousins!  I am finally, creating my own "web" of roots- and facebook is to credit, not to blame.  It has been a blessing in my life.  It has connected me with my college pals in Kansas and Minnesota.  It allows me to participate in Bible study groups.  It has let me learn who my husband is and has given me a key to that treasure trove of stories in my father's family, so that now I may share this with my children. I finally feel almost confidant enough to reach out to family in Minnesota to ask if I may come visit, to see family history in person, to see faces that look like mine, hair of flax that looks like my children's.
Yup... for once, facebook has done as good as an inanimate object may.  This Brat has finally found some roots, in spite of my lifestyle.  Thank goodness for this marriage wrecking, job losing, friend turned enemy making site.

It will come... sooner or later.

Today is a different day. That doesn't mean that things are different though. Yesterday a friend was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery.

Try as I might, I cannot cut short the sadness over the loss of his life in this world. I could not travel the 6 hours each way to honor his life there with others. I chose instead to take a break from moving and see Long Island beaches for the first time. I spent the hour of his interment watching my children jump into the ocean. And the waves crashed over and over again like a heart beat, reminding me of his now gone.

Am I a crappy human for wanting to forget? It was as though my heart said, if I cannot be there to truly grieve with others then I will simply not grieve.

Unfortunately, although I was able to defer pain, I could not cut it off. It remains. I woke this morning with a lump in my throat and a deep need to cry before I even knew why.
It's done. He is gone. There are no more ceremonies or memorials, there is not another step to finalize the formal end. Now comes the time when the others slowly but surely get on with thier lives as his family drowns in grief that has been deferred to a point as well. Now there is nothing else to keep them busy arranging or trying to 'get through'.

100 years ago we still wore black for a year. We showed our grief. A close friend or distant relative wore a black band to show the grief. The widow for a full year or more was clothed in all black with little relief of color.

Today we have no outer way to know of grieving kin. They walk by us in the grocery store and for all intensive purposes carry on thier daily grind as we stand in line behind them or scoot our cart around them in the deli department.

As a not so close friend, but more than mere acquaintance, where do I fit in? Some of us feel grief for others in the oddest of ways with no rhyme or reason. Maybe this is deferred pain over other losses in my life?

All I know is that today I grieve and no matter how enjoyable yesterday was, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, I was aware all day of my friends who stood by a grave and shed tears at an armed salute, taps and a folded flag. I was so aware that I let out a deep breath- one I did not know I had been holding- around 1500. Surely it was done. Surely his lovely bride stood surrounded by others muttering condolences to her when she only wished to be alone on a mountain top screaming her lungs out over the ugliness of this.

There are no words I can utter to her that will ease her pain. There is no action I can perform to lessen her grief. I can only allow my tears to join hers as they fall to the earth where he is laid. My only hope is that I will be able to travel soon to honor his life where he rests and that I can live my life in a way that honors the love, laughter, friendship, and heartbeat that was his.

Pedro Mercado, my friend, may you rest in peace. May your lovely wife carry a little less pain each day. May your family remember you with honor and smiles. May your memory live on to remind us all that we should live with a HUGE smile that lights up a room, because in the end, while we may try to defer the pain, or even death, we cannot. It will come. Sooner or later.

gut check

Originally composed 3 Feb 2010

"It comes down to a simple gut check: You either love what you do or you don't. Period."

Hmm.

Let me just say, that many times we are unhappy because we have unrealistic expectations. Are you really unhappy with what you do, or are you unhappy with who you are and what you desire? Is your desire focused on the wrong thing? I honestly believe that we could all be happy in whatever we do if we look in ourselves and find out what really matters. Suddenly everything else becomes peripheral. If you are thinking money will make you happy when you are waiting tables, you are wrong. I look back on those poor table-waiting days and realize how happy I really was. If only I had focused on right here and now and not what-if's and maybe's I would have found peace much earlier in life.

The fact is, nothing in life is perfect. It all looks good until you live it- and then you notice the cracks and patchwork that no one else sees... and you can either accept and embrace those cracks as character or you can be miserable with them, thinking that those are greener pastures over that fence.

What we should do with our life is not about professions or occupations. It is about what is inside. What you do to earn money can bring you more happiness, true. But relying on that to bring happiness is false and will fail in time.

What brings happiness is an inner sense of self- of worth, of desire to live life and a realization that we must enjoy the messy eating of the juicy fruit of life- letting the juices run down our faces and arms and licking it up and savoring every moment. That is what we are supposed to do with our lives. Savor the moment and stop thinking anything other than right now will be better.

my grandma

For my Grandma T;

Upon this last breath I give her up and trust her to the Lord's embrace. She will feel no more of these worldly things that cause us hurt.

Her pearly white locks will be full of color and youth, her eyes sparkling with joy and excitement as she wanders her grandfathers shop of second hand goods on the end of eternity street. Her soft wrinkled skin will be firm with the color of springtime blossoms reflected in the perfection.

She will know the names of all those who passed before her- the ones she has poured over for years- and now she will have a face to go with. She can ask the questions of them that sit open in those books of history with no answer we know now. And we will envy this knowledge with a smile.

She will sit at a table with her mother and daddy; engaging in loving banter, laughter and joy. She will prepare a place for her lover, her child, her progeny, and wait patiently for us to join her- enjoining us to wait for our time and not come too soon.

She will no longer roll beside us in her scooter, will not guide us over the phone, will not chide us lovingly for a poor choice. She will not holler "Worth" with that disapproving voice when he tells an all too colorful family story... nor will she call out, "Worth" when she seeks his guidance, his voice, his wisdom to balance with hers.

She will not dance with her granddaughters for now. She will no longer crochet an afghan to wrap around us on cold nights when we cry our tears over her passing and her personalized patches sewn with love on each one will become a legacy to future generations.

She is tiny again, a wraith of beauty that no one needs peach colored glasses to see clearly- they will all see her as her beloved did for over 58 years. She now lives in our memories as all too human and frail- not the woman of strength and character we knew- but one whose strength we only now begin to grasp.

Her loving arms will not hold another generation and her missing birthday cards will be the most painful moment of each of our birthdays for years to come. There will be no more PTA baths- instead her lithe heavenly form, slipping gently into sweetly scented pools of crystal clear water that slide over her skin like silk and she breathes deeply and swims with no effort as far as the eye can see.

We will catch our breath as we feel the tears run down our cheeks, struggling to swallow, grasping for solace in words that right now are so lacking in solace... and yet.... we are filled with joy for her- with love that words cannot express our respect, honor, awe, tribute and adoration.

Instead of locked to a chair, taking each breathe from a tube, she will run, ski on one ski, rebuild an engine, climb to a roof, and never, ever need to worry that she cannot breathe.

Now she will dance with cousins long gone, fish with her daddy, walk with our Jesus and know a peace we could not give her here. She will be free, glancing back with a loving expression as if to say- "you will be okay, I taught you well. It is time for you and me both to fly."

And then she will.