No, I haven't dropped off the face of the earth, though many times during this past month it might have seemed an attractive option! No, instead I have either been ill or attending to ill members of my family for the past month. We set a new family record in August -- at least one out of the five of us was ill ever day ! Some days we hit four out of five! It was not pretty. It was actually depressing and miserable.
And, added to the stress of seemingly perpetual illness were other incidental stressors such as taking care of and potty training a very active puppy, starting up homeschooling with 4 kids, preparing for my September speaking engagements, and the duties associated with functioning as the vice-chairman of the search committee at church. It was enough to push me over the edge. I felt like I was hanging on by a thread, and that thread was God's sustaining grace. My mantra was "Lord, give me enough grace to do what I need to do in the next hour." It was, obviously, a mantra I had to repeat often!
Despite the chaos and stress of the last month, I actually have blog posts which are ready to be written. Frankly, I just haven't had the time to sit down and unpack them so that I can share them. They are coming though. I just need a chunk of time and space to be alone before I can write anything of substance. So, hopefully, within a week or so I will have something up.
On a completely different note.............
Today is my and JT's 14th wedding anniversary. I am thankful to God for the incredible man I married 14 years ago today. He, more than any other human being, has incarnated the love and grace of Jesus Christ to me. I am in large part the person I am today because of my relationship with him. I am truly thankful for my husband and my marriage.
Friends from So. Cal are visiting this week and their eldest daughter (and my goddaughter), K., and my eldest daughter, R., are busy (as I type this) cooking a surprise anniversary dinner, complete with dessert, for us this evening. They already cooked us breakfast this morning :)
It has been a good day, and I have much for which to be thankful.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Hello, Molly!
This is our new chocolate lab, Miss Molly Merlot. We named her Molly, which means "bittersweet". Her arrival is truly bittersweet for us, since the only reason we have a new dog is that our former chocolate lab, Gracie, died of cancer two weeks ago.
The children are already quite attached to this new member of the family. She is truly delightful and is proving to be good therapy for us. It is a nice change to have something to celebrate rather than something to grieve!
I am sure I will be blogging about Molly in the future. Having a puppy in the house usually means a good story or two or three...
So, here's Molly!
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Saying Goodbye
These past few weeks have been littered with good-byes. We said goodbye to our dear chocolate lab, Gracie, who past away while we were in Minnesota. Although not unexpected, it was still hard. The children’s biggest regret: “We weren’t able to say goodbye.” I reminded them that we had been saying goodbye for weeks now, ever since April when she received the diagnosis of stage 5 lymphoma. It wasn’t much comfort to the kids. They wanted more closure. They wanted to have that concrete memory of saying goodbye “for the last time.”
Interestingly, our process with Gracie paralleled the grief process we were experiencing with losing our rector and his wife. We found out in early May that they were leaving our parish. Since that time we have been to numerous dinners and events, all to say “goodbye” to them. It was two long months of saying goodbye.
Being a psychologist, one would think that saying goodbye would be something I might do well. Alas, it has always been the hardest part of my job as a therapist and something which I prefer to avoid at a personal level. But, it is unavoidable. Life is filled with goodbyes, and these partings are usually painful.
Last night we said our final goodbyes to our rector and his wife. We had dinner, we laughed, and we swapped vacation stories. Someone looking in on that dinner from the outside probably wouldn’t have guessed that we were meeting one last time to say goodbye. It wasn’t sad, it wasn’t “heavy”, there were no tears shed. It just was.
We returned to their empty home, the moving van having driven away with the contents of their home right before we left for dinner, and we talked some more and took more pictures and gave more hugs. Slowly, more people started to stop by their home to say their final goodbyes. Within a half of an hour there were twelve of us crammed into the kitchen, hanging out and standing around the center island. Despite the repeated offer from Dearest Dragonfly to go outside and sit down on the porch, no one seemed to want to leave the comfortable and close confines of the kitchen. There we were, enjoying the gift of relationship just as we had done so many times over the last few years in this very same kitchen, and we didn’t want to move. It was as though we wanted to freeze time and preserve this kairos moment.
Eventually champagne was opened and poured and a toast was made “to friendship.” It was at that moment that God’s grace penetrated the sadness and grief I was feeling deep inside. I looked around, and I realized that the evening’s gathering, this small group of people hanging out in the kitchen, all bound by the common thread of love for Fr. C. and Dearest Dragonfly and love for the Lord Jesus, who made us one in Him, was a foreshadowing. This really wasn't the end, it was just a snapshot of what is ultimately true. It was a small, but glorious, taste of the heavenly banquet which is to come.
And in that moment I was thankful -- thankful that I had the privilege of knowing and loving Fr. C. and DD, thankful for the imprint that they made on my life and the life of my family, and thankful for the privilege of serving the Lord Jesus alongside all the people who were hanging out in that kitchen. The work of the Lord goes on, and I am His servant. We may no longer serve side by side with Fr. C. and DD, but in the end, we all get to gather at the same table, and this time, it's for eternity.
Thanks be to God.
"O the love of my Lord
Is the essence
Of all that I love here on earth.
All the beauty I see
He has given to me,
And His giving is gentle as silence."
- song from the Waymarks CD
Interestingly, our process with Gracie paralleled the grief process we were experiencing with losing our rector and his wife. We found out in early May that they were leaving our parish. Since that time we have been to numerous dinners and events, all to say “goodbye” to them. It was two long months of saying goodbye.
Being a psychologist, one would think that saying goodbye would be something I might do well. Alas, it has always been the hardest part of my job as a therapist and something which I prefer to avoid at a personal level. But, it is unavoidable. Life is filled with goodbyes, and these partings are usually painful.
Last night we said our final goodbyes to our rector and his wife. We had dinner, we laughed, and we swapped vacation stories. Someone looking in on that dinner from the outside probably wouldn’t have guessed that we were meeting one last time to say goodbye. It wasn’t sad, it wasn’t “heavy”, there were no tears shed. It just was.
We returned to their empty home, the moving van having driven away with the contents of their home right before we left for dinner, and we talked some more and took more pictures and gave more hugs. Slowly, more people started to stop by their home to say their final goodbyes. Within a half of an hour there were twelve of us crammed into the kitchen, hanging out and standing around the center island. Despite the repeated offer from Dearest Dragonfly to go outside and sit down on the porch, no one seemed to want to leave the comfortable and close confines of the kitchen. There we were, enjoying the gift of relationship just as we had done so many times over the last few years in this very same kitchen, and we didn’t want to move. It was as though we wanted to freeze time and preserve this kairos moment.
Eventually champagne was opened and poured and a toast was made “to friendship.” It was at that moment that God’s grace penetrated the sadness and grief I was feeling deep inside. I looked around, and I realized that the evening’s gathering, this small group of people hanging out in the kitchen, all bound by the common thread of love for Fr. C. and Dearest Dragonfly and love for the Lord Jesus, who made us one in Him, was a foreshadowing. This really wasn't the end, it was just a snapshot of what is ultimately true. It was a small, but glorious, taste of the heavenly banquet which is to come.
And in that moment I was thankful -- thankful that I had the privilege of knowing and loving Fr. C. and DD, thankful for the imprint that they made on my life and the life of my family, and thankful for the privilege of serving the Lord Jesus alongside all the people who were hanging out in that kitchen. The work of the Lord goes on, and I am His servant. We may no longer serve side by side with Fr. C. and DD, but in the end, we all get to gather at the same table, and this time, it's for eternity.
Thanks be to God.
"O the love of my Lord
Is the essence
Of all that I love here on earth.
All the beauty I see
He has given to me,
And His giving is gentle as silence."
- song from the Waymarks CD
Monday, July 16, 2007
On Vacation
Blogging will be minimal for the next two weeks. My family is currently in route to Minnesota to celebrate my in-law's 50th wedding anniversary.
Toward the beginning to middle of next week I may have pictures, and more than a few anecdotes, from the visit. If we have access to wireless at our hotel I will try to post something then.
Blessings!
Toward the beginning to middle of next week I may have pictures, and more than a few anecdotes, from the visit. If we have access to wireless at our hotel I will try to post something then.
Blessings!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
An Unexpected Gift
As I was working on the computer this morning my 6 year-old twins burst in from outside yelling at me to "come and see R. and this bird she is singing to and holding in her hand." They proceeded to tell me, in their rapid, animated voices, the story about this bird, who was hanging out in their "fort" (an old walnut tree stump hidden by the shoots springing up all around the base of the trunk).
Apparently, R. saw the bird nestled in the branches while they were sitting on the stump playing "elf princess." Ever the romantic child, with visions of Snow White and Brian Jacques' Redwall characters in her mind, she started singing to it as she held out her open palm to him. The bird jumped into her hand!
I have to say that I was a bit skeptical. I thought that perhaps the twins, in all their excitement, were embellishing a little. Nevertheless, I followed them downstairs and took my camera outside to find R., confident that by this time I was not going to actually see her with a bird. But, I was willing to be with her in her excitement and listen to her story.
What I found when I made it outside was an 11 year-old girl singing Brahms' "Ladybug" and various Anglican hymns to this tiny bird perched in her hand. I couldn't believe my eyes. The
bird was not attempting to fly away, but was sitting contentedly in her open palm. Every now and then the bird would chirp along with her as she sang. It was an incredible sight.
The kids were beyond delighted as they sang to and observed this small, unexpected gift of grace which had interrupted their morning play.
And I, as their mother, was thankful for the experience. I was thankful that they had the capacity to observe, wonder, and reflect on all the beauty that this moment held. I was also profoundly grateful to God for the reminder that His grace can sometimes be found in very unexpected places -- even among a young mockingbird with a penchant for Anglican hymns!
Apparently, R. saw the bird nestled in the branches while they were sitting on the stump playing "elf princess." Ever the romantic child, with visions of Snow White and Brian Jacques' Redwall characters in her mind, she started singing to it as she held out her open palm to him. The bird jumped into her hand!
I have to say that I was a bit skeptical. I thought that perhaps the twins, in all their excitement, were embellishing a little. Nevertheless, I followed them downstairs and took my camera outside to find R., confident that by this time I was not going to actually see her with a bird. But, I was willing to be with her in her excitement and listen to her story.What I found when I made it outside was an 11 year-old girl singing Brahms' "Ladybug" and various Anglican hymns to this tiny bird perched in her hand. I couldn't believe my eyes. The
bird was not attempting to fly away, but was sitting contentedly in her open palm. Every now and then the bird would chirp along with her as she sang. It was an incredible sight.The kids were beyond delighted as they sang to and observed this small, unexpected gift of grace which had interrupted their morning play.
And I, as their mother, was thankful for the experience. I was thankful that they had the capacity to observe, wonder, and reflect on all the beauty that this moment held. I was also profoundly grateful to God for the reminder that His grace can sometimes be found in very unexpected places -- even among a young mockingbird with a penchant for Anglican hymns!
Monday, July 9, 2007
The Soul's Requirement
My three children, ages 11, 6, and 6, have a wonderful capacity to connect deeply with the significant people in their world. They desire to know and to be known by those with whom they interact on a consistent basis. As their mother, and as a clinical psychologist, I encourage this type of connection, and see it as a sign of healthy attachment.
They know that they were made for relationships. They have been hearing that said since they were old enough to talk – it’s sort of a mantra in our household: “You were made for relationship with God and for relationship with others.” My husband and I orient our lives and the lives of our children around the truth contained in that sentence. We believe that true health only comes through recognition of our dependence on God as our Source and acceptance of His gift of salvation for our redemption. In addition to that, health requires that we attempt to live in authentic connectedness with our fellow human beings – “to know and be known.” .
This weekend my kids found out that there is a down side to embracing this philosophy of their parents’: It is incredibly painful to have those we love leave us, even if they are doing so for appropriate and God-ordained reasons.
We had a farewell brunch at church after the Mass on Sunday for our rector and his wife, Father Dan and Brenda. We also had to say goodbye to one of the members of our youth group, delightful Miss L., who is leaving to attend college on the east coast later this week. All three of these individuals have been very influential in my children’s lives and hold special places in their hearts.
While all of my children are sad and grieving these losses, my six year-old son, J., who is cut from a rather deeply contemplative fabric, seems to be having the hardest time. Yesterday, when he was saying goodbye to Fr. Dan after the brunch, he went up and hugged Father and lingered there holding on to him. I was standing behind my son watching this interaction. I finally helped extricate Fr. Dan from my son’s embrace by assuring J. that this wasn’t the last time he would be seeing Fr. Dan and Brenda.
Last night, during our family prayer time, all three of the children chose to pray for Dan+ and Brenda. Our eldest daughter prayed for safety as they traveled to Indiana, our other daughter, J.’s twin and our social butterfly, prayed that God would help them find new friends in Indiana, but, J.’s prayer struck a different chord. J. prayed that Dan+ and Brenda wouldn’t forget us when they moved away.
I’m glad he can give a voice to his fears. It’s one of the primary things all of us fear with loss, really: Are we significant enough to be remembered and held in the hearts of those who are leaving (or those whom we are leaving)?
J.’s process is quite normal for a six year-old experiencing his first taste of significant loss. He hasn’t lived long enough to know what is on the other side: The making of new relationships, connections, and memories with another priest, youth member, etc. whom he can also love. It is not that these new relationships will replace Dan+ and Brenda, or Miss L. But, he will learn that he has a larger capacity for connectedness than he realizes, and that this enlarged capacity does not diminish the very real love and connection that he still maintains with these others in his heart and memory. He can have both. When this hits him (in a few years) he will also realize that people he loves like Dan+, Brenda, and Miss L. can have both too, and that he is still held in their memory because they, too, have loved him.
But right now we are living in the moment, on the precipice of this great loss, and J. is still only six. The only thing he can see is that Mom and Dad think connection is a great thing, but he sees, and he now knows experientially, that connection hurts when it is lost or about to be lost. To him there is something intrinsically wrong with this. And he is right. If we were made for connection, how can we bear separation?
There is really only one answer that ultimately satisfies, and it is the answer of the Cross: We can bear the separation because we know that because of the cross it is only temporary. We can bear the separation because the One who made us also holds us all in His hands, and has connected us into one Body through his Son. We can bear the separation because the same Holy Spirit living in us lives in them and can touch them even when we can’t.
That is our hope. That is what makes these upcoming separations bearable.
So, how do we convey this to our son in a way that is meaningful?
First, we help him acknowledge his feelings of sadness and loss. Those feelings are very real and very strong right now, and, he’s not the only one who is feeling them! It has been one wild weekend of emotion, both at the church and in our home! Next, we use this opportunity to teach him about the Holy Spirit and about our fundamental interconnectedness in Christ. In other words, we teach him to pray for the people he is missing. When he (or one of his sisters) is sad about these upcoming losses, we are present with him in that sadness and then pray with him right then and ask the Holy Spirit both to comfort us and to bless Fr. Dan and Brenda and Miss L. We use those feelings which tell us “something is wrong” as cues to direct him back to his Source, back to Jesus, and back into the state for which he was created: Dependence on God.
May God use this time of pain and loss to transform our souls, and to conform us into the likeness His Son.
"Learning is the soul's requirement, and suffering its most persuasive teacher" - Stephen Lawhead
They know that they were made for relationships. They have been hearing that said since they were old enough to talk – it’s sort of a mantra in our household: “You were made for relationship with God and for relationship with others.” My husband and I orient our lives and the lives of our children around the truth contained in that sentence. We believe that true health only comes through recognition of our dependence on God as our Source and acceptance of His gift of salvation for our redemption. In addition to that, health requires that we attempt to live in authentic connectedness with our fellow human beings – “to know and be known.” .
This weekend my kids found out that there is a down side to embracing this philosophy of their parents’: It is incredibly painful to have those we love leave us, even if they are doing so for appropriate and God-ordained reasons.
We had a farewell brunch at church after the Mass on Sunday for our rector and his wife, Father Dan and Brenda. We also had to say goodbye to one of the members of our youth group, delightful Miss L., who is leaving to attend college on the east coast later this week. All three of these individuals have been very influential in my children’s lives and hold special places in their hearts.
While all of my children are sad and grieving these losses, my six year-old son, J., who is cut from a rather deeply contemplative fabric, seems to be having the hardest time. Yesterday, when he was saying goodbye to Fr. Dan after the brunch, he went up and hugged Father and lingered there holding on to him. I was standing behind my son watching this interaction. I finally helped extricate Fr. Dan from my son’s embrace by assuring J. that this wasn’t the last time he would be seeing Fr. Dan and Brenda.
Last night, during our family prayer time, all three of the children chose to pray for Dan+ and Brenda. Our eldest daughter prayed for safety as they traveled to Indiana, our other daughter, J.’s twin and our social butterfly, prayed that God would help them find new friends in Indiana, but, J.’s prayer struck a different chord. J. prayed that Dan+ and Brenda wouldn’t forget us when they moved away.
I’m glad he can give a voice to his fears. It’s one of the primary things all of us fear with loss, really: Are we significant enough to be remembered and held in the hearts of those who are leaving (or those whom we are leaving)?
J.’s process is quite normal for a six year-old experiencing his first taste of significant loss. He hasn’t lived long enough to know what is on the other side: The making of new relationships, connections, and memories with another priest, youth member, etc. whom he can also love. It is not that these new relationships will replace Dan+ and Brenda, or Miss L. But, he will learn that he has a larger capacity for connectedness than he realizes, and that this enlarged capacity does not diminish the very real love and connection that he still maintains with these others in his heart and memory. He can have both. When this hits him (in a few years) he will also realize that people he loves like Dan+, Brenda, and Miss L. can have both too, and that he is still held in their memory because they, too, have loved him.
But right now we are living in the moment, on the precipice of this great loss, and J. is still only six. The only thing he can see is that Mom and Dad think connection is a great thing, but he sees, and he now knows experientially, that connection hurts when it is lost or about to be lost. To him there is something intrinsically wrong with this. And he is right. If we were made for connection, how can we bear separation?
There is really only one answer that ultimately satisfies, and it is the answer of the Cross: We can bear the separation because we know that because of the cross it is only temporary. We can bear the separation because the One who made us also holds us all in His hands, and has connected us into one Body through his Son. We can bear the separation because the same Holy Spirit living in us lives in them and can touch them even when we can’t.
That is our hope. That is what makes these upcoming separations bearable.
So, how do we convey this to our son in a way that is meaningful?
First, we help him acknowledge his feelings of sadness and loss. Those feelings are very real and very strong right now, and, he’s not the only one who is feeling them! It has been one wild weekend of emotion, both at the church and in our home! Next, we use this opportunity to teach him about the Holy Spirit and about our fundamental interconnectedness in Christ. In other words, we teach him to pray for the people he is missing. When he (or one of his sisters) is sad about these upcoming losses, we are present with him in that sadness and then pray with him right then and ask the Holy Spirit both to comfort us and to bless Fr. Dan and Brenda and Miss L. We use those feelings which tell us “something is wrong” as cues to direct him back to his Source, back to Jesus, and back into the state for which he was created: Dependence on God.
May God use this time of pain and loss to transform our souls, and to conform us into the likeness His Son.
"Learning is the soul's requirement, and suffering its most persuasive teacher" - Stephen Lawhead
Saturday, July 7, 2007
The Cost of Discipleship
Ah...the project I have been working on for the past week is finally completed and I now have room to come up for air and think about other things I have been keeping on the back burner.
One of the things I have been holding onto is a comment made by my younger daughter in church last Sunday. The reading from the gospel of Luke dealt with discipleship and its cost. As Father C. was preaching and relating Jesus' words to would-be followers who had things to do before they followed Jesus, B. reached over and tapped my arm. I bent my head down to her level and she whispered in my ear, "Boy mom, it sure must be hard to get disciples!."
At first I laughed. But then, the profundity of what she said sunk in, and it hit me: She's right!
What my younger daughter "catches" is that it costs something to follow Jesus. She also understands intuitively that the demands of Christian discipleship are not particularly popular in modern culture. We tend to want the benefits, but not the cost of discipleship.
The word disciple comes from the Latin discipulus, i, which means "student(s)." To be a disciple of Jesus means that we are committed to learning how, with God's help, to live as Jesus would want us to live. We commit to being a student of Jesus Christ. We study what he said and attempt to do what he did in order to be like Him. It involves a process of dying to self that is often painful and definitely counter-cultural.
So yes, my darling B., it is hard to be a disciple. But it is in that very process of dying to self that we learn how to become more like our Lord. Discipleship to Jesus Christ is not necessarily easy, but it is the most rewarding way to live. It is truly the only way to really live. It is my earnest prayer that you and your brother and sister spend your lives learning how to delight in and live for the Lord Jesus.
One of the things I have been holding onto is a comment made by my younger daughter in church last Sunday. The reading from the gospel of Luke dealt with discipleship and its cost. As Father C. was preaching and relating Jesus' words to would-be followers who had things to do before they followed Jesus, B. reached over and tapped my arm. I bent my head down to her level and she whispered in my ear, "Boy mom, it sure must be hard to get disciples!."
At first I laughed. But then, the profundity of what she said sunk in, and it hit me: She's right!
What my younger daughter "catches" is that it costs something to follow Jesus. She also understands intuitively that the demands of Christian discipleship are not particularly popular in modern culture. We tend to want the benefits, but not the cost of discipleship.
The word disciple comes from the Latin discipulus, i, which means "student(s)." To be a disciple of Jesus means that we are committed to learning how, with God's help, to live as Jesus would want us to live. We commit to being a student of Jesus Christ. We study what he said and attempt to do what he did in order to be like Him. It involves a process of dying to self that is often painful and definitely counter-cultural.
So yes, my darling B., it is hard to be a disciple. But it is in that very process of dying to self that we learn how to become more like our Lord. Discipleship to Jesus Christ is not necessarily easy, but it is the most rewarding way to live. It is truly the only way to really live. It is my earnest prayer that you and your brother and sister spend your lives learning how to delight in and live for the Lord Jesus.
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