A poem

I am a ship that sails on waters

As smooth as broken glass.

Scattered chaos fills the maritime skies and seas,

Patternless, messy colors melt into one another.

Stay. Go.

Push. Pull.

Drop anchor. Hold on tight.

Weather the storm.

WAIT.

NO!

no.

Be. free.

Be loosed from oppression’s heavy anchor chains.

Sail.

Beautifully complex.

Reluctantly hopeful.

Tentatively yearning.

Grasp toward the harbor of hope.

Sail directly into the promising fog.

Here Comes the Sun

Today, I attended a workshop entitled: Awakening the Soul of the Writer. Tomorrow, I'll hear Kathleen Norris speak. Then I'll stop at the outlet mall on the way home! It doesn't get much better than this...

When the brochure for this workshop crossed my desk, the title instantly hooked me. After Dad died, the words seemed to stop flowing. It was as if the writing balloon deflated in a heartbeat - or in the radical ceasing of his heartbeat. Writing became a chore, and I no longer had even an ounce of energy for it. In fits and starts, I jotted a phrase here and a thought there. Fleeting sentences were typed on the computer or written in what could only loosely be described as a journal. I wanted to write, but simply getting out of bed and facing the world became my central task for many months. Managing a chaotic estate, pastoring an anxious congregation, mothering and wife-ing, simply breathing...the foci changed. Survival mode.

In the past few weeks, the sun has begun to rise. I've experienced a new energy, a renewed sense of verve. The world and I have begun to re-engage, and it has felt great. I'm no longer simply going through the motions. Hope. Promise. These words have re-entered my clouded vocabulary.

Strangely enough, more transitions await me. Some of them will be heart wrenching, but nothing like the past 18 months. Some of them will be freeing, bringing new life and resurrected joy along for the ride. Some of them will represent a return to the land of the living, while others bring a renewed consciousness and engagement.

On the day Dad died, Chad commented on the irony of my shirt's proclamation: Life is Good. Today, with an awakened writer's soul, I can once again embrace that, yes, life is good.

So it's been a year...

Sitemeter just sent me an email. Seems people still check this now semi-dead blog.

Up until this day a year ago, I was pretty prolific. Then the bottom fell out. Actually, it was a year ago tomorrow that I received the phone call from my brother that our dad had died. The 10th, though, was the actual date of death. It's like there are two anniversary days to feel funky about.

I'm chuckling to myself that after such a long hiatus, these are the opening words I choose! How uplifting, huh? Sometimes my actions even cause me to wonder...

So. A year. A very, very difficult year has passed. A year of a tumultuous estate that remains contentious (why is the word 'content' part of 'contentious'?), a year of far too much drama in my extended family and in the congregation, a year of continued special needs parenting, and a year of financial woes that are similar to any family with a sole wage earner. I guess if I had the option, I'd want the last 12 months back. Then again, that'd be as nightmarish as reliving junior high. Perhaps I don't want them back afterall. Maybe it's a good thing that we don't have to decide how time moves. Thank God we are given friends who help us through it all.

I hope that as I begin to peek out of the darkness of grief my writing will begin to flourish again. I've been writing a great deal this year - just not here. It's been raw, aching words, sometimes full of anger or desperation, sometimes full of sadness or memories. Grief does that to our words. I imagine grief as a Halloween-looking, boney hand clutching my heart. Some days, its clutch is overwhelming; some days, it is a relaxed hand, still around my heart, ready to clutch at the most unexpected times.

The Second Wave

I was warned about this - the return of grief that would come on with a vengeance about 6 months after Dad's death. I suppose, when I look back, it didn't surprise me. There have been warning signs the last few weeks - a bout with influenza and a subsequent virus attacking a suppressed immune system, I've been wearing my long hair up in a makeshift bun more days than not because I don't have the energy to anything else, the return of a dread of mornings that make it nearly impossible to get out of bed. Today, it seems like every song I hear is somehow related to Dad or memories of our shared times together. The oppressive weight of apathy has once again found its home in the core of my body and spirit. I just want to hide away from the world. The tears well up far too easily.

After all this time, I still find myself preparing to call him to share exciting news or the day's challenges. I still find myself stunned by the reality that he is gone. I catch myself going through the motions much more than I'd like. I feel like there's a rock attached to my chest. Grief, in a word, sucks.

In some ways, the grief is harder this time. The initial fog of the early days has lifted and now the weight of Dad's death is more evident, more stark, more real. It certainly doesn't help that family tied up with Dad's trust continues to disappoint, sadden and frustrate me as they make decision one could only understand as selfish greed. There really is no other feasible explanation. My heart breaks on Dad's behalf as I stand by while they squander and misappropriate his money and the business around which he defined himself for many years. The situation makes me sick to my stomach.

I look around the Cute Gray House that he was supposed to come help fix up this Spring. At times, I catch myself throwing my grief-related anger toward the house that Dad will never see and never grace with his creative ideas. I'll never hear him comment as he walks through the house amazed by all there is to do to it. I'll never share a paintbrush or power tool with him as he explains procedural things I really don't care about so long as the house is fixed up.

When Dad was around, there were whole categories (e.g., wills, business plans, house repairs, cars) that I didn't even have to think or know about. I could just call him and he'd swell with fatherly pride at having been asked to share his wisdom and insights. Sometimes, it used to drive me nuts because, in his book, there was usually only one right way to do something. Now, I miss it desperately.

Easter was an interesting experience this year. Quite frankly, I didn't feel much like proclaiming life as my blackened heart continued to sink deeper and deeper into pain and sadness. It was difficult to put together a sermon and the Holy Week services looked similar to the ones of 2007. I didn't have energy to do otherwise. Once again, though, the Holy Spirit wove into the experience and I was surprised to hear words come out of my mouth that I myself needed to hear: words of "We are so ridden with grief that we forget our calling," and "your fear is not gone but it no longer holds you back...you can go on despite the suffering, you can take the next step because you are not alone." I was astonished to receive a lovely letter from a visitor who was here at Easter. The sermon, she said, was meaningful and inspirational. She even called the service "joyful" - have I become that proficient of an actress?

This second wave of grief seems threatening, ready to swallow me up once again and pull me down in its undertow. I know with certainty that lifeguards (aka friends, colleagues) are all around and, for that, I'm thankful. They may not take the pain away but they certainly keep the undertow from winning.

A Bit of An Update

It's been so long since I've consistently shared my daily musings...

Here's just a few of the random thoughts clogging my brain:

- Record snowfall. Here in Jerusalem, we've had over 70" of snow this winter. We've proudly beat the record set in 1978. Hint: if you want to hear about the winter of 78 (or 82 or 26 or 39...), just ask any local. They'll be glad to give you a play-by-play of each snowflake, abandoned car on County roads, and not-so-daring stories of how they survived.

- Minky. Minky is studying dental health in school. He's actually considered the idea of brushing his teeth without being reminded.

- Minkyism. The other day, my mom told Mink that she was hoping to come visit for my birthday this Spring. She apologized for not being able to make it for his birthday, to which he replied flatly, "It's ok, Gramma. I'm used to you never being here for my birthday."

- Rab. Rab, in his ongoing soft-pedalling midlife crisis, continues to ponder what occupation is calling to him. In the meantime, he's continuing to be a stay at home dad. The role shift is a little weird, but overall it's really a great thing. And it definitely gives the locals something to be fully and deeply confused about. Rab's arranged an after-school routine and homework regime, and he's redone Minky's bedroom (bright, licorice red, pictures forthcoming). Rab's still in midstream with redoing the dining room. Please don't ask how long I've been living with a multi-colored (all bad), patched up dining room. The topic only makes me cranky.

- Sony. Sony is doing really great (big surprise, I know). He's thoroughly enjoying middle school and voluntarily comes to Confirmation each week with great fervor. He's actually not supposed to start confirmation until 7th grade, but heck, if the kid wants to be at church I'm certainly not going to stop him. Maybe his enthusiam about confirmaiton can help asuage my guilt over all the times I left the kids at home on Sunday with Rab so that I could worship peacefully.

- Spiritual Direction training. I continue to love SDDP (the acronym for my spiritual direction training program). I met my supervisor a few weeks ago and she rocks. Well...as much as a peaceful, calm nun can rock anyway. I'm loving the reading. I'm grudgingly getting through the required verbatims (argh...memories of CPE!).

- Estate of My Greatest Fan. I'm still serving as personal representative for my Dad's estate. For awhile there, my sister was calling every day with her anxiety and panic about the business buyout. She has some reason to be frustrated but it really began to wear on me personally. We ended up serving a notice to creditors to a nearby business that may (but really shouldn't) have interest in my dad's dough due to contamination of the land we own now. For the meantime, we're waiting out the 30 day notice period and the break in daily decisions and news is a welcome one. The entire estate stuff, overall, has been a real source of disappointment and energy drain. It's a long story I'm fairly sure I shouldn't share here (and you, dear reader, probably really don't want to hear it anyway). I talked to one of our lawyers yesterday and in order to transfer one of Dad's investments, I have to get a "Medallion Signature Guarantee" on a bunch of papers. Well, as one might imagine, Jerusalem has no bank that offers such a service. As soon as the paperwork arrives, I'll be heading about 35 miles North to get to a bank that can provide the service. Just where the hell am I living?!!?!?!?

- Therapy. Ever since Dad died, I've been sustained and strengthened by therapy. I'm so thankful for it. Just wanted to share.

- More Minky news. We've started with a new psychologist/psychiatrist team. They're solid, reputable, good guys with a no prisoners attitute. Last night, Rab and I introduced THE NEW PLAN, which includes black and white rules, clear cut boundaries, an all-or-nothing points system and other counter-intuitive (to me) stuff. As we were stating that part of the plan includes the expectation that there will no longer be discussion or negotiation on Minky's part, he interupted with, "Well, what if I really have something I need to say?"

If you've made it this far, I'm impressed. Hope to hear from you and to find out if anyone is even still checking the blog.

Where I'm at on this foggy, gray day

I Don't Want Anything to Change
Bonnie Raitt

Sleepless nights aren't so bad
I'm staying up, I'm staying sad
I don't want anything to change
I don't want anything to change
I like it lonely, I like it strange
I don't want anything to change

You left a mess
you're everywhere
I'd pick it up but I don't dare
I don't want anything to change
I don't want anything to change
There's nothing I would reaarange
I don't want anything to change

I can feel you fading
But until you're gone
I'm taking all the time that I can borrow
The getting over is waiting
But I won't move on
And I'm gonna wanna feel the same tomorrow

I know the truth is right outside
But for the moment, it's best denied
I don't want anything to change

I can feel you fading...

And I don't want anything to do
With what comes after you
I don't want anything to change...

Ode to the Sitka Spruce

Talking to my dad's estate attorneys never ceases to amaze me. There's always some surprising twist or turn to throw my former assumptions off. Today was no different.

This afternoon, I was talking to one of the attorneys and she mentioned the famous, on the way to the beach, cornball but ya gotta do it stop known as The Nation's Largest Sitka Spruce Tree (or as one website states: also known as the “Klootchy Creek Giant”) is no more.

Rab and I stopped there on the way to our honeymoon on the Oregon Coast. We went by there the day before my ordination to show it to Future Bishop and his wife. And now the former towering 200' tree has been destroyed by 100+ mph winds. Waah.

At least as I was reading up on all this I found out that there is an official "keeper of the National Big Tree Register". How do you suppose people find jobs in such a field? Is there a 5 year old somewhere saying, "When I grow up, I want to be the keeper of the National Big Tree Register"?

Authentic Ministry

From the get go of my journey into ordained ministry, one of the most important hallmarks and hopes has been authenticity. As a student, I was inspired by those who were truly themselves - those pastors who did not turn into "official, super-hero, formal pastor" upon donning their alb and stole. I was lucky and blessed to have numerous examples of authentic ministry during my journey. Today, more than ever before, I lived it out.

When I got to church this morning, I wrote up a one page statement to read at the beginning of service. I knew I would not be able to be fully off the cuff with my words, so the statement gave me a set of notes from which to speak. Basically, I said:

I didn't think it would be quite so difficult to stand before you today… I want to take a moment to thank you for the lovely flowers that were sent to Dad’s funeral and to thank you for all the cards, notes, memorials and hugs. It is indeed a tough time and the grace of God shown through the love and prayers of others are what get me through the day.

In the last 9 months, we’ve all been through a lot. There’s been change around BLC and change in our lives outside of church. As a church, you’ve welcomed a new pastor – a girl pastor at that! And a first call pastor who has fulfilled the stereotype of trying to change too much too soon. For some of you what I say next will be a welcome relief: the coming months will hold some shifts for us as well. You may find that your formerly bubbly, enthusiastic pastor is a bit listless. I won’t be doing as much or pushing as hard. I may cry at the drop of a hat. I may share memories of my dad in our discussions. My pace will slow. Such is the reality of grief.

But as your pastor, I also want to say that my own more measured pace is no reason for us to step away from our ministries and the opportunities before us. Instead, this is an opportunity – a calling even – for you to shine. This is a congregation of gifted, wonderful, beautiful people with talents and time and abilities to share for the glory of God. If you have pondered stepping up your involvement, now is a wonderful time to do so. If you’ve always wanted to try leading an adult education class, now is a time to stand on your colt legs and have a go at it. If a certain ministry is beckoning to you, consider heading it up or organizing some fellow members to work with you.

At all times, the church is God’s church, the church of Jesus Christ. The church is not my church. It is our church. Together we lead it, together we create and tend to its ministries and, as you’ve shown me in the past few weeks and months, together we live in both our celebrations and in our grief.

At the first service, I got about a sentence into it before crying - not just getting misty and teary, but crying. I took some deep breaths, I paused, I resumed, I cried some more, then I said, "I'm not going to stop because this is real. This is grief, it's what it looks like and what it is." I looked out at my congregation and saw many misty eyes and even a few crying eyes. We were bonded in a new way - pastor and parish, brothers and sisters in Christ. It was grace. It was beautiful.

At communion, we used the same liturgy I used at my dad's memorial - the same words we use every week at Jordan. Tears fell from my cheeks during the words. At the beginning of the distribution, the tears were nowhere to be found. But for some reason, midway, they began and I continued to walk around the altar and distribute the bread and say, "The body of Christ given for you" with tears falling all the while. When I got to Darrell, who looks like my dad (and knows it), the tears really fell. Without knowing he did so, Darrell grabbed by hand just the way Dad used to do when I served Dad communion.

I was showered in hugs and shared tears after the service. It was so true, so real, so comforting. When Darrell came up to me, I leaned into his open arms and received a hug. I whispered, "I'm sorry you look like my dad..." and he responded, "I'm not. I'm glad I can be here for you." God incarnate strikes again. I am truly blessed.

19 Days Later

I guess the time has come to post something.  It's been awhile.  Lately, it's hard to get much of anything done.  I find that my thoughts drift and wander like never before.  I say things backwards (like, "Where are my keys car?" and "Did you mail the pick up?").  I head into one room and forget where I'm going and why before I reach the original destination.  I have a tough time getting out of bed each morning.  Being social is equally challenging.  I'm tired all the time. Such is grief.

Grief is an old acquaintance (I can't begin to give it the level of 'friend').  In the late 1990s, Rab and I lost 10 people in an 18 month period, including his dad, his beloved great uncle, my grandmas, my uncle and two friends about our age.  At the same time, we were going through Rab's year-long diagnostic mystery.  At times, the doctor warned us it could be fatal; it ended up being a very treatable but lifelong endocrine disorder.  Somehow, we survived it...after much therapy and, well, grief.

However, even though I've lived in deep grief before, this time is different.  I think there is nothing like losing a parent.  Since my dad died, I've found amazing amounts of comfort from those who have also lost a parent.  When I talk to them, there is an unspoken, immediate assumption that they understand the depth.  Then, the minute the first words are out of one of our mouths, the cathartic tears begin to flow.  Never have I appreciated the beauty of shared suffering and community the way I do now.

When I left Portland, I thought it might be hard to grieve because I wouldn't have all the reminders around me.  It's strange, though.  Even here, the gas tankers come to fill up the storage tanks of the gas station.  When I see that, I think of Dad's lifelong dedication to his "service station" -- God forbid anyone call his place a "gas station"!   I pet my dog and remember Dad because Dad paid the adoption fee as a Christmas present to the boys.  I go to the liquor store and see "Old Fart Wine" and think, "I've gotta get that and send it to Dad.  He'd think that was hilarious!"  And then, I remember...

I suppose this isn't the most enjoyable post - but it's where I'm at.

Facebook is dangerous, addicting and wonderful

In the past week, I think I've spent over 6 hours on Facebook. This doesn't include time spent on the myfamily.com site for my graduating class, time spent on MySpace, and time spent with Cafe Mom (yeah...thanks for that, Bluejeangirl!).

In my well spent hours, I have sent and received flowers and other items for my garden, found old friends from The Other Seminary, found out that John and I are wayyyyyy too similar, and learned that there are far too many fun timewasters on Facebook.

I need a life....or at least some friends in the same town.

The Evolving Definition of "Home"

7:00 a.m. came far too early this morning. I really did not want to leave my cozy, warm bed. Rab had come home Thursday night (yep, you guessed it...sick kids AGAIN!), so I had the morning off from any and all mom jobs. I stretched out with the bulimic, queeny cat and caught up on frivolous Today Show news. Before I knew it, it was 7:45, then 8:00. Finally, I got out of bed to begin my day.

8:30 found me on the road to the Castle. I went to meet with my SASD (Super Awesome Spiritual Director). As I reached my beloved second home town, fog blanketed the Mississippi River. Clouds filled the sky as a light Oregonian mist dotted my windshield. And, somehow, I did not experience that sigh of relief known as, "ahhh....home." I thought that was a bit strange. It was also a bit unexpected.

I don't think it had anything to do with the fog itself. I think the fog was a sign. The canvas previously painted as "home" was being obscured. While parts of the old painting may even still remain, the overall picture has changed. The details and the characters and the clarity are now a blurred shadow.

After spiritual direction and a wonderful lunch with Small Town Girl, I went about town running errands. I went to the Castle bookstore - the rest of the Castle was an empty shell - a campus in the summertime. As I headed to the stores, I still knew all the backroads. I still knew which stores to hit first in search of the items on my list. It was all familiar, but it was no longer home. It was only home-ish. A lukewarm, gray-like familiarity without all the benefits and joys, without all the people that used to make it home.

As I drove into Jerusalem this evening, nearly 12 hours after leaving. The gray, heavy clouds remained in the sky. The roads were especially dark and gray, having just received a shower of raindrops. Yet, miraculously, the sun shone brightly through the layers of clouds. Everything had that fresh, just-rained smell and outlined look. I drove past Joyous Volunteer's house and once again admired her porch. I drove past the local Piggly Wiggly. I drove by our local pharmacy, the Hilarious Methodist Organist's and by my Mobil station (not just any Mobil station...my Mobil station). And as I turned at the station, somehow, I knew...I was home.

The View From the Porch

Yesterday was graduation at the Castle. I feel an affinity with the class that graduated because I transferred in at the same time that they began. It was so great to be with them as they reached this milestone. It was also so weird to realize that it has only been a year since I was in the same spot. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Sitting on my old front porch afterward with Rab, it was easy to pretend no time had passed. It was so easy to set aside the congregational life and the grown up pastor responsibilities that are part of my every day life now. I sat on that porch, like I had so many times before, and caught myself expecting to see Mark or the Brink of Disaster or Sally or even PMC or any other myriad of people coming down the Kinder hill any minute. I watched my kids joyfully run around the circle, laughing and connecting with old buddies.

As I reveled in all the happy and warm memories (forgetting the struggles, of course), I leaned into the freedom of that space. Then along came my gaggle of little girls - my buddies. They began picking dandelions and any flower they could and bringing them to me. As my hands overflowed with the growing floral arrangement, little Naomi said, "We're giving you all these flowers because we really love you and really, really miss you." It was the best Mother's Day gift anyone could have given me.

What I miss, what I don't miss, what I love

What I miss:

• going out to lunch and coffee with friends
• knowing all my neighbors and living around people in the same boat as me and my family
• daily coffee hour after chapel
• having a number of babysitters who understand and know how to deal with my boys
• the kids' youth room
• being known by my first name instead of by "Pastor"
• the school and teachers from the boys' former school - knowing them and being known by them
• the relationships, relationships, relationships
  
• the income of student loans, grants and scholarships
• knowing how to get everywhere, knowing how long it takes to get anywhere, and being able to run errands in the town in which I live
• being intellectually stimulated by brilliant people on an almost daily basis
  

What I don't miss:

• the student housing dishwasher from the 80s
• the small living space
• traffic (ok...there wasn't much there, but there's even less here)
  
• living in rental housing
  
• the chaotic schedule of being a student, wife and mom

What I love:

• my congregation
• my new dishwasher (from this century!)
• the freedom I have over my schedule
• the colleagues in my text study group
• living with all my grown up furniture that's been in storage for 3+ years
• getting paid for doing something I love
• having colors other than Castle Ice Cream on the walls of my home!
  

Can you go home again?

Today, I returned to the Castle to hear a wonderful speaker discuss Lenten and Easter Bible texts. In addition to learning a great deal and appreciating his take on the texts, I was able to see a few former profs and a number of former classmates. Yeah! It was so great to see everyone and to pick up where we left off. I shared a laugh with the gal who taught me about the concept of Midwest Nice, hugged a friend who just received a call, hugged another whose ordination I missed, and caught up with others as we shared our experiences of driving over that familiar Wisconsin bridge near the Castle.

For two of us, it was our first time back since ordination. We both got lumps in our throats as we drew near, wistful and full of yearning for what used to be while not wanting to give up what is now. I found that as I neared the bridge, I was singing a little louder (Queen Greatest Hits... awesome car music), had more energy than I'd had in a month, and felt filled with hope and joy. It struck me how my lower energy level this past month has been a sign of an ongoing grief.

As I drove across the bridge, the sight of the frozen, snow covered Mississippi River whispered home - a word I never would have thought I'd associate with the Castle land when I arrived there 4+ years ago. For sure, it was not the home - not my beloved Portland - but it was another experience of home, a familiar dwelling place with memories of ups and downs, challenges and celebrations, joy and pain. It's a place where I know the shortcuts, the phone numbers, and the best restaurants. I know how long it takes to get from one end of town to the other and everywhere in between.

After the conference, I had an appointment and then a list of errands to run. A part of me wasn't quite ready to leave once the errands were complete. The drive home, at 7 p.m., was dark and a bit heavier than the bright, hope-filled drive there. With a sense of assured resignation, I pulled into the driveway, no longer singing loudly, no longer energetic, no longer beaming. Yet I knew that at some point down the road, Jerusalem too will become home in its own way and time.