in clover: sitting

It is a stunningly beautiful Sunday in early autumn…the perfect mix of lingering summer warmth and the first bitter, sharp crispness of fall…of sunshine and shadows…of life and death.  

It is everything October can be on its very best day.  A threshold day. 

In my house, we rise early, despite our best efforts to extend sleep. 

I spent yesterday with my Sycamore family, learning about listening.   I learned about listening to someone else.  I learned about listening to myself.  I learned about listening to the Divine.   I learned about opening myself to all of that.  That is some kind of new trinity, I think to myself, as I am falling asleep.  “Remember to tell Michael that, in the morning.”

I am very tired this morning. 

Michael, not remembering that September has given way to October and that I am no longer serving as the Elder in the early worship service, has agreed to do something involving a computer and advancing graphics at church, at 8:15 a.m.  No way can I be there then, showered and smiling and in church clothes.  No way.  (Maybe by the 11:00 service, our usual, but I am not making any promises.) 

“You go.  I’m staying here.”  I tell him.  “I’ll go to the Elder’s meeting at noon.  It’s the best I can do today.”   He dresses and leaves.  It’s just me and the steaming cup of coffee he brought to me. It’s quiet.  Then there comes a sound from my nightstand…something unexpected on a Sunday morning.  I hear the “ding, ding” from my phone that signals a text.  I almost ignore it but change my mind.   

My childhood friend has just lost his father.

In 6^th grade, I sometimes hung out at his father’s drugstore after school.  As we barged through the door, a bell would chime. The store was clean and tidy and well lit…was there muzak playing? I think so. His dad would look up from his work and smile, glad to see his son…glad to see me too, in tow.  I was shy but my friend was not.  That makes me smile, remembering how at home he was, in his father’s business… how warmly the employees greeted him.  

The store was a bit crowded but pleasantly so, just the way I prefer a store be to this day.  The shelves were stocked with everything you might expect to find in a drugstore…aspirin and other remedies… as well as (fancy) boxes of Russell Stover candies and Hallmark knickknacks and a great big magazine rack that took up most of one wall.   

My friend’s father’s street clothes were concealed by a nicely pressed white coat. (Was it embroidered with his name?  I am not sure.)   He didn’t work behind the regular counter, where you paid for every day kinds of things like newspapers and cough drops.  He was most often standing beind pharmacy counter, in the back of the store. It was elevated above the rest.  When I saw my friend’s dad, way UP THERE, he looked very different than he did at other times…different from when he opened the front door of his home to me… or took me for a boat ride on Kentucky Lake.    

This morning, as I learned of his death, I asked myself, “How many candy bars did I owe this man?  How many games at the bowling alley? ” We often made just a quick stop in the store, on our way to the nearby Cardinal Lanes, many times bowling on his dime. When I was the “new kid” at Jackson Elementary, this man’s son was my first friend.  Throughout middle school and high school, this man’s son was my best friend.   In my Christian and Kentucky traditions, I should get right up and get busy.  I should make phone calls.  I should make a casserole and maybe a cobbler….I should offer to entertain the children. 

But I am four hours away and one FaceBook post will take care of the phone calls.  I’m uncomfortable and sad and lonely so I forward the text to a mutual friend, a minister.  I know he will pray.  And I also send a text to Michael, now half way through the 8:30 service at Central.  

“Prayers lifted!” they both reply.

“Thanks be to God.” I say to myself.

I want to do something to honor this man and also my friend and his loss. In spiritual direction I am (slowly) learning to have reverence in all experiences…not just the feel good ones.  “Now what?”  I ask myself.  I remember a sermon from the Senior Minister at Central…something about  sitting next to a Jewish man on a plane…his bible open to the psalms.  He’d preached  something about the Jewish tradition of reading only the psalms when your father has died.  I remember being told to read the psalmist’s words, when my (step) dad died. 

“Got it.  Psalms.  Text that.”  I think to myself.   “Please, please, Spirit. Provide some comfort.”  I remember sterile hospital consulting rooms and sitting with my (step) dad’s body.

Damn!  “Some ‘spiritual director’ you are!”   I have no words for my friend.  He would have words for me, I know.    

I send another text to our friend and to Michael.  “Pray for him!”  

I hear a car door shut.  Michael is home from early service.  “I couldn’t believe you were texting me during church but then I saw that Doug’s dad died.  I’m sorry.” he says.

I announce, “I’m not going to the meeting.  I’ll be sitting shiva for Mr. Ralston. “ 

Quite apologetically, and in the way of someone becoming accustomed to being surprised by me, he responds, “I don't know what that means but if that is what you need to do, you should do it.”   Where in the hell did that come from?  The shiva, I mean, not my husband’s easy acceptance.

Truthfully, I have no idea what it means either.  I don't know why I said it, even. I really don’t. I opened my mouth and those words came out. So I google. 

From Wikipedia:

In Judaism, shiva (  ; also shiv'ah; Hebrew: שבעה ; "seven") is the week-long period of grief and mourning for the seven first-degree relatives: father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sister, and spouse. As most regular activity is interrupted, the process of following the shiva ritual is referred to as "sitting" shiva. Shiva is a part of the customs for bereavement in Judaism./ˈʃɪvə/

Ok, well, clearly I am not Jewish and I am not one of the seven first degree relatives but I do manage to latch onto one word….sitting.  This, I think, I know how to do.  I can sit.

I decide to sit for my friend’s father.  I am four hours away and there isn’t a casserole in sight, but I will hold sacred space for my friend and his loss.

I know of only one other thing to say to him. 

“God is with you.”  

So I text that.

And then I sit.

movement

In spiritual direction, Ignatian Spirituality and the concepts of desolation and consolation come up.  A lot.  I’m still processing the meaning of desolation and consolation but I found this information, from the Loyola Press website, very helpful:

What do we mean when we talk of consolation and desolation? We are really only talking about our orientation, and the bottom line is this: which direction is our life taking us—toward God [consolation] or away from him [desolation]?

Here are some of the main symptoms of desolation and the most commonly experienced blessings of consolation.

Desolation

·  turns us in on ourselves

·  drives us down the spiral ever deeper into our own negative feelings

·  cuts us off from community

·  makes us want to give up on things that used to be important to us

·  takes over our whole consciousness and crowds out our distant vision

·  covers up all our landmarks

·  drains us of energy

Consolation

·  directs our focus outside and beyond ourselves

·  lifts our hearts so that we can see the joys and sorrows of other people

·  bonds us more closely to our human community

·  generates new inspiration and ideas

·  restores balance and refreshes our inner vision

·  shows us where God is active in our lives and where he is leading us

·  releases new energy in us

When Little C was born, she had a problem with her pancreas.  She was two months old and a patient at three different hospitals before she came home for the first time.  When I look back on this time in our lives, I try to have some perspective.  No question, we experienced desolation.  But things could have been a whole lot worse. One nurse at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia said to me, kindly but firmly, “Your child will live.  Other’s will not.”   In the end, we were moved by the Holy Spirit from a place of fear and negativity into consolation.   Life changing stuff.  

The problem with her pancreas caused c to have problems with her blood sugar which in turn caused her to have seizures in her first days of her life.  The seizures went away until, at age 2, she developed a seizure disorder.   About twice a year, c would have a “complex partial” seizure.  She usually had them at home, thanks be to God.    We tried various medications which had lots of terrible side effects but weren’t very effective in preventing her seizures.   The medications made it difficult for her to function normally, particularly at school.  After a lengthy discernment process, we decided to take c off the anti-convulsant medications.  That was in May of 2010.  Her last seizure that we know of was January 23, 2010.  Thanks be to God!  

Along the way, c had a few delays.  She was never “off the chart” for all those milestones that parents and doctors track but she definitely pushed the boundaries. Those days were also times of desolation and consolation.  At age 2 1/2, she started speech and occupational therapy.  She has made tremendous progress but still struggles in some areas.  We were very concerned when she entered kindergarten.  Would she keep up?  Would she succeed?  We didn’t know.   Little c’s teacher was quite devoted and she had a wonderful classroom aide, and two talented student teachers.  In fact, there was a whole team at c’s school concerned with helping her succeed.   She especially enjoyed learning to read and to write. (Like mother, like daughter.)  Math, not so much.  (Like mother, like daughter.)

She had such a successful kindergarten year that when 1^st grade began, I wasn’t worried.  Not much, anyway.

But shortly after school started, we realized that c was having trouble staying focused when she was in a large group.  She did much better when receiving one on one attention or in a small group setting.  (Really, who doesn’t??)   Unfortunately staffing levels don’t allow for as much small group instruction in 1^st grade as was available in kindergarten.  No one wanted Caroline to fall behind. We discussed lots of different options, even changing to private school or homeschooling.   It was a very stressful time.  I just wanted her to be “ok.”  Even the principal at her school said, “People should know how far this baby has come!”    

We knew that c was having the most trouble during math time.  As it turned out, I am able to drop Big C off at the high school and make it to the elementary just in time for math.  Sometimes I work one on one with Little c but other times I help other students while she works with her teacher.  Two days a week I stay for reading groups as well.  I went at first because I felt I had to but I had no idea how much I would love going.  I am learning so much from her teacher and from the children.  Little c enjoys me being there. The other children want to read to me and hold my hand when we walk down the hall. What an unexpected blessing!   

Meanwhile, Big C’s work load has really picked up.  He has some advanced classes and one AP class.  We’ve all experienced some growing pains.  I was really worried for him too.  I just wasn’t sure how to help him out.  I certainly would be of no help with Algebra II !

 I told my dad it felt like too much…I’d like to worry about only one child at a time, thank you very much!

After talking to each other and with quite a few educators, my mom, my dad and my friends, Michael and I decided it was time to circle the wagons and help each other out.  Michael made math games on the computer and Big C agreed to join us with Little C for Family (Math) Game Night.    Big C doesn’t enjoy reading as much as I do.  I am still hopeful he will learn to love it because reading is the greatest thing since sliced bread.  My friend suggested that joining a book club might help him learn to enjoy reading more, instead of reading for a grade, but we weren’t sure how to make that work.  Then we realized we could start our own family book club.  Next week C’s Advanced English class begins reading Fahrenheit 451 and so will Michael and I.  Michael and I are more excited about this than Big C but he is quite willing.  I’ll let you know how it goes. 

It’s quite odd how things work out sometimes.  I’ve always wanted to belong to a book club.  I just never guessed it would look quite like this.

 Today when I called my mother to tell her of our plans, I was feeling better.  I was energized and excited. Not so tired, frustrated and worried. In the end we decided that this had been a GOOD thing for my family…it is bringing us closer together as a family…it is bringing us into community with the teachers and educators at both schools in a different way than we have ever been before.  “You will all be the better for this.  It was just hard getting here.” I think that’s what she said.  C is also now emailing his rough draft writing assignments to my mom.  She taught English at the very high school he attends. Out of difficulty their relationship is expanding too.  She really, really liked the last essay he sent her and he was proud.  He told me last night, “I can’t wait to turn in my writing tomorrow.”  

This was all very unexpected and pretty darn cool.

I guess that’s how it works…this movement from desolation to consolation. 

I guess that’s how God works.

From isolation to community.

From  drained to energized.

Balance is restored. 

Inner vision is refreshed.

Thanks be to God.  

Peace,

Lisa 

in clover: sacred circles




my grandfather's wheelbarrow



Ok, Higher Self, Higher Power, Universe, GOD…whatever you prefer we call you,

I get it. 

I hear you talking.

Here’s what I’m hearing:

Just give it up.  Ain’t gonna happen.  GIVE IT UP. 

It is NOT POSSIBLE to be pretty enough, smart enough, thin enough, creative enough, successful enough, rich enough, spiritual enough….whatever enough…it’s just not possible to ward off tragedy, heart break and disappointment by being anything enough or even some rocking combination of lots of things,  enough. 

Spouses leave.  Dreams get shattered.  Jobs get downsized.  Parents die.  Kids get addicted.  Friends bail.  Siblings disappoint.  Illness takes over bodies.  Money runs out.  Times get hard. 

Well, Higher Power, Universe, GOD….

I think it sucks.   

But at age 47, I think I am beginning to get it.  Times get hard for each of us.  No life is immune.  And there is NOTHING we can do to avoid it. 

So, God, I am wondering what we should do about that?  Because clearly you don’t intend on tweaking things any time soon and so far no one has figured out a hack.  

So the only thing I can come up with is that we had darn well stick together.  We better start feeling each other’s pain like it is our own.  We’d better circle up, grab hands and pray like hell. 

My friend reminded me today that really, that’s what it’s all about.  Not so much, “HI!  How ARE you?  Cute shoes!!  Congrats on being….pretty enough….smart enough….thin enough….successful enough…..” 

No, that isn’t what it should be about. 

It should be about holding a circle for one another, a sacred, holy circle…a vessel into which we can pour our deepest hurts and our most crippling anxieties, the details of our darkest soul nights…our tears, our angry screams, our faintest whimpers.

We need to show up as witnesses to each other’s pain.

We need to stand at the foot of the cross

in sacred circles. 

 



rusty vintage hose nozzles



roses from vintage watering cans

the pull on my garden gate

 top of an English staddle stone

peace, lisa