Transitions

I’m playing with redirecting my Blogger account to Tumblr, just for fun. I can’t import all of my old posts, but got most of them I think. 

Today’s session at Wellspring was on Death and Dying. For a sometimes dark subject, there was a lot of laughter (not uncomfortable laughter) andreal, down-to-earth discussion about denial, birth/death themes, fear, and planning.

When I got home and had a chance to read the news, I found many photos of Joe Paterno’s funeral procession. I grew up in State College, and JoePa was an eternal figure. He and my dad were the same age, and it’s hard to believe they are both gone. When I was reflecting on death today, it was a realization that I don’t think much about it, except as something far off. And my partner was surprised to find out that if I had a year to live, I’d slow way down - living moment to moment, enjoying the relationships that sustain me. 

I wasn’t surprised. I am so busy finishing up school, and a year of major life events, that the idea of having a reason to slow down and just live life moment to moment, instead of as a headlong rush, was an imagined relief. Not that I hope for a death sentence anytime soon, but it was a reminder to stay in the moment as much as possible.

I’ve been hearing that message a lot lately, from different readings and encounters. It’s something I believe and try to practice as much as a busy mom of four can, but it’s a constant struggle. My daughter’s therapist said this week that thinking about the future causes anxiety, and that really resonates with me. I’m much more centered when I can be in the moment and not just trying to rush through it to the next one. 

Theology on the Brain

After a 3 day convocation on economics, I entered into the world of Multifaith Theology for my first week of intensive classes. It's pretty awesome, but I'm a complete theology geek. I love thinking about theology and all of the big questions of life - and how starting from one point rather than another - whether it's doctrine, social location, dialogue within a tradition or between then - changes the questions and focus of the theology. Just defining religion is a daunting task in and of itself.

I often think that all of life is about theology, whether people recognize it or not. How we approach the big questions of life - why are we here, what happens when we die, why are we here? These all have ethical implications that can be addressed in some ethical, moral, anthropological, theological, ultimately religious way. (at least etymologically).

So that's what I'm up to. My oldest, who accompanied me to Chicago, is with my sister for the week and I'm missing her, though I'm so busy keeping up with reading, writing and assignments (as well as getting caught up on a class from last semester), that I don't think she'd enjoy being around me that much right now. My two littles at home are sick, which I feel terrible about. My husband isn't getting any sleep. My other teen is heading off for her first time skiing (in Vermont no less) and I'm nervous about her newly healed broken shoulder. I'm sure it will be a blast though.

Right now, my head is full, so I'm off to watch the first episode of Shameless. Shameless, I know ;)

Ready (?) for the Windy City

So, today is my last day at home until January 21st. There was a grocery run. There will be a haircut. There will be a meeting in Syracuse with my Lay Internship Committee tonight. There is lots of anxiety.

I really, really love Chicago. I love Meadville. I love my classmates and the faculty. I love my sister, who lives near there. I love my husband's niece and her family who are stationed at Great Lakes. I love Trader Joe's. I love Whole Foods. I love morning prayer with my roomies.

I *hate* waking up without my five-year-old to snuggle with. I will miss my dog. I will desperately miss my husband. I will miss my other two kids and their humor and hugs and snuggles and arguments. I will miss my huge bed and having Wegman's a mile away.

This is my last long trip for seminary. Some people think I'm pretty crazy for going, after the last six months we've had. I think I'd be crazy not to. Writing and friends and walking and theology are my anti-depressants. I will have 2.5 intense, crazy weeks of all of those things. And Emma's coming with me, and will get to see all the things I love about school. And she'll get to visit my sister, who is awesome and already survived raising four teenagers.

My last J-term. It seems impossible! Convocation, RE for a Changing World, and Multifaith Theologies. A mock MFC interview. Worship services galore. And we're in the Loop now - a brand new territory to explore, though I'll miss U of C and Hyde Park, and the Starbucks I walked by almost every day the last two Januarys.

And of course, there's a snow storm hitting Rochester today/tomorrow. I'm hoping that by the time I get through Erie and head toward Cleveland, it will be behind me.

So there's excitement and anxiety. But my reading is mostly done, my class prep is most done, the car is mostly packed, and I'm ready to get my last kidlet snuggles. Thank heavens for Skype.

Writer's Block, Suicide, and Grace

I would guess that I haven't journaled in my personal journal, or here in my blog for close to six weeks, which might be a record. There was a point of no return in the amount of stress any one person can tolerate, and I hit the wall, hard.

As I've tried to write, everything seems trite, and doesn't seem to do justice to the reality of everyday life - the good, the bad, and the ugly. I write a sentence, and delete it. I write a paragraph, and delete it. Writing is my way of processing the world and of making sense of experience. I have been a writer pretty much my whole life. I am a visual learner, but a verbal processor. The inability to write has been suffocating in ways. I can't write sermons, or papers. I can't write emails or journal. I can barely read the texts I need to read for upcoming classes, and put one whole class on hold.

When I am able to get my head above the water of writer's block for short periods and pound out a few sentences, or make a theological connection in my reading, I start to feel more like myself. I've discovered that the act of trying is as important as doing, even when it's frustrating.

My family has been through a lot this year, but November trumped everything that has come before. I have had my ability to be compassionate and kind and patient be stretched to the absolutely maximum - and at the same time, have been shown those qualities in spades by my beloved community - church, homeschoolers, friends, colleagues.

I thought that losing our home last summer was bad. I thought that the things came after piled on traumas that were hard - although there were gifts of learning and grace that came with each hard time. But right before Thanksgiving, we almost lost our oldest daughter to a suicide attempt. Now that, my friends is bad. Definitely the worst thing that I can imagine. Hard for us, but undeniably harder for her, to be in that space of despair and pain. To watch my child go through the suffering of depression and the medical intervention necessary for her recovery just about broke my heart. It left us all fragile, and even more appreciative of the gifts that we each have.

Why do I speak of such things? Because I must. Because families lose children and teens to suicide at an alarming rate, and it is frightening to speak of it. If you say it out loud, it must be true - and that's terrifying. I am now that mom - the mom whose daughter tried to take her life, and almost succeeded. I am now the mom who is grieving the loss of who she thought her daughter was, and celebrating her courage in fighting to come back from this. And I speak of it, because I've been through suicide attempts before, by my ex-husband, and it's a lonely time - one that frightens other people, and that society lays a film of shame over. This time, I wasn't alone, and I am not ashamed.

My daughter has nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody does. Depression is insidious, and awful and sometimes deadly. It's hard to treat, and not something your friends want to talk about, and it sucks the life out of you and everyone around you when it's deep. She now knows, and has the notes and cards and emails to prove it, that she is valued and loved and celebrated - things that depression made her forget, or wouldn't let her hear in the moment. She has a wall of affirmation above her bed. It makes me smile.

I have also learned that a life of service may be draining at times, but more importantly, it can also be sustaining. It is those moments when I watch a small ministry group have a profound theological experience, or feel the power of words flowing through me in the pulpit, or sitting and listening to a friend or congregant in need of love, not words...those are the moments of grace that fill me up so that I can work on being my best self in difficult situations.

I am a do-er. And I have not been do-ing much the last month - not that you would notice. But I have been. I've been quietly filling myself back up with meals dropped off, with hugs, with small gifts, with listening ears, with vegging out to Netflix, to reading mind candy fiction, to sleeping late and going to bed early. I've been snuggling with my kids, sitting by the fireplace, keeping the house peaceful and clean. I've been watching my kids grow in explosive and exciting and shocking ways, as they become more and more themselves with each day that passes. I've been locking eyes with my husband, feeling a love that sustains both of us and knowing that we're not alone, ever.

So thank you. Thank you to my classmates who are practicing serious radical hospitality this January in Chicago, in so many ways. Thank you to my friends who send me snail mail and email notes of love and encouragement. Thank you to the Lilac Children's Garden and RAHA communities who have brought us meals and provided child care for days on end. Thank you to the family who has surrounded us with their presence and love. Thank you to May Memorial, for trusting me and teaching me how to become a minister. Thank you to First Unitarian of Rochester, whose pastoral care team sat with us for hours, who drove me home to shower, who brought me food and Christmas ornaments. Thank you to the doctors and nurses and techs and aides and chaplaincy staff at Strong Hospital. There is so much gratitude that I hold, and it's this being in community that allows me the space to care for myself and my family. Thank you to all those friends and parents and teachers who love my daughter and have called her and offered support and coffee and friendship. You help to sustain us all.

Yes, it's hard to be transparent about the hard things in life. But it's harder to go around pretending that these things don't happen in life. To me, to you, to the grocer, to great minds and singers and writers and cab drivers. If we hide the painful things, we cannot begin to heal. I know this - I've known it my whole life. But if someone out there is  just learning it, I hope they know that there is a world of love and support just outside their door.

So, I know that I could just delete this again. That it doesn't express the depth of pain and love and grace in life. But writing is what I've got. My voice is what I've got. All my gifts and imperfections are what I've got. So here I am, back at it. And it feels like healing.

Thanksgiving Approacheth

Thanksgiving is upon us! I am thankful for a lighter schedule this week, so I can catch up on some assignments and reading that I have fallen behind on. I am super thankful for my husband, who seems to be everywhere all at once, supporting me, our kids, our home. He's working, he's cooking, he's parenting, he's driving...I don't know how I would manage without him. I love him more every day and it makes me wake up happy every morning to wake up next to him.

I'm grateful for my four children. This is the season of birthdays and reflecting on growth each year. Soren just turned 13. Jude was 7, Lucy and I have birthdays the week of Christmas, and my husband at the end of January.

I'm grateful that this is the first year in my life that I'll have to make a resolution to exercise. My age is finally catch up with me and I can't just float along on the heels of my active younger days!

I'm thankful that we didn't lose any humans or pets in the fire. Everyday, I am struck that life could be so much more tragic than it was last summer. We are really very lucky.

I'm thankful for my church, for my calling, for my teaching congregation. I'm grateful for Wellspring and all my small ministry groups. I'm thankful for thoughtful and amazing colleagues and classmates. I'm grateful for friends who drag me out of my house and make me eat Indian food with them, and spend hours laughing and catching up.

I'm thankful for debit cards and electricity and hot water and furnaces and warm boots and sleds and big hills and ice skates and ponds. I'm thankful for swimming pools and Corona with lime and the hot, hot sun. I'm thankful for my Golden Retriever and flannel sheets and Nine West shoes. I'm grateful for morning snuggles with Lucy and allergy medicine and Advil.

That's just the beginning, but it's a start. It's a chilly day here in NY, but my family is around me, I've got a cheerful fire in the fireplace, snuggling dogs on my feet, and schoolwork plugging along. I've got a wedding to perform this evening and a lovely turkey dinner to look forward to on Thursday.

Thanks to everyone who has been a part of the creation of me.

A week of "firsts"

Saturday the 19th is the first anniversary of my father's death. I miss him. My children miss him. It is hard to believe it has been a year. I still haven't gone through his belongings, except for his wallet and papers.

Sunday the 20th is my daughter's 13th birthday. Not my first teenager, but Soren's first year as one. She's changing so quickly - emotionally, physically, spiritually, intellectually. It feels like she will be an adult in the blink of an eye. She was my "baby" for six years. And now she's this beautiful young woman, who is going to be taller than her older sister (much to Emma's dismay), in a short time.

Time is short. It goes so quickly. Even in the midst of anxiety, stress, busy-ness with schoolwork (theirs and mine) and the approaching holidays, I find time every day just to reflect on each person in my family and feel gratitude for having them in my life.

The News

When I read the news this morning, it depressed me. The New York Times is full of things that are negative, as is the Rochester D&C and the Syracuse Post. The Centre Daily Times is a horror show of depressing and aggravating news.

The Penn State scandal is all over the national news, and it seems as if it will continue to worsen. I have been struggling with the firing of Joe Paterno, not because I don't support accountability for his actions, but because of my own grief. He is the same age as my father, and came of age in a time when sexual abuse scandals were often disavowed or swept under the rug, or handled outside of the legal arena. Certainly, Paterno is a part of a wide web of cronyism and deceit. However, the world is not black and white. It actually is relativistic in ways, and the reality of Paterno's affect on the sports world, Penn State, and the State College community, has a wide range of good and bad.

There is no question that he should have done more - he should have - and he is recognizing that now in his statements to the press. It's too little, too late. His complicity does not however, negate the good he has done for the community. And that's where I feel grief for the community and university, whose people have conflicted feelings. Those feelings don't mean that Paterno shouldn't be held accountable - they are just normal feelings of loss and betrayal.

 I think about how my own father might have reacted in a similar situation, and my guess is, he would have done what Paterno did - for a lot of reasons, and not because he supported sexual abuse of anyone. Their generation had a different approach to abuse than we do today. Again, I am not in any way excusing Paterno's, or anyone else involved for their moral culpability, but this is one of those "both...and" situations, where a person had made a horrible decision not to act against evil, and they have done a lot of good in their life. At the sunset of his life, Paterno has lost everything - deservedly so.

The victims of these crimes have lost much, much more, and will suffer for many more years. There is nothing, no legal redress, that will eliminate the damage that has been done to them, and for that I grieve as well, much more than for Paterno's losses, which he brought on himself. These victims were innocent children, already at risk, who weren't protected by adults who were supposed to be upholding personal and ethical standards of conduct for themselves, the university, and The Second Mile.

What I think is that there is most often a right way to act, but that our feelings just are. And that's hard ground to cross when people are feeling outrage, betrayal, anger and disgust - as well as loss, grief, and horror. It's like arguments between fundamentalist religious groups - it's almost impossible to reach across that chasm of feeling that your feelings/beliefs are the right ones. But in the case of all those involved in this terrible tragedy, the feelings span a wide range of emotion and experience. The comments in the news articles often reflect these entrenched feelings. I am a pragmatist - I know that people are not always able to validate others' feelings, especially when their own feelings are intense, but the idealist in me always hopes that people will try to see outside of their own experience and walk in another's shoes.

Mostly, I would hope that people would keep the victims in the forefront of their prayers and not be distracted by the machinations of the institutions to keep sweeping that issue out of the way.

I should really be reading and writing and preparing some stuff for school and work, but I have been in a media blackout due to being so busy, and I'm trying to catch up on organizing my files and bookmarks today. They have gotten wildly out of control in 2.5 years of graduate school. Tomorrow I'll have to tackle my reading and writing.

I have obviously been immersed in the story about Penn State's coverup of alleged sexual abuse by former assistant football coach, Jerry Sandusky. It has me thinking about oppression, about the 99%, about disenfranchised and already-vulnerable children who are taken advantage of by the people who are supposed to be helping them. The story has gone national quickly, and it's spawned some great reminders about abuse-proofing (to some extent) our kids. My oldest daughter and I have been discussing the case - the court documents are graphic and disturbing. The victims' stories are eerily similar.

One has to wonder how so many people, who had to have known or seen the alleged abuse by the perpetrator, could have allowed it to go on. Obviously, that's a rhetorical question, since I know the answer - it has to do with power, and fear.  It's the same reason there was such a huge clergy scandal - power differential, fear of retribution or loss of status, and shame.

Talk to your kids, remind them what to look for, and that they can talk to you about anything. If you see something yourself, confront it. Report it.

In other things that I'm concerned about, go Occupy something. Obama told us when we elected him that he wanted us to TELL him how to do his job. Well, go do it.

Penn State and Happy Valley

I grew up in State College, aka Happy Valley, home to Pennsylvania State University. Most of my life has been spent there, in that beautiful, mountainous region, living a life of Town and Gown, student and Townie, learning how to navigate the chaos of football weekends, when Penn State fans come roaring into town.

I grew up in the heyday of Penn State football -when Joe Paterno and Jerry Sandusky brought the football team to two National Championships in the 1980s. I lived my life in the shadow of these awesome figures. I rode the school bus and attended school with the children of these men - Paterno, Sandusky, Curley. I remember the controversies around hiring Spanier in the mid-90s.

My entire life has been formed in some measure by Penn State, and by football. My high school team was the Little Lions, of course. The boys were expected to dress in dress pants, shirt and tie for away games. We always knew we'd be seeing some team off on the bus when we saw the boys show up, spiffy and clean. We lived in the shadow of the expectation of Joe Paterno.

I remember the days when JoePa would not tolerate any kind of misbehavior (at least any that made the Centre Daily Times) from his football players. They also wore dress slacks and ties, and at least in public, put on a show of high standards of conduct. My generation grew up exceedingly proud to be Penn State, to know the football royal families. I lived up the street from the high school football coach - and I bet his life was even more affected by the omnipresent Penn State. In those days, we packed the high school football stadium. Maybe they still do.

As an adult, I learned to grocery shop on Saturdays during the football game, and didn't miss a play, as it was broadcast in Weis Market, and then Wegman's when they came to town. I learned to drive, knowing that University Park and Park Ave. became one way streams on football Saturdays, and it was best to avoid the area altogether. I enjoyed the raucous energy of Saturdays after a win - the packed bars - Zeno's, the Phyrst, the Shandygaff - filled with young people painted blue and white. Because God must be a Penn State fan, right? Else why would the sky be blue and white?

Even after eight years away from home, I still read the Centre Daily Times every day, and check the football scores. After all, I worked there too, first as an obit writer, and then as an editor of the Weekender. The sports guys were untouchable - they had so much to do, so much to cover. Penn State football covered the front page - even during off-season, to the exclusion of much I thought might be more important. But I didn't push too hard. Football made the world go around in my life there. It brought in the fans, the money, the traffic, the grants for better roads. It brought in students and families and kept the bars hopping.

I remember the roar of the stadium crowds when Paterno beat Bear Bryant's win record I could hear it from 3 miles way in my Lemont driveway. The ground was actually vibrating with the noise and the hundred thousand feet stomping on the bleacher treads. I actually wept that day, in my driveway, on a warm, fall day, much like today.

So you might have an inkling as to how, even though I know that these men charged are innocent until proven guilty, reading the alleged cover-ups, the sickening abuse that Sandusky is accused of, the pointing fingers of Spanier and the administration toward Joe Paterno to take the heat off their own culpability (not that Paterno doesn't have his own in this mess), I feel physically sick.

I am horrified that these idols of my youth, who represented moral conduct, ethics, and good sportsmanship that informed my entire public school and college experience at State High and Penn State, could have such obvious clay feet. I can't imagine how Paterno, as a father of his boys, could know anything and not report it to the police. I can't imagine how Curley and Schultz can live with themselves. and Spanier, well, he should be ashamed for whole-heartedly supporting Curley and Schultz, and for canceling Paterno's press conference today. He should not be allowed to resign, as Curley did - he should be fired, for his own role in covering this up, and for trying to divert attention from himself onto Paterno, an 84 year old man, born the same year as my dad, who probably wonders how his whole world got turned up side down after a lifetime of being the King of Football.

My heart goes out to my former classmates, and I grieve for the loss of their innocence, if they still retained it. It is awful that their lives should be overshadowed by the sins of their fathers. It is heartbreaking that my peers and I have our youthful hopes and memories of great sportsmanship and high standards of conduct, be betrayed in this way.

I will always love Penn State, but it will require a good housecleaning before I begin to trust it again. I send prayers out to the families of the victims, and of those families victimized by their husbands and fathers by lies and sexual abuse. May you find solace in your faith, your heart, your spirt, however you may.

homesickness

Fall is here. Every time I go outside, I can smell wood smoke - wood stoves are common in upstate NY. I have been so busy trying to get through the last three months, that except for fleeting, intense moments of grief, I haven't faced the loss of our home (or even less so, my wrecked car) in any meaningful, helpful way. But this smell of fall makes me hurt somewhere deep inside, in the same way I hurt for my children when they express their feelings of loss so much more articulately than I have so far. My husband has been at our house, cleaning it out In preparation for putting it on the market, and it is horrible for him. I don't honestly know how he does it. I have only been there two or three times since the fire and I could hardly stand it. Now is the time of year when Tom would be hauling wood from a friend's orchard, splitting it, firing up the chainsaw. The kids would be hauling the split wood in wheelbarrows to one of three areas, and we would be moving the old rocker glider into the laundry room corner as a study space in front of the fire. Emma and I spent last year trying to be the first person to claim this spot each day, piling our books, snacks, and matching slippers next to it, and snuggling up with our laptop and a warm blanket. Whomever lost would sit on the hassock, hunched over their work, but still happy to soak up the warmth and companionship. We talked a lot of philosophy in front of that stove last year. We never used our clothes dryer, because my husband strung line throughout the room and the stove dried everything faster than electric with the added benefit of the damp clothes and towels adding moisture to the dry air of winter. The wood stove was central in our lives. It was a symbol of less reliance on technology, kept us mindful of the work that goes into staying warm, kept us closer physically in the cold weather, provided exercise for everyone, and reduced our heating payments to nothing. It was time consuming, messy, sometimes inconvenient. But the choice to heat with wood, to live in the country, to create and maintain a huge vegetable garden, to can apples and pears from our trees, to dry our clothes with the sun and the wood stove - these are choices that are taken away from us. Yes, I miss my bed. I miss seeing the deer in our field each morning. I miss walking my dog and practicing tonglen as I consider each neighbor's house I walk by. My children's losses break my heart. They miss their swing set that Tom built by hand. They miss picking apples and getting fresh eggs from our two chickens each day(not so much cleaning out the coop!).t. They miss our next door neighbors Mark and Rose(me too). There is no closure. No way to fix this loss, for any of us. We are transported to a new life where you turn on the heat and there is no work to it. To a life where it is against association rules to hang clothes out. To a life where I buy eggs at a Wegman's where I can't find the peanut butter aisle. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful we are alive, and for insurance and for the net of love and community that has held us throughout. But the smell of fall - it makes me homesick in a way I haven't been ready to face just yet. It feels lime a long time until we will "be home" again.

Dreams of the Dead

My father died right before Thanksgiving last year. I have been dreaming of him regularly since then. I sometimes wonder (not a theological question) if his presence beyond the physical realm is more powerful now than when he was fettered by his dementia.

The other night I had a vivid dream that I was in the hospital giving birth and it was footling breech. Alan Alda was my doctor (the older incarnation of Alan; he wasn't in uniform a la M*A*S*H!). Anyway, all these people from my family were there outside my room, sitting around eating cookies and drinking coffee. There were living members (like my mom and sister), and departed, like my dad and my two brothers, Craig and Randy. My uncles Barry and Wayne were there too. It was a veritable Spahr family reunion of men.

I specifically remember that in the dream, Randy got up and helped me into a more comfortable chair. And also, that my husband was already talking about having another baby, which I think might have made me dreamily murderous in the moment.

I've had so many intense and easily remembered dreams since the fire in June. Many of them include my dad. It's nice to feel that he's close, even if it's only in a dream state.

Covenant

I haven't blogged much lately. It got instantly crazy on Labor Day, with internship, work, and classes. I have been reading blogs though, and lots of books and writing a lot and trying to balance all of that with family time, which only is successful because my husband is amazing.

My 7 year old, Jude and I had an interesting discussion about why he thinks God is male. I went to pick him up at class last week and from the top of the slide, he said, "Leave me in peace. I am God! And I'm trying to figure out how to execute those people over there." I remarked that he must be an Old Testament kind of God. But I guess he's just trying to use play to reclaim some of the powerless he feels since losing our house. That's the theme for him lately - powerlessness. He mostly exhibits his grabs for power at bedtime, which he refuses to acknowledge exists. A child's cosmology can be fascinating and a microcosm of our own adult need to make sense of the world.

I have been gripped by a fascination with the cultural/sociological aspects of polity, theology, individualism, and creativity. I'm hoping to turn it into a sermon for the Thanksgiving service at MMUUS, which is intergenerational. I have been mulling over a Sharon Welch essay, Return to Laughter, I read for my Leadership Studies class. I am boring everyone I know by talking about it constantly, and using it to more deeply explore the issues above. This seems fair to me, as my 15 year old is doing the same thing to me regarding her honors physics class and Newton's Universal Law of Gravity. I told her that I don't really care much about it, as long as it continues to function and I don't go flying off the face of the earth.

I'm facilitating four small groups this year, which is one of the things I love about ministry. I'm gearing up to get back into action on the lay pastoral care team at First Unitarian, and put in my first fall shift on the Connect & Breathe post-abortion talk line.

Our move back to Rochester has been good for me in the sense that it theoretically gives me more time and less of a commute most days (except when I drive to Syracuse) but it also means that the kids ask to do more stuff. I'm really enjoying watching them grow and change and evolve, despite some of the challenges.

Well, the hordes are awake and talking at me, so it's time to start the day now that I'm caffeinated. I'm going to try to get back here more regularly. I have recently found, through doing a ton of weddings, that people actually look me up and read my newsletter articles and blog posts to see if my theology and style are a good fit for them. Fascinating stuff - I've joined some UU Facebook groups on social media, evangelizing, etc. so this is another great interest of mine.

OK, enough or I'll be off on that next!

These last sweet days of summer

They are winding down and each day is bittersweet. Today is a perfect example. 83F, sunny and clear. But what to do? We have an appointment at 2pm, smack dab in the middle of the day. It seems like such an effort to get out and do something, if only to be interrupted by the call of obligation.

We met a couple of neighbors out walking their dogs yesterday. They were friendly, but it made me realize that I feel like this rental house is just a bigger, nicer, extended hotel stay. I know we won't be in this neighborhood through the winter. We won't spend another summer here. We won't see what flowers appear in the spring, or see the whole flow of a year pass us by. It is difficult to remain in the present moment here; to commit to even liking it, let alone loving it.

In chaplaincy, I learned to try to stay in the present moment with people. Not to obsess about the future - to allow a contextual discussion of what brought people to where they were, and then to focus on how are things now, how are you feeling in the here and now.

This is a difficult practice, but my feeble attempts at maintaining it seem to be the best coping skill I own for dealing with insurance companies, car purchases, rental houses, selling our home, preparing for the MFC and for my last year of seminary.

Adding 4 children to the mix, who are in their last days of summer vacation, who don't have their "stuff" and toys and books and knick knacks; who complain about the cereal I forgot to buy at the store, and yet who snuggle on my lap and practice reading while I peruse Amazon.com - they are both hugely present...and hugely distracting. If my priority is to be present in thinking about closing words for the board retreat, or in crafting a grocery list that will dispel the complaints about the larder, but their present priority is the complaint itself, or that they can't reach the toilet paper, or that they want to show me the unicorn that they have drawn so beautifully... our "being in the present" modalities are sure to clash. What would Buddha say?

Ahh, the spiritual and theological conundrums of the student/working mother. The very crux of combining *anything* with parenting any age child, let alone a range of ages, is that being in the moment is like the worst ADHD experience ever sometimes, and sometimes all you can do is give yourself over to it, and laugh. There is that an intense moment of joy in giving up any pretension of being in my own moment.

I Breathe in Peace

I went to see my massage therapist today. I am very particular about massage therapists. There is a sacred trust about allowing someone to work intimately with one's body. She starts her sessions off with a short intention meditation, which I find helpful to use throughout the session.

When I do my walking meditation, my transition points mantra is "When I breathe in, I breathe in peace; when I breathe out, I breathe out love." This is an intention for myself and for what I give back to the universe. Today, during my massage I used "I breathe in trust, I breathe out fear."

I was hesitant about breathing fear out into the universe, but the massage room seems a rather safe and purposeful place to do such a thing. It requires a great deal of trust for me to relax my limbs into another's hands. To breathe into pain and pleasure, to have the courage to ask for what I need, and to communicate clearly about where I need the most work done.

I think this is good practice for the rest of life. My minister asked me what I most need, as I attempt to enter into my third and final year of seminary and internship. She warned me about maintaining my boundaries and seeking support from the appropriate venues. I have already thought about that a lot and am grateful that the major difficulties of the last year have occurred over my summer break. It has allowed my internship congregation to be concerned about me, but sheltered them from too much of a desire and chance of caring for me. Congregations are caring places, and they want to take care of people. But in a ministerial role, it is our job to care for them, and to seek our support, within reason, from outside resources - colleagues, friends, family, therapists, etc.

I have a lot of anxiety about being away from my children, and they from me. But now that we are living close to my husband's work, he will always be a short drive away. I am thinking of ways I can have longer days, make better use of my time in Rochester doing pastoral care and volunteering for Connect & Breathe, and am anxious to look over my curriculum for the year and what sorts of projects I will be doing.

Getting back into the work of ministry will be good - it will balance the stressors of day to day life - and I *am* being well taken care of, which allows me to provide the kind of ministry a congregation should expect from its intern. I am excited to perform a wedding this weekend and one in October. I look forward to getting back into the workings of the church, the meetings, the small groups, the worship services. I have missed those things as I've dealt with the minutae of crisis.

Besides, who doesn't know that being a stay-at-home-mom is the hardest job of all?! It will be a break to do other work :)

A step at a time

There is much left to do in this day - trips to Target for bedding and pet supplies, calling doctors, dealing with insurance, thinking about school and internship starting in the fall...but there have been moments of mindfulness. I am enjoying the view out the large dining room windows, of the huge patch of coneflowers with happy bees buzzing among them. The dogs are running from window to window in each room, watching a parade of dog walkers outside, who are caring for their pets after a day of work. There was a quick game of pool in the basement (yes, we have a pool table!), and a stroll to our new mailbox with Lucy. there was a long morning walk with Jakob - my first walking meditation in weeks and weeks. It was heavenly!

We now have bookshelves and dressers. Clothes are being washed and tucked away. The kitchen is looking better all the time. The children are enjoying playing in the living room and the enormous back yard. It will be fun to have a trampoline and bikes again soon!

I have many tasks ahead of me, but there are friends who are also struggling, and doing it with grace and love. I have been working hard on encouraging quiet voices, taking turns, caring for each other and ourselves, and turning this house into a physical and emotional safe haven. It is difficult work - we are anxious and overtired and in pain. But I know it will be worth it - for each individual, for our family, for our life's work that must soon resume.

Summer Camp from Hell

At least that's what my 12-year-old says this summer is ;). But we're in my home town, and usually I'm itching to get home, except this time, I don't have a home, so there is this free feeling of just enjoying the time here, and not rushing to do everything, because there is no rush, because there is no home to go back to (although I do miss my husband something fierce).

There is a huge Arts Festival here every year and as a teen, it was the week of freedom. It was a time to ride my bike around, have extended curfews, see lots of friends, hang out on The Wall, eat junk food, walk barefoot in the rain, and enjoy all the benefits and privileges of adolescence. I have set my own teenager free this summer, but oddly enough, she is staying close.

Trauma has made us realize the importance of each other. Of the thin thread of life that holds us together as a family and the strong love that we have for each other. Normally my kids would want to be off visiting friends and running around, and learning to take the bus, and walking miles and miles in their flip flops, but this summer, they are comfortingly nearby.

One of the reasons I came to Arts Fest this year is that I lost some things in the fire that I bought from artists over the years. Some of those artists aren't here this year, and I no longer have their business cards, which is sad. But one thing I wanted to replace was my photograph of two Yemeni girls that I bought a few years ago.

So I wanted to send a shout out to Jim Spillane, who takes these photos. Go see his booth. I also took a card from Marius Moore. I told him I want one of his photos when I have my own office when I'm a minister. He was a super cool guy, and even knew about Unitarian Universalism.

I've also been drooling over this woman's jewelry for years and found that she actually carries small bracelets, which are hard for me to find. The lotus flower means enlightenment - and this woman's jewelry is what was the inspiration for the tattoo I designed that I have yet to have done; a lotus mandala with a contemporary UU chalice in the center.

The thing I really wanted to replace was my beautiful wrap that I bought two years ago, but alas, the woman who makes them doesn't seem to be here this year. I did see some beautiful scarves/stoles that I may purchase tomorrow though, since I lost all of those too.

But really the best part of all this is just meandering through town, eating at Irving's Bagels, seeing the sights, visiting with friends and family, and having my children with me and moving at their pace. It's good to move at a child's pace - sometimes frenetic, sometimes slow and laborious. The basics become vitally important - food, rest, hugs, and being in touch with each other's emotions.

Ups and Downs

A friend of mine said that recovering from a fire/flood is like being pecked to death by ducks. I found it an apt metaphor!

I got back to work today for the first time since the fire really. The drive made me very anxious. The further I got from the kids, the worse it got. But It felt SO good once I got to church. I met with a couple who I am marrying on 8/6. It was an awesome meeting - they were so incredible and we had such a great rapport. It is going to be a beautiful ceremony, filled with happy tears and excitement about NY allowing gay marriage. I am fist-pumping psyched.

On the way home, I stopped in Lyons to get some prescriptions from our regular pharmacy and had to stop at the house to grab a stroller from the garage. Oh, the heartbreak. I was just devastated by my peek in the downstairs. I grabbed a box of Emma's baby paraphenelia, because I didn't want it to get thrown out by mistake. There is a huge dumpster full of stuff in front of the garage. My garden is tooling along with just nature's rain to water it - there were healthy snow peas growing, and lettuce, and raspberries, and pumpkins flowering...but I couldn't bear to pick any of it. I just started crying. All the kids' swings and bikes and trampoline and yard toys - it just broke my heart to see everything so forlorn. I am so, so homesick for our sanctuary from the world.

As I was driving, I felt so unable to trust the world around me. I have always been a good defensive driver, but find myself more suspicious than ever of large semis and fast drivers in sports cars. I fear for the motorcyclists in a brand new way, especially after the number of traumas I saw in the ED during CPE last summer.

I feel better to be back in the hotel, oddly enough. We have a lease being worked up, but found out today that the move in date has been pushed back another four days, and there is some confusion about the cable/phone/internet account at the house. I told the placement rep that her motto should be "We protect you from the crazy!" Seriously, I love her.

My 12 year old is feeling somewhat better a week post-op. She's off the narcotics today and says she's ready to boogie to our hometown tomorrow for the big Arts Festival. Me too!

I bought a new purse yesterday that I love. I replaced my fave pair of boots today. It's the little things actually. The convenience items - my calendula cream, my armband for jogging with my iPod, my junky headphones I kept in my nightstand drawer. My nightstand! Silly, but yes, like being pecked to death by ducks. I had a moment today where I didn't even want to move into the rental - it felt like giving up on our dream of space and chickens and old houses and rural life.

But we also found out today that the house is riddled with lead paint and asbestos. So any cleanup is going to be that much more expensive and harder.

I want to run away to the DE seashore. i want to walk on the boardwalk and smell the salt air. I want to drive to Assateague and see the wild ponies. I want to take Jude to Frontier Town in Ocean City, MD. I want to body surf in the brutal waves and let nature have her way with me a bit more. I want to be back in the womb of man - the sea. Maybe I can make it happen before fall. It would be so restorative.

Snapping back

I've been feeling a bit otherwordly since the fire; not myself. Not focused or able to figure out what next.

Then on Sunday, my 12 year old fell out of a tree and broke her arm, requiring surgery and a 2-3 day hospital stay. Two nights of NO sleep, followed by 2 nights of solid sleep seem to have snapped me back into my body finally.

There's something sad and funny about a child who cannot open jello by herself. Vicodin makes her have a mental functioning delay of about 10 seconds too. Poor chook. She has been in so much pain; it's a relief to have her be even a little silly.

My youngest two are feeling the trauma of being displaced from our home. They are desperately homesick, and tired of sleeping on a pull out couch in the living room of our hotel suite. Lucy cried herself to sleep tonight, missing her bed :(.

I am looking at two rental houses tomorrow, and am hopeful that one of them will be a match. There's a third I am waiting to schedule that is a block from our home church, so that would be wonderful too!

I seem to be unable to think about seminary or church much at all, though I have sudden spurts of inspiration and functionality. So I take the kids to the hotel pool a lot and read junk fiction. I think I'm due.

I am eternally grateful for the monetary donations that have allowed my husband to be off work so much, to deal with the insurance and watch our other kids while our 12 year old was in the hospital. I am grateful for friends who watch my kids, who bring me food, who brought me toothpaste and a sweater in the ER. I am grateful for the calls, emails, prayers. I cannot even express it all. You all know who you are.

Namaste.

Two weeks

It's been two weeks since our house caught on fire. I don't think I have ever been so tired, for so long, in my life. I just can't seem to get a decent night's sleep, either because of children climbing into bed with my husband and I, or waking every hour, or the temperature, or just insomnia.

Yesterday was a rough day. We were all irritable and tired. But Lucy has taken a nap the last two days and seems to be in a better mood, so today was much better. The mood of the youngest seems to set the tone for the day round these parts. We spent a long time at the pool yesterday, and today we went for a while. Jude had his semi-annual allergy appointment and had his highest ever scores for breathing. That means that his medication  regimen is working - we tweaked it in early June when the cottonwood was flying and he wasn't sleeping. We're adding Zantac back in, as he's been complaining of heartburn. Who could blame him, really?

I postponed my July intensives at Meadville Lombard until January. It will make for a crazier fall semester, but my family needs me here this summer. I'm having a lot of sorrow around being away from my home and yard during the summer months. I was in CPE last summer, so I had a lot of plans for lounging around, reading, and gardening. The kids miss the swing set, sandbox, bikes and trampoline.

I printed out my UU History and Polity readings and am going to start those, as well as my MFC competencies when I can find time. It's hard to find quiet time in the hotel suite.

I want to give a shout-out to ESL Savings and Loan, my bank. The teller at the drive-thru WALKED two packs of quarters out to my car because I had a sleeping child in my car and they are too heavy for the pneumatic tube. I couldn't believe it! They always provide excellent customer service, but this is beyond the pale!

Tomorrow, my MIL and my niece and her two kids are coming over to swim. I hope the weather is warmer than it's predicting. This weekend we're headed to Keuka Lake for the holiday weekend, and then the following week, home to PA for Arts Festival. I can't wait. We're taking the dogs with us this weekend too, which will be wonderful. I miss our cat and bunny too...

No progress on a rental house, though I'm now helping to search for options. We've got to get a yard!

Sanctuary

Trying to normalize life as much as possible while displaced is daunting. But one small thing I'm grateful for is Google Sync. I was able to restore all my favorite places, Chrome settings, etc. in one fell swoop! I finally broke down and ordered restore disks from Mozy.com, as the slow wireless connection at the hotel doesn't allow for downloading 54 1.3G files. And since I don't have a cable modem here, I temporarily made my cell phone a hot spot - and it's pretty darn fast! Technology I am grateful for :).

This morning, the kids and I went to church. It is the one place that still feels like home. Sitting in the back of the sanctuary, listening to Poetry Sunday; meeting outside under the Standing on the Side of Love sign, showing our support for gay marriage. It was fabulous. Hugs by friends, sympathy and soul food. I miss my internship church work, but it is good to have the time to reconnect with my home church.

Then I went out and bought pillows and a new down comforter. I hate down pillows, which is what they have at the hotel, and with my neck problems, it will be lovely to have normal pillows. I love the new down comforter and duvet - they are so pretty and will smell like us, not like hotel laundry. Really, the little things matter.

Tom did laundry tonight, which was a gift. We don't have a lot of clothes so it doesn't take too long, and it's nice!

I'm looking forward to having my dogs back. I miss my morning walks and meditation. It's hard to meditate with six people in a small space. The pool doesn't open till 10, so I can't swim early, though they probably wouldn't care. They have been super nice to us. Emma apparently has carte blanche at the pool but I credit the bikini ;).