At Sea At Home

Those of you who know me well in real life know that the last three years has been a journey toward integration and toward feeling right in my own skin. I have never felt so right and so sure-footed as when I was at orientation at ML last week. I knew in my soul that I was right where I was supposed to be - physically, emotionally, spiritually. I have never felt so right in my skin as I did in those three days, that were the culmination of three years of planning and soul-searching and discernment. Many conversations with many people close to me, with the career center, with my ministers, my family, my children - they all point to the fact that this is where I should be going and where I should be, right this minute.

Those of you who know me well in real life also know that my husband and I have a wonderful love story. I know that we are so in love with each other - deep, deep within our hearts, we are connected. But we also have had tremendous struggles in the six years of our marriage - three moves, two children, death, job changes, life changes; and the last half of our marriage, this transformation of myself into seminarian, seeker, and whole person.

What has been most transforming is that my life has become intentional - chores are still chores and occasionally drudgery, but the choices I have made about what I do and what I embrace are daily acts of intention and attempts to be kind and loving and open. This month's worship theme at church is hospitality. What do we need to let into our lives? Over the summer of the assignment to think about this, it was pointed out to me in many subtle and overt ways that I need to be open to having needs. That I have to make time to take care of myself. That it is OK for me to take up space and ask for help. That I need to tell my own story and not let others tell it for me, or make assumptions because I am not speaking my truth to them out of fear of judgment. That is a hard and ongoing lesson. However, right now, I am struggling most with how to offer hospitality to my spouse.

Everything seemed well and good; supportive and understanding; until my third day in Chicago last week. Since that Friday, 10 days ago, I no longer feel the deep and abiding comfort of soul and body in the presence of my husband. He is rejecting my path; he resents it, and he doesn't want to walk it with me. The waves of resentment are almost tangible. The paid work that I do in RE, the unpaid work that I do raising our children and caring for our home and property, the volunteering I do in our community, the leadership roles I am taking on at church and the spirituality I embrace there - he is rejecting all of it. He doesn't see any of it as meaningful, or even want to listen to me try to explain it. He is running away from me because he is afraid that he is losing me to (God?). He is afraid of the person I am, as I become more whole; that that person won't want him anymore. He refuses to participate in the household in even the most simple of ways; last night, he spent the night elsewhere. I respect that he needs some space, but that hurt.

He is not interested in engaging in discussion about any of it; he has purposely and actively closed that door in my face. My inner and outer lives - my work, my thoughts, my beliefs, my community, my academics - I can speak of none of them in his presence. Anything but the most banal of topics is met with stony silence or his absence.

I am not looking for comments, or pity, or support. I just need to work out how I can continue to be open and hospitable to him. My minister say that it is hardest to be spiritual with your own family. My husband doesn't want me to be spiritual - his closing insult in our last (failed) conversation was that, "You are so spiritual all the time!" I can laugh about that with my fellow seminiarians and travelers, for those that know me know of my intensity, my sometimes short temper, my failings. But in some measure, he's right - if you want to call intentional and thoughtful living "spiritual all the time," then I guess he's right. But I'm not pretending to be better than, which is how he seems to see it.

I don't know to do - I couldn't go backward to whoever he seems to think I *was* and I wouldn't, even if I could.

I expected seminary to be hard, and for crying out loud, it just started. He and I know how to survive adding classes and studying to our lives - I just spent 18 intense months finishing my BA. But I didn't expect this added component of him feeling threatened by this journey. I thought he would be on it with me, as my soul mate and life partner. Not to walk on my journey, but on his own journey. My questions are not his. He has to find his own path, but I thought we would walk next to each other. Now I'm not so sure. He has limitations in communication that I don't know how to build a bridge across.

Oddly enough, he really started to get connected to a small group ministry last spring but it didn't meet over the summer and now he is resistant to going. I hope it's not wrong of me, but I asked one of the members that he seemed really connected to, to call him and check in with him about coming. They had talked about hiking together, and he needs a friend.

I wonder if there's something like a seminarian-spouse support group? ;).

Honestly, my initial gut reaction, out of hurt and fear, is to shut down, and shut the door right back in his face, as he is doing to me. But that is wrong. But I don't know how to remain open and loving and have him see that that is what I'm doing,without it being wrapped up in his resentment of me being so damn spiritual all the time .

I want home to feel like home. I want to feel like I can share all of me, and not be walking on eggshells, afraid to say the wrong thing, whatever that is (most of what I would say, I guess). How can I be hospitable and keep the door open when the way I live my life is what is pushing him away and scaring him?

It's just a circle my mind keeps chasing its tail around. But I'm going to keep trying. Again, I don't need or even want support or hugs - I am doing alright - but I would welcome experiences from others who have chosen life paths that have created hard struggles in their closest relationships. Not advice - just stories. Because there is power in our stories.

Authority ambivalence

One of the unsurprising things about my psychological testing is that I have a historical ambivalence towards authority. This makes perfect sense, since I was alternately protected and betrayed by police officers (both those that worked with my family during my teens, when I was in foster care, and my former step-father, a state trooper), and other people in authority (school, social service agencies, hospitals, etc.).

Today, I came up against that ambivalence when my husband discovered that someone had egged our cars overnight. Kids, on their last summer fling before school, I'm sure. Not a big deal.

But I was torn about whether to call the police and report it - our small town officers are wonderful. One is a neighbor. Our other neighbor is an officer in Rochester, but he is one of the most anti-social people I know, and I don't really trust him as a person, let alone a police officer. Still, there are benefits to having the law living in your neighborhood. I ended up calling because I thought we might not be the only victims, and wanted the local police to have as much info as possible. The officer was sweet, and I'm glad I called, but it was interesting to think through my hesitation given the clarification I achieved this week about parts of my upbringing, my current "m.o." about my values, and the direction my personal growth is headed in.

I think that having some ambivalence can be a good thing, as long as I'm aware of it, and make informed decisions based on that self-knowledge. And the good news is that it's raining, so I don't even have to take the car to the carwash!

Tending my garden

In the literal and figurative sense. This is the first time I have ever had a veggie garden, and it's huge, but not big enough. I love weeding it, harvesting it, planting in it, finding toads and snakes in it, chasing away the bunnies.

I am childishly pleased at the ears of corn forming on the stalks, the green tomatoes ripening, the tiny little cucumbers and yellow squash appearing under the large leaves.

I'm going to have a little garden of chickens this week finally. The tractor is done, the feed is purchased, the feeders are being scrubbed today.

I'm tending the garden of my family too. Preparing for a new school year for the oldest three . Making behavior charts for my little heathen/raised by wolves young son and daughter who are willful and uncooperative much of the time, driving me to constant distraction and making it impossible to get much done. Showing my daughter how to shave her legs for the first time. Making doctor appointment to deal with dental health, reproductive health, neurological health, skin health, and mental and spiritual health. Families require a lot of planning and organization, just like a vegetable garden.

I'm tending the garden of my ministerial formation. Preparing for some small group ministry and leadership this fall, trying to find money to take an extra class, meeting with a local group of seminarians/ministers/seekers, praying, meditating, and becoming.

I'm waiting on news about potential work for fall, and meantime scrimping and saving and savoring summer and visits and visitors and some lazy time with my kids.

Tending the garden of my life is a joyful thing.

Integration

I've had a lot of "chore" type of stuff to do lately: flight and hotel reservations, other travel plans, paperwork for school and UUA track stuff, insurance issues and finding old records, dealing with the nursing home where my dad is.

Things are gearing up for school; it's really happening, but sometimes the excitement gets lost in all the paper.

But last night, I got to sit in a room with 7 other people on this journey. Seminarians, ministers, seekers all. There are some things about ministerial formation and vocation that are unique. Things that it is impossible to explain to friends and family; things that your congregational minister can no longer relate to, or shouldn't, since they're your minister and not your colleague just yet.

So my minsters encouraged me to set up a meeting with this vibrant group that is all right here, right now, and it was everything I hoped it would be.

It was so fabulous to talk with people about school, boundaries, cursing, parenting, experience, age, paths, God, prayer, being called, rituals, balance (or lack thereof!). I left the meeting uplifted and filled with overwhelming gratitude and joy.

I have a lot of challenges in my day to day life, and a lot of gifts, but being called to ministry has been such a transformational process, with lots more to come throughout the course of my life. I am thrilled to have a group of people to share that with in real time, especially since I am a distance learner; I am missing that total immersion experience in school.

When I first started meeting with my spiritual advisor, integration was my biggest hurdle; that has happened naturally over the last year. Sometimes all the hats that I wear; all the pieces of the puzzle that is my life seem to be enmeshed in unhealthy ways that are hard to parse out and create boundaries around, but at other times, things integrate in the most fabulous of ways. This has been one of those weeks.

I plan to enjoy it while it lasts.

At sea

I am having yet another shift in perception, approach, intention. The way my minister put it in a phone conversation this week as experiencing parallel processes. Man, this is one of those weeks where I want to go back to life before feeling called to the ministry; where I want to put my fingers in my ears and say, "lalalala, I can't hear you!"

And yet, as LE puts it so eloquently today:

I am overwhelmed with gratitude. And that is a cross I'm willing to bear. Total strangers, demonstrating love. I am surrounded by teachers. And so I may not have answers to all the rest of my questions, and my feelings of guilt, and my guilt at feeling guilt, because it's not about me, and all the swirling inside as my brain tries to process too much information. But I can commit myself to learning. I can commit myself to learning how to love with big open arms. Limitless undying love. And I can commit myself to being the one to give the love, when it's my turn.

I am feeling part of, yet separate from things; a participant, yet an observer of life, and it's disconcerting and exhausting and I feel like crying today (well, impending PMS probably doesn't help, but still).

At church, I sit through the sermons and experience them and learn from them; yet I also am taking mental note of things that work well, that I enjoy, that people mention moved them.

I sit in small group, and am grateful for the skillful facilitation and expansion of my soul; yet I am observing, learning how to be a better listener, to be a better facilitator; I take mental notes for future reference.

I am having serious angst over a close relationship right now; as I follow my path, becoming more aware of my inability to know intention other than my own, becoming a more intentional listener, growing in my ability to open my arms and love; I find myself torn between screaming frustration and judgment at my friend's interruptions, attempts to pick apart the intention of everyone in every interaction, ego, and hurtful things they say AND my higher self's observation of the love they have within them, the respect for their own journey and where they've been and what experiences have formed who they are, and overwhelming love and gratitude for the closeness we've had but that seems to be slipping away as I walk a different line in my spirituality, my parenting, my intention toward the greater world.

I am humbled and pained by my struggle to avoid judgment and by how being transformed makes everything both clearer and murkier.

I am filled with joy and gratitude; and loss and sorrow of my more (innocent?) ignorant and egotistical self!

I am filled with anger and forgiveness; I am filled with humility and ego; I am in the moment and observing it at the same time; I am filled with judgement and love; I am struggling with boundaries and inclusion; all of this taking up the same head and heart space.

Yeah, some days I just want to pull the blankets back over my head. It's hard work.

Just like Jo March

...my mind is rumpled today. I had an argument (a Real Live (tm) Argument) with one of my best friends today, and walked away feeling like I am a Rotten Parent (tm) for daring to make choices that don't put my teenager's social needs first on my list of priorities. And not to mention that I'm blaming everyone else for my daughter's feelings and I should take full responsibility for them and go even further beyond the call of duty to make her social life perfect.

That's probably not exactly what she said, but mind, that's how I said I felt at the end of the conversation. Looking back on it honestly, she had some good feedback mixed in there, but (Karen, are you listening?), about 30 minutes into the conversation, in which I kept getting more and more frustrated because she wasn't getting what I was saying at all, for a variety of reason, I yelled, "I don't want to hear your solutions! I don't want to hear your scenarios! What I need from you as a friend is for you listen to my pain and to the fact that my kid is hurting and to just validate that!"

And then she didn't. She said some other things that really hurt my feelings even more and were totally off target IMO, and I hugged her and said I loved her, and we moved on. Man, I'm sorry for ever doing that to my own friends. It sucks. As I get better at really listening, it is really hard when I'm not listened to. Understandable, but harder.

This all has to do with inclusion, this argument. We move in a small homeschooling community, with small circles that often intersect and shift and move, and my daughter is in between circles right now, because there has been a shift from all-age activities that are family-inclusive, to "teen" activities with age cut-offs (that are a year older than she is) and she feeling intentionally excluded and is hurt. There are a bunch of reasons I can think of (that are all UNintentional) why this is happening, but it doesn't matter. It hurts.

And I'm in a place with big kids and little kids, where I stretch myself and my littles very thin at times in order to make sure my olders get to have fun and participate in enriching activities. I feel like my friend told me that I wasn't stretching enough and it hit every button for me in terms of how mothers of young children are not well supported. It also felt like she felt like we were being excluded because we choose to live 45 minutes away in order to be away from the city and work toward more sustainable living (the only other place we could afford to buy a house is IN the city, an environment that sucked the soul out of me).

It's like she was holding on to resentments about some of my choices about parenting, homeschooling, inclusion and lifestyle, and dumped them all on me in one fell swoop.

So my mind is rumpled. And my daughter is still hurting. I'm sad and don't understand why this shift has happened in the kids' friendships. What I really don't understand is that it seems to be spearheaded by the parents, not by the kids, who seem to be just fine with including everyone for most things. Everyone always raves about how likable, fun, sweet and polite my daughter is - so why can't the adults involved see how their hangups about ageism are hurting her (and others)?

At least E doesn't seem to think I'm the culprit ;). She loves where we live - and she loves her friends. She loves visiting - and she would love to have more visitors. She loves her siblings - and she loves some big kid time. She loves kids of all ages - and she loves adults of all ages. She is as stymied as I am.

Anyway, enough. I'm just trying to find some order in all these questions, but I think I'll just have to wait and think, and plan more one one one get togethers rather than the group events we usually attend (for family unity and sanity sake). I can't wait till summer. We're going to hunker down and garden and swim and read and be together. So there.

And I'm going to work really hard at being a better listener, and to forgive my friend for not getting me, and to try to understand her intentions, and to just try to be more inclusive myself and maybe it will be a fad that will catch on!

Intentional Action and Ministerial Authority (oh, and a baby!)i

I had the amazing privilege to be at the homebirth of a friend of mine today. I got to rub her back, and clean her bathroom, and watch her baby be born with two of my children by my side. I got to see the father's eyes light up and his gentle love when he held his son for the first time. I got to cry with my daughter and the mama's mama and father when the baby was born. I got an impetuous gift of a drawing from her formerly youngest child. I got to hold a brand new, wet, gorgeous baby who rooted at my chest, as he is supposed to do. I got to hold him close and see his skin pink up, and fall absolutely in love with him. I got to compliment his mama on how stunningly, glowingly gorgeous she was as she calmly and peacefully labored and breathed and welcomed into the world with her own two hands.

I have been to several births, besides my own, but never a homebirth (other than my own). It was perfect and a gift and a blessing and as close to God as you can possibly get to see a new life breathe in and become one of us.

The reason for the title of this post is that iMinister posted today about Ministerial Authority, and it rung true for me given my experience today with birth, although I haven't dealt much with death yet. She says:

"It is related to feeling secure in the knowledge that you, in your ministerial role, have something of value to deliver and you know the conditions of delivering it. So you march right up to the boss nurse in the ICU and request the room number for the patient who, she says, won't even know you are there. You know that you and the patient and the patient's family need you to be there and you stand in front of her until she lets you be there."

I think that authority to be intentional and loving in a given situation can occur whether you're a minister or not - it comes with experience in situations where you need to be intentional - where you have to be outside of yourself and experience true compassion and love for those you are with. I am bone tired tonight. I cannot remember the last time I was this tired and I can't imagine how midwives do what they do.

Ten years ago, I would have been in the way. I would have had my own agenda. Today, I could sit back, be encouraging and compassionate, look at what needed to be done and do it. I could be sensitive to the idea that family needed time to bond and have privacy and give them space to do that - it was not all about me, even though I was invited to be there. My presence was a gift given to me - a privilege, not a right. I believe that minstering is like that - it is a privilege, and you have to look around you, see what needs to be done, do it, and be aware of where space is needed, and where you are needed.

I am happy and tired and blessed. Thank you, dear friend, for allowing me to be present as your beautiful son entered this world and took his first breath.