Fear not .....

You must give birth to your images,
They are the future waiting to be born.
Fear not the strangeness you feel.
The future must enter you
long before it happens.
Just wait for the birth,
for the hour of new clarity.

I found this quote by Rilke on a crumpled up, well-worn piece of paper this week. For almost three years, it was a touchstone of sorts for the adventure I took with a dear friend and colleague. This quote was painted on a plate and quoted in part on at least a weekly basis by one or both of us... "fear not" I would say as we dove in the deep end of starting a business -- "Just wait for the birth" she would say as we prayed our way through a new church start.

At the time, my life seemed to be in a constant state of prayer; waiting, trusting, fearing not, embracing the strangeness that seemed to lurk around every corner. I wouldn't trade these series of life experiences for anything. I would love to be rid of the debt that still haunts me from this fallen business. I wish I still had my friendship that was crushed by the weight of too many differences to name. I miss the partnership of ordained ministry I had with the denomination of my childhood. I mourn the loss of my marriage to a good man and am thankful for the friendship that he so graciously extends to me after such a difficult change in our relationship.

This week many of my friends and former colleagues gather as "church" to laugh, worship, sing, pray, drink, and discuss "church" matters. I've been surprised at the depth of my feelings about their gathering - and my not being there. Of course, I am sad that I am missing out on seeing friends, but truth be told, I could see them anytime with some effort. The deeper sadness comes from realizing the magnitude of the changes I've either encountered or sought out since this last "church" gathering.

I will admit - as strange as it may sound - that the sadness is in part because I realize how much happier I am now than I was at any of these previous gatherings. For almost 15 years, I have lived in waiting - or as we called it in seminary "discernment." Unfortunately, during this discernment, I lost bits and pieces of myself along the way. It takes a strong person to really listen to Self when the voices of society, family, church - name your own voices - are whispering, shouting, beckoning to conform, fit in, be "normal."

I wish I could have heard my own voice twenty years ago when I graduated high school. I wish I hadn't made some of the decisions I made. But even as I write this, I realize that each of those decisions had good aspects. I guess it is the immature or underdeveloped part of me that wants just the good parts and wishes I could have skipped the suffering I have endured and inflicted on others.

My life isn't perfect now by any means. However, for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I am able to integrate all of my selves - the spiritual one with the accountant; the artist with the pragmatic manager; the nurturer with the budgeter. Maybe it is true when they say everything I needed to know I learned in kindergarten. As I have "found" my voice and my Self, I have a sense of reaching far back into my childhood - maybe even before that - to integrate my selves. When we are 3 and 4 years old, don't we gravitate towards doing the things at which we are naturally good? We love people just because we love them - not because they are the right gender, or race, or have the right pedigree. Three year olds are in touch with their sense of reality and don't necessarily separate the spiritual from the pragmatic or art from science. When I was younger, I loved making art. I loved numbers. I had a sense of connection with some spiritual being - I now call her God. I believed it was okay to love who I loved. I was an old soul and yet loved having fun too. No one told me back then that art and math don't mix; that being spiritual was only done in certain places at certain times; that being wise and having silly fun weren't compatible. It wasn't until I got older that external voices began the internal conflict of choosing one over the other - science over art; men over women; the spiritual over "reality"; wisdom over silliness.

So I find this quote and realize that the future entered me a long time ago - without my knowledge. I no longer fear this strangeness - as an ordained minister turned CPA who does art on the side. As someone surprised to find her life partner in another "her" and not a "him." As a mom who is proud of the fact that her son made her partner a Mother's Day gift this year all on his own - because he doesn't yet grasp the reality that she and I are not accepted by society or even some who claim to be family. (I wish he never had to know this fact.) I love not fearing the strangeness of being a step-mom spending time with two more kids that have entered my lfe. I love watching them experience unconditional love that they don't get at their custodial home.

The future is still waiting to be born. Born into the hearts and souls of all who seek that hour of clarity. Born into a world so needing reconciliation - the kind that I hope to feel some day with the lost friendship and lost relationship with the church. When I found this quote, I found pictures and poems and documents from the past that I immediately threw away without remorse. But this quote transcends the hurt feelings and lingering pain from the past. I am grateful.

Blended Families

"Blended families..." Who came up with that pithy term? Not anyone that has tried it, for sure. Blended sounds so calm and cohesive. After all, you blend things together to make them one - you blend two colors to make a new color, you blend ingredients to make a delicious cake or cool summer drink.

Blending a family requires more than just the basic ingredients for most blended recipies. Nuclear families - traditional families - are hard enough. I am not sure what it take to blend a family. Some days, it does indeed feel like a blender has taken over - tossing me around, cutting into each of us, knocking us into each other - but so far, what comes out is not something that looks or feels unified. It feels more like a chopped up mess - ready to be tossed into a salad or some days a hot pan to be tortured some more.

Don't get me wrong, there are moments that the blender takes a break. The times that the attempted blending takes a break and all can settle and even allow the scarred, bruised, blended mess to heal and begin the process of "gelling" before someone comes along and presses that "pulse" button on the blender and stirs it all up again.

Every family has family recipes that get handed down from generation to generation. Grandma's fried chicken; Aunt Betty's coconut cake; mom's apple pie. Recipes are also passed down through our family norms - the way we interact with one another, the way we talk to one another, what is acceptale and what isn't, what and who is valued. Blending families is like throwing all of the recipes in together and hoping the ingredients don't cause a chemical reaction resulting in an explosion.

I suppose the best any of us can do in this world of blending families is to try to learn to respect all of the various components and try not to be the one to push the pulse button on the blender.

 

Someday has come

So it's been awhile since I've posted. And quite honestly, I don't remember much of what's happened since August 7th. It's been a blur of tears and anger and sadness and yes, laughter too.

I ended my last blog with a quote that I posted above my computer. Just a couple of weeks ago, I took down the quote and replaced it. I've come through the worm hole of divorce and moving out and coming out and moving in with. It's been a year!

It hasn't been all bad for sure. I've become stronger, more myself, made new friends, purged old relationships, possibly found a new career path (that is actually an old one...but more on that later.) As Easter approaches (not my fav - see last year), it seems only appropriate that I have let old things die so that new life might be born.


I went to hear Carrie Newcomer this past weekend-check her out at carrienewcomer.com. One of her songs is about letting go...

Leaves don't drop, they just let go,
And make a place for seeds to grow.
Every season brings a change,
A seed is what a tree contains,
To live and die is life's refrain.

Here I go again....

Shit...change again? It's inevitable. It happens. Shit. shit shit. Can I say that in a blog???

My life seems to be in continual transition. And I'm tired of it. I am tired of answering questions. I am tired of "the look" - the one people give when they know you are struggling with life. I am tired of having to make decisions.

However, all of that said, I am ready. I am ready to be me - fully me. Whatever that means or brings. I want to feel fully. Live fully and engage life fully - even if it pisses some people off. Not that I want to this time (I have wanted to before, I don't now.) I just want to be. I want what I encourage other people to seek - an authentic existence - even if it means making hard decisions or going against the grain.

I wish we could live a life where no one ever got hurt or frustrated. I wish that we could look into the crystal ball and see what the future holds and make informed decisions that hold no regrets or remorse.

But, we are human, aren't we? We make choices the best we can at the time. Sometimes these choices really are ours. Sometimes they are the culmination of other's expectations. Sometimes we really don't know the difference.

One of my dearest, wisest, most hilarious friends reminded me of something this week as he shared a quote that I had printed out for worship.

"Never let go of hope. One day you will see that it all has finally come together. What you have always wished for has finally come to be. You will look back and laugh at what has passed and you will ask yourself... 'How did I get through all of that?'"

Thanks, Jimmy. Thanks for reminding me of hope....of time....of all that is to pass...of all that is to come.

Change is good?

Is it really? They say change is good. Who are they, anyway?

I usually thrive on change, so I think. What I really thrive on is change that I think I have some control over. Change that brings about results that I like, desire, seek. I don't like change that leaves me hanging....wondering what's next...relying on something or someone other than myself for answers.

And this is why change is good. It forces me to surrender. Not a word I like or use often at all. I mean, I like it when other people use it or practice it. But it isn't for me. In my twisted mind, it connotes weakness, dependence, giving up. In fact, I look up the word surrender and see words like: abandon, resign, relinquish, give up power to another. I don't do that. I don't give up, abandon, resign, give up power. I am responsible. I stick with it, stand by your side. I am powerful, have endurance.

And yet, I am surrendering. Which I am discovering takes a lot of endurance and power that does indeed come from another source. I am surrendering to the fact that I am not living the life I want to live. I'm not sure exactly what this means yet. I know it means that I cannot do this new church thing anymore. I have lost my passion, my drive, my energy for it. It has been quite a ride, and I am ready to get off.

What has been interesting is that it seems to have caused an equal amount of wounds and healing for me. Its been empowering and frustrating and so much more than I can even say right now. I wonder what I will say when I look back in 10, 20, 30 years? I've said all along that this was much more about the journey than the outcome. So it is. And the journey for me is taking me to a different place. I'm not sure where it is yet. I am sure, however, that God is with me and will love me through whatever comes next.

words

Those who know me, know that I am not the biggest fan of lots of words during worship. I prefer music, art, dance, silence, reflection and space.

However, this past week, I found myself in the process of crafting a sermon...researching, praying, writing, reflecting and trying to get out of the way of myself so that the Spirit could work.

And words became important to me. Don't get me wrong....I love words. I love to read a whole lot. I absolutely love poetry and good writing and good speeches and good sermons. Its just that I often have found that the church worships the sermon or sometimes the preacher rather than worshiping God.

What I discovered is that I liked this sermon. I liked the hard work that it made me do - both in the research of the text and in the internal work it caused me to do. I also discovered that I might actually sometimes have something to say. I like to deny this...say I'm not a preacher...that that is what other people do.

Preaching a sermon about wisdom, about finding that voice within and not being scared to speak truth...well, I suppose I was preaching to myself more than I thought I was.