Being "Here".

The past few weeks have been bananas for us.  Including my upcoming travel this week, out of 53 days, I will have been gone 23 of them. That's 43%!  43% of the days have been not in Winston, not with my people.

I know that so many of you travel for your job- and this is nothing new to you... but I am not one of those people.  I enjoy travel- especially when it comes to vacations or visiting those I love- but being gone nearly half of the time is too much.  And lets face it, I'm not the spring chicken I used to be... bouncing back from this amount of travel has taken it's toll on my body.

During those 53 days, I've seen some of my dearest friends and colleagues.  I've enjoyed time at Great Wolf Lodge with my big girl (and got to see some of our Foster Friends, too.)  I've been to the mountains, the beach, and back to the mountains again.  I've eaten good food, hiked beautiful views, shopped, and read books.  I've also slept in uncomfortable beds, had allergy attacks, gotten sick to my stomach, been worried about a lice outbreak (we're clear, don't worry), and missed some key events that the extrovert side of me hated missing.

While we're talking about personality types, let's acknowledge that one... on the Myers-Briggs test, I always score just over the line as an extrovert.  Which means that my introvert side is very high.  And for at least 90% of these away trips, I've been required to be "on"... which makes my introvert side feel like it's drowning.  Yes, I am a people person... but I regain that energy by withdrawing and recharging alone.

Today when someone at church asked me how I've been doing, my response was, "Well, I'm here."  While that may have appeared to seem tongue in cheek to my scattered appearance or disposition, it was more honestly an acknowledgment of the beauty of actually being home.  I missed church one week because of sickness and I will miss 3 weeks because of travel.  That means that of 9 Sundays, I'm missing or have already missed 4. That's another 44%.

For a lot of people, missing church isn't a huge big deal.  For me, it is.

And none of that has to do with guilt.

It's honestly doesn't have to do with me missing the chance to "worship"... because I've felt more connected to God than I have in a very long time.

But I've not been connected to my Church Family.

Being with them this evening for Trunk or Treat made me realize just how much I've missed them.

Being gone from my own family has been difficult- Julianna and Elizabeth have both needed their Momma.  My house was a hot mess when I got home from my trips.  Laundry has piled up- and this is no knock on Dan, this is just the state of how things get when we're out of sync.

In the same way, I'm out of rhythm at church.  Part of participating fully in worship is being present... and I have not been.  While I can get "what I need" from attending periodically, I'm not fully enjoying the connection of being part of The Church when my attendance is spotty.

This is not a plug from Father Steve or our Vestry.  This is not something sponsored by those of us working to get people connected through our Welcoming Ministry.  In fact, this isn't even about our church specific.

Instead, as I've looked at my most recent schedule and my slack church attendance... I have to realize that I'm not alone.  Surely some of you have been gone too... for 44% of the time or more.  Know that you're not alone.  And know that it never matters how long you've been gone... you're always welcome.  Don't have somewhere that you miss when you're gone?  You're welcome to join me at St. Timothy's.

Being "Here" is not always high praise for my mental or physical state... but I look forward to the day when I'm Here more often.  Until then, I'll jump in when I'm able and continue to reach out to my Church when I'm not.  I can't expect they'll know how I'm doing until I tell them... and those days when I'm not Here might be the times when I need them even more.

Grace and Peace.

(and thanks, Beckie, for the pics.)

Part Two... a Liturgy Newbie

Whew.

Thanks for reading Part One and not hanging me out to dry.  I'll admit now that I had loads of anxiety during the hours that the post was being read.

So St. Tim's... What was this Baptist girl to do?!?  I grew up at a mainline Baptist church.  I worshipped more recently at an Evangelical contemporary church.  Both of these feel familiar to me. I know how to follow along in a hymnal, or even on projected screen.

Dan had grown up in an Episcopal congregation... worshiping at St. Tim's felt like old home to him.  But me?  I felt like I was reading a script.  It wasn't worship as much as it was a group reading.  My only experience in an Episcopal church prior to this was as a visitor.  In fact, my first experience was when my friend Angela had me visit with her in high school.  The bishop was visiting her small congregation and she wanted me to come to the service.  All I remember is that at some point during all of the sitting and standing I tripped over the kneeler and fell for all the congregation (and the bishop) to see.

When Dan and I married, we didn't have much of a discussion of where we would worship together.  I was on staff at a Baptist church.  No discussion needed.  When we moved to Winston, however, and we began our search- we picked more contemporary services over those of a traditional bent.

So (again) St. Tim's... What?!?!  How on Earth would I even begin to fit in when worshipping in this space at first appeared daunting?  Again, I have nothing to ascribe it to other than the Holy Spirit.  This place felt right.  Immediately.  I knew I was supposed to give it a try.  I knew I was supposed to be open to new things, including giving this faith heritage a chance.

(Small caveat... I am not a big proponent of going where it "feels right"... Church shouldn't be a consumeristic space in our lives, yet it often becomes this.  All I'm sharing now is my perspective of how something so different than my previous experience immediately felt sacred and, well, right.)

What I have found at St. Timothy's is beautiful.

It is a chance to participate in the Church universal- knowing that my prayers are being echoed throughout the world.

It is learning a whole new (to me) faith tradition- and I often feel as though I'm right back in my Religious Study days.  Sometimes in Bible Study my hand goes numb as I am furiously writing all of the nuggets of wisdom I'm learning.

It is beginning to understand the beauty of Liturgy.  And to agree with what my friend John said when he pointed out that Liturgy gives him the structure to worship even when his heart doesn't feel like it. It's putting a dialogue in front of me that I get the chance to participate in- and know that I'm not alone in that process.

15 years ago- the thought of Liturgy would have been a roadblock for me.  It would have felt limiting to all that God could be teaching me.  Today, however, it gives structure for the way in which I hear His voice.

One of the biggest things I've learned in these recent days is that there is so much freedom in how we worship.  Something in which we fail frequently is assuming that truth can only be learned in one way- our way.  And now that I've worshipped in churches that are traditional, mainline, conservative, liberal, liturgical, contemporary, and other... I'm seeing a bigger understanding of Jesus's teachings.  I'm grateful for this path- although at moments it's been beyond painful.  I'm grateful that my community of the faithful has been gracious when we don't line up theologically and politically.

And I'm grateful that His mercies are new every morning.

Thanks be to God.

'Coming Out' Spiritually...

Yesterday I posted a picture on my Instagram account- publicly acknowledging for the first time the shift that has happened in our spiritual home over the last year.  While I am in no way making light of any experience my LGBTQ friends have had... I'll tell you that I felt a little bit that I was Coming Out.

The love I feel for my former church is so intense.  I have been so careful to not share about our current journey for fear it would look like we somehow didn't like them anymore.

Let me save you the trouble of looking for dirt if that's why you're reading this- wondering if maybe I'm gonna spill some big, juicy drama that occurred between us and our former church home.  NOTHING (bad) HAPPENED.

The road to a new church home has consumed the last year of our lives.  So much so, that I'm going to share that experience in two parts.  Not for a drama factor, but just for ease of sharing.

I have been a member of 3 (now 4) churches for all of my life.  The first one, I was born into.  The next one, I chose because of my time and service in Chapel Hill.  The last one, we found after a long search when we moved to Winston.  We knew going into our membership there that we didn't line up theologically 100% (spoiler alert: we're sorta liberal)... but we fell so in love with the people and the fellowship that we allowed ourselves to look beyond any differences and dive right in.  It was in this place that our biggest life events to date took place: we longed for, conceived, lost, and gained children.  We developed deep friendships- and lost some of those friends to tragic, unbelievable death.  We prayed fervently during extreme illness of children and parents... some with joyous outcomes, and some that won't be joyous again until we reach heaven.

In short, we grew in all ways during our time in that sacred space.

Along the way, especially as Elizabeth began to ask hard questions, we wondered if we needed to look at other church homes.  This is where the beauty of our marriage partnership became even more evident.  When I would feel a need to go, Dan would gently remind me that we don't all need to "look alike" in a church... and we would stay.  When Dan would feel a need to go, I would remind him about our beautiful fellowship... and we would stay.  Last year, however, we both came to the same point of needing to go at the same time.

We wept, we talked, we prayed... and we repeated that process over and over until we knew we were doing what was best for our family.

Last summer we began the Church Search again... a long and lonely process of not feeling rooted.  We were blessed, however, to explore so many neat places of worship all over our city.  We met people we wouldn't know otherwise and got a chance to see how Others are "doing church" oh so well.

We found a Community close to our house and were so excited to be welcomed in to their fellowship.  Our kids were part of their Christmas program.  We were loved well during the loss of my Mom.  It felt good.

And then....

One Tuesday night in February, my Book Club went to serve dinner at the Overflow Shelter at St. Timothy's Episcopal Church.

When we walked into the building, I had an experience that I can only accredit to the Holy Spirit.  As I entered the church, I knew it was a special place.  I knew it was somewhere we were supposed to- at least- visit.  St. Tim's had been on our short list, but since we'd plugged in elsewhere, we weren't continuing to look at new churches.  Prior to walking in that first night, I'd had 3 good friends mention to me how much I'd like it there.  One of those friends had a child in E's class and she'd also invited E to come.

So right in the middle of heading toward plugging in elsewhere, we decided to give St. Tim's a try.

And that was the end of that.

We've been there ever since.

Tomorrow's post... Liturgy Newbie

things I just can't tell you.

I'm writing this blog about 24 hours after finding out my friend, Aaron, passed away.  My intent was to write the foster-part of this post yesterday... hours before our little one arrived.  But then the bottom fell out again.  The loss of another great man in my life.  And all of the sudden my post seemed frivolous.  Again, our focus shifted to the day at hand and the days to come.  Our hearts became woven with Debbie's.  And that was all that mattered.

But let me share with you our other news...  We are finally licensed foster parents.  18 months after we began this process.  1 year after finishing MAPP.  We are done.  In fact, as I type these words, I'm waiting for our first little visitor to wake up.  We are blessed to be providing weekend respite for a wee one- not a permanent placement, but 4 days of a little friend joining our family.

So many of you have followed our journey in the foster care world... and I wanted to let you know how we rejoice that we are now in the "next" phase.  It's a bizarrely unknown time for us... just as the rest of 2012 has been.  We are learning in new ways each day that it is so not about us- and that we are not in charge of what's next.

Here's what I can't tell you: much of anything else.  As children come in and out our lives, I can't post about them, specifically.  On any social media format, I can't post pictures, tell names, give details.  When you meet them, of course you'll know more about them (like, with this one, how super cute she is!!), but I can't tell you details of why they are in care.  I can't tell you (if I know) family specifics.  I can't answer all the questions that we all typically have.  An awkward predicament for a public-sharer like I am, but the "rules" nonetheless.

We are grateful to finally be at this place.  And yet it feels beyond surreal.  Days before she arrived at our house, I was in Asheville closing on the sale of my Daddy's house.  Talk about the gamut of emotions...

But little did I know that those two things were just the beginning of the emotional journey ahead.

Here's what I can't tell you: why another great man is on this earth no more.  I can't tell you why Debbie and her children are in the spot that they are right now- navigating life without their trailblazer.  I can't tell you why within three months of each other two of my girlfriends have lost their husbands.  Six children have lost their daddies.  Shoot, within five months eight of us have lost our daddies.  And it sucks.  All of it.

I know what it's like to charter the world realizing each day that my Daddy is gone.  Yet I had 36 years with him... not 8, or 7, or 4, or 1.  I know what's it's like to look to your Daddy for an answer only to remember he's not there.  And here's what I can't tell you: why those babies have to find that same moment of confusion so young.

I don't know what it's like to lose my husband.  But in those moments of God-given empathy and understanding, I can imagine that loss.  My heart aches for Debbie and Nicole... just aches.  And I can't tell you why any of this has happened to either of them.

What I can tell you is that we are all hanging on by a thread.  I missed gathering with friends yesterday and I'll miss praying with our church today because I was thrust into duties of being a Foster Mom.  Ironic timing, and I can't tell you while it's lining up this way.  I'm desperately wanting to be with my church body, but I'm trusting that instead I'm supposed to be here loving this sweet one instead.

I can't tell you why things happen this way. 
 
But I can tell you this:

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

This morning, Aaron is dressed in the righteousness of Jesus.  I don't fully understand it.  Nor do I expect to on this earth.  I have learned since March that the only for-sure thing we have in this life is Jesus.  And I'm thankful that Aaron is now sitting on that solid rock.

taken from Aaron's Facebook page- where he spent this past Sunday morning.

Play-by-play of our days... complete with pictures (and a question.)

Monday I was in such a pissy mood, I cancelled a friend coming over.  I barked at Dan and Elizabeth.  I couldn't see my way out of my frustration... tears interspersed with anger.  But I took this picture:

because it made me happy.  I liked the peaceful way the orzo looked as it was boiling.  That was about the only peaceful thing around these parts on Monday.

Tuesday was tons, tons, tons better.  E and I went to church that morning (we needed a change in scenery and decided to crash the Bible Study) after stopping by Starbucks to get a pumpkin spice latte.

Before the study began, my tears came back.  "Faithful Harmony" (a group of girls from my church who sing at various events) busted out with this:

(my apologies for the crappy camera work.  I couldn't get up, so I propped the camera up on my pumpkin spice latte.)

"It Is Well" kinda messes me up these days, and I think it always will.  It's what Mary (my stepmom) has been clinging to as she's fought cancer all these years.  Hearing the words "... though trials should come, let this blessed assurance control: that Christ has regarded my helpless estate and has shed His own blood for my soul" reminded me what a jerkface I'd been the day before getting caught up in my own stuff.  Mary has shown such courage and strength in all these years- but most especially in the recent days- and I can't believe I'd let my own junk overshadow the blessed assurance that *can* control me when I let it.

I had the treat of getting my house ready alone (thanks, La!) and then with a friend (thanks, Leigh!) for Bunko.  We hosted this same time last year and realized how much fun (and how easy) caramel apples are to make, so we did it again.  Good times.

Wednesday was nutso busy, but all good things.  Coffee (pumpkin spice latte, again!) with a friend, E having a friend come over after school:

(E was in the "hospital" here, Becca came to visit.)  Then after taking Becca home we went to the Fair.  Good times, funnel cakes (hi, last post!), and sketchy rides... you can't beat it.

 Can you see how fun this ride is?  But look at what's under it:

 Yep. I always feel better knowing I'm riding around over the sledge hammer.  And a bottle of water.

 A little spooked by Smokey Bear.

 Gaby's Bird!!

 Dan's 12 Year Old Moment of the Fair (this year.)  "Please do not handle displays... under melons... get it?!?!?!?" (Dying laughing.)

Loving feeding the animals... especially the Llama Llama Red Pajama, as she kept calling him.  (Hint: anyone need a birthday idea for E?  We don't own that book... but she has it on her "favorites" list, thanks Ms. Fallanca!)

After a good night's sleep, we went to MOMS at church this morning (and TOTALLY enjoyed Angie sharing!), then off to Tanglewood to feed the ducks.  (Shhh... the sign only says don't feed the GEESE.  We took it literally.)

 E said this duck was the Mommy Duck.  I asked her how she knew and she said because this duck made all the rules.  (Read: Bossy Duck.)

We came home and I was frustrated to find that I'd screwed something up at our house... but God already quickly took my screw up to give me something better.  I'm bothered that I allowed myself to get worked up over something so little once again... but thankful that it's a non-issue at this point and I'm re-grounded.

While at the park today we met the nicest family.  She told me her name (and her kids names) and E has been asking if we can see them again.  So, Blog Family, I ask you... is it weird to find her on Facebook and ask her to be my friend?  (I know, this seems like something I'd *totally* normally do... but I want some Blog advice this time.)

Comments welcome....

More thoughts on what this week meant later (this was the week- six years ago- that I had my last miscarriage.)  For now, I'll just look for beauty in boiling pasta, apple sticks, laughing girls, and bossy ducks.  That's how we Momma Ducks roll.