Alarm clocks and Polly and joy.

Dan's alarm clock woke me up this morning. Early. And loud. Louder, truly, than during the week because for some reason he had changed it from the regular "beep" that is maddening to a "radio" setting.  Honestly, I didn't even know that his alarm clock had a radio on it.  But it was LOUD. And it was early.  And I was frustrated.


The last few weeks have been rough- to say the least- for our family.  I have been drowning a bit- and can admit that now as I am coming out of that space.  Several weeks ago it became apparent that something big was going to change in my beloved job.  I was in regular contact with our board chair- nothing was a surprise for me- but my heart has been broken as we have put The Abraham Project on hold for the upcoming year.  I don't know if down the road it will rebirth itself as something new or not.  But as of now, this program I have fallen head over heels in love with has come to an end.

At the beginning of those weeks of conversations about closing it down, I'll admit that I took part of it personally.  Then I began to see that parts that were outside of my control and then my heart was able to look more clearly at what truth was already there- that to all things, there is a season.

Unfortunately, during the same time this was all going down, it hit Elizabeth for the first time that her Mimi wouldn't be there for her 5th grade graduation.  This was the first "big" event that Mimi hasn't been there for, and it stirred up in both of us the realization that this is what a future without her looks like.

And to create the perfect storm, after going through 4 pregnancies, 1 birth, and loads of issues along the way, we determined that I need some minor surgical help to take care of parts of my body that weren't "cooperating" with what was normally expected of them.

The week of Elizabeth's graduation is when we announced TAP was closing and when I got the call to schedule my surgery.  Of course it was.

Now, one week post-surgery, I'm doing well, Elizabeth is fine (and is excited to be one of the Cats today in Seussical the Musical!), and plans are coming right along to make our TAP closure smooth.  All of that is said with no tears- the storm has happened and I am safely to the shore.

Back to this morning: that damn alarm clock.

Dan and I were hosted for a delightful dinner party last night.  There was great conversation, amazing food and wine, and it was the first time I'd put on "real clothes" in a week. (I came downstairs and both girls ooohed and aaaahed... maybe a week in PJs is more than they're used to for me?  Let's be honest... probably not.)  We got in late and both girls were awake.  Julianna took more convincing than E that it was time to sleep, so I was grateful we had nothing early on our Saturday morning agenda.

Until that damn alarm.

Frustrated and awake, I started catching up on social media.  So many pictures of vacations and exciting things.  So many political and painful posts.  And then I saw it:  a sweet woman I had the privilege of hanging out with last fall during Medicine and Ministry had died.  When we hung out in November, I had absolutely no idea that she was unwell.  And yet, today she is gone.  It literally took my breath away.  


From our brief time together here's what I know about her life:  she loved her husband.  She loved her job.  She loved her daughter.  She made it a point to maintain friendships she had from years past (I happen to be mutual friends with two of them!).  She was fun and wise and calm and a delight to be with.  And now, she is gone.

Our family has gotten in the habit of watching James Cordon's Carpool Karaoke together.  This one brought us all to tears.  I told Dan that if I were famous, I think I would want to be like Paul McCartney.  I get the feeling that he enjoyed this day- bringing joy to everyone he interacted with.  James Cordon does it too- he makes people light up around him.  I want that.  Dan, being the good doting husband taking care of his post-break down wife, encouraged me that on some level I do that now... but oh, to be able to say that across the board.  I want to bring people joy and make them light up.  Polly did that for me.

Yes, there will be job losses.  There will be bug bites like the ones on my elbow (!!) that are currently making me bonkers.  There will be events where loved ones aren't there.  There will be surgeries that bring out our anxiety.  There will be alarm clocks that ruin good sleep on the one morning you plan to sleep in.  But there will also be Pollys.  And Pauls.  And Jameses.  And joy.

Dan and I are heading off to our own version of summer camp after we drop of the girls at theirs on Sunday.  We are indulging in seeing a couple Broadway shows and going to the concert of my favorite band.  All of those events were decided before we knew that I would be 10 days post-op.  Rather than let my physical limitations ruin our trip, we've just altered our schedule and planned more down time.  We're choosing joy.

Here's to the people around you who bring you light.  The ones who bring you meals for your family.  The ones who swoop in and send a card at the perfect moment.  The ones who make you laugh even when it hurts.  The ones who serve good wine.  The ones who send you silly gifts.  The ones who constantly play Words with Friends with you while you're recovering.  The ones who recommend new shows to watch.  The ones who hold your hand.  The ones who bring you joy.

May we all know those kind of people... and more importantly... may we try to be those kind of people.

And may we always remember to turn off our alarm clocks on Friday night.

Rest in the light of joy and peace, sweet Polly.

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.

Brokenness and Band-aids

our lovely view on that March weekend

6 months ago *right now*, I was sitting in the mountains of Georgia, enjoying having some girl-time with a dear friend, breathing easier- spiritually- than I had in months.  I had spent the day before reading the words of Hosea... and I woke up restored.

I've written what the next week was like here... it breaks my heart to even see that post again.  It still feels so... well... new.

At the retreat that weekend, I attended a "Date with God" session lead by the sweet woman who had prompted me to read Hosea.  We went from station to station experiencing different mediums through which to connect with God. One of them was a place where you would write a prayer request on a Post-it, place it on the wall, then read the others' requests and pray for them.  My Post-it said "broken."  That weekend, you'll remember, was when we had just been turned down for Foster Care.  In addition to that, I was grieving my best friend's move to Phoenix, and still wrestling with Sweet Leah's leukemia. I truly felt "broken."  In a moment of restoration, I looked at those Post-its as they were affixed later to a cross and felt the hand of God remind me that HE would heal me... no one or nothing else would do.

Our Wailing Wall... Heal us, Lord.

Oh, the irony of the brokenness I felt then.  I didn't know that mere hours later, I would find out my Daddy had died.  I didn't know that 6 weeks after that we would lose my friend Geoff.  I didn't know that 3 months later we would lose my friend Aaron.

Grief upon grief leaves one feeling beyond broken.  It leaves you feeling just plain wrecked.

Yesterday happened to be my Daddy's birthday.  He would have been 70.  From the moment my feet hit the ground yesterday morning, my wrecked-self grieved.  I sobbed in ways I haven't allowed myself to in quite some time.  I also had lots of funny internal-dialog throughout the day imagining what Daddy would say to me if I shared with him my stories.  I wanted to tell him how much I love mowing the yard with his lawn mower.  I wanted to tell him how E asked Dan why he said "dammit" this weekend. (He didn't, btw, he said "hammock"... but hearing my little one say "Why'd you say 'dammit', Daddy?" was a moment that Dadaw would have loved.)  I wanted to talk to him about how hard things are right now and have him tell me what to do.  I wanted to ask him his recipe for Country Style Steak, and then later call him to tell him that Paula Deen's worked out just fine.

Not to sound like a broken record, people... but I just miss my Daddy.

In ways I never imagined.

I think I used to watch people who had lost a parent and think, "Gosh, that must be sad," but didn't understand. I didn't get that it would be a daily ache.  A daily burden.  That every experience- good or bad- would be filtered through the lens of not having your Big Person to share it with.  And in my crazy, jacked up life... I need my Big Person.

Slowly over these last 6 months, there have been moments when my broken heart begins to heal.  Unlike the picture, my heart hasn't been torn straight down the middle.  It's been shattered into millions of pieces, each requiring their own Band-aid.  And the Band-aids are beautiful as they come!  They show up in the form of People Puppy Chow, or coffee mugs, or walks on the Greenway, or phone calls, or verses about "doing good", or comments on Facebook, or well-timed flowers, or bottles of wine, or Stan-like jokes, or leaves changing color, or looking at old pictures, or salted caramel, or a compliment, or a hug, or Country Style Steak, or even through tears.

The hard part of the last 6 months is that sometimes the Band-aids come off.  Sometimes they are ripped off... sometimes they just fall off in the bathtub.  And through it all, it shouldn't surprise me that my encouragement comes from... well... Hosea.

“Come, let us return to the Lord.
He has torn us to pieces
    but he will heal us;
he has injured us
    but he will bind up our wounds....
Let us acknowledge the Lord;
    let us press on to acknowledge him."

Return, heal, acknowledge, press on, and Do Good... cause that's what my Daddy would have wanted.  Happy birthday, Dadaw... I can't believe we've made it 6 months without you here.

She just lived upstairs....

When I was in Middle School, I went through this phase where I wrote "essays" about my friends.  I have tons of them... just a little one or two pager about why I loved that individual.  In my mind, it was the ultimate yearbook entry.  (It maaaay have been a touch lame, too.)

Often on people's birthdays, I'm tempted to blog about them.  I want you all to know why I love said-birthday individual.  But let's be honest... I'm not sure you'd all want to read what makes ___ special over and over and over again.  (Although, while we're being honest, I'm still not sure why lots of you continue to read this anyway.)

Today is different.  I want to tell you about my friend Kimberly, who is celebrating her birthday today.  (Yes, I stole her picture from  her FB page.)  Kimberly lived upstairs in my dorm and we were in the same Small Group my freshman year.  Quite candidly, I don't remember who led the group.  I think it was Jenn, but it very well could have been Kimberly.  Early on in the semester, we divided up and were paired with "prayer partners".  Somehow, Kimberly and I got matched together.  It wasn't that we were best friends.  Honestly, I rarely saw her outside of IV time.  She was in Pharmacy School and I was... well... being a Freshman.

Kimberly and I met to pray weekly.  And for some reason, I rarely missed.  That was a big deal because I was missing a lot of things those days in search of things that would greater fulfill my life.  I would skip Small Group if it meant I got to do something more fun.  I would skip Large Group if I got a chance to go uptown with some of my friends.  I would skip Chapter events if it meant I got a ride to visit friends in Raleigh who had better access to "good times."  I was busy living a double life of knowing I should have one foot in IV (which was, at the time, my one connection to the Lord) and the rest of me in a life of self indulgence.  But for whatever reason, I rarely bailed on praying with Kimberly.

In retrospect, I asked Kimberly if she knew I was partying it up the whole time we were praying.  She said she knew something was going on, but she didn't know my life was quite as jacked up as it was.  (My words, not hers.)  What she did know, however, was that she was supposed to pray with me... and for me.

I don't think I can put adequate words around the jumbled-ness I felt in my heart during that year.  I was on the biggest roller coaster of emotions- I felt loved and rejected, cool and unworthy, fun and distraught, determined and lost, and completely a wreck.  Yet during that year, sitting in Kimberly's dorm room, I found peace.

Jesus ordained our times together.

He did not make us best friends.  We did not spend hours catching up.  We did not do a great job of keeping in touch after college.  We did not attend each other's weddings.  Yet He wove our hearts together and used Kimberly to keep me connected to Him... all because she was available.  She lived upstairs and I knew she was there.  She was consistent.  She was grounded.  And she radiated His love for everyone... and His love for me.

Today, she is the proud mom of 3 beautiful children and the wife of another friend, Tyler, and together God is using them mightily to grow His Kingdom in Raleigh.  But 17 years ago, she was "just" a girl who lived upstairs.  And she was being used mightily in my life... and for that, I am thankful.  I pray that I am "just" that kind of girl for others, too.

Happy Birthday, Kimberly.