The Full Moon and other thoughts

Mar 6, 2015 | Mothers and Daughters, Spirituality

Whoever you are: some evening take a step out of your house, which you know so well. Enormous space is near. 

~ Rainier Marie Rilke

Yesterday marked another full moon. I’m paying attention to such things these days. I’m honoring Her cycle; my own. As it waxes, letting go. As it wanes, inviting in. This is liturgy. This is ritual. This is the Sacred.

But it’s not the Sacred I grew up with.

Back then I sat still in church. I listened carefully. I (tried to) dutifully obey. And though my required demeanor was calm-serene-peaceful, within was often a different story. Frustration. Longing. Grief. Desire. These emotions were parked at the door. The Perfect Persona applied, like a mask.

I’ll be honest: it’s not fair to drop this reality only at the feet of the church. It was true in so many other aspects of my life, as well; namely my marriage and my job(s). Oh, how well I learned and practiced the rules, the expectations, the unspoken-but-practically-shouted way of being that was required. Be good. Don’t rock the boat. Stay within the lines. Practice makes perfect. Seen not heard. Sometimes not even seen.

I’m grown up now. I no longer sit in church. And I’ve learned that obedience isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Now, when my demeanor is calm, serene, and at peace, that’s actually how I feel! No emotions unexpressed. No masks. Just me. (And a
lunar calendar on my wall.)

This does not mean that I no longer believe, that I have abandoned all faith, that my heart no longer soars at a strain from a hymn or the stories that save me. In fact, just weeks ago, I did sit in church and watch my eldest daughter get baptized for a second time. 18 years ago, I held her as a newborn, silent tears rolling down my cheeks in gratitude for her miraculous presence in my life. This time she walked up three steps then stepped down into a huge hot-tub and allowed the pastor to dunk her completely under the water. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks in gratitude again – this time for her heart, her faith, her desire to express it in an acknowledged, bold, and unmasked way.

Last week I sat at a fundraising banquet for the youth ministry that enraptures my youngest daughter. She texted me throughout saying, “Aren’t you having the best time?!?” I knew she was; that this is a safe and sacred space for her. More tears as I watched her sing and smile and step into the life of faith she desires.

And yesterday I honored the full moon, the Sacred, my turbulent-yet- tenacious faith, and an ever-increasing love for/by the Divine (who, by the way, is totally into lunar cycles).

This is the Sacred. Nothing prescribed. Nothing locked down by dogma or doctrine. Possible. Open. Full (like the moon). Big enough, magnificent enough, glorious enough, and grace-full enough that any and every way in which our hearts are moved can be honored, resonant, and true.

May it be so.

The Sacred in a High School Gym

Nov 11, 2014 | Mothers and Daughters, Spirituality

Yesterday morning I sat in a high school gym surrounded by teenagers. The Veteran’s Day Assembly. I wasn’t there because of what was being commemorated (though that was worthwhile). I was there because my youngest, Abby, was singing in the choir and I wanted to hear her. It was, she was, as I expected: fabulous.

Something happens to me, within me, when I hear choral music – the haunting harmonies, the familiar melodies, beauty that causes my heart to catch in my throat. I cannot help but cry. Today was no different. What I hadn’t expected was to see my oldest, Emma. She moved all over that same gym, wearing a “School Photographer” badge and wielding her camera. One moment she was taking pictures of a line of U.S. flags, the next a Veteran who stood alone and proud while the rest of us applauded, and in the midst, the faces of her peers who made up the bulk of the audience. Something happened to me, within me, as I watched her see and capture beauty. It caused my heart to catch in my throat. I could not help but cry.

Just for a moment, sitting on that folding chair, I realized that this was the Sacred: two young women, my daughters, their felt/heard/seen presence in the world, their voices and talents shared. Just for a moment, I took a deep, raggedy breath and gave thanks. And then I cried some more.

It wasn’t about them (though of course it was). It was about just that moment. Right then, right there, and completely unexpected, I was part of something Bigger than me, beyond me, and smack in the center of me. The Sacred.

Truth-be-told, I rarely notice these moments. That could be probably is because I am more often, longing for, praying for, working for deep, wide, and ongoing ways in which I can endlessly, consistently feel connected to something of Meaning, of Beauty, of God. And yet, all along, the Sacred is showing up. Today especially. And apparently, exclusively, perfectly, powerfully, tenderly, amazingly – just for me.

That’s grace. That’s God. That’s enough.

May it be so.

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Happy 18th Birthday, Emma Joy!

Oct 31, 2014 | Mothers and Daughters

I do not know whether to cry uncontrollably or celebrate wildly, Emma. Perhaps both.

Both…and then some.

Nearly undone at the thought that you are only months away from leaving my home and beginning to craft your own; that you are leaving the predictability of (and frustrations inherent within) the public school system and diving into the newness and expansiveness of college; that from this point forward you will be gone more than = you will be here; that I am a place/person to which you will return from time-to- time, but with whom you no longer “stay. So incredibly grateful that every bit of this is true.

I can hardly wait for you to rely on an ever strengthening identity apart from mine. I can hardly wait to hang your senior picture on my wall. I can hardly wait to see you don cap and gown – just months away – and = walk across that stage; a graduate. I can hardly wait for you to get to college, finally meet your peers, be engaged by curriculum and content you love, and be challenged in ways you can’t yet begin to imagine. I can hardly wait for you to come back – yes, only for visits – full of stories to tell. I can hardly wait for all that our relationship will yet be when I am less a day-to-day mom, more a here-when-you-call-me source of support and love.

No matter what, whether crying or celebrating, here’s what’s true: you can no more be separated from me than when still in utero. I feel your heartbeat just as I did 18 years ago. I see the signs of your movement and growth just as I did 18 years ago. I imagine your every discovery, your every learning, your every milestone just as I did 18 years ago. And I can hardly hold on to my heart as I look at you – grown, gorgeous, wise, kind, witty, talented, generous, compassionate, and full of love – just as I did the first time I held you, 18 years ago this day.

That day doesn’t feel all that long ago – when they forst put you in my arms; when I wept and wept and wept in joy that you were finally here – whole, safe, strong; when I couldn’t quite believe my good fortune, my luck, my answered prayers that you were mine; when I stared at you for hours upon hours as you slept, pinching myself with the truth of your breath, your presence, your beauty.

This day, I still weep with joy that you are here; that my good fortune, luck, and prayers have been answered more times than I can possibly count; that your breath, your presence, beauty are more stunning and powerful and miraculous than ever before.

But far more now then ever before, I look at you with wonder: for every moment I’ve had the privilege of witnessing: each step you’ve taken, fall you’ve known, heartbreak you’ve lived through, problem you’ve solved, question you’ve asked, tear you’ve shed, song you’ve sung, argument you’ve had, belief you’ve challenged, insecurity you’ve risen above, hope you’ve held to, risk you’ve taken, day you’ve lived.

You are a wonder.

Happy birthday, Emma Joy. May this day (like the one that can’t possibly have been 18 years ago) be yet another birth – no less miraculous or profound – into all the life and life and life that awaits you.

Sweet Sixteen

Oct 7, 2014 | Mothers and Daughters

As you well know, Abby, my words seem to know no end. In the midst, I hope you hear those that express my love for you in addition to those that make you nearly insane. I believe and trust that somewhere in the middle, between the two poles, you know my heart. But just to be sure, know this:

I have never loved you more than I do this day.

Every part of you – seen and unseen.
Every emotion – expressed and hidden.
Every sadness – revealed and withheld.
Every joy – known and secreted away.
Every hope – yours to hold, mine to marvel.

Though I do not begin to know everything – even most – of what goes on in your brilliant mind and beautiful soul, I do know that another’s words speak profoundly and poignantly to both. Instead of my voice, his – expressing my heart:

Protect Your Magic
the problem is you think
you are not magic.
from any distance you
appear as all things stunning
do; they force us to forfeit
all we knew before.

you are exploding stars
and tragically forgotten truths
the way the ocean sways
and ever so illuminating
moons.
you are as magic
as magic gets,
as brilliant as brilliance
is,
as unexplainably
beautiful as anything
has ever been.
to think you are not magic,
well, darling,
i guess even our thoughts
can betray us
and be fools.
protect your magic.
~ Christopher Poindexter

You are magic, Abby. In so many ways you cannot begin to fathom, imagine, understand, or dream. And an obvious, but severe understatement: your presence in my life, from the moment I knew of your existence to this very day, can be described as nothing else:

“you are as magic as magic gets…”

Happy 16th Birthday, sweet girl.

I love you.

Always.

Holy Week and Les Miserables

Mar 26, 2013 | Mothers and Daughters, Spirituality

It’s Holy Week. As is often the case this time of year, I feel some ambivalence: a tinge of regret, a flood of emotion, a lifetime of memory.

So many Easter Sundays spent. A young girl in a new dress and white patent leather shoes. A mother with young daughters in new dresses and white patent leather shoes. And now, a faith-full and church-less woman with no logical reason for a new dress or patent leather shoes.

Was there ever really a logical reason for white patent leather shoes?

My now-less-young daughters came home from a weekend at their dad’s with the Deluxe Edition DVD set of Les Misérables – including the collectible book, the collectible cards, and lots of behind-the-scenes content. I thumbed through and then tumbled across four phrases, all in caps, each on their own page, boldly proclaiming the film’s Eastertide (and practically-illogical) message:

ONE DREAM CAN CHANGE THE WORLD.
FIGHT FOR WHAT YOU LOVE MOST.
FIGHT FOR JUSTICE.
HOPE CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Doctrine, denomination, an affinity for epic musicals, and ambivalence aside, Holy Week tells a similar story. The message inherent in the life of Jesus (and Les Mis) is both impossible and impractical (sort of like white patent leather shoes). But that’s exactly why we love it so; why we weep at its poignancy and power; why we silently hum (and pray) the lyrics to I Dreamed a Dream or Handel’s Messiah; why we fondly, wistfully recall our days of new clothes and shiny shoes. Because it’s the impossible and impractical, the seemingly-crazy, the risky, the beyond-belief, the self-sacrificing, and the love – Love – LOVE that touches us more deeply than anything else, that moves us, that inspires us, that invites us to believe.

To believe — even for a moment — is holy, is sacred, is resurrection for your very soul.

Believe that no form or aspect of death can contain the impossible, impractical, and wild power of Love. Believe that it is the impossible, impractical, and wild power of Love that enables you to rise – again and again. And believe that whether you don white patent leather shoes, or not, the impossible, impractical, and wild power of Love is a dream worth dreaming, a fight worth fighting, justice beyond compare, and the hope that changes everything.

It is my prayer that you will know and experience infinite and overflowing amounts of this impossible, impractical and wild Love throughout Holy Week (and always) – in unbridled, unimaginable, unlimited ways; that our world will know the same.

May it be so.

The God of Once Upon a Time

Mar 5, 2013 | Mothers and Daughters, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

Once Upon a Time. There was a day when these four small words would instantly transport my eldest daughter to another world. Her imagination and senses would engage. And she implicitly trusted that something rich and beautiful, something of dreams and intrigue; something that touched in deep and anticipation-filled ways was on the verge. She was a child.

Now she is a teenager. She has no time for such tales. At least not those of myth, of history, of fairytale. She is steeped in story, to be sure; but now they are narratives that create pressure and leave nothing to imagination. Boys. Body image. Behavior. They broadcast nonstop.

Everything is blatant. Everything is seen. Everything is said. And a Once Upon a Time world, at least to her, feels silly, if not a waste of time.

I cried today. For her, for myself, and in remembrance of days gone by when I could hold her on my lap and make everything right. Now hard stories seem to abound. There is no fantasy for escape; no fairy godmother to wave a magic wand; no prince to rescue.

And so I pray.

*****

I have heard that God, when beckoned, shows up for some in palpable and find-a-parking-spot ways.

This is not my experience.

Sometimes talking to God feels as silly as the stories to which my daughter now rolls her eyes. God? Really? How am I to understand, to trust, to know there even is a God – who hears and understands, let alone acts on behalf of a 52-year-old mother and her 16-year-old girl? Please.

“Please?”

*****

In all good stories the plot builds. We feverishly turn the pages, longing to see what happens next. And something significant always occurs – somewhere between Once Upon a Time and Happily Ever After. We lean forward in anticipation and hope (maybe even prayer), implicitly knowing and believing (maybe even having faith) that the tide is about to turn. We are rarely, if ever disappointed.

Nor am I.

The divine does show up. No magic wand or parking space. No “fix.” No miracle. Or is it?

A gentle wind blows through my mind and a sacred tale catches on the jagged edge of my heart. Grace whispers and soothes. And story returns. Once Upon a Time…

  • Eve longed for more, reached, and desired.
  • Noah’s wife, in the face of tragedy too excruciating to comprehend, survived.
  • Hagar was abused, abandoned, and alone…but not forgotten.
  • Hannah agonized over infertility and God heard her cry.
  • Esther took incalculable risk to save a nation.
  • Mary knew ecstatic joy and the depths of sorrow with her son.
  • The woman at the well, lost in shame, was seen and loved.
  • Mary Magdalene felt deep emotion, deep passion, deep love, deep heartache.

These stories and hundreds more are answered prayer for me. They hold and comfort. They accompany and guide. They lift me up. They calm me down. They bring me home – to myself and to the God who dwells within them. They remind me that I am not alone.

One could say that I find the divine in story. But truth-be-told, the divine, maybe even God, finds me.

And this is miracle, indeed. For in this infinite finding, I return to Once Upon a Time. To perspective. To wisdom. To hope. To an epic quest and heroine’s journey. Plot twists and turns. Battles lost and others won. Ball gowns and scullery rags. Heights and depths. Laughter and yes, tears.

*****

I cried a second time today. Deeply aware and profoundly grateful for a God who intimately and palpably reminds me I am not alone; who dwells in stories – others’, my daughter’s, and even my own.

Are there days when I wish for simple answers or a quick fix? Yes. Today was one of them. But given the choice, I’ll forego the God of good parking spaces Every Single Time for the God of Once Upon a Time.