Help To Survive

I’ve been to a lot of weddings, but I’ve never been a bridesmaid—
Which is fine because I’ve not had to buy a lot of one-time-wear-only dresses—
Instead I’ve been a musician—
Which is fine, too, because I’ve not had to stand in front of everyone while trying to hide my inevitable tears of beauty and joy.

This past weekend, however, I think I may have been close to being a bridesmaid.

I, the trumpeter, had the privilege of spending a lot of time with the bride.
As the only non-family member and non-parent hanging around the mountain house—
The wedding was atop Appalachian Ski Mountain and very beautiful—
I got to be the errand-runner, emergency fire-putter-outer, picture-taker, dog-walker, dog-sitter, bride-dresser, bride-chauffer, bride-whisperer…
And it was pretty cool.

But here’s the coolest part.

As part of the wedding ceremony during which I heralded the bride’s arrival,
The bride and groom did something I’d never seen.
Instead of
Lighting a unity candle,
Mixing salt or sand, or
Sharing their first communion—
All of which are beautiful symbols of marriage—
They planted a vine together.
They each had a vase of soil from their family farms,
Brought down the aisle by their parents,
That they mixed together to plant a fragrant vine,
The Stephanotis Vine—
That they will tend to and grow,
Just as they must tend to and grow their marriage.

Both need
food and water,
light and air,
space to flourish, and
room to mature.

Both take
time,
faith,
pruning, and
mess.

Both
Need
Love.

Steady love.
Intentional love.
Sacrificial love.
Determined love.

Both need help beyond themselves to survive.

…Family and friends,
Bridesmaids and Grooms-people,
Trumpeters and four-legged children,
The thoughts and prayers of those who looked on as
God blessed and literally watered the vine being planted by
Hands joined together in love…

The stephanotis vine and the newly married couple
Both need help beyond themselves to survive.

We do, too, friends.

And I consider it a privilege to do my part—
Even if it means buying a dress.

On This Winding Journey

I’m sitting on the porch of a mountain cabin as a write this note. I’ve had a good day—traveled many miles for many minutes—read parts of two good books—caught up with a dear friend I haven’t seen in over a decade and met, held, and soothed her baby—and been reunited with a friend I haven’t seen in a couple of months. I’ll be playing in her wedding on Saturday.

All that being said, I should have a lot about to which to write. And I suppose I do. But nothing new is coming out of my fingers tonight. I think. I write. I delete. I think. I write. I delete. I breathe in mountain air. I start again.

And so…tonight I will post some poems that go back a couple of years. They are raw. And real. And they speak of love and heartache and belonging and identity. Maybe you can identify? I hope you can. Because this is life. And it is a journey. And we’re on it together, friends. And I am glad.

-----

On My Bad Days
1.25.12
It’s an awful feeling:
this deep,
undeniable
feeling of
hatred.
Thou shalt not hate
is the understood commandment
tattooed on my heart.
But.
Thou art too despicable to like
screams so loudly in my mind that
echoes of its lie
vibrate painfully through
muscle and bone.
I’m sorry, God.
I’m sorry, God,
slips from my tongue
as I
tearfully and exhaustingly
gaze into compassionate eyes of
Love,
knowing that
this poet of
worth and value
just cannot feel
any good
for self
today.
------

On This Winding Journey
1.27.12
I am
me.
I love deeply and for eternity.
Places, dates, songs, and pictures release memories that
repeat themselves in my mind.
I remember details and feel revisit emotions
as vividly as when they first happened.
I wear my heart on my sleeve.
When I hurt,
it takes me a very long time to heal and let go.
When I cry,
the tears are gut-wrenchingly deep,
as if I am crying tears for the world—
past, present, and future.
I am gracious–
But not so gracious with myself.
I despise those things that make me me
and thrust contemptuous impatience onto my soul
for the winding journey to peace through grief
that I know progresses as its own pace.
I am:
Me.
I am:
Trying.
And one day soon,
Peaceful,
Non-perfect,
Acceptance…
It will be so.
-----

Natural Disaster
3.27.12

It comes in waves,
This deep anger and shame.
Anger at you for being so careless,
Shame in me for believing your lies.

It comes in downpours,
These tears of heartache and grief.
Heartache from broken chards you left with cracked bone,
Grief for everything lost by falling with you.

It comes in floods,
This consuming rage and helplessness.
Rage for injustice in my pain, your happily-ever-after,
Helplessness to make justice so.

It comes in blue skies,
These realities of profound hatred and love.
Hatred for everything you are,
Love for everything you once were and still could be.

-----

A Story To Belong
1.30.12

The more I think about it,
the more certain I am that
we all just want to be part of
a narrative we support and believe in.

The more I think about it,
the more positive I am that
we all just want a story
in which we belong--
a physical,
emotional,
mental, and
spiritual
place of being where
we exist peacefully and comfortably,
even if that comfort is felt as
discomfort to someone else.

The more I think about it,
the more clear I am that
I cannot understand the depth of
creation and
how God can love all of God’s created when
we live in so many contradicting stories and
interpretations of the same story that is
said to be the
greatest story ever told.

Helen's Courage

A few years ago, as I was trying to decide whether or not to go swimming at camp, I had the following conversation with a friend: Me: “I don’t always like to go swimming because I can’t see when I take off my glasses.” Friend: “Me either. And when I take my hearing aid out, you might as well call me Helen Keller.” So I did :-). I called her Helen for the rest of the summer and jokingly bought her a copy of “The Story of My Life” by Helen Keller. Surprisingly, she read the book! And she told me that it was a good read.

Fast forward to a few Sundays ago…Patrick was preaching a sermon in which he mentioned Jesus’ ability to move persons from darkness to light—to set persons free from bondage—to give voice to the voiceless. As his example to set up the idea, Patrick shared a bit of Helen Keller’s story—how she, though deaf and blind, was literally given a voice when she learned to read and write. Remembering the simple story from above and feeling totally fascinated by the notion of someone moving from darkness to light, I ordered “The Story of My Life” for myself.

In the week since I began listening to the book, I have watched YouTube videos of Helen’s life, mentioned her in more conversations than should be normal, and been absolutely amazed at her story—her insight, wisdom, intelligence, determination, gratitude, generous spirit, charity, writing, humility, positive attitude, and courage. Other than Jesus, Helen Keller has become the historical figure whom I’d most like to meet should time travel be possible, and her life has moved into a place of inspiration that is not finished inspiring.

It takes courage to set your mind to something at which you could easily fail. It takes courage to open your heart to things that could easily hurt you. It takes courage to face your fears.

For Helen, it took courage to set her mind to learning to sing and speak when she had no point of reference for sound. It took courage to decide to graduate from college when a college degree required taking classes in Greek, Hebrew, French, and German—when English didn’t even come naturally.

For others, it takes courage to:
apologize for speaking hurtful words;
leave a toxic, unhealthy relationship;
do the hard work of facing inner demons;
slowly open and create more space for life;
get out of bed each day;
stay sober;
get married;
have a baby.

I’ve witnessed a lot of courage recently.

I think Helen would be proud.

…

Courage: A Poem
Always know, dear friend, that God’s love and peace are real.
When you don’t have the courage to let go or the stamina to try,
rest in the certainty of God’s strength,
open yourself to the beauty of possibility,
trust in the promise of God’s amazing grace, and
remember that my love for you is real, too.

Did I Mention?

I love the little guy, but I declare sometimes Bullet is an idiot.
Albeit a healing wound, the dog still has a wound on his head.
He has a wound on his head from fighting or playing with other dogs.
On tonight’s walk, he decided to mark his territory in the yard of a Scooby-Dog.
He went around and peed on everything,
dug his feet into the ground and kicked his legs back as if to say,
“Yeh, dog. That’s right. I just peed in your yard. Take that,”
then went up to the Scooby-Dog,
did the butt-sniffing circle dance, taunted him a bit, and chased him into his backyard.
Did I mention that Bullet does not know this dog?
Did I mention that this dog is four times Bullet’s size?
Did I mention that this dog could have easily added more wounds to Bullet’s head and body?
Yet…I’m pretty sure that Bullet wasn’t thinking about any of these things.
And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any idea how lucky he is that
the Scooby-Dog just wanted to play…
and that I stopped him from running into the road just before a car zoomed by.

…

I was the last person to leave school today. Literally.
And I was even given a thirty minute time extension by the assistant principal.
As I hastily tried to finish getting my room ready for summer break,
I thought to myself, “I think I may have a spot of OCD.”
Then I thought to myself, in the spirit of Barb, “You think?”
I’m almost always the last person to finish packing my stuff.
It was this way at Governor’s School, Summer Ventures, camp, and all of my previous schools.
It was also this way in SC when I was last person to finish packing my office for an inner building move.
The problem is that I can’t just pack up.
My brain tells me that I need to pack with the intention of unpacking
and that I need to leave the space as good as or better than I found it.
So I end up packing in past, present, and future—
all at once—and
I end up being really particular and taking a lot of time—
Hence my being the last person finished.

…

A year ago this month, I had no idea that I’d be the last one leaving the school where I’d just completed my ninth year of teaching.
I wasn’t planning to teach again.
I was busy finding my territory in the world of chaplaincy,
Planting my feet on the ground and opening my heart as if to say,
“Yeh, world. That’s right. I’ve been struck down but I’m not destroyed.”
Did I mention that I really didn’t know the school—and that what I knew wasn’t good?
Did I mention that the school is twice the size of my previous schools?
Did I mention that the job could have easily added more wounds to my heart?
Yet…I’m pretty sure I wasn’t really thinking about any of those things when
I walked out of my interview in tears,
feeling as if the light of God were shining upon me while the voices of angels sang.
And I’m pretty sure I’m still realizing how blessed I am that
God led me back into the classroom.

…

I guess life isn’t fully life without taking risks—
without exploring new territory and approaching Scooby-Dogs—
without wandering away from a career for awhile and coming back to the voices of angels.

…

Maybe Bullet isn’t an idiot after all.

I've Got This

“Everyone, be calm. Be calm. I’ve got this.”

Such was Amelia’s declaration as we stood on the sidewalk outside Anna’s Pizzeria in Fuquay last night after our Father’s Day meal. Mom, the kids, and I had been discussing this summer’s upcoming Nana Camp and how it’d be cool to have Nana Camp t-shirts. After a couple of minutes of brainstorming that ultimately landed on tie-dyed t-shirts, Amelia suddenly and excitedly made her declaration, complete with hand gestures and a very animated voice: “Everyone, be calm. Be calm. I’ve got this.”

Very calmly, Griffin said, “Yep. Amelia has her very own tie-dye kit.”

Amelia’s eyes lit up, a grin formed on her face, and she nodded with pure joy because she had this.

…

When God called Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, Moses felt totally unprepared. Moses made excuses. He tried his best to convince God that he wasn’t the man. He argued with God that he was going to fail. But God looked at Moses instead and said, in Amelia’s words, “I’ve got this.” God knew what God’s people needed. God knew that God could—and would—provide everything required for freedom. God knew that God was, that God is, and that God will be. I Am knew that I Am had this.

…

I went to dinner with a few friends on Friday night. When I left home a little before 7pm, Bullet was fine. He was in full Bullet form, barking and marking his territory, earning the reputation of being “a sweet mean dog; mean like old man mean, not mean like uni-bomber mean.”

When I returned home at midnight, Bullet was wounded. Sometime over the five hours that I was gone, one of Bullet’s dog friends bit him (or one of Bullet’s human enemies impaled him).

When I realized that Bullet’s head was bleeding due to a big gash on the top, I started crying uncontrollably. I apologized to him through sobs and felt completely powerless to help him. I wrote my mom and consulted with friends and struggled with whether to take him to the emergency vet or whether to wait until the morning to get him checked out. Bullet slept in my lap that night. He didn’t hop up to use the bathroom. He didn’t get up to play. He didn’t even demand his breakfast. He felt horrible. I felt helpless. I didn’t have this. I didn’t have it at all.

After taking Bullet to the vet on Saturday morning, however, getting his wound cleaned, and getting him medicine; after figuring out how to wrap Bullet’s pills in a ham pouch so that he’d take it; after putting out the call for positive thoughts and prayers for the little guy; and after welcoming my dad back home from a short trip to Florida, thus increasing Bullet’s morale tenfold, I did have it.

I had it because I had other people surrounding and helping me.

…

Sometimes,
I’ve got this means
having it on my own.
Sometimes,
I’ve got this means
giving it to I Am.
Sometimes,
I’ve got this means
asking people for help.

“Everyone,
Be calm.
Be calm.
I’ve got this.”

Pete The Plant and Other Scattered Thoughts

My thoughts this week have been very scattered. And so, too, this note will be. So bear with me, reader, as we journey through my mind and hopefully land on a few gems in what could be considered a jumble pile of rocks.

First, today is my grandmother’s 92nd birthday. Since I couldn’t be with her today, I sent her a card with one underlined word. G-mama always underlines special words in the cards she sends, so I wanted to do the same. There were only four words in the card, so I figured one was enough. Usually, we send each other a dollar or two in our cards. I chose not to send any money in today’s card, though, because I’m going to do what she tends to do for me on my birthday and give her one dollar for every year of her life. $92 dollars is a lot of dollars to send through the mail. So I will wait to give it to her when I visit her soon. Then hopefully I’ll get to drive her 1980’s Crown Victoria to the old lady hair salon and be with her when she uses part of her $92 for her weekly hair styling. I am grateful for G-mama. And I love her very much.

Second, I wrote last week about how I would be willing to hold my people’s sh*t if they needed it. And I would be. But I was reminded this week that that willingness is not necessarily mutual for many people in my life. Truth be known, I was reminded this week that I’m really not that important at all to some people—and the reminder hurt—and caused me to revisit feelings of loss and betrayal that are overwhelming and leave me feeling a bit lost and lonely and missing parts of a life that I used to know.

Third, I cried on the last day of school. And I realized that I’d finished my first year of teaching (part two) during the same week that I would have traveled to my organization’s annual meeting had I remained in my former job. Two years ago this week, I was in New Orleans riding pedi-cabs, laughing, and sharing delicious meals and beignets with my coworkers when we weren’t sitting in meetings. I led a workshop at the national meeting and spoke to nationally renowned leader and authors. My parents were in town for the meeting, too, so we hung out in a city far from home and I remember thinking that they’d driven a long way to be with me when it would be much closer to go to the annual meeting in years to come. I had no idea that that would be my last annual meeting and that my life would change so drastically in just three months. Fast forward two years and I’m standing in a decades-old gym in a school that is barely locally known, congratulating 5th graders that it took me most of the year to like, and I am crying. I am crying because I am proud of my students, and I am crying because I am certain that I am doing more missions now than I did in my three years of full-time vocational ministry. I am certain that I am exactly where I need to be…and yet…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being with my former staff at their annual meeting.

Fourth, Bullet stinks. When I got home from work yesterday, he was dirty and wet from running through a storm to get to the house, so I washed him in my tub, and he got mad at me, and he’s now soft and fluffy, and he was super cute when he fell asleep in my lap during a thunderstorm last night, but he still stinks. Yet I love him so much. And I’m thankful that he’s been my little alarm clock this week—waking me up before 6 each morning to play—reminding me that there is joy and excitement in each new day.

Fifth, I brought Pete the Plant home from work today. He’ll stay here for the summer. I spoke at a church a few years ago and my thank you gift was Pete the Plant. He stayed in my office at my former job. He moved home with me when I didn’t have a job. Then he moved to school with me when I finally got my classroom set up. I love Pete. He adds life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold.

Actually. I want to be like Pete.

I want to add life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold…
to dirty dog coats and gyms and pedi-cabs and birthday cards…
to human hearts and minds and bodies and souls…
even when they aren’t willing to hold my sh*t…
especially when they’ve been around a long time and are 92 years old.

Beautiful Things

I’ve always loved the praise team at Antioch. It’s never been a group of super cool, young male hipsters who represent only one portion of the church’s population, rather it’s always been a diverse group of musicians representing young, old, male, female, student, professional, married, single, academic, athletic, musicians.

Currently, our team is as follows:

P and DD, acoustic guitar and vox
DA, keys
DO, bass
Drummer Boy, drums
J, R, G, M, and C, vox

Last Sunday night, everyone was at practice except for one person (whom I knew wouldn’t be there because of a super busy schedule). We practiced our music for yesterday, including a new arrangement of “Ancient of Days,” revised a version of “Beautiful Things,” during which I play the xylophone instead of the guitar, and left excited for Sunday morning.

On Friday, DA wrote to let me know that he had strep, so I mentally prepared to play keys on “Beautiful Things,” which meant I would play a simple cello part. What I didn’t mentally prepare for, though, was not having a guitar player (which my guitar player didn’t plan for either) and having to play lead…which I couldn’t do on guitar because it was too difficult…so I had to throw out the cello part and try to figure out something on piano…with no practice at all.

But sometimes things happen and plans are thrown to the wind and all you can do is try your best and pray that things don’t fall apart…

Yesterday, they didn’t fall apart.

In fact, the opposite happened and God created something unexpectedly beautiful out of “Beautiful Things.”

As we played an impromptu arrangement of the song in worship, I found myself covered in Holy Ghost Bumps (otherwise known as goose bumps) while playing and singing along in a way I’d never before played or sang.

It’s hard to explain. I obviously didn’t plan it. But I just felt like I needed to sing--which I'm not talented enough to do while playing the xylophone. So I opened my mouth and sang a harmony that blended with the melody that created a moment that words could not explain.

Patrick said, “I don’t know about you. But sometimes something happens and my only response is silence. That was one of those moments.”

It was one of those eyes closed, lost in worship, spirit-led and moving moments that could not be planned with any amount of planning.

It was one of those moments that could never happen again.

It was one of those moments of which I was privileged to bea part.

It was one of those moments when God was doing exactly what we, the ragamuffin praise team, were singing…

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

Amen.

A Crappy Week

It’s been a crappy week. Not a bad week. But a crappy week. Literally.

Now, before you continue reading, you need to know that this is going to be a different post than normal. I will use language that I rarely use and write about an issue previously not-discussed in my posts. If you want to stop reading, then I understand. But if you choose to stick with me, then I think you might laugh…or be grossed out…or touched.

First, as I’ve mentioned recently, Bullet has started taking me on walks each night. It’s been during these walks that I think I’ve figured out the mystery of why dogs search so hard for the perfect place to poop. I’ve determined that they’re not really looking for a specific place to poop, rather, they’re filling time until their poop is ready to come out. And then, when everything is ready, they do their little spin—or, as Bullet often does, come to a sudden halt—squat, and poop. Has anyone else noticed this?

Second, we had a student poop in their pants earlier in the week. [I’m purposefully using incorrect grammar for the sake of anonymity.] Since the clothing closet is in the building affectionately known as The Dungeon and The Dungeon is where both Barb’s classroom and our preferred bathroom are located, I was in The Dungeon when our student came to change their pants. To keep the student from having to take home poopy pants, the adult with the student decided to clean their soiled pants in the bathroom sink. What the adult didn’t know, though, was that if you run the water in our bathroom sink for more than five seconds, it begins to back up…

Fast forward a few minutes.

“Hey Danielle, where’s Barb?” Danielle begins laughing a giggly, little girl laugh that I’ve never heard before and tries to tell me that Barb had to go into the building to use the bathroom because, as she said, “There’s shitwater in the sink in our bathroom!” Knowing that we needed to report the hygienic safety issue, Danielle, the other Dungeon teacher, and I called the office to make the report, at which point I said, “Umm, yes. We need a clean-up in aisle one. We have shitwater in the Dungeon bathroom sink.” We all laughed really hard.

Third, while telling the above story to a coworker, I heard another crappy story. Evidently, someone left two turds on the floor of another bathroom. We determined that we had a “crapper” loose in the building.

Fourth, while telling the above story to my best friend, she told me about a student at one of her schools who once decided to write on the walls of the bathroom with her own poop. She did this repetitively and her actions were so well-planned that she knew when no other classes would be in the bathroom and which bathroom to use so that a camera wouldn’t catch her going in. Additional cameras and much detective work finally caught the culprit.

Finally, while talking to a friend last night about a truly difficult topic, I said, “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this. I know it’s hard.” She said, “It’s okay. I’m used to it. I’m dealing with a lot more crap than this.” I responded, ":-) If you need someone to help you hold the crap, then I will. Well. Not literally. Because I might throw up if I have to hold real crap. But you know what I mean. If you ever want to talk. Or share emotions. Just let me know. I’m here.”

She laughed.
I laughed.
I remembered my crappy week and shook my head.
And then I remembered a time when another friend got sick after a third-world mission trip and had to collect a feces sample to help figure out what was wrong.
I ended up holding her full sample vile for a moment while her mom helped her with something else.
I literally held her crap.

And the thing is:
I’d do it again if she needed me.
And I’d do it for the friend I was talking to last night.
And I’d do it for you, too,
If you needed it.
Not that I want to.
Don’t get me wrong.
Just walking into the bathroom after the shitwater sink had been cleaned almost made me throw up!

But when you love someone—
When you really love someone—
And you know that they love you, too—
You are willing to deal with their crap,
Both literally and figuratively.
And I love my people just that much.

Peter Warmed Himself

“What is your biggest regret?”

I had pondered this question before yesterday, but the impact of the question during Patrick’s sermon was greater than it had ever been yesterday morning. I found myself crying through most of the first service, naming, for the first time, a definitive answer to the question; feeling the full weight of my regret; realizing that, while I live in God’s grace and freedom, I have not figured out how to unlock the stifling cage of regret in which I have placed myself.

Peter figured it out, though.

Not mentioning the ups and downs of Peter’s actions during the majority of his time with Jesus,
Looking only at the final days of Jesus’ life:
Peter denied Christ three times.
Then he ate fish served to him by Jesus, walked with him, talked with him, confirmed his love for him and was confirmed in his love from him three times.
Then he boldly lived his life for and declared his faith in Jesus way more than three times…

“But Peter and John replied, “Which is right in God’s eyes: to listen to you, or to him? You be the judges! As for us, we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.” (Acts 4:19-20)

…

As Patrick read yesterday’s scripture passages, before my tears fully set in, I heard something that struck me as odd:

Peter followed [Jesus] at a distance, right into the courtyard of the high priest. There he sat with the guards and warmed himself at the fire…While Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant girls of the high priest came by. When she saw Peter warming himself, she looked closely at him.

Having never before noticed this warming detail, I found myself wondering: Was it cold the night the Jesus was betrayed and on the day that he was crucified? I didn’t think it was because of Passover being in Spring.

But if it was cold, then praying in the garden, receiving lashes outside Pilot’s house, and hanging on the cross in the crossroads must have been that much harder for Jesus…and that’s hard to think about.

Yet if it was not, then why does the text make such a point of saying that Peter warmed himself?

…

Have you ever received shocking news? Had something profound happen that you didn’t expect? Have you ever felt that punch in the gut? Had that sickening, shivering, back-quivering feeling leave you uncertain of anyone or anything—and crazily, unnaturally cold?

If you have, then you know that someone asking you questions that you’re not ready to answer is not a welcome experience—and those questions can be as simple as what you want for supper.

There are times when one wants to be alone with his thoughts. There are moments when, even when surrounded by people, one wants not to be seen but to stand in the shadows with his own demons.

I’m thinking that Peter was having one of those nights.

And I wondering if maybe he wasn’t so much afraid of being arrested or so in fear of being associated with Jesus as he was just in really bad space—numb—wanting to be alone—annoyed by people’s questions—cold from the shock of Jesus’ betrayal, healing of Malchus’s ear, arrest, and pending trial—and then brought back to harsh, present reality by the third crow of the rooster—when he realized all too late what he had done.

…

I don’t know. This is just my wondering. And I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Except…

If Peter overcame his prison of regret—
regardless of what led to it—
passionately and joyfully jumped off of a boat to get to Jesus
(an act that probably left him to warm himself by a fire again),
and lived the rest of his life in
forward, bold freedom:

Then surely I can, too.

And so can you.