Hissing Resistance

 

Queen Antoinette, otherwise known as Annie the Cat,

Is having a hard time sharing her throne with her adopted brother, Sigma Ray.

 

Annie Mae has been an only cat child for around two years.

She has had full reign of both inside and outside the house,

Securing favorite sleeping spots in every room and

Granting herself access to every point of entrance and exit.

She has had a personal Butler in my dad,

Who feeds her whenever she demands it,

Which is why she’s quite robust,

And part of why she is struggling to welcome a creature who is vying for her food.

 

I know that feeding an animal is a sure-fire way to make the animal your own,

Whether you want the animal or not.

But as soon as I saw Sigma,

Tiny and starving,

I knew I had to give him food.

I couldn’t let him suffer.

And he was suffering,

Unbeknownst to us at the time,

With two broken back legs in addition to an empty belly.

But even in his suffering, Sigma was the sweetest boy,

Rubbing against my legs,

Letting me hold him,

Purring louder than all of Annie’s purrs put together,

And being genuinely happy to be around people.

He even let my dad hold him,

Which secured his place in our household,

And allowed him to gain three pounds in two months :-p.

 

Yet Annie is struggling,

And she’s expressing her displeasure with Sigma’s presence and

Trying to establish her dominance over Sigma

By hissing vehemently at him whenever she sees him.

Thankfully, Sigma doesn’t fight back,

Rather he returns to his place as her subordinate.

And he loves her.

Wherever Annie is, he wants to be.

Yet she can’t be bothered.

She has a throne to protect.

 

I imagine that most of us feel like Annie sometimes.

Unhappy with the situation around us,

Unable to change it,

Resisting it,

Sometimes hissing at it (though probably silently),

But realizing that our resistance is futile because change is happening

Whether we like it or not.

 

I’m hoping that time will land the Queen and her subordinate as peaceful cohabitants in Annie’s Queen-dom.

Until then, I will keep loving her because she’s my baby,

But I will love him, too,

Because he’s the sweetest boy in all the land.

 

Amen.

Jack

 

Twenty-two years ago today,

My world changed.

Early that the morning,

We received a phone call saying that my sister-in-law, Gretchen, was in labor.

Having only seen labor and delivery on TV,

I thought this phone call meant that my nephew’s entrance into the world was imminent.

I immediately got up and advocated for Mom, Dad, and myself to go to the hospital.

We did.

And then we waited a long time…

Until my Jack was born.

Come to think of it,

I don’t think we knew beforehand if he was going to be a girl or a boy!

But he was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

I remember holding him,

As I did all my nephews and niece,

And my friends’ babies as well,

Telling him how much he was already loved

And praying blessings over his life.

 

I remember going back to school and pulling up pictures of him on the classroom computer in my mentor’s room and showing him off to my colleague friends.

My mentor was Marion K. Hudson.

She taught Kindergarten.

I used to walk through her classroom to get into the building.

She had a computer in her classroom.

I did not.

Computers were just becoming the rage.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without them.

Just like I can’t imagine my life without Jack.

 

A lot has changed in 22 years.

But my Jack is still the same

Smart, kind, easy-going, hair-twirling-when-he’s-not-thinking boy

That he’s always been,

Getting ready to graduate from college and enter the “real world”

Where his pre-frontal cortex will continue to develop and

He will continue to grow into the man we are so thankful he is and will be.

 

Jack is much taller than me now,

Handsome,

Muscular,

But if I could hold him in my arms again today,

Then I would whisper again just how much he is loved and

I would pray blessings over his life

Again and again and again.

Amen.

Saturday In Between

 

Today, on this Saturday In Between

What we know from yesterday but don’t know from tomorrow,

I can’t help but reflect on my yesterday

As one of the most meaningful Good Fridays I can remember.

 

I must admit that I felt kind of guilty for scheduling a massage on Good Friday.

But as I lay there,

Receiving the most painful massage of my life,

I couldn’t help but think of Jesus all those years ago,

Hanging on the cross,

Experiencing the most painful moment of his life.

My massage was painful because it was deeply therapeutic.

My muscles were tight and knotted and needed pulling and stretching and kneading.

But in the end, the pain was worth it because it loosened some of my tension and

Put my body more in line.

Jesus’s death was painful because of the sheer torture of crucifixion.

I chose my massage.

Jesus did not choose his horrific, unwarranted death.

The two events are in no way equal in scope…

And yet, in the end,

Jesus’s pain was transformed into the most powerful act of redemption this world will ever see:

Jesus overcame darkness, death, and the grip of this world

To make a way for the chains of bondage to be loosened and for us to be set free.

 

But we’re not there yet.

We’re still in the In Between

Where the benefits of the pain have yet to be seen.

 

…

 

Then I went to church.

I listened as the story of Jesus’s final day unfolded.

I heard how the religious leaders used politics to manipulate an unfair, unjust outcome.

I noticed how Pilate grappled with the question of “What is truth?”

And then, for the first time in my life,

I wept at the fact that Jesus’s aunt was at the cross when Jesus died.

I’ve read the story a hundred times.

I knew that a bunch of Mary’s were there.

But yesterday, in a moment of revelation,

I saw the line that said, “Mary, mother of Jesus, and her sister”

And I realized that her sister was Jesus’s aunt.

I’d never considered Jesus having an aunt.

I’d never considered the love that his aunt must have felt for him.

But I get it.

Because the love that I feel for my nephews and niece

Is the closest thing I will ever feel to the love of a child.

And to imagine watching them suffer.

To imagine watching them die.

I weep.

And the humanity of Jesus’s story takes on a different meaning…

 

Thank God that tomorrow is coming.

 

But we’re not there yet.

We’re still in the In Between

Where tears still fall and nothing makes sense

And we hope for more

Because our hearts are broken.

 

Amen.

Enough

 

I am not satisfied, but I am enough. 

 

When that statement appeared on my blackout poem page yesterday, I knew that something profound had emerged. 

 

There is a restlessness in modern America society that wants us to be more: more wealthy, more beautiful, more successful, to have more likes. 

 

There is this feeling in modern American Christianity that we should never be content. I have even heard it said that when we are content in our relationship with God then we are complacent. That we need to do something different to get ourselves out of comfort. That we need to take a leap of faith.

 

I’m coming to believe that both of these sentiments are wrong.

 

When we constantly strive for more, there is a sense of urgency and competition that creates unneeded stress.

 

When we do not feel that we can be content with God, there is a sense of restlessness and damnation that leads to wonder why we should even try to please a God who cannot be pleased. 

 

No, we do not want to be apathetic about our lives. But we also don’t want to be so ill-at-ease that we cannot find peace. 

 

And so. We must realize that we, at our core, through the love and grace of Jesus Christ, are enough.

 

Yes, there is room to grow. There will always be room to grow. But when we think of life as an organic process that happens naturally in time, then it changes the urgency and competition and restlessness and damnation, and turns them into something beautiful. Like a plant growing its flowers. Natural. Gradual. Steady.

 

Yes, there is room for a deepening understanding of the Love of God and how that Love transforms us. There is room to grow in the fruits of the spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faifhfulness, gentleness, and self-control) and there is room to grow in our understanding of justice and mercy. 

 

But even if we don’t. Even if we stay as we are, doing the best we can with what we have, then we are still enough. 

 

We are still created in the image of God, redeemed by the life and death of Jesus Christ, and so very, very loved as God’s child. 

 

Even Judas. 

 

Even Peter. 

 

Even me. 

 

I am not satisfied, but I am enough. 

 

Amen.

Bearing Witness

 

Eleven years ago,

On a Wednesday night,

In a hospital room at Wake Med,

I unofficially officiated my first wedding.

The bride-to-be’s mom had had a massive stroke the Sunday before and was on life support.

She was not going to recover.

The family had made the decision to take her off life support that night,

But before they did,

The couple wanted to be married so that the bride’s mom could be there.

I took my guitar and my Book of Common Prayer to the small little room in ICU.

Standing at the foot of the mother’s bed,

I sang a song,

Guided the couple through their vows,

And pronounced them husband and wife.

There were tears:

My tears, the family’s tears, the nurses’ tears.

It was a beautiful moment,

And it was so very real…

Even though there was no license and no way to declare the ceremony legally binding.

 

Yesterday,

On Palm Sunday,

At a beautiful outdoor venue with the sun shining down,

I officiated another wedding.

The couple was having a hard time finding an officiant,

So a friend recommended me.

I exchanged e-mails with the bride-to-be a handful of times.

I sent a copy of the ceremony for approval.

I met the bride and the groom at the rehearsal on Friday.

I showed up for the wedding yesterday,

Held the groom’s ring on my pointer finger and the bride’s ring on the tip of my pinky finger,

Guided the couple through their vows, and

Pronounced them husband and wife.

There were claps and smiles and tears all around.

It was a beautiful moment.

And it was so very real…

Right down to the signing of the marriage certificate that made everything legally binding.

 

As a Reverend Music Teacher,

Ordained into the gospel ministry

But living out my call in the public schools,

I have the privilege of bearing witness to a lot of life’s beautifully, vulnerable moments.

From the classroom to performances to weddings to funerals,

When families look at me and say, “Thank you,”

I get to respond truthfully, “It was my honor to be here.”

And it IS an honor

To get to walk alongside persons on their journeys

And to represent the presence of God in real and tangible ways.

 

Dear God: Help each of us, in the ways we are gifted, to walk alongside others and to represent You in real and tangible ways. Help us to show up for one another and to do the work of Love…legally binding or not. Amen.

Name Mispronunciation

 

Last Saturday at the Young Authors event,

I greeted one of the parents by name.

Hey, Mr. Anonymous.

He immediately corrected me on a minor mispronunciation of his name.

He’d previously done this in the car rider line, and I thought I’d corrected the pronunciation,

But my southern draw was still messing it up a bit.

He evidently didn’t like it at all.

And he wasn’t joking or being kind about it either.

He was very serious.

And it made me sad.

 

Last Friday, at the 2^nd and 3^rd grade program,

I greeted two of my students by name.

Hey, C. Hey, E.

The boy whom I had called E just sheepishly looked at me.

I could tell I’d gotten his name wrong.

I said another name.

It was wrong, too.

Finally, his sister said, “It’s D.”

And I felt so bad for getting D’s name wrong.

 

I know that names are important.

I do my best to call everyone by the right name.

But sometimes I mess up.

And when I do,

I hope for the quiet kindness that my students showed,

Rather than the judgmental condemnation of the parent.

 

I know that that parent has a lot on him.

I imagine that he carries a lifetime of hurt.

I’m trying not to judge him but to instead show him grace,

But I must admit it’s hard

When I don’t understand

The full gravity of name mispronunciation.

 

And so today, as I write this,

I breathe in the junk that I feel about saying his name wrong and being harshly corrected,

And getting my student’s name wrong,

And not being fully graceful,

And falling short in this category and so many others…

 

And I breathe out light, love, grace, and peace

To myself,

Mr. Anonymous,

You,

And all the hurting people who sometimes get things wrong in this world.

 

Amen.

A Reflection on Writing

 

For those of you who don’t know, Young Authors is a celebration of writing sponsored by the North Carolina Reading Association.

Each year, the association president chooses a theme that becomes the focus of student and teacher writing.

This year’s theme was “Reflections: Celebrating the Me I See.”

Each writing is first judged at the school level, then the county level, and then the state level.

Of the 500 writings that made it to the state level this year, 300 were selected as state winners.

Saturday was the state-wide celebration for those winners.

Each winner received a certificate and a printed book that contained all the winning writings.

 

On our way home from the celebration, Heidi the Librarian and I read many of the entries.

Some were funny.

Some moved us to tears.

Some were simple.

Others made us think.

 

Love poured onto many of the pages.

Family, friends, school, and sports.

It was sweet to hear of moms playing Legos with daughters,

And dads being the best coaches ever.

 

But pain bled onto many of the pages, too.

Divorce, death, rejection, unrequited love.

It was sad how much hurt the writers had experienced in their short lives,

And how quickly they felt they needed to grow up.

 

One of the most profound statements we read came from a 9^th grade student.  

She wrote:

“If I had a song written by those who hurt me, I’d be its main composer.”

 

I understand her statement.

I feel it in my core.

I am my own worst enemy.

Do you understand, too?

 

Upon reading the book, one of the moms of a GW student commented:

“You never really know what is lying on a kid’s heart.”

And she’s right.

We don’t know what’s on someone’s heart—

Maybe even our own—

Until we give them the space to write it out.

 

Good, bad, choppy, smooth, handwritten or typed, complete or incomplete, proper or poor grammar…

Maybe we all need to write more,

So that we can understand more,

And become more,

Than the reflection we currently see.

 

Amen.