Mourning the living

 

Will I ever smile again and mean it? Will the world ever be right side up? How do people just move about in it, it’s as if they don’t know or care? It’s so strange? It’s odd to be the only one suffering. It’s even odder to think that I am. 

I can’t believe time keeps moving. Games, dances, parties, as if there are things to celebrate!  Children are so easily  going into adulthood and college and jobs, how, how, how! Was it too much just to ask for the laughter and the smiles and the easy disposition? Of course it was, it’s always too much to ask. As if I deserved it to be easier or manageable. I now must live in the undeliverable, in the unknown, in the abyss. There’s no where to go. There’s no up anymore, nothing tangible to hold onto. 

Is this the bottom? I can’t sink any lower. I must  sit here and know this. The awfulness of grieving the living. 

Yesterday, yesterday, yesterday. It wasn’t perfect,  but it was doable. I could do it. Today, all of the sudden, doable feels like catching the wind. Will this fear ever subside? Can the new normal spare me this sorrow; I’d take his pain, but it’s not possible. I’d absorb him into me and carry it, I’d do anything for his suffering to cease, even ease. How can I make it so? How can we know the unknown, how can we move forward? 

Was this how it was going to go all along? No warning, no sign, just the disappearance of a young man, locked even farther into himself, his very person stolen. I sleep only by the grace of alcohol induced blackness, but when that fails I am awakened by  the nightmare of roaming room to room, searching for him, but never ever finding him.  Or worse, seeing him on the floor seizing, barely breathing, even with tools that I have accumulated from another epileptic child that are of no use, that are of no help, and so I can just watch in agonizing despair as my child suffers. And it plays over and over in a mind that is already depleted. 

I miss the son I’ve never had a conversation with but knew like my own reflection in the mirror. Now the mirror is a hole, deep and dark and there’s nothing staring back. How did it break? I long for the silly laughter, arm around the shoulder, long walks, a predictably uncertain future. 

I didn’t get to check all the boxes and help build a nineteen year-old that the world accepts or even tolerates, but to me he was perfect in every way that really matters.  Where did he go, how do I find him, heal him? 

Whomever described having a child is like having your heart living outside your body, must’ve had a child with needs that are vast, because my heart in all of its shattered pieces lives somewhere else and I can’t find the broom to sweep it up and tape it back together. 

I used to be the person that counted my blessings, knew it could be worse, was grateful everyday. That worse case scenario keeps a grip on my chest that feels so tight my heart couldn’t live inside me anymore even if it tried.   I am no longer the mom I was trying to become,  and I wouldn’t recognize her if she came knocking.  She seems silly to me now, someone who was reckless in her faith, silly in her hope, ridiculous in her joy. 

A fool. 

This is not a cry for help, for there are no more tears to be shed.  This is acceptance, resignation and description of a boy’s life seized and a family changed. 

The worst

I guess I am just surprised that we are surprised?  Are we really?  A rude, belligerent, narcissistic, shell of a man is going to be on a national stage and do something respectable, tolerable, relatable-even coherent?  

Has he ever?  

Would he ever?

Is he capable?

Who do we think this man is?

Why would we ever put faith in a person that has not shown a shred of human decency in the short, albeit, torturous time he has been President?  ((not to mention his lifetime of cheating, fraud, racism, sexism (all the isms) and manipulation))

I am struggling. I cannot help but ask myself what kind of person would support this man?  I know it is not fair, I know it is wrong.  I should not judge. But how???? 

How do we try and and raise humble, respectful, honorable children in the wake of this?  Of course it starts at home, so how does one explain him to their children?  What does one say about the soulless to their sensitive, impressionable sons? And heaven forbid, what does one say to their strong, ever-questioning daughters?

Damn, he makes it so difficult not to throw things, question everything you thought you knew and believed in.  He is that vile. He is that repugnant. 

Unlike our current President, I have reason, empathy, compassion, a thought process. And I used to believe that people that supported him did too, that maybe they voted for party or misguided principle rather than on facts. Yes, I know they believe me naive, and I cannot reconcile that they can't see what I so clearly do.  Yet, I understand reluctantly, they see me the exactly the same way.  I so heartbreakingly understand that many think I am the one who just doesn't "get it". 

 Disheartening.

And then it hit me last night that this is more about us than it is him.....so I ask, where will you stand in history?  What story will you tell?

I just cannot grasp the possibility that he would be reelected, but I couldn't have imagined he would be elected in the first place. Here we are. 

What does one do with this rage? I guess I will do the only thing I can do. 

Vote.

                                                                            

Hope

A couple of years ago, my former pastor and friend, Terry Webster, asked if I would contribute to his sermon, from a mother's perspective. He was gracious enough to share it in it's entirety.  I am sharing it with you because I believe hope, faith and love hold true-then, now, and forever. Happy Easter! He is risen indeed. 

Easter Sunday Sermon

April 1, 2018

‘The Unfinished Gospel’

The long process of cleaning out all of my stuff has slowly begun.  After all of these years, I have a lot of things tucked away that need to be dealt with. One of the things I have discovered is that after all these years, I only have 4 sermons that I have saved. I know that is a bit of a disappointment for everyone who were really looking forward to me putting them into a book that you could buy in a few months. Sorry about that. One of these sermons was the very first one I ever preached, which surprisingly is really bad. A second one was part of a series that was used when a previous church built a new facility. The third was the Sunday after September 11, 2001 and the 4^th?  Well, you get to hear it today. It is one that is really special because part of it was written by one of our folks here at FPC.  So here goes. If you remember it, I am really impressed. If not, then it is new to you. So here goes.

‘The first thing the world noticed about the early Christian was that they ate together’.  So begins Rachel Held Evans words on communion in her book ‘Searching for Sunday.’ It is an amazing book about her journey on loving, leaving, and finding Church.  These words aren’t too surprising because for the early Christians because the life of Jesus-his death and resurrection, changed everything in their lives, so men and women, slave and free, rich and poor, Jew and Gentile gathered to eat.

The story of the resurrection is amazing, so amazing that apparently Mark couldn’t find the words to describe it. This morning we hear Marks gospel story, the original 8 verses he wrote to tell about what happened on that Sunday morning. As we heard Mary Claire read these words, the main thing you may have  noticed is that Mark’s story just sort of ends.  Really, it’s not a great ending. I can understand the urge to fix it-the rest of the verses in chapter 16 were added later by well meaning people hoping to sync it up a bit more with the other gospels, maybe to give it more of a victorious feel. And I can understand why these extra words were added. Because while Mark starts out in the usual fashion, its early Sunday morning, it’s still dark, the women are going to the tomb to tend to Jesus’ body, the stone is rolled away, they hear the word that Jesus has been raised, they are sent back to tell-Mark seems to botch the ending completely with his last words…’so they went out and fled the tomb, for terror and amazement has seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.’  Do you see what I mean? It’s the only resurrection story in the Bible where Jesus never actually makes an appearance. And then these women disciples fail at what the young man tells them to do.  This is all pretty surprising. They have been told not to be afraid—words that the Biblical code words for ‘good news is coming’—but it doesn’t happen for them. All they do is run off and hide, afraid, fleeing the tomb and saying absolutely nothing to anyone.  And there you have it, a resurrection story scene without Jesus that seems to end in failure.

So what is going on with Mark? To be honest, I thought for the longest time that he just wasn’t very good with endings. But the more I read this, the more I realize the genius and beauty of what Mark is up to.  Instead of leaving the gospel story where it is, Mark does something really remarkable—he lets us wonder. He lets us think. He lets us finish the story. Mark writes this very open ended gospel that seems to end in failure precisely to place the burden of responsibility for telling the good news squarely on our shoulders. Mark isn’t terrible at endings, it turns out-Mark is rather brilliant, and by telling the gospel this way, Mark invites us-the disciples, the early church, you and me-into the story, to pick up where the story left off and to tell the good news of Jesus.

So that got me thinking. What can we do, what can you and I do to continue what Mark started? What did these women do?  What did the disciples do? And for some reason, my mind stated wondering to a couple of things…Mary, the mother of Jesus, and a family wedding.  So, I sought out an expert-one of our moms- Mary Claire Brass. You may not know that along with being a great mom, Mary Claire is also an amazing blogger.

Now, no one could ever fully grasp what Mary went through—seeing her son go through all of the horror she witnessed. What did she do?  So I asked Mary Claire to put herself—as a mom—and see all of this through her eyes, through the eyes of Jesus’ mother.  And her words are “A Mothers Hope”

A Mother's hope

She lay in deafening silence. Her heart was empty, broken. Her mind raced-the thoughts came without warning. He was bad, wrong, evil. He didn't deserve to be here in the first place, he's wasn't good enough. These were the words of others, but they were infiltrating her brain as if they were her own. She shook her head to rid herself of the doubt. It had been months, but the uncertainty still crept in.

What she knew, what she reached for was what he meant to her. But not just her-what he meant to countless others-those he touched, those he came close to, those he loved without condition, those he healed, those who believed. Her will started to come back and she lifted herself to her knees.  It was still too much. The sobs came like a flood and she let them come so she could release the doubt, the fear. She embraced the condemnation of others so she could then send it away, it wasn't hers to keep. She decided right then she would love like he loved, forgive like he forgave, stand like he stood-with the weak, the poor, the broken, the sick. All as one, all as equal. How could she start?  How could she heal? She reached deep within her soul or what she felt was left of it and decided bringing people together would be the only way. For the people who loved, doubted, even hated Him to come to eat and drink surrounded by his spirit, brought together by love.  Love would be the only way for so many to sit down as one.  She hadn't sunk so deep that she had forgotten that love was the only thing that outlives us all, the only thing that really mattered.  And so she decided, people would come together for communion to remember and celebrate his sacrifice. His life for each of theirs-his life, his death, and ultimately his resurrection.  And in this decision she was able to stand and raise her arms wide open to allow herself to be filled back up again. Filled with all of the things that her son was to her-belief, honor, love, forgiveness.  She would replace grief with determination. Determined he'd be remembered through her eyes, through her actions, through his meal. Who she knew him to be. Her heart became full. For once again when she was totally lost, she was able to pick herself back up and open her heart. And she became filled with something she thought she had lost when she lost him. She was filled with hope. 

‘For the people who loved, doubted, even hated Jesus to come together and eat and drink surrounded by His spirit brought together by love’

Pretty amazing, isn’t it. To bring people together around a table because God knows what can happen, what will happen, when we break bread together.  And this brings me to a wedding. A few years ago, Marsha and I headed off to Austin Texas for the wedding of my nephew Stephen to Elisabeth. Most of us hadn’t met her, but were really looking forward to this opportunity, not only to meet her, but also to join together in this celebration of the covenant of marriage. And it was great to meet Elisabeth, and how do I describe her. Well, there is lot about her that some might not appreciate.  She is a lovely young woman, wild red hair, body art, multiple piercings, wildly liberal, divorced, wants nothing to do with God, and worse of all, a huge fan of the University of Texas.  But she loves my nephew, and love overlooks a lot, doesn’t it.  Well, after the wedding in the park that they wanted, we all gathered for a reception at a combined yoga studio/art museum, one of their favorite places.

And as we gathered around this table, there was this family, my family. There is one sister in law, a widow, the grooms mother, who is a self ordained Pentecostal minister who uses her religion to hurt others.  My brother, who isn’t sure what he believes about God anymore as he has watched his wife struggle in her 10^th year of dealing with cancer that has nearly bankrupted them. Sadly and strangely, it is the same cancer that hit the Webster house up here in Kentucky.  Over in the corner is a nephew, who is still struggling with the effects of some poor decisions he made a few years back-decisions that have changed his life forever.  There was my sister and her husband and their 3 kids, who still miss and grieve the death of their oldest daughter Sara many years ago when she was 15. And there was my oldest sister, who pretty much embodies everything good and holy, but who wasn’t able to marry her partner because of the state she lives in.

The Webster clan is an opinionated, loud, stubborn, arguing group of people. But here we were, with all of our flaws, and our needs, and our struggles, adding one more chair around the dinner table, welcoming one more person to the family.

And as I was sitting there, breaking bread with my family, I started to see the real power of the words that Mary Claire wrote, and what the resurrection and the table are all about.  It is in the midst of the brokenness, our disunity, our wounds, and our joys and love, that God brought Jesus back. Like those women, we don’t really understand what happened on that Sunday morning, we might never fully understand, we might even run away, but we gather to remember, to celebrate, to break bread, to pull up some more chairs and allow more people to be welcomes to God’s table. 

Easter is a celebration for the broken, for the questioning, for the doubting, for the scared, for those who want to run away and for those who are certain, who have no questions, who have it all together.  And that is the way that you and I can finish the story that Mark started. We open our arms, we pull up another chair, we welcome those we love, and those we don’t, and we share in this amazing gift of resurrection and of the table.

As Rachel Evans writes, ‘the gospel doesn’t need a coalition devoted to keeping the wrong people out. It needs a family of sinners, saved by grace, committed to tearing down walls, throwing open doors, and shouting ‘Welcome! There is bread! There is wine! Come eat with us and talk!’ This isn’t a kingdom for the worthy, it is a kingdom for the hungry. As we live in this Easter moment, we are the church speaking the word of God saying ‘I’m throwing a banquet, all those mismatched, messed up people are invited. Come and eat!’  Hmm. It is just like a family pulling an extra seat at the wedding banquet.

Friends, Easter is a celebration of the feast of God. It is God welcoming us to the table. When Jesus wanted to explain what his death and resurrection was all about, he didn’t give a theory. He didn’t give his followers a set of scriptural texts. He just gave them a meal around a table. Today we join together to discover Jesus as we sit around the table and break bread, here at this table, and also as you sit at table with your family or with friends every day.

When

Meetings at school for IEPs, ARCs, behavior, blah are pretty much status quo around here. You get used to it. So going into the transitions meeting for John last week, I was fine-no big deal. Then it hit me, about halfway through-oh no, high school. It was like a tsunami in my gut. He can't go to high school. Its so big there and the kids are big, and they laugh with and at each other, and talk and joke around and go to Physics and they're so big.  And he doesn't do those things, and he never has so how can he go to high school?  But, that's how its been at every school, right? Yes, except Physics. But the other schools have pictures on the walls, and sensory rooms, and lots of colors, and bean bags!  I know, I am completely ridiculous. 

Will he be ok, probably. Will he adjust, hopefully. Will he learn in safe and loving environment, definitely. Will he care about any of the things that are making me crazy, I'm sure not. But I will. And there is nothing I can do.

I just need him to know, I will be here and I love him, my almost high schooler. 

When

When the sun rises in the morning
I’ll be your yawn
When the words don’t come
I’ll be your voice
When the fall creates pain
I’ll be your tears
When the world moves on
I’ll be your right here
When the boys play their games
I’ll be your friend
When you jump
I’ll be your ground
When the anxiousness fills you
I’ll be your break
When the music stops
I’ll be your song
When their eyes divert their gaze
I’ll be your contact
When the street is full
I’ll be your hand
When the moon creates night
I’ll be your pillow
Whenever, wherever, and whatever comes
I’ll be your mom

 

Dear Brain

I am peace.
Worry overwhelms me, anxiety overtakes me, life exhausts me.
I have gratitude.
I am broken longing to be whole.
I have love.
I am alone. I know to be kind to the one and only body I have.
I make poor decisions trying to destroy it.
I have the best of friends.
I can be hateful.
I am a forgiving soul.
I gossip and have guilt.
I am working to be more authentically myself.
I hide who I truly am.
I want the very best for my kids and for them to be happy.
I chipped away at their soul just yesterday.
I read trying to get better, be better, know better to do better.
I wasted hours binge watching violence.
I have joy.
I am filled with rage.
I am inspired.
Life is exhausting.
Social media makes me feel connected.
Twitter causes me rage.
I wrote down my goals.
I haven't made a move on any of them in years.
I am forever grateful for this amazing life.
Why is this happening to me?
I am confident.
What in the world is my purpose?
I am self aware.
Everyone is against me.
I laugh everyday.
Crying is easier.
I live an abundant life.
Why is there never enough?
I am faithful.
Doubt consumes me.
I am honest and caring.
Fear and resentment overshadow my decisions.
I am just like you.
You have no idea what my life it like.
I have empathy.
What is wrong with those people?

How can I be all of these people locked inside this grey spongy thing? Why can't I just be the best version, instead of sinking to the lowest common denominator? What is it that makes this self sabotage possible?  Brain, I need your help. I need you to get on board with what my higher potential is. I need you to get out of my way. I will not surrender to your neurosis. My spirit will win.


I am a work in progress

I have a choice

I will live in truth

I am human

I am love

Here we go.....

I guess let me first start by saying, and I think it is fairly obvious, I’ve never taken a snap or ever run through the tunnel, made the tackle, and certainly never had the glory of  diving into the end zone. But I understand the importance of camaraderie, effort, teamwork, winning, losing, suffering, everything falling apart and then put it all back together, grace, anger, humanity, defeat, and rising to the occasion. That’s not just football, that’s life-does it make football relevant in this life, absolutely. Does it make it the only thing in this life, well, I mean, come on!! But we’re coming into a high school football season where I already care more than I should, have invested more time than I have, and thought about damn football and my son’s experience too much, and I don’t like to admit that because if you know anything about me you know that I have SO much more to worry about. But honestly, we all do! I think, well, I tell myself, it’s OK that I worry this much because this is going to be my only experience with high school football and I want him to get everything out of it-but at the same time what I can’t prepare for is the mistakes that will he will inevitably make and judgment that will ensue. I cannot protect him from the hits on the field and I certainly cannot protect him from the hits he will take from “well-meaning” adults off the field. And, frankly, it makes me want to suit up! Yeah, watch your back-I’m comin’ for ya! 😉

So, what’s  a girl to do? I decided to make a couple promises to myself. I will be positive and focus on being the best cheerleader for all activities. Don’t worry, not pulling out the old uniform-WAY too small! 😬

I’m cheering for soccer, volleyball, tennis, dance, debate, bowling, track, golf, basketball, etc. and I promise not to give two shits if you win or lose-because here’s the thing-you learn and become the man or woman you will be through BOTH (gasp) and you will not peak at Highlands High School. You are building your foundation through your successes and failures and this is your launchpad. My goodness, Birds, here’s your chance to build integrity, work ethic, and some of the best relationships of your life, and for each and every child at HHS, I hope you take these experiences to grow and learn and when you leave this nest, I hope you fly!!!  

Go Birds! 💙

Elizabeth

Oh my gosh, I remember. These days a lot of my former life is a blur. Life, it passes in an instant. It's true what they say.  The days are so long. The years so short. But, the day you were born.  I remember it.  I remember knowing.  Knowing you were not ok, feeling that burden of a future unknown.  Yet, the love was so crazy strong, so overwhelming. That love would carry me, us, to the next step- to the future-to whatever it was, whatever it will be.  I held you, my third and last child and in all of your smallness; I felt the weight of your enormous spirit.  I felt your will to breathe, to eat, to smile, to flourish.  Your mightiness gave me an unquenchable thirst to get up, keep getting up.  I have you to thank.  To thank for countless tears, too many sleepless nights, unimaginable grief.  I have you to thank for perseverance only a mother can know, strength only a mother can muster, love only a mother can feel. I don't even know what this day will bring, every day I cannot control. But I remember holding you in my arms and knowing that we would brave it together. My daughter you have taken so much from me and for that I am grateful because you have given me infinitely more. You took my fear, you took my uncertainty, you took my weakness and you turned into an unbreakable bond. I want you to forever know, I am grateful for all you have taken because the gift of your presence and of your strength-these are things I couldn't have mustered alone.  I was not whole before you.  Thank you for breaking me into a million pieces and thank you my sweet girl, for putting me back together again.