Bless Our Hearts

Bless her heart. My stepmother called twice today. She's eager to book my would-be trip to France this summer in which I'll watch a dear friend say her vows in wine country. I appreciate her generosity and attentiveness without any allusions to Southern snideness. It's actually her mother that taught me this phrase. Bless her heart, she says with all sincerity and love. Bless her heart, she says through spits of laughter. She means it and so do I. Bless her heart.

While I managed to rush her off the phone in the first phone call, she didn't let me hang up the phone this time without asking how I am. She's worried about me. I can hear it in the way that she asks -- tentatively, eagerly, lovingly. She really wants to know that I'm going to be OK.

My reply isn't what she wants to hear. Although, I'm not really sure what anyone wants to hear from me right now. On Thursday, I had coffee with a dear church member whom I invited to "talk" after the two year anniversary of his wife's suicide. To all outward appearances, he seems like he's doing just fine. I know that grief is private. Trust me. I know what it's like to put on a brave face and pretend like everything is peachy keen. I know what it's like to present that facade in order to avoid the frustrating comments from people that have never experienced grief of their own -- and certainly have never met my own particular form of grief. I know all of these things, but I was not certain that he would want talk to me. He did. Over half a cup of coffee, he poured his heart out. He told me all of the things that he's been holding in his heart that he doesn't know how to tell a soul. And then, he sighed. "This must be hard on you," he said. I looked perplexed. "It must cause you to relive your own grief."

He would never let me touch him but I wanted to hold his hand. I told him not to worry. My own story of grief has pulled me into this work. I told him that I know what it's like to not be able to really say how much it hurts. I told him that it's my deep honor to sip coffee with him and hear these stories. "Bless your heart," he said. He can hear it in the way that I ask -- tentatively, eagerly, lovingly. I really want to know that he's going to be OK.

Of course, the truth is that we're both broken. We're both hurting. There will be things that happen in both of our lives from now on that will heighten that sense of loss -- silly things like wondering if we can ever love again. His story is different than mine. I'm a young lady, in his words. He'll start receiving social security on Monday. And yet, the story is familiar. Another church member asked this debonair widower on a date. They're going to dinner, but it's not just a casual meal. It's loaded. It's filled with emotion that she can't possibly understand. Only he can know that array of emotion that explode with a simple dinner invitation. (I want to rip her to shreds, but that's another matter.) He cried into his coffee when he said this. He wiped away tears that a veteran of his age doesn't ever get to show and turned to his "young lady" pastor to ask if this meal was a betrayal to the woman that he couldn't save. Bless his heart.

This is what always surprises me about ministry because I heard my own story in this story. I heard that story of lost love. The story that reeks of rejection. The one that insists that you didn't love that person enough in the way that they needed to be loved -- even though there never would have been enough. I heard it. Clearly. And yet, even though I heard myself in his story, I told him something I wouldn't ever tell myself. I told him about the love of God. (Simple enough concept, right?) I told him that if we really believe that our knowledge of God is revealed in love, shouldn't we always seek more love in our lives? Isn't that what God would want for us? The monologue was longer than that, but you get the gist. When I was done, and finally caught my breath, he avoided my eye contact. "I guess," he muttered.

Damn it. I don't want to hear it either. God may be love but I don't feel very loved. Theology doesn't matter when the heart insists upon its own wisdom. Well, maybe the heart isn't wise but it certainly is stubborn. It doesn't want to be happy as I'm grateful to read in others words. It just wants to figure out a way to heal. Or at least, that's the best that I can really figure out about my broken heart.

Dressed for Success

Tonight, I will be spending the night on a hard concrete floor of the church with two other chaperones and ten confirmands. Scratch that. Nine confirmands. One just dropped out of the entire program by email. Sweet. The mere thought of this exhausts me. I know it's important to these teenagers. I know it's an important part of their journey but... ugh.

It's things like this that further articulate to me that I'm not called to youth ministry. I fully respect the people that are called to youth ministry -- some of whom are good friends. I think you're amazing people to push these bratty, snotty teenagers in their faith and their personhood. But, I'm not one of you. I feel like a bad person every time I say this. I firmly believe that people look nervously at me when I saw that I don't like teenagers, but so be it. It's true.

I'm not sure I ever really was a teenager. But, really, the problem is that I still look like one. People always think I'm 12. I'm not sure why I can't seem to mature past 12 but I try really damn hard. It's symptomatic of so many of my young female clergy friends chopping their hair short. It makes us appear older. I'm that girl. Now, as I'm trying to anticipate how I want to present myself tonight, I'm looking at my attire and thinking about how little I want these teens to see me in pajamas. It feels so raw. So vulnerable. So personal. I'll bring my ratty hoodie sweatshirt from college, but I'm still squirming in my own discomfort. It's silly, but it's what's racing through my head right now.

A Party in My Honor

An invitation just arrived by email that has been in the works for a little while. It started a month ago when I was cross country skiing just outside of my city at a farm. Soaked in sweat and clad in spandex, I called Musicman and announced that we were coming to his town for nachos. We swung by his place to pick him up. I know it's been 8 months of our dating -- but lemme just say that you know you like a boy when you don't care that he sees you sweaty and in spandex. Sadly, the nacho place was closed but we went elsewhere for food. It was horrible, but a plan was hatched there.

The conversation had begun about how to celebrate one's birthday. Musicman happens to love to cook. For the record, this is incredibly sexy. He wanted to host. He offered. I wasn't sure -- but it was clear that he wanted to do this for me. It would be part of his gift. I'm still insisting it's all of his gift. I want to cry just from reading the invitation where he calls me a special woman. It's just dinner and music with a small group of friends -- but I'm incredibly touched. It's wondrous to think that I'll be beginning my 30th birthday with love.

Sigh.

Lent for Me

Last night, I cuddled into bed with my laptop. I play on my laptop tons. I'm not sure what the connection is but the flirtation works for me. It's a little unhealthy that I cuddle into bed with it, but so be it. I wasn't as tired as I thought. So I was chatting on Facebook with my old Association Minister. He is one of the things I miss most. I had great support when I was ordained from the conference-level staff. Now? I don't even want to talk about it. Anyhow, this particular man will always have a soft spot in my heart. He watched me grow up in the church and was always supportive. He accepted a couple frustrated phone calls on my way to ordination. He was always willing to be my pastor. This is what I miss.

Last night, he wanted to know what I was doing next. This has been his question for a while now. He thinks it's time for me to move. I admitted that I had been looking at our national listings but nothing caught my eye. So he named individual congregations. I went to their websites. I became curious and a little excited before I asserted that other thing that gets in the way of advancing in my career. "So, the real problem is that I feel in love." And he got it. He didn't push anymore. He just hoped it worked out, which is what I hope too.

Of course, I woke up thinking about it. Should I stay? Should I go? Do I really want to go and create a new community again? There are still challenges here at the church I'm serving now. There's still tons to do but I might be ready. I might be ready. Arg. I don't know. It's not just about the advancement on my career. It's about my whole self which makes me wish that I was better about my Lenten project. I'm supposed to be calling old friends and building upon friendships. Haven't done it. I hate the phone. Maybe today. I also wish that I had that push to work on those other things that gnaw at me: my writing and my art. Instead, I'm doing laundry. Sigh. So, I'm a tad whiny but that's what Lent is for me -- whining about what's missing in the sheer hope that I might get to discover some possible resurrection. Oh, I plan on that. Never you fear. I'm going for a romantic Canadian getaway right after Easter with Musicman. There will be resurrection hope. Oh yes there will. And please, don't you dare ask about an engagement. I may be dreaming about it, but we're not there yet.

Divine Irony

Yesterday, I dropped my phone in the snow. I just saw on CNN that our unexpected snowfall yesterday is national news. It was quite a bit and not expected to be. So, we were all a bit surprised. I was tootling about in the morning on my way home from Musicman's. Somehow, this meant dropping my phone in a snow bank. The cover came off. The battery got wet. However, it still worked.

That is, it still worked for about 30 minutes. Then, it crapped out. Nothing. I was told to put the battery in rice and allow it to absorb the moisture. Yeah, that didn't work. I panicked.

It wasn't until later that I realized why I was panicking. I had already decided what my Lenten practice is. I'm going to use the phone more. I'm terrible about keeping in touch with friends that are far away. I want to be better. I use Lent as a time to resurrect relationships -- and this year, I intend to do that by picking up the phone and calling people I love. The fantastic irony is that my battery is stuck in rice and won't work for me. God truly does have a sense of humor, doesn't She?

The problem was solved when I finally went to the Verizon store. (I love their customer service. It will be hard to leave them ever, even if I want one of those fancy phones that I covet so.) They took my phone and stuck a new battery in. Presto. It works. God tells me to chill out. It's not pancakes exactly, but there was a bit of a dash as I flipped out. And with this, Lent will begin.

Let Your Demons Speak

I'm preaching on Sunday. I can't wrap my head around Simon's mother-in-law, but demons? I can sure talk about demons. Of course, this is a huge, huge risk. One that is bigger than this risk. I posted the first draft on Monday, but this is the sermon that I actually preached on Sunday.

He would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him. They knew him. The demons knew Jesus – and still we’re not sure what they are. Part of me can’t resist seeing gremlins being silenced by a cool and collected Jesus. Gremlins, like in that movie from the 80’s. Little things that you think you can handle until they get wet and mutate into something terrifying. Gremlins was the scariest movie of my childhood so perhaps that’s why part of me defaults to seeing demons as gremlins.

But, I don’t really believe that. Not really. I don’t think that’s what a demon is at all. Demons aren’t creatures outside of us that take on a physical presence, like a gremlin or a monster. Demons are far scarier than that. They hide within us. We incorrectly name them – as our ancestors did – as illness or disease. But, that’s not right. Diseases have a cure. Not demons. Not in the Gospels. They are cast out. They are banished. They are sent away. And yet, they never seem to really disappear. They keep popping up. They keep talking – as they do for Jesus here. The demons try to speak to him, but he won’t permit it. Jesus silences them because the demons knew him. They know who he is. They know what he is. But, Jesus won’t have it. Jesus wants who he is and what he is to be a secret. But, the demons know.

Demons always know who we really are, don’t they? That’s what a demon is: our deepest wound, our most painful story, our greatest truth. Demons are the very things that we keep silent because if anyone found out who we really are without seeing what we can do and the wonderful words we can offer… well, (sigh) we just hope that doesn’t happen. Ever.

Still, demons have power. The Gospel’s audience would know that demons are higher in the cosmic order. They had power. Real power, but don’t tell me that’s not just as true now. Your demons have power over you, don’t they? They possess you. They know you well. Still, you try to silence them as Jesus does. I can’t think of anything worse. This isn’t something I’m just saying. It’s something I know. I’ve tried to keep my demons silent. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. It’ll break your heart. It’ll break your soul. It’ll separate you from God. And I know, there’s nothing worse. So, we must let our demons speak.

I’ll start. I’ll break the silence by telling you the story that hurts me most. I’ll tell you this story not so you will console me or comfort me. That’s not why I’m telling you this story. I’m telling you this story so that you will let your demon speak. Give it a voice. Give it a name. Don’t let it separate you from God anymore. Today, in this pulpit, I’m telling you my demon so that you won’t silence yours anymore.

My demon is my grief because my grief knows me. It shows up like clockwork every year on Groundhog Day. Twenty-two years ago, I knew my winter would be longer – not because of a creature that saw his shadow but because my father kneeled down beside me and told me that my mother died. Today, I’m going to let this demon speak. I’m going to tell you the whole story about that Groundhog Day when I was in second grade. We made cookies in school. I don’t remember why, but we made cookies that day. They had nuts in them. I was distracted because I was going to see my mom in the hospital after school. It seemed like it had been forever since I had seen her, but I was 7 so it could have been a mere 3 days. She’d been in and of the hospital for a long time. I didn’t really understand what was happening. I don’t think anyone said the word cancer, but even if they did it wouldn’t have meant anything to me.

I was more concerned about cookies and ice cream. That’s what distracted me that day in school. Last time I had seen my mom, I fed her ice cream. Chocolate ice cream. Her lunch came during our visit and I thought that she should eat – not the vegetables on the tray, but the ice cream. This time, I was going to bring her cookies. Don’t be fooled. It wasn’t that sweet. I would have eaten the cookies myself but I don’t like nuts. So, my teacher helped me wrap up the cookies and some stale marshmallows leftover from my lunch in pink tissue paper with a nice bow. I held that package carefully in my lap the whole bus ride home. I refused to put it in my backpack because the cookies would break, so there I was holding this pretty pink tissue paper when the bus slowed down in front of my stop. My father was there. I could see him through the window. It was then that I knew something was wrong. He was supposed to meet my brother and I at home. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Something was really, really, really wrong. His face was splotchy and his eyes were red. He looked terrible, but I had never seen him cry before so I didn’t know what these signs meant. I didn’t know that he’d been crying and I certainly didn’t know why he would be so sad.

He hugged my brother and I without saying a word. He just took our hands and walked us down the hill toward home ignoring my brother’s questions – of which there were many. He was just quiet until we got to the bottom of the hill away from the other kids and parents. He kneeled down beside us so that I could see the tears running down his cheeks and there he told us that mom had died that afternoon. My brother wanted to know if we could see her tomorrow. I wanted to know if my dad liked cookies with nuts in them.

This was the Groundhog Day that started my long winter of grief. This is what hides within me. This is the story that keeps talking: my deepest wound, my most painful story and my greatest truth. It possesses me. It claims me in a way that I’m often not sure how to explain. It knows me, just as the demons knew who and what Jesus was. This demon knows who I am. It knows what I am. It know that I’m a motherless daughter and when Groundhog Day comes again, I permit myself to be that 7-year old girl and cry the tears that I didn’t know to cry that day.

The truth is that I can’t cast it out. Not entirely. It will never really disappear. It will always pop up again. It will always be talking to me – but I won’t silence it. Not any more. I’ll permit my demon to speak so that I can be healed. I don’t know if it’ll work. I can’t tell you if it will make it easier. I can only tell you how much it hurts to have silenced my demon for so long. So, instead, I’m going to let it speak. I’m going to try to put myself out there like the sick and the possessed that went to Jesus after he healed Simon’s mother-in-law. They didn’t know about her. They didn’t know what happened. They didn’t even know who Jesus was – but they went. No matter how scared they were; the sick and those possessed permitted their demons to speak to this stranger. And he healed them. He healed them all.

I’m not healed yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully healed just as I don’t know how the sick and possessed felt after Jesus touched them. I don’t think my grief will ever disappear. So, I will cast it out by admitting it – admitting that it hurts and that’s it still there 22 years later. This is how I’ll permit my demon to speak in the most publicly terrifying way that might allow me to heal – and this is all I hope for you. No matter what your deepest wound, your painful story, your greatest truth may be, I hope you won’t silence it anymore. I hope you’ll let someone hear it. I hope you’ll let God meet you there. I hope that you’ll permit the demons to speak.

With Authority

I listened to a sermon today about Jesus -- the one with authority. Not the one with power, but the one with authority. Perhaps the distinction is important but it was lost on me today. I didn't get it. I may not have been paying attention, but I didn't get it. I was totally lost.

Instead, I was thinking about my mom. It was the preacher's fault actually. He started worship by commenting on Groundhog Day being the exact center between winter and spring. I hate Groundhog Day. Not because it's random or because it was a movie but because this is the day my mother died. Everyone else is looking forward. They are thinking about spring and less darkness while I just want to shrink into that darkness. The sermon wasn't about darkness though. It was about authority and the authority we stake in God even when our lives are complicated. We (as Christians) claim God to be our Savior so somehow the rest doesn't matter. That's what I heard from the pulpit. I wanted to throw my shoe at the preacher. It's not that this stuff -- this human stuff -- doesn't matter! It's the possibility that God gives us in the midst of that darkness. Of course, I wouldn't call that authority. Maybe that's the problem. I would probably just call it love -- but no matter what we call it, it wasn't the sermon I needed to hear today. It wasn't the hope I needed to find. So, I'm taking a personal day tomorrow and I'm going to try to find it somewhere in my grief.

The Week

It hit today. It's a week before the anniversary and I thought it might not happen. Maybe I brought it on myself, but it doesn't matter. It came anyway -- that sadness that I feel this time of year. I can't explain it. I'm never sure how to share it. I don't know what to do with it but acknowledge that it's here. It's here and I miss my mom. That's what this week holds for me.

How did it happen? I picked up a recommended book by APBS. She said it had some great, honest insight on loss and grief. I'm always interested in how people write about this topic because it's rarely either of these things. I'm almost done with the book and it hadn't hit yet. I hadn't caught this insight quite yet. That is, until I tried to read this afternoon. Until the author started to talk about the word widower. I remember learning this word. I remember how it stung and how the other kids didn't know what this word was -- but it's what my dad was. And then, the author started to talk about how nice everyone was to him. I put the book down because I remember that. I hated it. I wanted them to leave me alone and instead my classmates showered me with presents like it was my birthday. It wasn't. My mother had died.

I didn't think about reading this book right now -- and how that might be hard. I was just curious. I mean, I'm dating a musician. Love should be a freakin' mix tape. I didn't think about the mix that I made years ago about my mother. Love actually has been a mix tape for me. I need a conversation partner and a few friends. Thank God that order will be filled in only 30 minutes.

The Chance to Be Blessed

"The distresses of choice are our chance to be blessed."
W.H. Auden

This quote is hanging on fridge on a 8.5 x 11 inch sheet of paper. It caught my eye this morning when I was getting my coffee. It made me stop and read it again and again -- and then smile. This particular paper was tucked safely in the folder of materials that the congregation I now serve offered when I was interviewing. It was a subtle message from the man that is now my colleague. It struck me then and it continues to echo in my heart because I feel so blessed.

This was what I explored in spiritual direction yesterday. I talked about this earlier post and my frustrations around it. However, I wasn't focused on my frustrations. I was talking about my call. My call to be myself -- not just the call that I answered to this particular congregation. This is my struggle. I want everything to be integrated but I'm still in that new pastor phase (which lasts longer for some). I still put the role on when I could just be me. I think about what a minister would do rather than being myself. Not all of the time but enough that I haven't felt genuine. That's all I want.

So, I told my spiritual director about my call and how I understand it now. It helps that I just filled out an application yesterday that made me realize that this is where I'm heading. I'm writing a lot about what my call is and how it's shaping. I'm realizing that I am blessed. I love the ministry I'm doing. I feel badly because when I'm not doing my ministry I don't want to go to church. That's what that earlier post is about. I am comfortable with friends and with Musicman so that I don't feel like leaving that comfort for the role. And yet, I have so much to celebrate in my ministry. My spiritual director let me celebrate those things. She wanted more details and heaped praise on me. It was just lovely.

Today, as I see this quote on my fridge, I realize that each choice I make has led me to blessing. Lots of blessing. I thank God for all of those blessings today.

Wholeness

I've been thinking about my blog and where it's going. It's grown a wee bit stale in recent months. It couldn't even be charged with my competitive edge in the Reading Challenge which I finished meekly. I'm still reading -- but if you want to know what I'm reading, you'll have to find out on Goodreads. I've been wondering where I want this to go and if I even want to cotinue with my blogging. It seems that it's time for another direction -- though I don't know what that is.

Today, I'm thinking about my call to ministry. I'm thinking about why it matters to me and where it connects with all of the areas in my life. Actually, this question arose a little while ago. I got to thinking about what the church is supposed to be. We used to talk about this in seminary. It may be that I'm mentoring a seminary student now. He has ideas that seem so idealistic that I have been known to laugh at his grand thoughts. I used to have some of those same thoughts -- and then I became a professional. I was ordained. I was set apart.

Once, this made me feel special. It made me feel like I had joined some really cool club where there was lots of job satisfaction. Now, I'm not so sure. I get those comments about how church people are jealous that I get to live my faith all of the time. I never understand those comments (and never respond well to them) because I feel like my life is separated from my ministry. I don't feel like I'm living intentionally into my spirituality. I'm trying to get others to do that but I don't really feel like I'm doing that work myself. It all feels a little ingenuine.

In my life, which doesn't come into work, I'm dating a boy. Alex seems to think that we'll be engaged by Easter. I think she's crazy. Then, there's my family where my brother isn't speaking to me and I don't seem to have enough time to see all of the people that matter to me. Four weeks of vacation doesn't mean I'm eager to spend that time at home. I have wonderful friends that I've found nearby. We go on adventures outdoors, eat excellent food and talk about stuff that matters to us. I'm trying to cook more and use more local vegetables. I'm trying to read. I'm trying to be present in the ways that I can.

However, none of this is related to my ministry. That is when I feel like I'm clocking in to the work that God called me to do. More often than not, I sit at a desk and plug away at something related to educating the congregation or formatting something that really isn't part of my professional call. I'm not tired. I'm not bored. I know that I'm in the right place. I know I'm doing good work. I know that there are great things happening in my work.

I just want to be whole. I don't want to feel separated. I want to feel like it all fits together even with the boundaries that I erect for my own safety and those that I serve. I just want to be whole. I don't want to feel like I should be doing anything. You're wondering what that should is, aren't you? I was told that I should share with Pastor Parish Relations about Musicman. The other pastor wants me to save my relationship with them. He thinks it's a good idea. Actually, he thinks that we should talk about the breakdown in communication. I told him that wouldn't work. We're dealing with personality conflict. What I need to do is trust them with something. That's what will work for me. The problem is that I'm not ready to trust them. I'm not ready to trust them about this part of my life. I want to keep it as my own. And so, I feel terribly separated when I just want to feel whole.

New Year

On New Year's Eve, I had a few too many martinis. I was that girlfriend meeting the parents. Luckily, they had already fallen in love with me. His mother wants us married. Tomorrow. She wasn't so discrete about this fact -- which I found kinda cute. A little scary as well but it was a great few days and so here we are all happy before I started dancing my little heart out.

Happy 2009 to one and all!

Saying "I love you"

These words have been on the tip of my tongue recently. Perhaps it's because I'm thinking about the birth of Love. Only a few days ago, we welcomed this mystery into the world. It's not that we didn't know Love before this birth -- but for those of us who place our faith in Jesus -- love starts here (or somewhere near here). That may be way these words are on the tip of my tongue. Or it could be that the holidays welcome thoughts of those that we love and how we choose family. It could be that I'm thinking about the family that I'm not with this holiday season. Or it could be that I'm thinking about the family that I've chosen.

Tonight, I went to the airport to pick up one of my favorite people. He was returning from the holidays visiting his boyfriend's parents. I was excited to hear their stories (rather than just seeing the pictures on Facebook). We went to dinner and caught up and it just felt so good. I've missed him. I've really missed him and he only lives around the corner from me. I said good night by wrapping my arms around him and telling him that I love him. I've said it to him several 100 times over the two years that we've known each other -- but tonight I actually heard these words come out of the mouth. They felt thick. Each word sounded heavy like it rattled in my mouth. Not in an uncertain way but in a wonderful way. I meant it. There were no truer words in that moment. I love him. And even though the words surprised me tonight, he responded as he always does by echoing my words: "I love you too." And I knew. I was loved.

I got in my car and drove away and knew that I was loved. It was simple as that. And yet, these words hang on my lips. They're rattling there waiting to come out every time I hang up the phone with Musicman. We haven't said these words yet. Not out loud. Not to each other. They are not words that we always say. They are not words sent between two friends. They are words that articulate something other than platonic love or sisterly love or something reserved for the body of Christ. This is something else. And yet, these are the words that are there hanging on my lips as I prepare to make my way to visit him in his hometown tomorrow. I'll meet his parents. I'll learn more about him. He'll see more of me. And though all of these things are significant, I wonder if I will say these words. I wonder if these will be the words that begin my New Year.

Text Messages on Christmas

I was home sick yesterday. I am clogged with snot and dripping with fluids that don't appear until you hit the cheer of this season's illness. Truth be told, it's my fault. I pushed myself too hard. I was too interested in having fun and so I brought this upon myself. Alas, woe is me. This doesn't mean that I won't complain about it.

I posted my Facebook status to reflect this yesterday morning. And within 2 minutes, Musicman had sent me a text message expressing his dismay that I was sick and wanting to know what he could do. He was supposed to be on his way to see family, but he was eager to do anything he could for me. I resisted. When another three friends asked the same question, I finally admitted that I wanted orange juice. He sent me another text message at about that time asking if I was feeling better. Sadly, I wasn't.

A similar message awoke me this morning. It's simple. It may seem insignificant or a tad ridiculous that it comes through a text message rather than a phone call (trust me, I've had that frustration). However, as I greet the celebration of Christmas today, I find myself celebrating those connections. Those wonderfully simple connections of friends that become so dear that you wonder how you ever managed without them. They are the same friends that make you look differently at the world. They challenge you to look differently at yourself. And somehow, I can't resist to sing with the angels, "ALLELUIA!"

100 Things

Mags posted this and I thought it was fun for someone that doesn't want to find a game for the youth to play when they come for her Christmas Party on Sunday. (Yes, I welcome ideas.) Instead, here's some fun fact about me. Those things I have done are highlighted in bold.

1. Started my own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii(for a good friend's wedding, which was a great excuse)
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than I can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis (ew. why?)
10. Sung a solo (assuming this counts in a sermon, where I didn't sing the whole song but just the refrain)
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched lightning at sea
14. Taught myself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (I'm a New Yorker.)
18. Grown my own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitchhiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run (very funny)
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person (from both sides)
34. Visited the birthplace of my ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught myself a new language (in Italy, where I took classes during the day and flirted the Italian men at night in only Italian and then dated the most beautiful man named Massimiliano who didn't speak any English. Hot.)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had my portrait painted (I went to art school.)
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square (And then, ran away. Again, I'm a New Yorker.)
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (one day!)
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem (one day!)
84. Had my picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible (Uh. No... hee hee.)
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury (I always get let go for some reason, perhaps because I'm really good at crying about not believing the death penalty.)
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Ridden an elephant

Of course, I want to know these things about you so go ahead...

All That I Have Heard

Friends, that is what my Advent reading this morning called me to think about. I'm supposed to think about my friends -- but it didn't just say to think about my friends. My devotional guide encouraged me to think about my friends through the Scripture:

I have called you friends,
because I have shared with you
all that I have heard from God.
John 15:15

It's a nice translation, isn't it? All that I have heard from God. Sigh. Have I heard anything? Aren't I supposed to be waiting for that to happen? Or is it really true that I have on the inner circle and have an instant connection? If so, I think the connnection sucks. Then again, there is all of you -- my friends. Today, I'm thinking about my friends. I'm thinking about each of you and how I share what I have heard from God -- if I'm so brave to share these thoughts. It's hard to talk about God, for some reason. Even though it's my vocational call, I shy away from talking about God with my friends. It creeps in and I can't avoid it sometimes, but it's not where I go in conversation naturally. Like every church member I serve, I'm afraid that someone will be offended. And really, we wouldn't want that. No.

And yet, I blog. I'm not a blogger that highlights every detail of my life because, well frankly, that's a bit too much. However, I can tell you what I'm hoping to hear from God. I'm waiting for God to allow me to trust myself in small ways. I want to trust that I have enough inner strength to believe that I've got what it takes, like when a boy asks me to meet his family and I try to talk him out of it. Really? What the hell are you doing? This is why I need friends to interrupt the inner voice. I need friends to remind me of what they hear from God and support me in the wonderful bonds of relationship. That's what I need.

Winter Blahs

Could it be that that is what hit me this morning? Or is it the lingering affects of this church committee that is mad at me because they don't think I'm honest (which is really because I don't feel safe with them)? Or is it that I'm just having a case of the Mondays and have nothing to do with snow coming later this week? No matter really. I'm feeling it -- and I think I just need to call it a day and admit that I'm not going to get anything done at church if I attempt to stay.

Yesterday, my parents met Musicman. It was wonderful. They got along. Conversation was great. Musicman is ever perfect. It's freaking me out a little, but it's all very good. He wanted to know the review. I told him my father cried after he left(which is true). And yet, that's kinda how I feel. I need a good cry for no apparent reason.

The Element of Surprise

"You were not part of the plan," Musicman absently remarked this morning driving me home this morning. "But, your best element is surprise."

I think I asked something stupid about whether or not he liked surprises. I had also just asked the stupid question of whether or not he would return my calls in three weeks when I return from Scotland. I'm not good at this. Clearly. As much as Musicman has been taken by surprise, I have been too. This is most unexpected -- but it's sweet and romantic and wildly exciting.

I divulged a secret to him last night -- something I don't share about myself ever. Or nearly ever. And yet, I thought at that moment that it was important for him to know. And it was. He needed to know this. Not for him, but because I needed him to know it. Of course, the response is what scared me. He could have responded in any number of ways. But, when I did the girly thing of asking him what he was thinking (which he does more often than I do), he told me that the strangest thing was that it didn't scare him at all. I replied: "Well, that freaks me out." At least I'm honest -- but I'm totally shocked by the welcome surprise that this boy has offered. I cherished dinner and drinks with him last night. I loved watching him on stage and snuggling with him afterward. It's a surprise. It's all a great surprise. And now, I have that stupid girly grin again. Sigh.

Bad Chaplain

This has been one of those great weekends of unexpected wonder. I spent all day at the beach. I went to bookstores. I saw old friends. It was just wonderful. And I have the sunburn to prove it. And the boy is out of town -- but there have been some very cute text messages. It goes without saying that he's cute.

And then, I arrive in church today. Early as I still had to do the list of prayers. Or at least, print the list of prayers. I wasn't the slightest bit excited about my sermon -- but oh well. We sing. We call ourselves to worship. The list of prayers from the narthex arrives in my lap. I let out some unexpected inappropriate noise as I read that one of our newer members is in the hospital after her water broke at 6 months. Obviously, I left church and went to her side. (After worship, don't worry.) She was in labor. Might I add, I've never been remotely near a woman while in labor. I was clumsy. I felt awkward, but I wanted to be there. i wanted to know that she had support -- that God was with her even though this didn't make any sense. She was going to be operated on. I was overcome and left. This was something I learned to do well in CPE. I could always leave. Getting there was harder. I had promised I would come back, but the more I thought about it today, the more I talked myself out of it. They weren't ready to talk. They didn't need me yet. So, I'm going in the morning. I don't want to smother them -- but I admit I have no idea what to say. Do premature babies survive? Is this dire? Am I too optimistic that their first wedding anniversary might be their son's birthday? I don't know how to prepare myself for this visit. I don't even know what to think.

Falling

Yesterday I got a phone call from my step-mother about my brother. It appears that he has disappeared. He's not returning phone calls or emails. They're trying to decide what to do without ruining the relationship. It's such a complicated dance and I have no idea how to support my family -- as much as I want to. I feel the need to begin with this detail about my life before I continue my post. I mean, the rest is going to be very indulgent. I feel like I'm falling. That's literally what it feels like. I'm not sure what will catch me -- it could be God or my brother or even the Musicman.

After all, you can't really be that grounded when you are making out as much as I have in the past week. It's just not that possible. On Tuesday night, before this phone call arrived, I texted Musicman to ask what he was doing that night. I had a craving for ice cream. He had rehearsal but we were going to try to work around it. It ran late, but he invited me over to his place for ice cream.

I assumed that this meant he was pulling something out of his freezer -- but I went. I didn't care. I drove the 20 minutes to his house. No problem. But, there was nothing in the freezer (well, I'm sure there were but I didn't see it). Musicman made me fresh ice cream with fresh peaches and coconut milk. I could melt. Literally. I could melt. There was a cocktail that accompionied the ice cream. I was determined not to spend the night which meant that I needed not to drink that much -- but I did have a taste. OH. MY. GOD. So, we had a picnic and talked about our days.

And then, our conversation got a little deeper. Musicman is nervous about my history as a motherless daughter. He's dated a series of women that were not over this loss (which I reminded him, you never actually get over). However, it complicated his relationships with them with what he characterized as "darkness." I was asked to explain how this loss affects me on a daily basis. There. I fell -- because I had no idea what to say. How do I explain how this affects me? I can psycho babble about it until I'm blue in the face, but that's not what he wanted to hear. And then, he stopped me. He told me not to answer the question. He didn't want to know. He just needed to ask the question. Of course, I can't stop thinking about this question and I'm still wondering what my answer is. And you know what this made me think yesterday? As I wrestled with this question and thought about my unrealistic fear that I will die at 33, I realized that this boy -- this Musicman -- might just make me the best version of myself. Not because I'm trying to impress him but because somehow he brings out those best parts of who I am. I have no idea how. I've heard people say this before, but I've always thought that they were drunk or daft. And then, here I am. Not so bitter and wondering if I just might be falling.

And I won't tell you about the making out or the hour-long phone call last night before he goes out of town for a week, but know that this is good. It is very good. In that same falling breath, prayers for my family please. Lots and lots of prayers for all of our hearts.

My Very Own Emotional Roller Coaster

I've been the giddy girl this week. Aside from angry grieving daughter, things have been great at church. Things have been great in my personal life. Life is pretty fantastic. Really.

This morning, I'm crying. Yes, that's why I'm an emotional roller coaster. In about 30 minutes, I'll be officiating at the funeral of a church member that I came to adore. This is the first time I have witnessed a memorial service for someone that I actually knew. And for some obvious reasons, I think this is going to be a little hard. I think I can pull myself together but I'm awestruck at how life presents itself in so many dazzling colors.