Showing posts with label communion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label communion. Show all posts

sunshine

"The best sermon I ever heard
was the sun."
- Mary Oliver


Despite superwoman efforts, its fact... I am chronically - and worse than ever - behind. On pidly stuff.  You know, like turning in library books and cleaning the bathroom and buying bananas.  Every day lately is reminding me that I just plain do not have my shit together.


But this little girlie is bound and determined to blow sunshine into every corner of everything lately, and I can't help but sigh way down to my middle and breathe a thousand thank you's for this chaos that is life.  And especially for this little three year old sermon-sender.



She has lots of tea parties lately.  And today she got all three - we always have an extra one or two around - all three bigs lined up in a row for her impromptu, but oh so well orchestrated "tea party in the park".


Patience.  Each candy and cracker so carefully counted.  Serving.


Refills granted.


Lots of WAIT YOUR TURN!!ing.


Its communion, really.




Sunshine all over my insides.  Best sermon yet.  Fact.


elephants, hope, and cheese

I don't do this rambling thing all that often.  But serendipity is our title, after all, and today I was, as Webster says, "tripping over myself in discovery".  So get a drink and your heat pack and make yourself comfortable....

This is the picture I snapped of Sage McCage this morning in the bathroom.  
I'll get back to it...



Today on NPR, there was first a story citing that in the last year, there have been 400 suicides in Kansas.  That 1 of every 10 males who died in Kansas took their own life.

Then there was a story about how the Wichita City Council last night voted 3-2 in favor of giving $5,000,000 of city money to match $4,000,000 in private donations for a new elephant exhibit at the zoo.

I was incensed.

Pissed at humanity.  Or the lack there-of.

I truly hate going to the zoo, but only because I'm selfish and would rather go to say, the pool or grandma's house, or the library.  The zoo is all walk walk walk walk look there's a tiger napping walk walk walk walk oh there's a penguin splashing walk walk walk walk there's a monkey climbing.  All while hot, always hot, and trying not to lose my children.

But cerebrally, I know elephants matter and our zoo rocks.  Our 5 ton friends should have a comfortable life.

But so should our humans!

Working in the mental health profession, part of my 9 hour shift is to do a "suicide risk assessment" for my clients.  We talk about their stressors, recent elevation in mood, impulsivity, plans to hurt themselves, and mostly just converse about life.  They are capital-B-Brave and so raw.  I'm lucky lucky lucky to be let into their life for those few hours.  They share stories of broken relationships, addictions, mental illness, insecurity, poverty, and grief.  On the assessment, no one scores a 0.  All share an element of hopelessness.  Most can verbally "commit to safety".  Some cannot, and are placed on "continuous observation", which only makes life suckier for all involved.

While money doesn't buy happiness, it does buy access to food, counselors, the ability to work a normal 40 hour work-week, shoes (yes, just plain some shoes!!), addiction treatment, medication, doctor visits...

And our national and local funding for mental healthcare is poor.  Piss poor.  9 million dollars would go a long way.

Stay with me.......if I didn't already lose you at NPR.....

I went to see my spiritual director and today had no agenda.  I said that I have been taking care of everyone else 24/7 and today I'm going to pay her to take care of me.  Period.  She served me tea, which I don't drink, but at her house I very much drink because she makes it taste like warm happiness.  While she rubbed my feet (yes she rubs my feet!!), I told her about the elephants and the dying people and our fucked up world (yes she also says fuck!).

Ever so gently, she brought me around to saying things I know to be true:  That death isn't the end.  That although I cannot understand it, God may call some people home by their own hand.  That in taking care, I am taken care of.  That its good to name the care we need.  And to insist on it.  And she said this:

That when we mamas take care of our children, when we wrap them up tight with our voice and our hugs, we are caring for more than just them.  Our arms extend all the way to Syria.  When we hold them tight and exercise great compassion, we are saying enough already.  No more suffering under my watch.  And while I no more can make elephants happy than buy contentment for someone who is hopeless, I can - and do - every single day - stretch myself for my tiny ones, and there is no limit to my reach.  Its my shout-out to humanity.  To the cause of Love.  Because for my insides, their insides, and the insides of the many people they will meet and important decisions they will make, we are saying:

love is free
God is big
peace is real
joy is now.

Facts.

So this morning....

Sage has been doing this thing where she gets her little white comb wet and slicks her hair back.  The wetter and slicker, the fancier.  So this morning in my rush to get my coffee down and my face on, she stood on the counter doing her slick-back routine.  She wanted me to dry her hair, and fighting the urge to say no or rush through it, I took my time, and my insides vibrated with her sweetness...her sweet little head and how pretty she felt.  Her desire for my attention and touch.  We did that over and over.  Wet, slick, dry, wet, slick, dry, wet, slick, dry.

I haven't ever tried to count how many times in a day I rush through the motions.  Or deny my kids a hug or a book or just plain time to look them in the eye.  I don't think the number would make me very proud.  Its chaos here.  Our lives our full.  And my brain, which I swear has limited space, is maxed out.  And for the love of all, I am just plain tired and want some space to breathe or at least finish one thing, just one thing!  But Carole challenged me today to see this caring for people thing in a new light.  To realize that we are doing big, hard, important work.  9 million dollar elephants matter a little.  People matter more, especially the hurting ones.  And so do we.  And we say just that, every time we take the time to exercise compassion with our littles.

So, I suppose I'm challenging you too.  Maybe you don't have sticky hands to clean and noses to wipe.  Or maybe you do, but they belong to your neighbor or your parents.  Consider reframing your view of the care you give.  Think how far you reach.  I'll do it with you.  I'll try at least.

When I first arrived today, Carole gave me some amazing cheese to take home (my beloved cheese...distance does make the heart grow fonder with all things diary!).  I've been whining and needy inside, and within five minutes of being there, she literally opened her fridge and fed me.  Metaphors everywhere.

So tonight....its my communion....and I am again made new.


sriracha communion

I have been selfish today.  Absorbed by my own agenda.  Inattentive.  

Ick.


Tonight's Communion of pizza and wine, with a smear of sriracha.

Oh I love the metaphors.

And again I'm made new...

Press ON

"There is no oil, if olives are not squeezed.
No wine, if grapes are not pressed.
No perfume, if flowers are not crushed.
Have you felt any pressure today; have you felt squeezed...?
God is bringing the best out of you.  Just Press ON."


Geez louisa, life presses us, doesn't it?!

At the end of the day, I feel gratitude.

For an unlikely friend who knows just the words I need.
For children who nap for two hours.
For my old purple blanket.
For communion and a chance to be made new.

And...sigh...even for the pressure.  For the squeezing and crushing and pressing of life.

Press ON.

communion

Ok, I have some things to say about communion.


I've been reading a ton of memoirs about spirituality for the past few years.  I pay money to see a spiritual director.  God is bigger and better and more within my grasp and beyond my understanding than ever.  And the awesomeness of all that is making me increasingly pissed about all the boxes "Christianity" puts around this God thing.

Yesterday I baked the loaves of bread for our communion service.  Today, when we stood in a circle around the sanctuary - in a service I had planned and executed (its my paying gig) - and passed the bread and the cup, I didn't partake.  I haven't taken it for awhile because I'm miffed about my church's "stance" on communion.  Mostly about who gets to take it.

The Mennonite Confession of Faith says a lot of great stuff - like that Jesus is a rockstar and we should do everything out of love and the Holy Spirit is a real gift and that community matters.  

[It also (to my despair) says that marriage is blessed by God only when it is between a man and a woman.  Don't get me started on that.  Another day.]

It says too that communion is only for people who have been baptized.

I cannot abide.

God is too big for that, people! Way way way way way too big.  

As I type this, my 8 year old is in her bedroom upstairs directly above me, and I can hear her singing from the Mennonite Hymnal.  Yes, singing from the hymnal.  She took that big blue book up to her room after lunch and led her barbie congregation in a hymn sing.  But she couldn't take communion today.

My friend who hasn't been baptized and is volunteering her time to helping immigrants in Arizona stood in the circle.  But she couldn't take communion today.

I just hate rules.  Really hate them.  Because they are mostly made to put things into preciously narrow categories of good and bad, right and wrong.  Neat, tidy boxes.  But life is not neat and tidy, and God specializes in being messy.  Being true to ourselves makes things messy.  Loving without condition is messy.  

To me, the bread and the cup symbolize that God put on skin.  That community is good.  That Love is as real as blood.  And more than anything, that 
if you want to name God, 
share God, 
eat God, 
drink God,
notice God, 
acknowledge God, 
and for today just plain say there is a God, 
then by all means, COME ON IN!  Take this and eat it.  It is FOR YOU!

Communion does not and should not symbolize that you are in a category of baptized or not baptized, sinner or saint, good or bad, right or wrong, broad or narrow, blessed or cursed, saved or damned.  Ever.

The Anabaptist faith (of which Mennonite is a part) stresses the importance of "choosing God."  I own that and I like it.  But the whole choosing thing is another conversation, and just doesn't apply here.  Communion isn't about us choosing to come to the table "worthy".  Its about God choosing us, loving us, wrapping us up in a community of each other - to be real people in a real search.

I find communion often in daily experiences.  See here.  And here.  It doesn't have to be bread and wine.  It doesn't have to be in a church.  The best communion is when God shows up in serendipitous light and I partake of something that symbolizes it and am made new.  All by surprise.  But there's something to be said for breaking and sharing bread with your faith community in a worship service too.

The Mennonite church we attended when Eva was a baby, had an "open table" and we fed her the bread and cup before she could walk.  I can't describe how it warmed me from within every time I gave her this symbol of love and community.  

But today I stood in the sanctuary where I was baptized, married, and dedicated my children, where I lead and plan worship, in a circle with the big community I adore, and rolled around thoughts about how here communion is exclusive.  And it so does not have to be this way.  Let there be change, and let it begin with me.

eggs and toast

You know what I love?

calling the school while putting together powerpoints for work while texting the sitter while eating a snickers bar for breakfast.

hugging River as he stands crying in front of me at the exact same time I'm peeing on the toilet.

doing 12 loads of laundry, and then finding one load left undone that got mixed in with the clean stuff.

loading the dishwasher, unloading the dishwasher, loading the dishwasher, unloading the dishwasher.

getting our bikes over the train tracks with Sage in the carrier and Riv on his bike.

picking up the toys while they nap because its just easier that way.

scrounging for quarters in the car console when stopping at Sonic to fulfill the cherry limeade bribe for Eva.

planning meals, grocery shopping, catching ingredients I missed, cooking the food, feeding the mouths.

searching for that lost library book.

making breakfast shakes while brewing the coffee while signing off on the homework while packing a gluten free lunch while holding Sage while talking to River while escorting Eva to the bathroom to "for the third time I'm telling you to brush your teeth".

I love it.  I can't imagine why because it is work work work to to be calm, to stay centered, to show love, to just plain get it all done and laugh it through.  Its constant.  It is work.  And I love it.

Once every so often things in my inner self threaten to come crashing down.  Like really crash and say I'm tired and someone else just do it all and no more nice mama.

That's when I call in the eggs and toast therapy.  


I make it.  I sit in the quiet.  I drink my coffee.  I cry a little.  I read a little.  I pray a little.  I ask for help. 

I get to the end of this communion of yolk and wheat and coffee, and I am ready again to do this work I love.  I really really think that being a mama and friend and wife and worker and just plain sane person is about finding these simple acts that center us, that take time, that bring us back down to center.  

I'm ever so grateful.


meet in the middle

Colby, Kansas is not exactly a happening town.  Understatement of the decade.
But I met my two cousin-sister-soulmates there last weekend for some much needed R&R.  
4 hours in for each of us....we met in the middle.

Hot tub til our toes were raisins.  Then hydrate.  Then more hot tub.


Kara is a famous novelist, and she let us write together on her latest work.  A total privilege.


A communion of sorts.  Aged cheese, crispy crackers, wine in plastic cups.

Such was our diet when we weren't at Village Inn.  
Speaking of Village Inn, did you know that they are totally changing their "look"?  They are all mod-slash-thrifty-slash-home cooked goodness-slash-spendy now. They are even called "vi" instead of Village Inn.
Best omelets ever.  Probably not the best Mediterranean salad.  But good omelets.



New shoes.  That town has nothing.  No-to-the-thing.  But it does have a random Famous Footwear.


Thank you Ryan for the weekend.
Thank you, my dear friends, for the rest!