Today, I am saying goodbye to the people that I have worked with for the past 16 months. It has brought up a myriad of emotions. I wasn't expecting that at all.
I've been given a gift of a 'life lesson' as my Spiritual Director has told me. In the past, I have managed to leave places without every really saying good bye. I sit in wonder why at age 40, I've finally found out how to do this. It has always seemed to be much easier when there were hard feelings associated with leaving a place. Somehow, this justifies the departure. Simply seeing a different place to go is very different for me.
I think of all the times people have left my life without a good bye. Friends have died, moved away and moved on. I doubt I handled those well.
I wonder how I will handle it in the future, after having learned this life lesson.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Laughter
In contrast to my last post, I feel like writing about the absurdity of my morning. I called in sick today because my youngest is still battling some sort of fever/virus. I would bet we've had the flu. It is going around like crazy this year.
Our silly morning started last night. My 7 year old had put on a pair of shorts. After they fell down, he realized that they were really his brother's. Instead of changing, he wore them to bed last night. Getting him to change this morning was a battle with lots of giggling. His little sister changed clothes 3 times this morning. At first, I thought she was asking for an 'army' shirt. It really was a 'long sleeve' shirt, but that was too warm. She put on cowboy boots, but didn't like the way the socks fit. She changed shoes. I was putting lotion on my 11 year old's face and he started humming. It sounded like a Justin Beaver (as he is known in our house) tune.
Driving 4 kids to school is always an adventure. My eldest took her electric guitar to school today, lugging around an amp and a Christmas present. She showed me that she painted her finger nails to match her guitar. Only a teenager would think of that....
My second grader always gets unbuckled in the line so that he can give me his cheek for a kiss. His favorite teacher opened the door this morning, and he got a hug. The middle schooler always gets a yell from his little sister saying 'Have a good day!'.
My life seems overflowing with simple joys. We started off this day with a fire started by my husband. It is his way of helping us get going on a cold morning. We do a pretty good job working as a team around here. You have to when you live in a zoo.
Last year, I took my oldest boy to the synagogue for the Yom Hashoa service. It is where they remember the Holocaust. The speaker was a survivor who had taken part in the defiant Requiem. For most of her speech, she made us laugh. I was struck by this little woman's courage and wisdom. For me, it was one of those 'changing moments' in my life. If she can laugh, so can I. And I will, every single day.
Our silly morning started last night. My 7 year old had put on a pair of shorts. After they fell down, he realized that they were really his brother's. Instead of changing, he wore them to bed last night. Getting him to change this morning was a battle with lots of giggling. His little sister changed clothes 3 times this morning. At first, I thought she was asking for an 'army' shirt. It really was a 'long sleeve' shirt, but that was too warm. She put on cowboy boots, but didn't like the way the socks fit. She changed shoes. I was putting lotion on my 11 year old's face and he started humming. It sounded like a Justin Beaver (as he is known in our house) tune.
Driving 4 kids to school is always an adventure. My eldest took her electric guitar to school today, lugging around an amp and a Christmas present. She showed me that she painted her finger nails to match her guitar. Only a teenager would think of that....
My second grader always gets unbuckled in the line so that he can give me his cheek for a kiss. His favorite teacher opened the door this morning, and he got a hug. The middle schooler always gets a yell from his little sister saying 'Have a good day!'.
My life seems overflowing with simple joys. We started off this day with a fire started by my husband. It is his way of helping us get going on a cold morning. We do a pretty good job working as a team around here. You have to when you live in a zoo.
Last year, I took my oldest boy to the synagogue for the Yom Hashoa service. It is where they remember the Holocaust. The speaker was a survivor who had taken part in the defiant Requiem. For most of her speech, she made us laugh. I was struck by this little woman's courage and wisdom. For me, it was one of those 'changing moments' in my life. If she can laugh, so can I. And I will, every single day.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Images
There is a story I have been wanting to tell since I started this blog. I've not had the courage, or desire to tell it before now. I offer this in honor of all first responders who have to live with the images they have seen.
I was a paramedic, with only one child at the time. We were called to be the back up unit on a house fire. This is not unusual, and usually it is just a precaution. I had taken a class in Critical Incident Stress and already learned a great deal about PTSD. Yet, this was the first time I responded to a scene like this as a mother.
The paramedic who had trained me was possibly one of the best, calmest medics I've ever run calls with. He was the first unit on the scene of a house fire. He called for backup right away, and we were that unit. On the way to the call, he started calling out "signal 9". This is the signal for a death. We picked up our speed a bit and heard another "signal 9". This hit me in the pit of my stomach, I looked at the paramedic driving, another "signal 9". All of these class I had been through started running through my head. This was going to be one of those 'critical incidents' we had talked about. He called another "signal 9" as we pulled up to the scene. He and his partner then took off with the one survivor of a house fire that killed 4 children. There were 4 little covered bodies laying on the grass in front of a house. This is not the image that has stuck with me all these years. What I see in my mind is a firefighter. He is sitting on the roof of a house completely silent, numb. He didn't know what else to do.
We ended up at the hospital later that evening and one of the seasoned attending doctors came up to me. He had genuine concern on his face. "How are you doing?" I answered the way most first responders would respond "I'm fine, thanks for asking." You don't show weakness. He ended up sitting down and chatted a bit. I think I ended up opening up about it, because he was so genuine, and he had treated the one child that survived. I was deeply touched by his care and concern. It was good for me at that time. I had my experience validated in a hospital hall in the wee hours of the morning by a man I barely knew.
Recently, I learned that a Police Officer pictured with President Bush after 9/11 committed suicide. I also remember that the man who rescued the little girl from a well did the same. I understand completely how this happens. When first responders are placed on a pedestal following an incident, they can easily loose a part of themselves. When the president gets up to call you a hero, for simply doing your job, it can really mess with your head. It can really cause problems if you are feeling something very different on the inside. Most people leave the scene with just one wish: we wish that we could have done more.
I carry around a lot of different stuff from my years in emergency medicine. I've also watched co-workers become alcoholics, marriages end and careers ruined. My first year as a paramedic, I helped bury a co-worker who killed himself while in his uniform. People really just don't understand the price first responders pay. In some ways, I hope they never do.
I was a paramedic, with only one child at the time. We were called to be the back up unit on a house fire. This is not unusual, and usually it is just a precaution. I had taken a class in Critical Incident Stress and already learned a great deal about PTSD. Yet, this was the first time I responded to a scene like this as a mother.
The paramedic who had trained me was possibly one of the best, calmest medics I've ever run calls with. He was the first unit on the scene of a house fire. He called for backup right away, and we were that unit. On the way to the call, he started calling out "signal 9". This is the signal for a death. We picked up our speed a bit and heard another "signal 9". This hit me in the pit of my stomach, I looked at the paramedic driving, another "signal 9". All of these class I had been through started running through my head. This was going to be one of those 'critical incidents' we had talked about. He called another "signal 9" as we pulled up to the scene. He and his partner then took off with the one survivor of a house fire that killed 4 children. There were 4 little covered bodies laying on the grass in front of a house. This is not the image that has stuck with me all these years. What I see in my mind is a firefighter. He is sitting on the roof of a house completely silent, numb. He didn't know what else to do.
We ended up at the hospital later that evening and one of the seasoned attending doctors came up to me. He had genuine concern on his face. "How are you doing?" I answered the way most first responders would respond "I'm fine, thanks for asking." You don't show weakness. He ended up sitting down and chatted a bit. I think I ended up opening up about it, because he was so genuine, and he had treated the one child that survived. I was deeply touched by his care and concern. It was good for me at that time. I had my experience validated in a hospital hall in the wee hours of the morning by a man I barely knew.
Recently, I learned that a Police Officer pictured with President Bush after 9/11 committed suicide. I also remember that the man who rescued the little girl from a well did the same. I understand completely how this happens. When first responders are placed on a pedestal following an incident, they can easily loose a part of themselves. When the president gets up to call you a hero, for simply doing your job, it can really mess with your head. It can really cause problems if you are feeling something very different on the inside. Most people leave the scene with just one wish: we wish that we could have done more.
I carry around a lot of different stuff from my years in emergency medicine. I've also watched co-workers become alcoholics, marriages end and careers ruined. My first year as a paramedic, I helped bury a co-worker who killed himself while in his uniform. People really just don't understand the price first responders pay. In some ways, I hope they never do.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Living in the Forest
I was sitting at the table at the Convent, simply eating breakfast. I sat among elders as we chatted. I was complaining about spending the whole day blowing leaves. My beloved Ghanian friend commented assumed I was using the leaves in the garden. I said no, I was just trying to get them out of the way. She smiled and gave me a proverb. "You live in the forest, but you don't know how to live with it."
I stammered a bit and realized how true this statement was. It is true not only in the actual sense (we live on 16 acres of primarily forest), but also in a metaphorical sense. I had never thought of things this way.
This way of teaching the younger generation has been lost in our culture. A while back, she had explained to me how the children are raised in Ghana. The elders use proverbs. The children are taught different proverbs as they are growing up. Then, as the children are living their every day lives, usually a situation presents itself. If an elder wants to make a point, she will simply repeat part of a proverb. The child then gets to ponder the situation in contrast to the proverb and learn.
I think, in many ways, our southern culture lends some to this. I've always know the soft spoken older person that will speak a humble truth when the situation presents itself. You have to listen closely and often, or you will miss it.
I guess I could have missed this particular proverb if I had been in a hurry. She only said it once. I think really wise people understand that the student has to be ready to hear. It makes me wonder how many times I have been too busy, too preoccupied. I don't dare count all of the times I was more worried about making my point, than to listen.
So, I look at the kids of mine and wonder how I can try to guide them in this way. I think the trickiest part is letting the go through their day watching, listening to them. If they are really living their own lives, they'll find themselves in many real-life situations that they get to learn from. I think this is much of the substance of life.
I stammered a bit and realized how true this statement was. It is true not only in the actual sense (we live on 16 acres of primarily forest), but also in a metaphorical sense. I had never thought of things this way.
This way of teaching the younger generation has been lost in our culture. A while back, she had explained to me how the children are raised in Ghana. The elders use proverbs. The children are taught different proverbs as they are growing up. Then, as the children are living their every day lives, usually a situation presents itself. If an elder wants to make a point, she will simply repeat part of a proverb. The child then gets to ponder the situation in contrast to the proverb and learn.
I think, in many ways, our southern culture lends some to this. I've always know the soft spoken older person that will speak a humble truth when the situation presents itself. You have to listen closely and often, or you will miss it.
I guess I could have missed this particular proverb if I had been in a hurry. She only said it once. I think really wise people understand that the student has to be ready to hear. It makes me wonder how many times I have been too busy, too preoccupied. I don't dare count all of the times I was more worried about making my point, than to listen.
So, I look at the kids of mine and wonder how I can try to guide them in this way. I think the trickiest part is letting the go through their day watching, listening to them. If they are really living their own lives, they'll find themselves in many real-life situations that they get to learn from. I think this is much of the substance of life.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Worthy
"Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves."
Book of Common Prayer p.361
This is from the Episcopal service. It is an example of what Christians are expected to say before receiving communion. I remember as a child, sitting in the Lutheran church saying similar things. Every Sunday, the Pastor or Sunday school teachers would talk about Sin. They would talk about how much Jesus did for us, and we just are not thankful enough. I went every Sunday because I was raised that way. If you were not on your death bed, you were in church. My great-grandmother and cousins all wore pins that showed how many years they had gone without missing a single Sunday.
So I did as I was raised. I sat in a pew every Sunday and listened to how unworthy I was. I also found that message at home and at school.
God became this judgemental, scolding force in my life. And I, well, became a bit defiant. When I sat in that pew, I also thought about all of the good things I had done that week. I thought about the kindness I gave others. I thought about the elderly woman I helped take care of. I thought of the honesty with which I led my life. I was not capable of lying to others. Well, I was also not capable of lying to God. I would have this internal conversation sitting in a pew. I wonder what the other 8,9 or 10 year olds were doing.
This Advent, I have spent a great deal of time pondering a few things. This concept of worthiness is one of them. I wonder why some denominations have placed such an emphasis in convincing people that they are not worthy. In my saga of ex-communication, I was told I was not worthy to take communion. I was told that I must receive 'psychological testing'. I had worshipped with felons, addicts, accused child molesters, divorced parents and abusive spouses. Yet, they were worthy. Again, I heard the message that I was not. Why?
The scripture reading yesterday was of the woman caught in the very act of adultery. The church officials had bought the woman to Jesus to test him. His response was what Christianity is based on 'He who is without sin can cast the first stone.' I wish Jesus Incarnate had been present at my trial. I suspect things would have ended differently. However, the Holy Spirit was. During this time in my life, I found that defiant place deep down inside of me. I found that place that said I am a child of God, made worthy by Love.
I think that churches use this tool of shame to control the people that attend. Shame is very powerful and used to convince us that we are not worthy. It us used to convince us that we need a Priest/Pastor to tell us that we are. I also remember that part of my childhood very strongly. After having this internal conversation with God, I longed for that answer from the Pastor that said I was forgiven for being human. I was forgiven for all of the mistakes I had made that week. It helped soften the judgemental white bearded image I had been given.
"Almighty God have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen you in all goodness, and by the power of the Holy Spirit keep you in eternal live. Amen."
Book of Common Prayer p. 360
So, I continue this struggle to claim my birthright of being a worthy, loved human being. I struggle to live this myself, because I want to show this to my children. I feel very strongly that if we all feel and behave as if we are worthy of love and forgiveness, we would treat people very differently. I had a very, very wise Priest once tell me that the very first step in Christianity is to accept the role of Beloved.
I will confess that, on some level, I accepted this role a long time ago. If not, I would not have been able to have that conversation in the pew. I would have not been defiant of a system that sought to control me with shame. I would not have been able to look at a bishop in the eye and say "That is not true."
In fact, if I hadn't accepted that role, I would have spent my parenting career convincing my children that they are unworthy. That would be a tragedy.
Book of Common Prayer p.361
This is from the Episcopal service. It is an example of what Christians are expected to say before receiving communion. I remember as a child, sitting in the Lutheran church saying similar things. Every Sunday, the Pastor or Sunday school teachers would talk about Sin. They would talk about how much Jesus did for us, and we just are not thankful enough. I went every Sunday because I was raised that way. If you were not on your death bed, you were in church. My great-grandmother and cousins all wore pins that showed how many years they had gone without missing a single Sunday.
So I did as I was raised. I sat in a pew every Sunday and listened to how unworthy I was. I also found that message at home and at school.
God became this judgemental, scolding force in my life. And I, well, became a bit defiant. When I sat in that pew, I also thought about all of the good things I had done that week. I thought about the kindness I gave others. I thought about the elderly woman I helped take care of. I thought of the honesty with which I led my life. I was not capable of lying to others. Well, I was also not capable of lying to God. I would have this internal conversation sitting in a pew. I wonder what the other 8,9 or 10 year olds were doing.
This Advent, I have spent a great deal of time pondering a few things. This concept of worthiness is one of them. I wonder why some denominations have placed such an emphasis in convincing people that they are not worthy. In my saga of ex-communication, I was told I was not worthy to take communion. I was told that I must receive 'psychological testing'. I had worshipped with felons, addicts, accused child molesters, divorced parents and abusive spouses. Yet, they were worthy. Again, I heard the message that I was not. Why?
The scripture reading yesterday was of the woman caught in the very act of adultery. The church officials had bought the woman to Jesus to test him. His response was what Christianity is based on 'He who is without sin can cast the first stone.' I wish Jesus Incarnate had been present at my trial. I suspect things would have ended differently. However, the Holy Spirit was. During this time in my life, I found that defiant place deep down inside of me. I found that place that said I am a child of God, made worthy by Love.
I think that churches use this tool of shame to control the people that attend. Shame is very powerful and used to convince us that we are not worthy. It us used to convince us that we need a Priest/Pastor to tell us that we are. I also remember that part of my childhood very strongly. After having this internal conversation with God, I longed for that answer from the Pastor that said I was forgiven for being human. I was forgiven for all of the mistakes I had made that week. It helped soften the judgemental white bearded image I had been given.
"Almighty God have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen you in all goodness, and by the power of the Holy Spirit keep you in eternal live. Amen."
Book of Common Prayer p. 360
So, I continue this struggle to claim my birthright of being a worthy, loved human being. I struggle to live this myself, because I want to show this to my children. I feel very strongly that if we all feel and behave as if we are worthy of love and forgiveness, we would treat people very differently. I had a very, very wise Priest once tell me that the very first step in Christianity is to accept the role of Beloved.
I will confess that, on some level, I accepted this role a long time ago. If not, I would not have been able to have that conversation in the pew. I would have not been defiant of a system that sought to control me with shame. I would not have been able to look at a bishop in the eye and say "That is not true."
In fact, if I hadn't accepted that role, I would have spent my parenting career convincing my children that they are unworthy. That would be a tragedy.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Getting away
I took this weekend off work to go to an Advent Retreat. I had planned my whole month around worshipping deeply for 2 days. I wanted to write, eat well and spend time renewing my spirit. For a very good reason, the retreat was cancelled.
So, instead of attending this wonderful retreat today, I found myself cleaning up dog poop (because my husband insisted on keeping 2 puppies). As I was scrubbing, I actually started pouting. It is such a contrast to how I have planned to spend my time. Plus, is this how I should be celebrating the beginning of Advent?
In a word, yes.
A woman's work is never done. We are always scrubbing, cleaning, organizing, teaching, correcting, paying bills, cooking, buying, etc. I feel immense pressure in the care and keeping of this family. It makes me wonder about the immense pressure a 16 year old Virgin felt as she left on a trip to give birth to God Incarnate.
Somehow, I believe that she had to get away to do this really hard work. If she had stayed at home, too many things would have gotten her attention. Plus, I know there is theological significance to all of it. I have never spent much time in the intellectual side of religion. I tend to ponder the every day messy part. Of course Mary needed to leave her home to do this work.
I had planned to try to spend some time in a semi-retreat here at the house. There is some writing I need to do, journalling, reading. Instead, I scrubbed a floor, paid the bills and washed the children. This will be the entirety of my weekend. I realize that I will really have to leave the house in order to spend time renewing myself.
I will not spend a second feeling guilty when I do get away.
So, instead of attending this wonderful retreat today, I found myself cleaning up dog poop (because my husband insisted on keeping 2 puppies). As I was scrubbing, I actually started pouting. It is such a contrast to how I have planned to spend my time. Plus, is this how I should be celebrating the beginning of Advent?
In a word, yes.
A woman's work is never done. We are always scrubbing, cleaning, organizing, teaching, correcting, paying bills, cooking, buying, etc. I feel immense pressure in the care and keeping of this family. It makes me wonder about the immense pressure a 16 year old Virgin felt as she left on a trip to give birth to God Incarnate.
Somehow, I believe that she had to get away to do this really hard work. If she had stayed at home, too many things would have gotten her attention. Plus, I know there is theological significance to all of it. I have never spent much time in the intellectual side of religion. I tend to ponder the every day messy part. Of course Mary needed to leave her home to do this work.
I had planned to try to spend some time in a semi-retreat here at the house. There is some writing I need to do, journalling, reading. Instead, I scrubbed a floor, paid the bills and washed the children. This will be the entirety of my weekend. I realize that I will really have to leave the house in order to spend time renewing myself.
I will not spend a second feeling guilty when I do get away.
Moving on
I've been struggling with my work and schedule now for several months. I can give all sorts of external reasons for me to leave this job that I am in. I can also give you all sorts of reasons to stay. This week, a feeling I cannot describe impelled me to put in my resignation.
I don't have another job yet, and this is pretty scary. I have a few ideas and I have several weeks to start looking, but it is a vulnerable place to be. Moving forward, trusting that it will work out. For me, I've always been incredibly blessed. I've always found a way to land on my feet.
The day that I decided to resign, I had quite a few things happen to affirm that decision. Yesterday, I ran into a former co-worker who wants me to come work with him. Intersting, don't you think?
I don't have another job yet, and this is pretty scary. I have a few ideas and I have several weeks to start looking, but it is a vulnerable place to be. Moving forward, trusting that it will work out. For me, I've always been incredibly blessed. I've always found a way to land on my feet.
The day that I decided to resign, I had quite a few things happen to affirm that decision. Yesterday, I ran into a former co-worker who wants me to come work with him. Intersting, don't you think?
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