All good things....

I have spent a good deal of time pondering many things over the past few weeks.  I seem to have a new reluctance to write on this blog any more.  I remembered a friend who is now on her third blog.  She mentioned that it was time to close the one she was on and start another one.  At first, I found that weird because we are all just on a continuous journey.  Right?  Recently, I began to realize she might really have a point. How do we mark the major shifts in our lives? How do we mark a place in the path where we realize we can never return to previous issues?
I started this blog in a fit of hurt and anger.  It was my way of finding 'my voice'.  It was new for me to know that people were reading my thoughts.  It was freeing to realize I could really say what I thought.  I think in the end, I realize that I had never 'lost my voice'.  I was just surrounded by people who couldn't hear.
This blog was actually mentioned in the letter I was given by a deceased Priest when he ex-communicated me.  It was offered among private, soul searching emails given as evidence that I must be removed from community.  I learned that my voice could be very threatening to people.  I also had people search me out and comment.  I had one friend who cried telling me that he found what he needed to hear within these writings.  I learned that my voice could also offer solace, perspective and sometimes healing.
A remember sitting and talking with someone whose friend had been murdered.  We talked about a core shift that happens when you have certain experiences.  I understood because I knew I looked at the world with different eyes because of my own core-shift.  What I didn't realize at the time:  you can shift again.  God willing, it will happen many times.
This trip to Ghana and some other things have helped me mark another shift.  This particular shift has been beautiful.  I've begin to see the abundance of blessings around me.  I'm no longer operating out of fear.  I've learned real boundaries and have great hope for the future.

This is my last post for this blog.  I've already tried to start another one about my travels.  All good things, and all really hard things must come to an end.

Much love,
Melissa

Rest in Peace

When I was at the park, a friend was telling me about her son having to go to first communion class.  I told her this was one of things I liked least about my Lutheran upbringing.  I had a flash to what I figured is the best first communion story.

My youngest child had been going up to the Communion Rail with me since she was born, actually before.  When she was about 18 months old, I went up to the rail holding her in my right arm.  I decided to stand and hold out my left hand to receive the Host.  As I reached out my hand, she also reached out her hand.  The Priest looked at me and whispered, is it ok?  I nodded my consent and he gave it to her.  She was a child.  I believe that children are far more capable of understanding the Sanctity of the Eucharist than adults.  She was at the table, and she wanted to eat.

I don't know how most clergy would have handled the situation.  I am eternally grateful that this Priest handled it perfectly.  I shudder to think what it would have done to my child's spirit to be refused.  This was one of my favorite encounters with Father Maltby.

Over the many months and years that our church struggled through change and lack of growth, my relationship with this man would become very different.  I am very sorry and sad for this change, especially since he died recently.  Since I am still not allowed to attend church there, I was not in a position to say good bye.  This was very hard on me.  I'm not sure how to grieve this person.  It is very complicated.  I wish we had been able to work toward reconciliation.

I felt pretty bad about all of this and took my worries to my Spiritual Director.  Her advice is simple "focus on the good things, don't forget the bad things."  I'm allowing myself (maybe even begging myself) to focus on the good things.  This memory of a first Communion is a perfect example of the good things.  I won't forget the bad things, I learned too many lessons.  One last lesson that I am learning is how to process complicated grief.  It is a kind of grief that seems to bubble over with all sorts of extra, complicated memories.  For me, it was almost like volcano erupting.  It spewed ash all over things.  Things are starting to settle down, and I'm glad to start seeing the good again.  My hope is that this man will Rest in Peace.  He deserves it.