This is the sermon I preached this past Sunday.
Well here we are, December 1st. We’ve eaten our turkeys, finished up the pumpkin pie. If your house is anything like mine, the leftovers are long gone. This year thanksgiving fell late; usually we have a Sunday between thanksgiving and the first Sunday in Advent, to kind of bring us gently into the season. Not so this year. This year we finish our thankfulness and go right into preparing for Christ’s birth. We go straight from gluttony around our tables to repentance. (and maybe that’s good!)
Advent is a time of preparation. For those of you who come from traditions or families where advent is not a part of your vocabulary, let me give you a brief introduction. Advent is the season before Christmas-the four weeks that lead up to Christmas Day. It is a time of preparation, of repentance. Advent (literally “arrival”) has been observed for centuries as a time to contemplate Christ’s birth. However, for the vast majority of us, December flies by in a flurry of activities, and what is called “the holiday season” turns out to be the most stressful time of the year, instead of a time of anticipation, heart-filled preparation, and repentance.
This time of year is also a time of contrasting emotions. We are eager, yet frazzled; sentimental, yet indifferent. One minute we glow at the thought of getting together with our family and friends; the next we feel utterly lonely. Our hope is mingled with dread, our anticipation with despair. We sense the deeper meanings of the season but grasp at them in vain; and in the end, all the hustle and bustle leaves us frustrated and drained.
For many of us this has already begun. It’s December 1st. But the lists were made long ago. The calendar is full already, the to-do lists are stacked up, the work has begun. We’re told, as one said in bible study last week, to slow down-to wait- to anticipate. But the world tells us differently.
Can you guess the most popular question this time of year? “What do you want for Christmas.” This week, I was sitting next to my 2 year old niece when a commercial came up for some children’s toy. Without blinking or moving, my niece (sitting on her mom’s lap) said I want that. My sister replied with the words that all mom’s and dad’s know this time of year, “Put it on your Christmas list. Or tell Santa!”
Somewhere along the line, our answer to that question changes. We go from asking for things we want, to asking for useful things that we need. I remember one year Dwight asked his dad for new tires for his truck! I’m not sure where or when that transition happens—but it does. This year, in an attempt to help you stay centered and focused, and our sermon series will help you to answer that question through the eyes of faith, All I want for Christmas is.” We will focus on the things that the world really needs: not another IPHONE, or tickle me elmo, but the things we need that can transform our lives and the world—hope, peace, joy and a savior.
I’ve got the very daunting task of talking to you today about hope. All week I’ve been pondering just what hope is. We talk about hope a lot—or at least we use the word a lot. We hope it will snow (or not snow) we hope someone’s surgery goes well, or that you have a nice visit with your folks. But none of those uses tell us really what hope is. Dictionary.com tells me that hope can be a verb or a noun. “the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best:” or as a noun, “a person or thing in which expectations are centered: The medicine was her last hope.”
At church we talk about hope in terms of our faith. Jesus is our hope. We hope in Christ. But again, what does that really mean?
So I went looking in books hoping they would help me.
Max Lucado, in his book, God Came Near (pages 88 & 89), illustrates the kinds of things people hope for today: “We were hoping the doctor would release him.” ”I had hoped to pass the exam.” ”We had hoped the surgery would get all the tumor.”
Lucado continues : “Our problem is not so much that God doesn’t give us what we hope for as it is that we don’t know the right thing for which to hope.”
Hope, in terms of our faith, is about Jesus-not just at Christmas, but throughout the year. As the Apostle Paul put it in his opening words of I Timothy: “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the command of God our Savior and of CHRIST JESUS OUR HOPE.” –I Timothy 1:1
What I’ve really been pondering this week is the difference between hope and optimism. I’ve been thinking about that because our advent study book, by James Harnish asks us the difference between the two and this week, our groups have had various differences in our discussion of it. But I couldn’t name for myself what the difference is until yesterday.
Finally last night I was able to name what I think the difference is. Optimism is a general lookout on life. Looking at the world, and for no reason, believe that things are okay, that it will work out (whatever it is) Hope is different though, because hope is based on experience. We hope the medicine will work for our loved one, because we have seen it work in others’ lives. We hope the visit will be good, because we have had other good visits. We hope the weather will hold out, because we know weather is unpredictable and could change (for the better or worse!) at any time. We hope.
In terms of our faith, we have hope in God. We hope that God will come to redeem us soon. We hope that when we close our eyes on this world, we will open them in heaven. We hope. We hope because we have seen God hold God’s promises. We hope because we have the stories of our spiritual ancestors being saved-of the Israelites being led out of Egypt, of them reaching the promised land. Stories of them wandering away, but always being called back to God. We have stories of Jesus healing people. We see Jesus life death and resurrection as the fulfillment of God’s promises. As one pastor put it, “We hope in God for the future because we have known God’s faithfulness in the past.” In Romans, Paul points to “the promises to the patriarchs.” God promised Noah that the earth would never again be destroyed, and God delivered on that promise. God promised Abraham offspring and land, and God delivered on that promise. God promised the Hebrew people deliverance from Egypt, and God delivered on that promise. God promised sustenance in the wilderness, and God delivered on that promise. God promised that Jesus would be raised from the dead, and God delivered on that promise.
And so we hope.
This weekend I went to see the second movie in the “Hunger Games trilogy. “Catching Fire.” If you’ve not read the books, or seen the movie let me give you a brief synopsis. The book is about the nation of Panem, formed from a post-apocalyptic North America. It is a country that consists of a wealthy Capitol region surrounded by 12 poorer districts. Early in its history, a rebellion led by a 13th district against the Capitol resulted in its destruction and the creation of an annual televised event known as the Hunger Games. In punishment, and as a reminder of the power and grace of the Capitol, each district must send one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18, chosen through a lottery system to participate in the games. The ‘tributes’ are chosen during the annual Reaping and are forced to fight to the death, leaving only one survivor to claim victory. The movie and books center around the main character, Katniss, who is 16 and during the first book, volunteers as the “tribute” to save her sister. (spoiler alert) Katniss wins alongside her partner Peeta, the first competition in the first book. The second book opens with President Snow, the evil person in charge, visiting Katniss to intimidate and scare her. People in the districts have begun to talk about rebellion because something Katniss did in the games gave them hope that something could change. I won’t spoil the second for you, but at one point during a discussion of the possibility of rebellion, President Snow says these words, “Fear can’t work if they have hope.”
Those words have stuck with me the past few days. They’ve been sitting in my brain and marinating. “Fear can’t work if they have hope.” I’ve been thinking about all of the stories in the bible where an angel appears. What are the first words usually, “Fear not” Our Gospel lesson today has those words “But the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even before he is born. He will bring back many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” I’ve always chocked up that first sentence to the humans being afraid because an angel has appeared before them. But what if it’s something more than that? What if it is a statement that God recognizes the fear people live in—during Zeceriah’s time the rule of the Roman government, the fear that the Israelites will never get their promised land back, that they will live in a world where they are second class citizens forever. Fear that nothing will change. Fear that the messiah will never come. What if the statement the angels make-to Zechariah, to Mary, to the shepherds later on is really a statement about that? God has seen your fear—and God has sent hope, in the form of a baby, to dispel that fear. Because fear doesn’t work if the people have hope. Hope that things will change, hope that the world will not always be the way it is now. Hope that things can get better. The amazing thing is that God does it on many levels. God recognizes the hope that the nation of Israel (and really the world!) needs, but he also recognizes the new hope that Elizabeth needs. A barren woman in a society like the one she lived in, was looked on with pity. There was something wrong with her. And her hope of being taken care of was limited.
This week, Eva came home from school (I don’t know what she’d been learning that this came up!) and asked, “When you get old, do we have to take care of you?!
I said, “yes, that’s what adoption means!”
“Okay,” she replied, “when you are old I will push you around and cook for you.”
As a barren woman in today’s world. I have options. I have retirement, I have agency’s that can help me if I’m older and have no relatives to rely on. That wasn’t the case with Elizabeth. If her husband died and she had no kids, Elizabeth would have to go to her family of origin, and beg them to take her in. Without a husband and kids she had no income, no home, no hope for the future. So with a simple sentence, God dispelled the fear of a nation, and the fear of one barren old woman. “Fear not…..”
Christian author Anne Lamott says that when things get really terrible, painful, and awful, it’s often because something amazing is getting ready to be born. Not because God causes the terrible painful and awful, but because God redeems it. God transforms despair into Hope, fear into love, weakness into strength.
Let me end by telling you what I know hope is not: it is not an excuse for inaction or laziness, it is not believing that things will get better without your help or involvement. It is not a wish that we toss half-heartedly into a fountain with little faith that it will come true. Again from Romans: “For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.” Hope is instructive; it shapes us and encourages us to undertake the challenging work of living in unity for the praise of God. (re-state!)
This advent, I hope (haha!) that you will let hope shape you. As we prepare for Christmas, and more importantly, for Christ’s arrival, let hope shape what that looks like. Let hope instruct you in the way that you celebrate this year, so that you may share your Hope with others. Put hope at the top of your Christmas list, because it is hope that dispels our fear that this will be just another boring Christmas, filled with too much work and not enough spirit. It is hope that will fill you with God’s love, that will remind you of God’s eternal promise to redeem creation. It is hope that will teach you and hope that will uphold you. It is hope that will strengthen you. Hope that this is not all there is, that there is something better, and we better work for it.
In the name of the one who is our hope, Amen.
2 years ago tomorrow (Nov. 23) at 6pm, my life changed forever. That was the day that three beautiful children walked into our home.
Dwight and I had done Foster Care before. During our third year of marriage, we got hooked into an agency called San Mar in western Maryland that trains, licenses and resources families to do “Treatment Foster Care.” This is normally a group of kids who have higher levels of need, either because of medical issues, developmental delays, or psychological issues. We spent almost a year working with San Mar, and had two Foster children during that time.
When we moved to West Virginia, we decided that we needed a break, especially since Dwight was working at a job with the same demographic of teens. But after a year of living in a huge house with extra bedrooms, our home and hearts felt empty without the laughter of children. So we geared back up, found a wonderful agency called the Children’s Home Society, and got re-licensed.
We spent three months taking classes on stuff we’d already learned and lived in real life. We re-did our CPR and First Aid, filled out tons and tons of paperwork, got fingerprinted, had our background checks re-done, and asked friends to write references for us. We finished our part of the process in April and every month I would call and ask the worker if she’d completed and processed our paperwork so that we could be matched with a child. They were extremely backlogged.
Finally in November of 2011 we got the call. “We have a sibling group of 3 girls that we need to move into a new home. We’re going to rush through your license because we think it would be a good fit. They are 15, 6, and 5. What do you think?” Dwight and I were hesitant to take teens again, but knew that placing a sibling group like this would be hard for the agency to do. So we prayed, took a deep breath and said yes. Then we began preparing. We put out a call to friends and family asking if anyone had an extra twin bed. “No rush” we said, because the agency thought we would take a couple of weeks to complete the transfer. We’ll do a couple of get-to know you meetings, and then maybe try an overnight, and then a weekend, and make the transition go smoothly they said. The next day they called back and said, how bout we bring them over next week? Sure, I replied, trying not to panic. After a second call for twin beds, we had friends who could give us two. We ended up only having to buy one (and the company threw in a free cover!)
We began leisurely moving things that had been stored in our extra bedrooms to new homes. Not worrying too much, because it was the week of thanksgiving, and we wouldn’t be getting them until the next weekend. It was our year to host thanksgiving again, and this year my whole family came. All 7 siblings plus a brother-in-law, my parents, 3 nieces and a nephew, 1 cousin. Normal for us.
And then my cell phone rang again. Can we bring them over tonight? I told the worker that my whole family was there (and explained what that meant in terms of numbers!) We were fine, my family is used to lots of people, but I didn’t want the girls to be overwhelmed and the placement to fail because of it. “We’ll be there at 6,” he replied.
The last twin bed got delivered at 5pm.
So in the girls walked. 2 little girls with round faces, one exuberantly chasing after the cats right away (that hasn’t changed) 1 a little shyer but with sparkling brown eyes, and 1 quietly reserved teenager (that has changed!) I shook the teenager’s hand, and introduced myself, and then knelt down to do the same to her sisters. “I’m Tricia, and this is Dwight, nice to meet you.” The teen quickly piped up, “can they just call you mom and dad, they aren’t good with names, and it’s easier.”
And that was it.
I asked them today if they remembered the day they moved in. Ivy said all she remembers is that it was a lot of people she didn’t know. “But now I do!” she said.
It’s two years later, our teenager will be 18 in just a few weeks, but she is legally ours forever. Her sisters are 7 and 8 and I just tucked them into bed. This week the 8 year old told me that she was jealous that “sissy’s” adoption was done and hers was not. She was afraid that it would not happen, that we would change our minds and she wouldn’t be our “forever daughter” like Amira is. I reminded her of the state’s rule, that they have to live with us in Maryland for 6 months (even though they’d been with us in WV for over 6) But we already filled out the paperwork, waiting for the deadline. I reminded her that we’d fought and fought and fought for them to come back and live with us again, and we would never let anyone change that now. I kissed her and hugged her and told her that she was already my “forever daughter,” the rest is just paperwork.
It’s been two years of waiting. Two years of court dates, and therapy appointments. Two years of social workers and endless paperwork. Two years of driving them to visitations with bio-mom. Two years of transitions. Two years of heartbreak when they weren’t with us, and hard goodbyes.
But it’s also been two years of miracles. Two years of hugs and kisses at night. Two years of watching them learn to talk to God when they’re scared or worried. Two years of “can we snuggles,” and “can I have a kiss.” Two years of reading storybooks and helping with homework. Two years of singing songs in the car, and two years of “I love you.”
Two years of being a family, even when we were not.
People always tell me how lucky the girls are to have us, but I know that the really lucky ones are Dwight and I.
So tomorrow at 6pm, I will offer up a simple prayer of thanks for my family. We won’t all be together, but I know that each of us will think of our first thanksgiving together, and can’t wait for more to come.
The first time I met Dick was on a mountain. We were waiting for the beginning of an Emmaus weekend (http://emmaus.upperroom.org) for him and about 18 other men to begin. I’d already met his wife Janet, at the intake meeting for my upcoming appointment change. In four short months I would become their Pastor. In every congregation I’ve served, there’s been at least one older man who has not liked me, no matter what I did. It is just a fact. I have to admit that the first time I met Dick, I worried that he might be that person. Later I was humbled to find that he was exactly the opposite.
That weekend changed Dick. One of the stories that was told to me soon after I moved to Berkeley Springs to be the pastor at Union Chapel, was that before his Emmaus walk Dick was adamantly against the ministry to DC homeless population that the church helped with once a month. They would drive a van 2 hours to hand out 120 some meals, clothes, and toiletry kits to anyone they could find. Apparently, when the ministry first got introduced at Union Chapel, Dick was vehemently against it, wanting them instead to put their work into the local community (which they also do!) After his Emmaus walk, Dick went on almost every monthly trip. Seeing Dick with his homeless friends was a blessing and a challenge to do better personally. He would smile and joke as he looked through the piles of clothes in the back of the van, blessing people as he did so. He was so excited to be helping, and it was contagious.
Dick loved to help. He was 81 or 82 when I first moved to Berkeley Springs, but he helped my husband deliver our couches. He carried them in like he was 18, without a care in the world. One of the things I loved about Dick was his generosity. I can’t count the number of times Dwight or I called to ask him to do something, and EVERY time we called, he said yes. He dropped everything one Sunday morning during worship to drive Dwight to the hospital during a back spasm, and sat in the waiting room making jokes until I could join them, and Dwight could go home.
Our first Easter, Dwight’s maternal grandmother passed away, and on our way out of town we stopped by the restaurant where they were having dinner to ask them to dog-sit, and they said yes without hesitation, and blew away our apologies for interruption. He never made you feel like you were asking too much.
Our first Christmas Eve service at UC, I started a new family service that hadn’t been done before. I had this vision of kids and families filling the church, when in actuality we had about 10 people. We had only 3 or 4 kids, so my plan to have them play musical instruments along with the Christmas hymns was almost ruined—until Dick jumped up to grab a tambourine and join in! It made my night.
Dick loved fiercely. He was loyal and protective of those who considered family, and he wanted you to know that, so he worked to show you. There was nothing better than Dick’s smile. It would light up what sometimes felt like a gruff face, and seeing it could change your day.
I grew up away from our extended family. Our grandparents lived on the other side of the country, and we didn’t get to see them much. Because of this, our parents always helped us to create family where we were, through our church. I have taken that habit into my ministry, and Dick was family to me. He was the grandfather I wanted to live right next door. His sense of humor was unstoppable, and his energy and work ethic unbeatable.
The only bad things I can say about Dickie (as his wife calls him) is that he couldn’t sing on key, and his tambourine playing wasn’t that great, and (he was horrible at the car game, “yellowcar!”) But I bet that first part has changed now that he’s on the other side, and I can’t wait to see him playing in the Angel band.
Thank you for sharing your life and love with us. Thank you for your support and encouragement while I was your pastor. Thank you for the important ministry that you did, and for your legacy that will live on. DeColores friend.
A few weeks ago, I did something I swore I would never do.
I got a tattoo.
The idea had been rattling in my head for over a year, as a way to memorialize or give physical presence to the grief I’ve been carrying for my failed pregnancies. We had 5, with 7 embryos used during the IVF cycles. That is a lot of grief.
But there is no tombstone, no grave. No one has memories to share with me to help in the healing. Instead there is silence and nothingness.
So I went with a friend who also needed a physical representation of her own miscarriages, and I let a man use a needle to draw 7 hearts: one for each possible life.
Grief is a weird thing. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It takes energy you didn’t know you had or needed, and it pulls things apart subtly and suddenly.
One time I was in the hospital with my husband’s family waiting and praying for a member of his family who was dying. I was struck at how the grief took up the room. It was sitting there with us, and as more people entered and we spilled into the hallway, the grief followed. It took up more and more space until it felt like there was not enough air in the room.
That’s how I’ve been feeling lately. Like sometimes there isn’t enough room to breathe, that the vast nothingness is expanding more and more.
I wonder if this feeling of nothingness is unique to grief about infertility, because part of what dies is the possibilities. We carry around with us not memories, but what if’s, not pictures but empty baby albums. We have empty arms, with no memory of a baby in them.
I’m lucky to have three beautiful children that came into my life a different way. I get to hold them and love them, watch them grow and celebrate in their healing and accomplishments. (In a very strange coincidence two of them look like they could be my biological children…) I love my girls and I can’t imagine life without them. But I also grieve for the babies that I will never have.
At our fertility clinic every time we went through a cycle we received a photograph of the embryos. It is a nice idea, to have a picture of your baby right there at the beginning of conception. Not many people have that. But now I have pictures of the embryos and nothing else. No month by month growth pictures, no first birthdays, no toddler smiles wearing weird outfits. Just black and white photos of a possibility that never materialized, that my body rejected.
So now I have a tattoo. Hearts to remind me of the love I have for the babies I never bore. Hearts to remind me of the love I have from my girls.
A way to remember that even in the nothingness, even in the grief, I am surrounded by love and grace.
Dear DHHR, Court System
Please consider this your “dear John” letter. I could say all of the cheesy things like, “we can still be friends,” “it’s not you, it’s me.” But the truth is….it is you, and we can’t.
I have always been your advocate; when others told stories of your ineptitude, failure to support, or lack of caring, I shouted “NO! That has not been our experience.”
But today, that ends.
Because last night, I had to take our 8 year old foster daughter to the hospital for a raging temper tantrum that you caused.
When our sweet girl walked into our house a year and a half ago, she was the quiet, mild, and subdued one of the 3 sisters. She was one you could count on to do what you asked, to cuddle up next to you on the couch, or give you sweet hugs and offer to help.
Now, I have to walk on egg shells around her for fear that our day will turn into a temper tantrum in hell. And I blame you.
If you had not dragged your feet in providing them permanency, if you had stuck to your own regulations and done what you promised this all could have been done and over with. Our girl would not have had to live in 3 foster homes, with multiple respites. She wouldn’t have 4 women she sometimes calls “Mommy” or be worried that someone will come take her in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t be filled with so much anger and fear and anxiety that the only way to let it out is to kick and scream, and cry, and yell and tear things, destroying all that is around her.
If you had all fought harder for the “child’s best interest,” (or for some of you, done your job at all) I wouldn’t have had to call 911 last night. I wouldn’t be coming up with safety plans for our daughter so that she doesn’t feel afraid when she goes to sleep at night.
If you had done your job, her adoption, and the adoption of her sisters, would have been complete a year ago, and we’d be 150 steps ahead of where we are now in helping her to feel safe and loved and wanted.
I don’t blame all of you. Our workers have cared. But as a system, you suck.
You name people as guardian ad-litems who are supposed to work for the children’s best interest but never spend more than 3 minutes with said child. You change judges around so that no one knows what’s going on, or you ignore your own policies.
If you were trying harder, you would return to what your mantra should be, “best interests of child trump everything else.” And our daughter wouldn’t be on the brink of a mental break-down, causing the rest of our family to be trying desperately to keep our heads above water as we wade through the chaos and frustration and fear.
As a Christian, I believe in redemption. I believe in transformation. I believe in second and third and fourth chances. But I also believe in boundaries, and love and the importance of speaking up for those who can’t speak for themselves.
Our girls have been through hell. And not all of it was caused by the neglect and abuse of their biological family. Some it is because of you.
You owe my children a better childhood, because you are the ones who ultimately took it from them.
So as you shuffle your paper around, and pass the blame to one another, know that you have lost me as your advocate. I will no longer stand up for you, because I am instead standing with all of the kids who get lost in your hierarchical system. I’m standing with the ones who are waiting for your paperwork to match up what has already happened in their hearts and lives, so that they can get back to a normal childhood.
From now on, it’s not you and me together helping kids. It’s me against you, trying to grab the children from your reach.
Be prepared, because like all mother’s, it is best to stay on my good side.
Sincerely,
An Angry Foster/Adoptive Parent
June 20, 13
To Whom It May Concern:
As a UMC pastor, one of the many conversations I have with people is about why we don’t follow the laws laid down in the Hebrew Bible. I explain to them the difference between following the letter of the law as our Jewish brothers and sisters often do, and the spirit of the law. The example I usually give regards Sabbath: the letter of the law means that no work can be done, and for our Jewish friends that is laid out with very exact expectations. But for us, as Christ-followers, we remember that the Spirit of the law is to have a dedicated time apart to worship God, and to rest, and that the Sabbath was intended by God to be a helpful thing for humanity.
I say all of this to ask if there is a way that we can follow the law-requiring Ivy and Eva to be in West Virginia until paperwork is complete -without being exacting and demanding on two girls who have already had enough upheaval and transition.
It has probably already been reported to you that Ivy has been having some major meltdowns, and that she required hospitalization a little over two weeks ago. We have had them back in our home in Baltimore for 6 nights, and only the past two have gone without a major issue. She is just now feeling stabilized and supported again. We believe, based on our training and experience, that removing her from our home and placing her back in the Ford’s home (or any respite care) is going to cause her to regress in her therapeutic work and may cause further trauma due to her strained relationship with the Fords. She does not yet trust that permanency will happen because she is still required to go back and forth at the state’s whim.
If we have to take her back to WV for the weekend, I am seriously concerned that she will start to go backwards again and we will have to start all over.
These girls have already been in care way longer than they should have, and now that their permanency plan is in place (adoption by us) it is merely a matter of paperwork. Can’t we let the paperwork work itself out, and do what is in the best interests of the children in this case? The rules don’t always take that into consideration. Much like the Sabbath, we must remember that these rules were made for the children, not the children for the rules and sometimes we have to set aside the pre-scribed schedule and timetable so that the children can thrive.
Please find a way to fix this, so that our girls can begin their lives anew and begin the healing process. We will of course, follow the direction of the court, but we hope that we can find a middle way for the sake of the girls’ well-being.
Thank you for your consideration in this matter.
Rev. Patricia S Watson Dwight Calvin Watson Jr.
Lead Pastor Senior Child Care Worker
Epworth UMC, Cockeysville, MD Board of Child Care
This week has been filled with prom preparations, we’ve purchased the required gown with “bling” and beauty. We’ve got the shoes with a stiletto high heel, and the earings to compliment her dress. We’ve gotten our manicures and pedicures and she has (against my wishes) spent her money on self-tanner.
And in a few short weeks, we will watch our daughter cross the stage in her cap and gown.
Most mothers, as they watch their daughter get all dolled up in a fancy dress and heels, probably remember when their daughters were young and used to tottle around the house in heels way too big for them. Or maybe they flash back to days of dress-up in princess costumes or ballet outfits.
Most mothers, as they watch their daughters cross the stage are probably reminiscing, thinking ‘where did that little girl in pig tails with missing front teeth go?” They grow up all too soon.
Those won’t be my thoughts over the next few weeks.
Because I have no memories like that of my daughter.
My daughter, fierce and beautiful, courageous and strong, walked into my house a little over a year and a half ago with a sullen, quiet look of frustration and fear on her face. We were her second foster placement in a 3 month period after she had bravely stepped forward to name herself as a victim of abuse at the hand of her stepfather. She came into our house with Rubbermaid containers of cloths, and her two sisters, 5 and 6. She asked us if the younger girls could call us “mommy and daddy” but she called us Tricia and Dwight. With good reason. She’d already been through this before.
It was the night before thanksgiving when she entered our home, filled already with 6 of my 7 siblings, and my parents. She quickly came out of her shell and weeks later used her salesmanship to convince me to buy her an iPhone. (that hasn’t stopped, I still spend way more money than I should on her.) For the first month she told us firmly that she didn’t want to be adopted; she only wanted someone to take guardianship of her until she turned 18, so that she could become a US citizen. (She’d moved her as a refugee from Bosnia at 9months old.) By Christmas, she’d asked us to be the ones to take guardianship, by January we were talking about adoption. Suddenly one day (maybe around Valentines Day) we became mom and dad.
I can’t imagine my life without her.
But when I get to see her complete prom outfit next week, and when we watch her cross the stage in 3 weeks, the tears on my face won’t be from memories of her as a little girl. The tears will be pride in the fierce creature that she is. They will be tears for the years of pain, and abuse that she’s endured; tears for the childhood that was taken from her all too soon. Tears for the courage and strength she has had over the last two years as together we’ve fought for her sisters. They will be tears of happiness that God brought her into my life, and tears of thankfulness for making me a mother.
This week I found myself on the phone…a LOT.
Yesterday went like this:
dial number. Get voicemail. Leave the following voicemail, “My name is Patricia Watson, and I’m calling on behalf of my daughter. We are trying to register her for school, and I’ve been calling you since July to get her transcripts sent. The school here has faxed in 2 requests. Please call me back, we need to register her by tomorrow, or she is in-eligible to fall sports.”
Hang up. Dial another number, leave the same voicemail. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Not ONE person called me back yesterday. I did not talk to a live person until 3:30pm.
It was the substitute secretary for the Superintendent of Schools, whom I called after I’d left messages with the high school’s secretary, the 2 vice-principals, the principal, and the guidance office. This woman was very helpful and gave me the name and number of the specific person I needed to talk with. I called that person and left another voicemail.
I left my office yesterday practically in tears worried that once again, my daughter was going to have to change plans because the adults in her life couldn’t seem to get their jobs done correctly and efficiently. Once again, her life would be messed up because of paperwork.
We finally did get it resolved today, while sitting in the new school’s guidance office. I called again (3 times!) and it took them an hour and a half to fax it over. But it’s done.
All of this got me thinking this morning……I’m so glad that praying is not like that. I never get a busy tone, and never have to leave a voicemail. True, I don’t get an audible answer back from God. but I never leave a time of prayer feeling more frustrated and more irritated than when I began. I sometimes leave without the answer I wanted, but I never leave a time of prayer without some kind of response. I can feel God listening, because I trust that God is always there. The WV school system may not want to talk to me…..but God certainly does.
This week I find myself at one of my favorite places on earth. Normally, it is a place where I find complete rest, peace, relaxation, and a re-filling/fueling of my spirit. It’s a place where I see old friends, spend time with family, and get to love on lots of kids. Normally, I’m in my element. Just the right mix of being in charge, and having some down-time, this place feeds my soul.
Normally.
This year, I find myself in a completely different space, while in the same physical place. This year I find myself surrounded by grief. Awash in a field of sadness, all while bathing in an ocean of peace. It’s a weird feeling to say the least. Nothing traumatic has happened lately. No new reasons for grief—-simply old wounds opening once again.
At first I was confused. But then as I was struggling to fall asleep last night I realized this is happening not despite of the fact that I’m here, but really precisely because I’m here.
This place is a holding space for me. It’s always been a place where I feel God’s spirit, and where I can hear God’s voice more clearly…..so why wouldn’t this be the space that my spirit feels ready and able to open old wounds so that they might be healed? At home I’m often so busy caring for others’ needs and pain, I can’t and don’t always care for my own. At home I’m so precisely scheduled that I sometimes barely have time to breath let alone look for holding space for my own spirit’s need.
So today, I find myself grateful. Grateful for the grace that comes amid chaos and the grief that comes amid peace.
I find myself lately with an immense urge to write. Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading so many of my friends’ articles, and blogs, and poems. Or maybe it’s because for too long I have ignored the urge to create. In the midst of my life, which is I admit FILLED to the brim with chaos most days, I often find myself ignoring or pushing aside with firm hands the desire to sit in a space of creativity and thought. Instead I want to be mindless.
So much of my job involves thinking and feeling: prepping sermons, providing pastoral care, helping people think through tough issues, asking questions of church leadership and even family; so at the end of the day all I want to do is sit like a blob in front of the TV, my computer, or my IPAD and veg out.
But clearly, my soul is not getting fed that way.
And the feeling, the urge, the desire will not go away.
I know this because 2 weeks ago I was on an airplane flying back from Nashville and sitting at the window I noticed the roll of the clouds, and without thinking I grabbed a piece of paper, a pen and began to write. I wrote a poem. I never write poems. Ever. And yet….it flowed out of my pen without thought until I felt exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. It wasn’t very good, it wasn’t a genius work of art…..but it was something. And I felt immense relief.
So here it is: the space I am giving myself to create. To write, to rant, to vent, to be.
I hope you’ll join me.
graceamidchaos 