Gratitude Realized

How do I begin to tell you about my decision to resign a position I once loved and felt called to?  Where do I start?  Whatever I say here will seem so...so inadequate.  But I almost feel that I need to try to put into writing some sort of summary of the journey I have been through in the last year for my own closure.

On March 14, I informed my congregation of my resignation as Minister of Worship and Music at North Main St. Mennonite Church (and also as church secretary) with the intention of finding a new church home.  A painful and profoundly difficult day.  And here it is May 19 and I am staring my last Sunday as Minister of Worship and Music square in the face.  This Sunday will be the last time, in this role, that I stand on the platform and lead a hymn I love and look out at the faces of the congregation as they sing along heartily.  It will be the last time that I will play the piano for prelude and offertory and accompany the praise team - as a minister.  It will be the last Sunday that I enjoy worship, clothed in the role that I have learned to live in and embrace. 

And it really hurts. 

I don't think I'm ready to write about the process that led to this decision.  At some point I will need to.  It feels too raw at this time.  But I can say, happily, that my feelings toward this congregation have taken a drastic turn from what they were at the moment of my resignation.  While I am still secure in the knowledge that North Main is not a good fit for Brian and myself in the long run, my feelings of frustration, anger, disillusionment, and maybe even disgust, have all but been forgotten.  I now feel gratitude, love, regret, and affection.  I know that I will be able to walk away and things will have ended as well as they possibly could have.  And that's what I have desired all along - that this break would be as positive for all parties as it could be. 

At the beginning of April I attended a Mennonite Women in Conversation Retreat in Laurelville, PA that was AMAZING!  (The keynote speaker was the super-awesome Megan Ramer.)  The theme of the weekend was gratitude, always a topic that resonates for me.  And I realized in that weekend that I had not allowed myself to grieve the loss of my position.  Perhaps because I was the one to make the decision, and because of that I felt guilty.  What right did I have to grieve?  I'm the one who is hurting our congregation, people I love.  But I needed to accept the fact that I am allowed to feel sad, even if the decision was mine.  I also allowed myself to feel the fear of not knowing what is next for me.  What will I be now that this position that gave me so much identity is over?  And how will Brian and I survive without my income?  As I allowed myself to be present in these feelings, the floodgates of emotion just opened up.  That weekend allowed me to move towards healing, even as I journey through this mourning process.

A question in one of our sessions that weekend was how do we live in gratitude during times seasons in our lives where things to be grateful for are not apparent, where things are difficult?  And I made a decision to move through this stage in life with gratitude - whatever that means, however I can find it. 

So, I am grateful to have had this experience and opportunity.  I am grateful for the friends and family who have walked through this with me, lending me an ear or a shoulder to lean on.  I am grateful for a "sabbatical" this summer as I try to figure out where I am being led.  I am grateful for a husband who assures me that things will work themselves out.  I'm grateful for the adventure of whatever is next.  I am grateful for a congregation who is sending Brian and I with an outpouring of love.

Last Sunday the church had a carry-in dinner and short program for Brian and myself as a farewell.  I was given a gift of a beautiful salad bowl (made by a man in our congregation) and tongs.  And in that bowl people placed blessings for Brian and I.  I have not read the blessings.  I am holding on to them.  And this summer I will pull them out - one at a time - when I feel I need one, and I will savor them.  In the end I am left with a bowl full of blessings. 

And I am so grateful.

Everyone's a Little Bit Racist

I pride myself on my cultural sensitivity.  I try really hard to avoid perpetuating stereotypes, I try to keep an open mind, to avoid judgements, blah, blah, blah.  This is not because I am such an advanced human being who, by my own superiority, received this enlightenment.  No, I have to credit this to two things: 1) my mom who, actually is a superior human being and never let a lick of discrimination pass between her lips, and 2) attending Bethany Christian High School and Goshen College where cultural sensitivity is all but BEAT into your system.  I remember gettting worn out by it in school, resisting it, feeling like they were just being overly sensitive.  And then, I don't know when exactly, it became a part of my living and breathing, it just clicked.  I understood why it was so important.  I credit them and thank them for that important influence in my life.  I do remember one day making a decision that I would speak only in inclusive language and would always avoid and stand against discriminatory statements and jokes.  It hasn't been easy but you can change your language with persistence and repetition.  But by no means am I perfect at it.  Not by a long shot.  However, I figure trying is better than nothing. 

We have some very close friends who, let's say, haven't quite had the background or revelations that I've had.  How do you try to get someone to grasp quickly what took you a lifetime to come to terms with?  Well you don't, and I have to reserve judgement about that as well.  But they all know that they are not to make racist, sexist, or descriminatory comments or tell jokes of the same nature around me.  Which doesn't really stop them...but they in no way question where I stand.

As an aside, my parents spend the winters now in Brownsville, Texas (on the border of Mexico) where my brother and his family live.  So I was asking my mom if she's picking up any words or phrases, absorbing the culture if you will, while there.  She told me that she had learned the word for "mountain" which is "montana."  She then lamented that it doesn't work itself into conversation much. 

So while hanging out with my friends the other night, I noticed that Terry was wearing a sweatshirt that said "Montana."  Trying to be conversational I began telling him that I had just learned that "Montana" means "mountain."  Except I botched it all up.  I began explaining how my mom had gotten back from Brownsville and I asked her if she'd learned any Mexican words while there.  IMMEDIATELY, our other friend Dan asked, "What did you say?  Did you ask her if she'd learned any "Mexican" words?  Because I believe the language they speak is Spanish." 

There it was.  I, the supposed great moral compass of the group, had committed a horrible cultural gaffe.  I don't know what posessed me.  I'm sure I was trying to combine the idea of picking up Mexican culture with learning the Spanish language and it just came out all wrong.  Right?  It had to be. 

But, I'm sure that this group will not ever let me live this down.  It will haunt me forever. 

As another aside, Heather and I just finished our season of musicals the week before this conversation ocurred, seeing "Avenue Q."  Which is hilarious and extremely adult.  (i.e. If you would like to see explicit puppet sex, this is the show for you.)  But it was chock full of scathing commentary on modern life.  One song immediately came to mind after my scandalous exchange with friends.  I would like to share it with you.  Be warned, it's a little adult...and a little bit true.

A Simple Afternoon?

The weeds outside my back door have been calling to me...more like they have been nagging at me like some old harpy.  The truth of the matter is I don't mind heading outdoors and getting my hands dirty - that is until things have gotten out of control.  Then I get so overwhelmed that I'm paralyzed from even beginning.  To make matters worse our beautiful patio and sidewalk that Brian laid down two summers ago was completely overtaken by weeds, weeds that should not have been there.  I insisted that plastic be laid down before the patio blocks were laid.  Fat lot of good THAT did. 

But my good cheer would not have a damper put on it by a few wayward weeds.  I invited Reggie outdoors with me and put him on his chain so that he could enjoy the fresh air with me.  In hind-sight, that may have been a mistake.

I'm merrily pulling weeds, listening to the radio.  A man walks down our alley.  As per usual, Reggie runs after him barking like a vicious degenerate.  (He is on his chain though, so no harm befalls the innocent walker-by.)  I apologize for my dog's rude behavior and go about my business.

As I'm pulling weeds I'm looking at our sidewalk thinking it just looks really, well, unkempt somehow.  I can't quite put my finger on it.  As I poke around a little I discover that the reason is that the grass is starting to grow over onto the sidewalk, the way it is wont to do.  (Not that the stupid grass will grow where we plant it, but take over the sidewalk, sure.)  I try to pull it like it's a weed but that's getting me nowhere really fast.  So I come up with an idea to get out our flat-edged shovel and pummel the thing into the earth thereby creating a straight, clean edge. 

I bring out the shovel.  The SECOND I put that shovel in my hand and place my foot upon it Reggie goes absolutely ballistic!  I don't know what that shovel in my hands looked like.  Perhaps he thought the shovel was attacking me.  Perhaps he though I was attacking the shovel.  Whatever the case may be, he had a pure hatred and aggression towards the situation.  First he wrapped me up in chain barking and growling at the shovel.  I got off the shovel, gave him a stern word or two, unwrapped myself, and tried again.  AGAIN, the second I got on that shovel hostility ensued and my beloved dog BIT MY LEG!  He bit my leg and broke the skin.  Alright, I didn't have blood streaming down my leg and it was just one puncture mark, not a whole mouth shaped wound.  BUT HE BIT ME. 

And I was ticked!  So I took said shovel and gave Reggie a firm whack across the rump.  Nothing crazy - although I must have looked crazy with my shovel and my yelling at him about being bad and all.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a neighbor working in her yard and thought I should probably pull it together.  So there I am, yelling, wielding a shovel, and at that very moment a sheriff pulls up.  The first thought that ran through my head was, "How in the world did he get here so fast?  It just happened.  When the neighbor called he must have been right here." 

So he pulls up and says the obligatory, "hello ma'am" and all.  I put down the shovel.  Do I even need to say that I am total mess also?  I was sweaty, dirty with soil from head to toe, and I probably had a crazy look in my eyes.  Then he asks, "Did you see a man with a black shirt and jeans walk by here?"  Shew!  A narrow miss from winding up in the klink for animal cruelty. 

I replied that I had, about 30 minutes previous.  Then the sheriff wants to know if he appeared drunk.  I said I didn't know, my dog had been barking and that was all I really paid attention to.  He said he had a report of a drunk walking that way from another neighbor. 

Really?  Poor guy.  If he was drunk he was keeping to himself pretty nicely, not causing any trouble.  It was a beautiful Friday afternoon.  So he hit the sauce a little early.  Who cares?  Anyway.  There ended my run in with the law.  Reggie and I gave each other the cold shoulder for about an hour. 

The stupid shovel didn't even work.  I edged the entire sidewalk with an old kitchen carving knife.  If there is anything that is not fun AT ALL, that is it.  This would be a superior punishment for children because it is THAT AWFUL...although you may not want to give misbehaving children a carving knife.  Proceed with caution.  But I have to say I am quite proud of the results.  And though I'd like to say I will never do it again, spring has a way of making me forget how awful certain things are. 

I will, however, not be using the flat-edged shovel near or around Reggie in the near future.