My son and I returned from California Friday, and missed our late night connection from Philadelphia to Harrisburg. Because we have wonderful friends who live 15 minutes from the Philly airport, our missed flight led to a night of good conversation, a great night's sleep, and buttermilk pancakes before our Saturday afternoon rescheduled flight. Others, of course, weren't so lucky.
The airline agent endured loud, testy, and ultimately ineffectual protests from passengers on four departed connections. As my 8 year old and I walked away, we heard one young woman yell "NO F-ING WAY....I'M GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW!!" Gabe said, "she said a bad word" to which I replied "yes, honey, she is very upset". And he simply said, "I don't blame her...marriage is important".I smiled and said warmly..."yes sweet pea, marriage is very important".
I count Gabe's pronouncement a victory, a moment where hope triumphs over experience. Of course, his father and I separated and divorced when Gabe was a preschooler. Gabe's father is now remarried with a new baby. And two weeks ago, I introduced Gabe to the reality that mommy has a boyfriend. Gabe's questions and observations since my disclosure have included that Craig, too, "split up" [Gabe's term] with his wife. We also talked about how his kids live with "both their mommy and daddy", to which Gabe said "just like me". Sadly, my son's world is filled with divorce...including his mommy/daddy, one set of grandparents, an uncle, and many of his elementary school peers.
I conversed with our Philly hosts, incidentally a single dad and his significant other, about how kids today take it in stride when they and their peers have two homes and/or step and half siblings. It saddens us that divorce is so prevalent; yet, we are comforted that our kids are not alone in their split family experience.In a world in which marriage seems fragile at best and outdated at worst, I count it a good day in which Gabe recognizes that marriage is important.
And, I trust that the young woman made it to her wedding.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Lessons amidst the death of a parent
My father died on May 20th. It is still surreal. We had a lovely memorial service at his alma mater [and mine] Occidental College. Family and friends shared good memories of dad at a place Dad loved. Having a parent die is difficult; it suddenly catapults you into adulthood in new ways. In the days following his death, there was little time to grieve but there was much to do. Inform family. Get a flight to California. Plan a memorial. Write a eulogy. Order hors d'oeurves. Inform friends. Plan a burial. Write an obituary. At the reception following the memorial, a friend whose lost both her parents warned me..."this is weird. you are grieving, but you are the host of the party". She was so right. Amidst decorating tables, greeting family and friends, and communicating with catering, I sometimes looked to dad's photo's amidst the flowers to remind myself why we were there. It wasn't until everyone left...once there was a lull in my responsibilities, that I was able to feel the loss and cry.
I learned the point of flowers amidst a death too. Somewhere I got the idea that a grieving family would prefer something other than flowers, something that lasts or doesn't have to be carried. In actuality, the flowers that arrived for the memorial meant a lot. I didn't mind carrying them at all, and it didn't matter one iota that they'd be temporal. When one person who brought flowers to the memorial took them with her when she left [yes, very odd], I was thinking like "hey, those are for us...". When I got on a plane to return home, I couldn't take the flowers with me. I was suddenly home without any visual reminder that I'd experienced a loss. I felt the gap and told a friend, who thankfully came through with a lovely bouquet. Flowers are not a burden. They are, perhaps, alongside sympathy cards, an opportunity to sort of sit shiva, a period of time the grieved is given just to be sad. Slowly the flowers and cards that sit prominently on my kitchen table and mantle will come down. That will be a sign that I'm ready to move to the next phase of grief. In the meantime, I will let them remind me to care for myself amidst loss. And, when a friend loses someone in the future, I will send flowers.
I learned the point of flowers amidst a death too. Somewhere I got the idea that a grieving family would prefer something other than flowers, something that lasts or doesn't have to be carried. In actuality, the flowers that arrived for the memorial meant a lot. I didn't mind carrying them at all, and it didn't matter one iota that they'd be temporal. When one person who brought flowers to the memorial took them with her when she left [yes, very odd], I was thinking like "hey, those are for us...". When I got on a plane to return home, I couldn't take the flowers with me. I was suddenly home without any visual reminder that I'd experienced a loss. I felt the gap and told a friend, who thankfully came through with a lovely bouquet. Flowers are not a burden. They are, perhaps, alongside sympathy cards, an opportunity to sort of sit shiva, a period of time the grieved is given just to be sad. Slowly the flowers and cards that sit prominently on my kitchen table and mantle will come down. That will be a sign that I'm ready to move to the next phase of grief. In the meantime, I will let them remind me to care for myself amidst loss. And, when a friend loses someone in the future, I will send flowers.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
My Son's Platform
The joys of the evening ritual.
After a story from the Bible and a chapter from The Magic TreeHouse, Gabe and I always enjoy a bit of conversation after lights out. Two nights ago, Gabe expressed his wish to have a "million dollars". Of course, I'm trying to do motherhood for social change, so I asked him what he would do with a million dollars fully expecting to educate him about using our gifts and finances to helps others. To my chagrin, Gabe said he'd spend it on " healthcare".
And then I hear a story from Gabe's babysitter....she was driving him home from soccer when she suddenly experienced a vibrant scent from the back seat. Gabe had gotten into her hand sanitizer, and was rubbing his hands together vigorously. When she asked what he was doing, he responded incredulously, "Well I don't want to get the Swine Flu!".
Where does he get this stuff? His dad and I recognize that Gabe takes everything in....even when he appears to be distracted, it becomes obvious that he stays attentive to surrounding conversation. Apparently, he's gotten the message that healthcare is an issue...so maybe it's good that kids are exposed to the issues of the world at an early age.
Of course, we have to take the good with the bad. Our evening ritual last night taught me that. After our Bible Story and a Magic Tree House chapter, Gabe again asked God for a "million bucks.......in cash". As if I hadn't quite gotten the message that consumerism has also impacted his young consciousness, he clarified for God that he also "accepts credit or debit".
After a story from the Bible and a chapter from The Magic TreeHouse, Gabe and I always enjoy a bit of conversation after lights out. Two nights ago, Gabe expressed his wish to have a "million dollars". Of course, I'm trying to do motherhood for social change, so I asked him what he would do with a million dollars fully expecting to educate him about using our gifts and finances to helps others. To my chagrin, Gabe said he'd spend it on " healthcare".
And then I hear a story from Gabe's babysitter....she was driving him home from soccer when she suddenly experienced a vibrant scent from the back seat. Gabe had gotten into her hand sanitizer, and was rubbing his hands together vigorously. When she asked what he was doing, he responded incredulously, "Well I don't want to get the Swine Flu!".
Where does he get this stuff? His dad and I recognize that Gabe takes everything in....even when he appears to be distracted, it becomes obvious that he stays attentive to surrounding conversation. Apparently, he's gotten the message that healthcare is an issue...so maybe it's good that kids are exposed to the issues of the world at an early age.
Of course, we have to take the good with the bad. Our evening ritual last night taught me that. After our Bible Story and a Magic Tree House chapter, Gabe again asked God for a "million bucks.......in cash". As if I hadn't quite gotten the message that consumerism has also impacted his young consciousness, he clarified for God that he also "accepts credit or debit".
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in spring-time. Martin Luther, Theologian
Our sermon this morning was on John 11:17-27; Pastor Dalton observed that this passage is about "Practicing Resurrection". Jesus raises Lazarus, in spite of Martha's objection that the timing is too late. Resurrection is beyond time and beyond space; it is about a person, Jesus. Resurrection is greater than death. Poverty, divorce, addiction, job loss....each of these is a death of sorts, but the resurrection is stronger than death.
I only have to look at my own life and the lives of those I know well to see the truth of the resurrection. The love of Jesus and the love of community have seen me through more than a few "deaths". The realization that I survived and, in some moments, thrive amidst these losses is testament to the power of resurrection.
As we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord, alongside the books and nature that Luther observed, may we also see the love of community and the resilience of the human spirit as witness to promise of our Lord's resurrection.
Where have you seen witness to the promise of the Resurrection?
Our sermon this morning was on John 11:17-27; Pastor Dalton observed that this passage is about "Practicing Resurrection". Jesus raises Lazarus, in spite of Martha's objection that the timing is too late. Resurrection is beyond time and beyond space; it is about a person, Jesus. Resurrection is greater than death. Poverty, divorce, addiction, job loss....each of these is a death of sorts, but the resurrection is stronger than death.
I only have to look at my own life and the lives of those I know well to see the truth of the resurrection. The love of Jesus and the love of community have seen me through more than a few "deaths". The realization that I survived and, in some moments, thrive amidst these losses is testament to the power of resurrection.
As we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord, alongside the books and nature that Luther observed, may we also see the love of community and the resilience of the human spirit as witness to promise of our Lord's resurrection.
Where have you seen witness to the promise of the Resurrection?
Friday, April 10, 2009
Tolstoy and Privilege
Tolstoy's search for the "meaning of life" is chronicled in his A Confession. He seeks answers from the "experimental sciences" and the realm of philosophy, only to find them wanting. He analyzes the ways that those in his social circle - wealthy, educated - have responded to the quest for meaning; again, he comes up wanting. Tolstoy's quest turns a corner when he opens his eyes beyond his social circle and realizes that his circle does not reflect the "whole of humanity" and that in his blindness, he has missed out on a crucial path to realizing life's meaning.
Tolstoy reflects, "It seems so strange to me now, so utterly incomprehensible, that in my reasoning of life I could have overlooked the life of humanity that surrounded me on all sides and that I could have been so ridiculously mistaken as to think that my life, and the life of Solomon and Schopenhauer, was the true, normal life, while the lives of millions was not worthy of attention".
Tolstoy's narrative reflects the danger of unrecognized social and economic privilege, a blindness to the whole of experience. Typically, we consider privilege in terms of recognizing questions of justice, particularly as it applies to notions of race and gender. Tolstoy broadens the implications of privilege to matters of faith and meaning; and, as Tolstoy asserts, "Without faith, it is impossible to live".
The question of privilege is not, then, a late 20th century question of the social sciences. Rather, it is one with broad implications for the humanities. How does privilege blind us in our quest for answers to the "big questions"?
Tolstoy reflects, "It seems so strange to me now, so utterly incomprehensible, that in my reasoning of life I could have overlooked the life of humanity that surrounded me on all sides and that I could have been so ridiculously mistaken as to think that my life, and the life of Solomon and Schopenhauer, was the true, normal life, while the lives of millions was not worthy of attention".
Tolstoy's narrative reflects the danger of unrecognized social and economic privilege, a blindness to the whole of experience. Typically, we consider privilege in terms of recognizing questions of justice, particularly as it applies to notions of race and gender. Tolstoy broadens the implications of privilege to matters of faith and meaning; and, as Tolstoy asserts, "Without faith, it is impossible to live".
The question of privilege is not, then, a late 20th century question of the social sciences. Rather, it is one with broad implications for the humanities. How does privilege blind us in our quest for answers to the "big questions"?
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Alto as Gendered Construction
I served as a panelist today for a conference on Gender and Vocation. One of my reflections was that I've been surprised at various points by the weight of gender on my experience. Changing my name for marriage brought an unanticipated sense of loss, despite years of doodling potential married names when I was a girl and young adult. Once I was hired for my dream job and was befuddled when my gender played such a prominent role in institutional marketing for my appointment. I never saw gender coming. Perhaps like a lot of painful realities, I wasn't looking...or listening.
As a vocalist, I sing alto. As I think about the songs I'm preparing this week alone, each is saturated with gender expectations. Someone Like You,from Jekyll and Hyde, is a lovely, lilting piece that perfectly fits my vocal range. The song is the signature piece for Lucy, "Hyde's scarlet woman lover" as she fantasizes about a relationship with the gentle Dr. Jekyll; if scarlet woman singing that she'd "feel so alive if someone like you loved me" isn't gendered, I don't know what is. I'm also preparing Losing My Mind, from Follies, which is Sally "carrying a torch for a long-dead love that probably only existed for her to begin with". I'm singing the perspective of a woman who can never really have "her man", because he is incapable of love, and thus she's wondering if, perhaps, she is on the brink of insanity. Gendered? Hm. Can't imagine a man singing about a woman he loves who he can never really have because she is incapable of love. Even Taylor the Latte Boy, a comedic piece I'm preparing, is essentially a woman attributing the "extra foam" of a triple Latte when she ordered a double as an expression of the undying love of a Starbucks clerk.
I probably rehearse every song I prepare hundreds of times. I sing at home. I sing in my car. I'm surrounded by a liturgy of unrequited love steeped in gendered constructions.
And this morning I was surprised by gender.
As a vocalist, I sing alto. As I think about the songs I'm preparing this week alone, each is saturated with gender expectations. Someone Like You,from Jekyll and Hyde, is a lovely, lilting piece that perfectly fits my vocal range. The song is the signature piece for Lucy, "Hyde's scarlet woman lover" as she fantasizes about a relationship with the gentle Dr. Jekyll; if scarlet woman singing that she'd "feel so alive if someone like you loved me" isn't gendered, I don't know what is. I'm also preparing Losing My Mind, from Follies, which is Sally "carrying a torch for a long-dead love that probably only existed for her to begin with". I'm singing the perspective of a woman who can never really have "her man", because he is incapable of love, and thus she's wondering if, perhaps, she is on the brink of insanity. Gendered? Hm. Can't imagine a man singing about a woman he loves who he can never really have because she is incapable of love. Even Taylor the Latte Boy, a comedic piece I'm preparing, is essentially a woman attributing the "extra foam" of a triple Latte when she ordered a double as an expression of the undying love of a Starbucks clerk.
I probably rehearse every song I prepare hundreds of times. I sing at home. I sing in my car. I'm surrounded by a liturgy of unrequited love steeped in gendered constructions.
And this morning I was surprised by gender.
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