Who Am I?

It’s a question I have spent a lot of time with.  It’s a question the ordination process is designed to make a person ponder and challenge.  It’s a question I’ve wrestled with before and after each surgery.  It’s a question with a fluid answer.

Some things are constant in their label but mutable in their meaning.  Daughter, Sister, Friend, Priest.  These don’t change.  But the things that are asked of me as a friend are different depending on where my friends and I are and what we are going through.  Being a priest is new and sometimes challenging just for that reason.  And, I have learned, it is a unique challenge to be both a priest and a daughter, sister, or friend.  Which calls for it’s own boundary balancing.

To be sick–chronically ill, is another identity, one that keeps changing on me.  And unlike all of my other identities, all of the other parts of who I am, most people don’t seem to understand either that this change happens to me or what it means when the details of my illnesses change, as they do each time I have surgery.  Some of this is people can’t see anything, so they don’t know to ask.  And if I mention it, people are uncomfortable.  (Which isn’t a reason not to mention it, but is a reason to have a good reason to mention things.)

Which means that when being a sister (for example) and a priest and chronically ill all combine into a problem of boundaries or what I can and cannot do, it is nearly impossible to untangle the problem for someone else to understand.  Because sometimes it’s not being a sister and chronically ill, or ordained and chronically ill, or a sister and a priest, but because of all three.

These answers are fluid.  Sometimes a confluence of events will be a problem and sometimes a similar confluence won’t be a problem and sometimes I don’t know until it’s too late.

Most of the time I’m still looking for the words and the manner to discuss why my life is so complicated.  Because I know that people are uncomfortable when I do, because so much of it is new to me.

But I’m trying, I’m learning, and eventually I’ll be much much better at it.

“Children shouldn’t become experts in things like that.”

I love Patrick Stewart.  I do.  One of my favorite memories is seeing him playing MacBeth on Broadway.  (Feel free to be jealous.  He was fabulous.)  Here he is talking about domestic violence and his family.

And I know what he says here is truth.  I’ve worked with other kids who grew up and are growing up in homes like his was.  I’ve heard their stories and felt as powerless as they are.

And I know two things.  Patrick is right, “children shouldn’t become experts in things like that.”  And there are things we can do.  The first thing is knowing that domestic violence happens and learning to see when it is happening and then to find the courage to do something.  For more information visit The National Domestic Violence Hotline.

this never use to happen

I like lists. I’m bad at keeping track of where they are but I like the attempt to be organized. So I make to do lists and I make Christmas wishlists and lists of gift I want to give. And then I find the lists in a book three months later. Lists are often great bookmarks.

And then there are the lists that only live in my mind. My list of things to work on changing in the Church. My list of people who helped me get where I am today. My list of things that never use to happen. The first two are good lists. Lists I look at when I need encouragement and energy. My list of things that never use to happen is a list of frustration and quiet anger.

Entries on that list are things like these: headaches, killer muscle cramps, serious prolonged depressive episodes, afternoon naps, yearly MRIs, yearly bloodwork, having specialists’ numbers in my phonebook. There are more things on the list but I don’t really want to think about them.

And I can’t not think about them. Not when it’s the medications I took this morning and the bloodwork I need and the fact that I’m aching because the weather is changing.

All of which I find encumbering and annoying, but which I live with. As time passes most of the things that never use to happen bother me less and less. Except when I try and explain this to other people.

Somehow it is impossible for me not to see other people thinking, “But it could be so much worse.” “What is it to have to take a few pills everyday.” “How bad can it be to have headaches.” And maybe it’s just me, seeing my own thoughts in their eyes. But sometimes they give voice to what we both think.

And that’s when I don’t know how to tell them that it’s not just any of these things or all of these things. It’s that they never use to happen. And now they always will.

Thanks

I have much to be thankful for today.  Family, friends, good food, laughter.  But when I saw Christine’s invitation, I wrote something only tangentially related to all of that.

It is a task I have put off
for years and years and
years longer than I should
but now I finally sit
surrounded by piles and piles of
books I want to want to keep
but I also know that,
as much as this one was read
the year my life fell apart,
and that one is from my friend,
and that each has a story
of how I found them
not all will stay.
So I pick each one up and
remember and decide
and the pile by the door grows
and the shelves become
sparser and neater
and I give thanks for the
stories I am recalling
and the new stories
whose space is now waiting
written 11-23-09

The Name of God

Although not many people would be able to figure this out, my preaching is often related to my poetry.  Somehow they are creatively linked for me.  Which means that I sometimes wind up writing a poem that reflects my sermon.  Sometimes I turn towards poetry to help me figure out what I’m trying to say in my sermon.  Which is where this poem started.

I have called you by so many names
God, Father, Mother, Christ, Spirit
King, Prince of Peace, Wonderful, Counselor,
Lord of Lords, King of Kings,
and a host of others, sung or prayed
in concert with others who love you
And I have called you by more
friend, lover, Deity, Beloved
titles that I murmured in my own
conversations with you
I have named you by your actions:
Calmer of Waves and Healer of Persons
Forgiver of Sins and Encourager.
I have
referred to you with respect
spat at you in anger
joked about you when seeking levity
cried to you in grief, sorrow, and trouble
whispered in awe-struck gratitude
In the worst moments I have said nothing
staring and waiting for you and the world
to move around me
And in all this, by any name and through
every emotion and in each moment
You have been
Mine
Just as you promised,
“You shall be my people and I shall be your God.”
written 11-20-09

The funny thing was I wrote this, thought it didn’t provide the insight I was looking for, set both projects aside, and came back to discover that this was exactly where I was headed.

Snow!

To a certain set of my friends, my enjoyment of snow is odd.  But in the corner of the world where I live, snow is a part of life.  Often times a large part of life.  Most people out here have seen snow in every month of the year.  (If if makes you feel better, this is not wildly common.)

For me, it’s simple.  Snow changes everything.  How we dress, how we drive, what we drive.  How things look.  Yesterday this was just a tree.  Today it looked braided and new and completely distracted me.

Questions of Faith

Jon over at ASBO Jesus, has another great comic up.  I like a lot of his work and am the tiniest bit jealous because I can’t draw.

I saw this one and immediately thought of how true it is for people on either side of the debate currently going on in my own denomination.I am reminded of a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  ”It is not the experience of Christian brotherhood [community], but sure and certain faith in brotherhood [community] that holds us together.”  Life Together

May our faith be greater than our differences.

Next

Christine is back from some amazing trips and offering another poetry party.  This week she invites us to honor our ancestors and supplies this image.

The door leading out of this life
is a place I have spent time near
but never clearly seen,
and I have to wonder if any
of us on this side have.
I suspect (and hope) this threshold
can only be seen as and after we cross it.
I lingered long enough to have
invested time wondering
what my greeting might be.
The solemnity of that moment,
hopefully distant,
might lend itself to reverent silence,
but I find myself wishing for the
ongoing clamor of a party,
for the welcoming noise of friends,
long separated, catching up.
And I imagine the stories I’ll tell
and the stories I’ll hear,
and live in anticipation
of what will come next.
written 11-06-09

Being Able

I watched Survivor last week.  I don’t usually.  But that episode has made me think.

Apparently, it’s been raining, a lot.  (Which is something that happens in places like Samoa.)  And Russell, who is the captain of the winning tribe, spent a lot of the first several minutes of the show trying to keep the fire going.  While his teammates comment on this fact and how hard he works and if it’s really a good idea in this case.  Then Russell comes into the leaky shelter and comments that he needs to raise his body temperature.  All of this is what happens when it’s raining stuff until Russell collapses twice at the inter-tribe competition.

The on-site medics come over and assess Russell.  The competition is declared over and more information will come at the tribal council.  Of course, one of the camera crews stays with Russell and the medics.  And we see Russell being cognitively out of it, hear about some blood pressure and heart rate concerns, and see him collapse yet again before Jeff Probst announces that they are pulling Russell out of the show for medical issues.  (Russell tries to protest and, during the closing credits, talks about how hard it is to have to leave because his body couldn’t handle it.)

Elsewhere there has been some recent discussion about how disabilities are, or rather aren’t, represented on TV shows.  Russell’s exit from Survivor isn’t about that.  But it is about how part of ableism is the assumption that your body should be able to do what you want it to. I know better.  I know that other people do too.  I’ve been ruminating on this episode (oddly titled “This is the Man Test”) as a sign of our cultures obsession with doing it all and insistence on health as a default–even to the point of being unhealthy.  I’ve been thinking about how out of touch these emphases actually place us with our bodies.

And I’m wondering what everyone else is saying about Russell leaving.  Because I don’t think his body failed him.  I think he failed his body.  I think his game strategy interfered with his ability to make responsible choices about his health.  I think he failed to take care of himself and this resulted in his leaving.  It was bad strategy of the kind they don’t feature on the show.

Claiming the Truth

I’ve recently found a great new blog: FWD/Forward.  It’s incredibly new and, though I forget how I found them, I’ve really been enjoying the voices of the contributing authors.  And, yet, every time I go to comment (which is not something I usually do, I’m a great lurker), I hesitate.  I hesitate because FWD is for Feminists with Disabilities.  I struggle with both of those labels.  Because I’ve been a good cultural sponge and I know that women are *suppose* to be quiet and well-behaved and people are *suppose* to be healthy.

But I have and express my opinions.  But my health, or lack thereof, impacts my life.  More than that, when I read posts like this one on narcotic pain medication I hear echoes of my story (you all remember The Headache?).

So I’ve been thinking about labels and what they mean.  About the truth.  About my life.

And I’ve been commenting and thinking and being slightly less alone in some of the muddle that is, rather frequently, my life.

And all of this, alongside FWD, is good.