seven years

Seven years ago today I married Cooper Wiggen.

We stood by the shore of a lake, attended by three others, and promised to love one another in covenanted and holy ways.  We eloped, since life being what it was we were buying a house, Cooper was commencing with a new church community, and we wanted to begin our living-together life as those allowed to marry in this state.

A month later we had a church wedding where we again spoke words of commitment; this time in the presence of our children and communities.

It has been a heart stretching endeavor, this marriage.  We each brought three children into this new thing.  We each tend two goodly-sized churches.  We each carried the wounds of divorce.  We each are a jumble of past hurts and core longings.

And we are yet alive, together.

I encountered awhile back an interview with an ardent feminist who had been in a marriage for decades.  She was nuts about her husband.  The interviewer made mention of her surprise that one can be an ardent feminist and a profoundly grateful lover of her male mate.  How could that be, the interviewer asked.

The answer was this:  in all the years of their life together, the woman never could predict what her husband was going to say or what he was thinking.  This to her was passion elixir.

I get it.

Through all the rips and wonder of blending families and life, I have been married to a man who fascinates and draws me.  The tender human to whom I have pledged my troth is gift.

On this day, I am remembering the joy and sometimes trudge of making this life we now share.  Seven years of meals and tears and laughter and love.  Seven years of stretch and soar.

Seven years.

Gratitude sings.

 

bliss

Ah, Saturday.  The living is easy.

Living in the same town as all three of my children makes me crazy grateful.  The pink scooter ferried Jameson and me to a rendezvous with daughter Rachel and out-of-town niece Chelsea.  We met at the bakery where daughter Leah is working.  Coffee and delectables on a sunny Saturday in Minneapolis is nearly as good as it gets.

This afternoon I will meet up with the eight other women heading into the Boundary Waters on Monday.  We will pack and check and double check our provisions and begin to get a sense of who we will be together.

Often times I wonder if I have time for these BWCA trips.  Being away from the church and the web of relationships that are mine to be present to is hard.  But every year as we put the canoes in the water and take the first paddle stroke I know myself to be home.  And every year, the building of relationships between those who venture out into the wild is priceless gift.  Being vulnerable and resourceful together changes everything.

And so it is in or out of the BWCA: being vulnerable and resourceful together changes everything.

Life is a good thing.

 

strength

Spirit is a nebulous and visceral thing.

My mother is now home.  In less than two weeks she has gone from the ICU to a regular hospital room to a transitional care facility to home.

Today, one day after returning home, she motored herself up to her church for her regular volunteering gig.  It was Thursday.  That’s what she does.  Of course.

I find myself celebrating the grit of the woman.  She is tiny of stature and humongous of will.

There are still diagnostic questions to be answered.  She is aware of that.  And, she will drive the discovery when she feels it is time.

In the meantime, we who claim her as mom and love are taking deep and grateful breaths.  Mom is out in the world.  We each encounter our days with a deeper sense of ground.

And this daughter is thinking plenty about how it is such strength got planted deep into the soul of Barbara Jane Fawcett Macaulay Forrest.

I thank God for that strength and for her ability to wield it.

All is right in the world.

My mom is in it.

 

more

Whew!

A retreat with 30 women.  Two worship services.  This and that to tend to and then a gathering of souls who will travel together to Ireland in September.  48 hours of intense good are bouncing around in me.

Retreats are a lot of work for everyone.  Emotionally, it takes a lot for women to take the time to get away.  There are kids and dogs to provide for while gone.  And, there is the great emotional leap of courage that it takes to give over to someone else the charting  of the rhythm of the days.  All this with unfamiliar sleeping partners and sometimes challenging beds.

Planning for retreats is an act of faith.  Chemistry is a fickle thing.  I’m never sure what the vibe of the gathered will be, so I plan and pray and let go and trust that something will touch someone somehow in the course of our time together.

Always, as I look at the faces of the gathered and as I experience the ways they weave themselves into something never before experienced;  always I am moved.  So it was this weekend.

On this Sunday night after many chances to be in varying circles of faith seeking and faith grounded folks, I am amazed by those who show up, who say “yes”, who enter in, who bring their sacred selves into the power of community.

As tired as I am, I want more.

After a nap…

 

can we just get along?

I was in a meeting last night with a woman a generation younger.

We were talking in said meeting about how to offer community to people who have no relationship with “church”.

She made a comment that I know is real but for some reason it sounded with added power in my belly.

She said that as we seek to be in relationship with non-church folk, we have to be impeccable with our actions.  They are tired of our hypocrisy, these folk, and are watching to see that our words and our actions square with each other.  Otherwise, we’re just another group of hucksters on the make (my words, not hers).

Her words jangled because one of the hardest things about being church is that we are a collection of human beings.  As human folk, we bring into our churches all the wounds and ways of being that we learn along the way.  Sometimes, we keep our woundedness and barbs neatly cloaked in our professional lives but let them fly in our private worlds of home and, most challenglingly to this pastor, church.

Churches are challenging and messy things.  Our souls must feel safe enough to take the risk to be vulnerable to grace.  So we talk a lot about acceptance and love in order to make room for light, but sometimes that vulnerability gets slashed by members who forget that the way of Jesus is surely about knowing our God-created goodness and it is very powerfully about seeing the Holy in each and treating each other accordingly.

Church is not an “anything goes” place.  We’re a place where we ground ourselves in the teachings of Jesus and help each other grow into full Holy-reflecting humanity.  When we bicker and slash and judge and wound each other, we hurt hurt hurt a tender trust.

And, the world is watching.

My belief is that people who enter churches smell the emotional air.  At a core level, a sense of “safe or unsafe” is registered.  If people in the church are observed as respectful of each other and graceful about differences, new folk feel perhaps safe to engage.

If tension and seething feuds are sensed or outright observed?  Seekers chalk it up to yet another hypocritical club they want no part of.  They take the wild courage and hope they summoned to walk into a church for the first time out the door with them.  They don’t come back.

So how are we doing?  As individuals and as a collection of relationships called church, how are we doing?

My prayer is that we own the challenge it is to live the teachings of Jesus.  And, when we are tempted to lash out or gossip or indulge in drama or build posses or block the soul expression of others; I hope we are aware that we are not alone.

The world, the community, our children, seeking people.  They are all watching.

And oh there is this:  so is our Creator.  The very creator who gave us one another in order that we might practice the fine art of loving.

It’s messy powerful crucial foundational work.

We can do it.

 

great question

I was asked a great question the other night.

I was out for dinner with my daughter and her partner.  We somehow got talking about the part of my work that has to do with preparing couples for marriage (what a goofy statement THAT is!).

I was asked:  what did I think was the most important thing?  What makes for the best combo in the (sometimes it feels like) marriage sweepstakes?

I love good questions.

My answer?  A sense of full personhood on the part of each partner.  Let me unpack that, because it sounds impossibly grand.  Maybe because it is.

My sense is our culture and romance novels conspire to paint us a vision of relationships so epic that we lose our sense of our own unique being.  We’re pedaled the fiction that with “two becoming one” we have no need to tend to self.  Women are particularly prone to throwing their identity into their couple relationship.

The relationships that seem strongest are those in which both partners know the sacred wonder of their own being.  When they come together, they bring that gift to each other.  It isn’t always pretty or easy but it is real and it underscores the beauty of difference in relationship.

Things are cleaner when we claim who we are and what our hearts know to be true.  When we respect our own wisdom and hearts, we are able to honor the wisdom and heart of our partners.

No small trick.

But such sacred work.

Bumbling along with stuffed desires that morph into resentments just isn’t much fun.

Claiming our own being is life long work.  Having a partner in that work is gift indeed.

So, that was my answer.  Day by day I try to live it for my own self.

I’ll pray for your work if you will pray for mine!