Hate

I have watched the bile and hatred build up in all my politically right leaning acquaintances lately about this "Ground Zero Mosque". I wasn't really clear on why everyone is up in arms about this thing. It is 2-6 blocks away from ground zero (depending on how you count and whether you are driving or walking). It isn't a mosque, it is a Muslim & Middle Eastern Cultural Center (that will have a theater, swimming pool, basketball court, gym, and a prayer room) modeled after the YMCAs and JCCs that Christians and Jews have around the country. I have heard people say they are upset because St. Nicholas' Orthodox church is not being rebuilt. But the government isn't building the center, and St. Nicholas' church will receive some tax dollars when it is rebuilt. Ground Zero is not visible from the site of the cultural center. What stands on the spot right now is a slightly damaged former Burlington Coat Factory which is sitting derelict. I can not understand why this building is so offensive to people.
So I sit and I think. I try to understand. I read all the Fox News links that people post. I have only read the links that have been posted by Right-wing friends on Facebook, have only listened to discussion on Fox News, and went and got the map and Wikipedia description. My information has been overwhelmingly biased to the right. Yet, I can not make sense of the situation. Then I read a sentence in an article that talked about what "they" did to us on 9-11 and it all made sense.
American Christians are allowing themselves to be influenced by the idea that somehow 9-11 was an attack on Christianity, when it was an attack on Capitalism. It was an attack on the US government, it was an attack on our consumerist culture. After this attack we feel compelled to defend ourselves with righteous anger and indignation.
Why? What gives you the right to hate them, to deprive them of their right to buy a piece of property, build on it, and give their kids a place to play basketball? Where in scripture does God give you the right to hate them because they think you are a consumer ruled by money? God says to love those that curse you. God tells you to turn the other cheek. Now I'm not saying that the military would not be justified in attacking training facilities for jihadists, but we aren't talking about that, we are talking about a YMCA for Muslims. Where in scripture does it say because 16 men of a certain religion committed a horrible act of violence against a financial landmark that Christians should never allow anyone else of that religion to ever build a basketball court and prayer room with their own money on property they have obtained legally?
I can't help but think about R.G. LeTourneau, who became successful and decided to live on 10% of his income and tithe 90%. He was a super-conservative, super-southern, super-baptist. Yet this, slightly socialist Anglican Yankee has nothing but respect for the man. Because he did what was right. Money was a tool God gave him, he used only what he needed and gave the rest back. Why don't we think that way? Why don't we say, "I'm glad there will be a place for children, from the most reviled people group in this nation, to play safely." ? Why do we assume the worst about their motives?
Because by attacking money the 9-11 hijackers attacked our Golden Calf. The Israelites never claimed to be worshiping a god other than Jehovah. They just wanted to make an image of Him. We have recreated God in the image of the American Dollar. We swear our allegiance to the flag. We sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic in church like it has some spiritual significance. All so we can forget that the Image of God, the Imago Dei, is in the face of every single human being on earth. That to love God is to give everything for someone else, as Christ did on the cross. He hung there to save the conquering army that was ruling his nation with an iron fist and who had beaten and killed him, would set his friends on fire to light their Bacchanals, who had chopped off his cousin's head and displayed it at a state dinner.
Being despised and rejected and even attacked is never divine permission to spread hate and discrimination. It is an opportunity to love more, and to give more. When you have given all you have, you have almost given enough. There should never be an end to the charity to you give. There should never be a start to the vengeance you take.
So I think its great that a group of citizens have bought a piece of run down derelict property and plan to put something there that will give children and families a place to go and do constructive things in Manhattan. And I think that if you truly wanted to show the love of Christ to them, you would be glad they have a basketball court too. Because how are you loving them by what you are doing now? How are you showing them that Christ loves them and longs for a relationship with them by telling them that they can't build that basketball court just because they are Muslim?

Unassisted Childbirth

Safety Article - I apologize if you are offended by the nude portrait on the site I linked to, but the information is good.
I am enamored with the idea of unassisted childbirth. I want to be a midwife, because UC is not for everyone, but I go back and forth on how I feel about UC for me someday. So I thought I'd use this as a forum, what do you think?

Yes, I am okay, or at least I will be....

I have talked about our struggle with infertility and the sadness surrounding it. I feel inclined to just be quiet about all of this, but it didn't feel quite right.
On Father's Day I gave Brian a positive pregnancy test. He was thrilled, I was reserved. On Tuesday I thought I was going to puke every time I smelled even the hint of cigarette smoke. On Wednesday I spit out steak and all I wanted was raw red peppers. I let myself get excited.
After the last chemical pregnancy we knew that I would not have any miscarriage symptoms, so we decided we'd take a test every week until we got a heartbeat on an Ultrasound. On Monday the test came back negative. We were shocked. I had absolutely zero desire for meat or cigarettes, that constitutes brain tumor level personality change. Sure I had stopped smoking, but not because I wanted to!
Its easier and harder this time around. Its easier because it was familiar territory. It was easier because I knew it might be coming. It was harder because I have the old pain and the new pain all rolled together into one big mass in my chest.
I often find the idea of an entirely sovereign deity comforting. Basically, there is nothing I can screw up, no matter what I do the train stays on the track. My fallibility is a tool in his hands, not a counterforce. I have found no comfort in it this time. It feels like the plan is to hurt me. What glory could this possibly bring to God? I've been praying for a child, and everyone knows I've been praying for a child, so wouldn't he be glorified through me keeping a baby? So what good came from this? The only things that was accomplished, that I can see, is that I am heartbroken and it has been reaffirmed that I am a screw-up. I am a screw-up at a cellular level!
Prayers are appreciated and I'm not really up to talking about it anymore than I just have.  It's a lot easier to "talk" about it this way. There is a lot of misinformation and differing opinion when it comes to fertility and women's health. I find very helpful people who want to tell me what their sister, mother, cousin, best-friend, or whoever did to get pregnant. I have not found a polite way to explain exactly why cough syrup might have helped your sister-in-law get pregnant but would not help me. I get very stressed out explaining to a woman who has gone through infertility, and subsequent treatment, and who understands the pain I'm feeling, that I am theologically opposed to reproductive technology. So for the time being, I will be fine, I just need time.


"O LORD of hosts if thou wilt indeed look on the affliction of thine handmaid and remember me and not forget thine handmaid but wilt give unto thine handmaid a man child then I will give him unto the LORD all the days of his life." - Hannah's Prayer

Disease

A member of my husband's family committed suicide yesterday. He was a good man. I find myself wishing that I could have known him better.
I don't think I am asking the normal questions. I can't say "How could life ever seem so hopeless?" I know life can look that hopeless and death seem like the only option. So why do some people do it and some don't? Why haven't I done it? I am diagnosed as bipolar. Numbers say that anywhere from 30% - 60% of bipolar patients die of the disease, meaning they kill themselves.
Some people see it as selfishness. These people are only thinking about themselves, they say. They are taking themselves away from the people that love them. They aren't taking themselves from anyone. They are victims, this is a disease. It is a disease that is growing and consuming us.
We have put happiness up as the sonum bonum. We have put success as the only option. Everyone has their own definition of success, because everyone is entitled to their own definition of truth.So these people define their reality, they define their happiness, and they throw themselves into that truth. Who they are becomes synonymous with their homemade definition of happiness and success. For a teenager it is a first lover. For a business man it is the balance of his bank account. For a housewife it is a successful marriage and children. For me it was a feeling of creative significance. So when we fail we not only loose happiness, we not only lose success, we lose ourselves. It is impossible to live when you are nothing.
I still fight with this. Going to work everyday isn't enough for me, because my work is not important. I sit up trying to create something everyday because the day feels wasted if I don't. The strings of time in my life where I am not making and doing bring on bouts of depression and that feeling of hopelessness. I have only recently come to the point where I can look past my definition. I can look at the definition that God gives me. The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. So everything I do should bring God glory in some way, but more then that anything I would do that would detract glory from God is off limits. I am a bearer of the Image of God, I can never be nothing.
It is a disease, and just like so many things in our culture the cure we are putting out there just makes everything worse. Its a disease I have had. The medications to cure my mind almost killed my body. In the end what needed curing was my soul. When my soul found a peaceful place to rest then my mind and my body found better places. Holistic peace is the only answer. Living, praying, thinking, eating, and doing, what is wholesome and glorifying.
So I cry for Ed, because he never found that peaceful place. I cry for anyone who can't seem to find it. Sometimes, I cry for myself, because I know all of this and I still eat the wrong things and live a sedentary lifestyle, I think on dark things and do not exercise my mind, I fret and do not pray. But tonight I cry for Ed and I pray that there was peace and truth awaiting him on the other side.

Absolve, we beseech Thee, O Lord, the soul of Thy servant from every bond of sin, that being raised in the glory of the resurrection, he may be refreshed among the Saints and Elect. Through Christ our Lord.
Amen. 

I Like Me Today

I discovered something this week. I kinda like myself.
 I remember getting guacamole on my nachos by accident as a teenager. I hated guacamole. I had tried it at some vague point in the past and hated it, but it was sitting there. I tried the green mush, and it was really good. It turns out that sometime, who knows when, I actually had grown to like guacamole.
That's how I felt this week. I have never liked me before. I was one of my least favorite people. Now, I enjoy my company. I have fun sewing with myself. I now have the same hobbies as myself. I've always admired craftiness, but thought I was incapable, turns out I'm quite capable. My clothes have been changing steadily. When Grandmom died I look at my closet and realized I did not have a black dress to wear to the funeral. For the better part of my life I have not had anything but black clothes in my wardrobe. I have wanted Zulu Knots in my hair since I was 15. I would twist my hair up and love it, but talk myself out of them before a single soul every saw them. Last night, I put Zulu Knots in my hair and wore them to a wedding today.
So I find myself asking, how comfortable am I in my own skin now? Do I care what anyone else thinks about my hair or my clothes or my music? If I want to listen to Joan Jett, Rufus Wainwright, Pink, and The Beatles, all in the same playlist then why is that any of your business? It's who I am and I will enjoy my playlist, hippy skirts and funky hair with me.
I was surfing for free patterns on the internet and found this one pattern. It's nothing I have ever seen anyone wear. It might look absolutely ridiculous to the outside observer, but I like it. So how comfortable am I really? I think I am going to make it tomorrow.  I think I may have reached a point where I am not my own biggest critic. I might even have actually become my second biggest fan.

My Favorite Moment

One of my favorite things in my life is preparing the table for the Eucharist on a Saturday night. The other ladies in the Altar Guild talk about getting over early and getting it out of the way. I understand the sentiment, and like all things there are days it is not as convenient or enjoyable as others, but I like to wait. I like to wait until the sun has gone down and everyone has gone home. I like to walk into the dark church. I like to turn on the single light above the altar instead of all the lights in the sanctuary. There is a palpable peace in that room then. There are no crying children, no laughing teenagers, or or chatty ladies. Brian is usually with me, but he finds a chair and a book and leaves me to my work.
When I walk up into the chancel I am acutely aware of where I am and what happens there. This is the place where the greatest things in my life happen. This is where I am fed. This is where I was married. This is where I was confirmed. Even when we are in another building, another city, I will be in the same place. This is a square of earth where men have been admitted to the Holy of Holies. This square of earth, and every other square of earth set aside for this purpose are the place where Christ's presence is particular. There is nothing remarkable about it on Saturday night, but tomorrow Christ will feed all those who call upon him in that place. The bread and wine I prepare will be host to the mysterious presence of Christ.
Tonight, I found myself thinking about the women going to the tomb. There was a ceremony to what they were doing, they knew the supplies they needed and the order in which to proceed. I gather my supplies and place everything properly, as I get more comfortable with the process it becomes like a dance. This ceremony held special significance because of their love of Jesus; it is the same devotion that has brought me here. There was a very practical aspect to their work, a body must be prepared properly. I take a moment to look at the calendar and decide how many people I think will be in church. Is it a holiday, or are the kids away on a trip? We want to have enough bread and wine, but not too much. I feel as if I am taking part in a tradition started late one Saturday night 2000 odd years ago.
I've gone to the church on Saturday nights when things just weren't going well. There was one night that I walked through that door and all the tears I had been holding back for days came out. I just knelt in the dark with my head on the rail and cried and prayed, mostly cried. I pulled myself together and started my dance. When I was done I had thought through the problem and had some semblance of an answer. There were no voices or visions, just peace, enough peace to recognize what I should have already known.
The funny thing is, I hate silence, it makes my uncomfortable. I feel like silence is an empty chasm that I might fall into. The silence in the church is different. It is full, like a feather bed, its warm and soft and all around me. It might be selfish, but I wish that I could be the Altar Guild all alone, so that I could be guaranteed that moment every week.

New Words For Old Thoughts

I said something on Sunday I had never said before. It just popped out of my mouth and it was so true but I hadn't thought it through and I hadn't planned to say it. I imagine it is what happens when fictional people fall in love without knowing it and those 3 little words just fly out.

"If my children ever came home and said 'I asked Jesus into my heart today' I think I will cry," and no I didn't mean tears if joy. It sounds weird or, if you happen to be an Evangelical, disturbing. But hear me out.

I don't remember not believing in God. I don't remember not believing in Jesus. But I do remember being told I had to have a conversion. So at five I said a prayer and it was supposed to change something, which it didn't. I still wasn't really a part of the church because I wasn't allowed either sacrament at 5. So why was it necessary? I didn't believe anything the next minute I didn't believe the minute before, or even the year before. It didn't give me access to my church. I was still an outsider looking up and in.

No one would ever have a baby, give them to an orphanage and say, "When this baby decides they want to join our family we will welcome them with open arms." So why would we exclude our children from the church until they can chose it? Why leave them spiritual orphans until they can verbalize something in the language of adults? Is it because we only understand salvation in a personal context? Is it because we've lead ourselves and our children to believe that there is salvation outside of the church? Do we believe that we each need to make our own path to God? Do we leave our infants to find their own way to food? Why leave them to find their own way to God?

I want the opposite experience for my children. I want to give them to the Lord as soon as possible. I want to tell them from that day forward that I loved them enough to give me away. Like Hannah, I prayed to have them, I cherished them, and so I gave the most precious thing I had to the Lord. This is not a hypothetical dedication. This is not a promise. I want to allow them to be grafted into the Body of Christ. I want to grasp all of those promises for them. 

They will be part of the church from the beginning. They will know that those promises are for them. They will know that by no merit or action of theirs they are the next generation of the covenant. One day the time will come for them to receive the Body and Blood of Christ and they will have been in our arms at the rail every week. They will have known, from before they can remember, what it is and why we do it. Then when it is their turn they will take all of those promises onto and into themselves. 

Finally, when they are old enough to verbalize all of these things they will stand in front of the bishop and he will ask them if they believe. They will confirm and be confirmed and they will stand on their own in the Lord, independent from me and from their father. The Lord will be the same yesterday, today and tomorrow for them. Nothing will change, if we've taught them and guided them well.

No one, if I have anything to say about it, will ask them for their testimony. There will be no pressure to tell a story of a fall from grace and a rescuing hand. They will, if my prayers are answered, be one of the 99 sheep who remained safe in the pen warm from the night and protected from the wolves by their family and the faithful shepherds serving their master. And if they ever feel the need to "pray the sinner's prayer" then I will cry because I failed them as their mother and I have failed the Lord as a shepherd. 

A long time coming

I haven't had much to say. There was another death in the family. My great-uncle Harry died in early January. In a lot of ways, until I was an adult, Uncle Harry and Auntie Pat were a bigger presence in my life than my Grandmom and Grandpop. I love him, and I miss him. He hadn't been sick long enough for me to feel the dual sensations of loss and relief like I did with Grandmom. I just miss him. I am just sad. Which has made sad for Grandmom take presidence over relief for her.
I am lonely. Not that Grandmom and Uncle Harry were regular companions. There is just something about two people I love not being in the world anymore that makes it a lonelier place to be. When I come home at 1am the house is empty. I sit with Peanut and the house is just empty. Everything is very empty. I do things, I putz and keep busy but it doesn't fill up those spaces. Brian is at work, Dan is either out or asleep before I get there. I wake up in the morning and its still empty. Brian has gone to school. There is nothing to my life. There is no real purpose. The world is just empty right now.

Death

My grandmother died last night. About 8 hours ago. She would have been 90 years old in June. My dad has been taking care of her for years, it was 8 years ago this month that she and my grandfather moved in with us. It was almost 6 years ago that my grandfather past.
She has been so out of it. There is only one instance in the last 6 months that I can recall her having any real personality or thought of her own. She was in pain last night, she could only get comfortable and stop moaning if she was held up on her side. So Dad sat with her in her bed and held her until she could rest. It was all very poetic and appropriate in a circle of life, I Love you Forever, kinda way. But its strange. I didn't think I would be sad when she died. I had thought about it. I had hoped that all the suffering would end. It had gotten too hard to watch this shell of a person decay in front of me.
So why did my knees wrinkle under me and my eyes well up? Why is it that the only thing I can think is that I bought her hot chocolate mix for Christmas? Why is it that I just can't fathom what else I can possibly do with 12 varieties of hot chocolate mix? She stopped eating a week or two ago. The only thing she would take in was tepid hot chocolate and vanilla ice cream. So I got her hot chocolate mix in brightly colored boxes. Because when there were bright bold colors she smiled and said how pretty it was, even if she had no idea what was. So I bought her Hot chocolate and I put a shiny bow on it and it is under my tree. What do you do with Christmas gifts that are wrapped under the tree for a dead person? Do you give them to someone else? Do you say "Hey I wasn't going to get you this, but I already spent the money and she's dead?" Do you keep it? I mean I can't serve my Grandmom's hot chocolate to other people. I don't drink hot chocolate.
What do I do with the hot chocolate?

Happy Thanksgiving

It doesn't feel like a holiday today. I remember as a kid, as a teenager, even as recently as maybe 18 months ago, my stomach would get little electric butterflies in it. When the sun went down I started to buzz. Not Christmas, I never really liked Christmas, but Thanksgiving made me buzz. I can't put my finger on anything particularly memorable that ever happened on Thanksgiving. In fact, I can remember some awful Thanksgivings that made me want to run away and join the circus. But as irrational, infuriating, or ignorant as any single member of my family can be, I still vibrated with anticipation of a day spent eating and playing games with them.

I'm not buzzing. I don't know why. Something killed my electric butterflies.