Keep Puttin' It Off

I keep trying to work on this entry, the one about the reservations the discernment committee had, and it keeps not coming out right. I keep starting and revising, and then throwing away my draft and starting over. I finally asked myself why I am doing this when my husband asked me when I plan on posting again. I can't write a new post until this one is done. And I don't want to do it.

It's hard to face our faults. I mean really face them. It's easy to say, "I have a sweet tooth and can't steer clear of chocolate," or "I really need to exercise more," when we try to put on a pair of jeans that's a little too tight. But to bear our inner faults with the whole cyber-world that might stumble upon it and judge me? That's a bit harder.

I have two faults that I have always struggled with in my life. One is my lack of enthusiasm for authority for authority's sake, and the other is that I don't think before I speak. The latter isn't a huge problem since I rarely run into those kinds of authority figures anymore. My job is pretty autonomous thanks to a little thing called "academic freedom" whereby my department chair and other bosses don't micro mange me. But when I was a kid, teachers, principals, most adults and their, "you have to do this because you're a kid and I'm an adult and I said so," never flew with me. I spent a lot of time being in trouble for resisting, pretty needlessly, the very people who wanted me to succeed.

But being a deacon means being a servant, and sometimes to people who can rile me, aggravate me, or just push my buttons. I'm not going to like everyone I encounter on this journey. But, I take comfort in knowing that I don't like all my students, but I manage to put on a smile when I walk into class and treat them all with respect, whether they respect me or not. So I think I can pray and be led in the right direction as far as knowing I need to lead and follow, not just lead.

The other part is harder to deal with. As I just said, even though I don't like all my students, I manage to be respectful to all of them. But thinking before I speak? It's like asking an ocean wave to please not come so far ashore. It's like requesting a dead skunk not to smell. It's like telling a wolf not to eat you because you're not going to taste good. It's like..... well, you get the point.

I say things I shouldn't on a daily basis. I do it everywhere and at any occasion. I'm a non-biased put-her-foot-in-her-mouth-gal. I have angered people because of this. I've probably hurt many people's feeling because of this. It was usually not intentional, but whether it was or not, it's something I need to work on. Silence and consideration of my words.

So I'm praying for help with this, and everything else in this process, as I wait the next phase. Right now, all my paperwork, including the committee's, Fr. Charlie's, and the vestry's reports, and my transcripts, and resume, are waiting in a file. Someone is running background checks, and credit checks, and I'll be called at some point for a physical and psychological examination. Then I'll meet with any series of people at the diocese, from the Archdeacon to the Canon to the Ordinary to the Bish himself. And I'll have to answer their questions, thoughtfully and carefully, not flying off the handle about anything.

So please pray for me and my big mouth. Not that it needs to be smaller, just a little more shut a little more often.

First Gate Cleared!

My discernment committee has deciphered the call that I'm receiving as a call to the deaconate! Yeay! Woohooo! Yowza! Ha cha cha!


Okay, now that that's out of my system, let me clarify what they said. There were no balloons, or confetti, or uncorking bottles of bubbly. I came to the meeting after the group had already convened to make their final decision. I got to Rick's house (Rick was the chair and the host for the meeting), was greeted and ushered into the living room where everyone was chatting. I sat down after our hellos, and Rick said they had come to a decision. I said, "okay," or something like it, equally lame, and someone asked if I wanted to know what the decision was. It was going to come sooner or later, but part of me was really scared of knowing. Move forward? Is that good? Go back? It that better or worse? But I mustered a smile, and said, "Sure," and they said I should keep going. But...


Let me emphasize the "but" here. The group has reservations about my moving forward. Now, I've had many people express reservations about me, so this is not a new sensation. I almost had to do first grade over again because my teacher wasn't sure I was ready because I wouldn't do my work-- I'd hand in blank worksheets. I almost didn't make it out of of fifth grade for the same reason, and I told my teacher off. I was allowed to get my first master's degree, but with the caveat that I not go on for Ph.D. work because the faculty didn't think I was ready for that. I got tenure at JJC, but with the Vice President's concern that my teaching practices were unorthodox and of concern to him.

So I get to move on to the next step, applying and meeting with the Canon to the Ordinary (assistant to the bishop) and the bishop. I'll write more about the reservations soon, but I wanted to get the good news out. I'm moving forward! Praise the Lord!

The Ride

I was on a rollercoaster once when I was about 10. It didn’t make me sick until I had a nightmare about it that night, and I had to get up to run to the bathroom. My family and I figured I wasn’t rollercoaster material, and I didn’t ride one for years. Then, when I was 28, Paul and I went to Six Flags for our anniversary. I wanted to try riding a coaster, and we got in line for the first one we came across—Mr. Freeze from the Batman comics. We had to go into a building to get in line, and the cars came into the building, shooting out a tube, and then returning the same way. So you went out facing forward, and shot back in facing backward. I wasn’t paying attention at all to the cars or how they came and went, but Paul was, and he knew better than to say anything and risk my freaking out and not getting on. So we strapped in, and then were shot out a tube going 75 m.ph. There were two corkscrew turns that left the cars shooting up a spire, then back down in reverse. The whole ride took about 30 seconds. For the whole ride I screamed things I don’t care to print here. I was shaking when we got out off the ride, but figured no rollercoaster could be worse than that, so I rode a bunch more that day until neither Paul nor I could get on one more without being sick.

The past few weeks have been like a rollercoaster-- one like Mr. Freeze. I can’t blame work, which has been smooth, or my husband’s being laid off, which we were praying for. It’s all been about the discernment process, which has taken me places I had not expected to go.

Looking back at my first entries (see “Trepidation” in November 2008), I had written about my concerns about the discernment process, and my path to being a deacon. Two of the problems I had were that I knew I might have to change as part of the process, and also, that I don’t need to be a deacon. I think these were the two biggest obstacles, but at the time, I wasn’t sure that I even had obstacles. I’ve been telling myself this whole time that the call to be a deacon didn’t come from me—it came from the Holy Spirit working in others. I rationalized that this meant that I wouldn’t be heartbroken if I kept to my current way of life as a lay person if the discernment process led me and the committee to believe that deacon-hood isn’t for me, at least for right now. But things have changed. I have changed.

Here’s where the rollercoaster metaphor comes in. On the old-fashioned wooden rollercoasters, you can see, pretty much, where you’re going. There’s the big drop after the first rise, but you can see the bottom, and the first curve coming up. On Mr. Freeze, part of the thrill is there is no drop, and it moves so fast riders can’t tell where it’s going. As I strapped myself into my seat for the discernment process, I thought that I would answer questions honestly, the group would think about my answers, and we’d move through the discussion discovering where my life should be going. I told myself I was open to whatever decisions and curves came my way. If the ride ends with me getting off and going home, that was fine. If it ends and I get to go back in line for another ride, that’s great too.

But the ride has gone on for much longer than I expected. Not that I didn’t know this process would last through June, but you know the feeling when the stomach and body say, “Enough, we want off this ride,” but you’re not near the end? That’s the way I’m feeling. I have answered the questions I’ve been given honestly, but then I wonder if I couldn’t have answered them more clearly, more succinctly, more coherently. Did I even answer them at all, or did I go off on a tangent? Was my tone rational and even as I gave an answer? Should I have been more emphatic or less so? Was it okay to be emotional? Why did that question make me so edgy?

But while I want off the ride, I also want to get back on again, for another shot at it. Somewhere along the line my whole attitude of “whatever the Holy Spirit wants” and “this isn’t coming from me, so I don’t mind if it ends” has changed. I want to be a deacon. The call that originated outside of me has awakened the call within me. I will mind, at least a little, if the group comes to the conclusion that I’m not ready yet. And there are good reasons for me not to be ready yet. I’ve filled my life with work, and while I am making real progress to not fill it up any longer, there’s a risk that I will shift back that way. But, I know in my heart that I want to fill my life doing God’s work, not just work-work. Another problem I have is that I sometimes (okay, oftentimes) speak without thinking, which can mean I step on people’s toes sometimes, or that I put my foot in my mouth. I can try to work on that too, but even then, no deacon is perfect.

So I’ve been feeling a little queasy about the process lately, but it’ll pass. I can’t believe how fast time has gone, how much I’ve grown both in this call and in my prayer life and my life as a whole. I have been listening to God and the Holy Spirit in ways I never thought I would. I’ve changed for the better, so no matter what path I am on, I’m moving in the right direction.

A Prayer I was Given

A woman on my discernment committee brought this prayer to our last meeting. I thought I'd share it here. The one she brought was written in plural (we and us) but I changed it to singular (I and me) for my own use.


Lord God, You who know me and the secrets of my heart,
Come now and fill me with the spirit of sincerity as I pledge myself to You and to the coming of Your Kingdom.
Lord, I desire to serve You with my heart, soul and strength.
I seek to surrender myself to Your holy plan.
May I strive to live within the spirit of holy poverty, living a simple way of life.
May my greatest possession be Your love and the love of those around me.
Help me to strive for excellence in loving.
Help me to be obedient and open to the mystery of Your voice within me, willing to embrace whatever You ask of me.

Lord and Friend, I rededicate myself to a life of prayer and worship of You.
May a song of praise be the constant melody of my heart.
I re-commit myself to serve the needs of those around me and the needs of the world.
May I find my salvation here at this time and in this place where I live.
May my union with those who share my commitment be a source of confirmation and inspiration.

Lord, I marvel that You, in Your divine wisdom, have chosen me to be the an instrument of Your creative salvation.
May all the works of my hands be leaven to make that much desired kingdom a reality.
Bless me now in Your abounding love as I promise to be Your friend, servant and holy minister. Amen.

Losing a Friend

On Monday night, my friend Jean died. She had had three strokes last year, and I had been visiting her at her home for several months, often with my two dogs in tow. We talked about American pressed glass, which we both collect, traveling to Europe and cities in the US, our families and friends. Jean was an airline stewardess, so she had been to the cities I love, Paris and London and New York. She loved beautiful things like crystal and glass and enjoyed showing off her collection. She also appreciated that I would bring some of my collection to her to look over since she couldn't come to my house with all its wheel-chair-unfriendly stairs.

She could be a pretty cranky lady, and she had no patience for people who couldn't be bothered to do a thing well. When she asked me about Notre Dame Cathedral and what I liked best about it, I told her about the stone-carved, beheaded saints whose still open eyes look down on church-goers. But I liked Chartes Cathedral better, with its Blue Madonna stained glass and huge sundial. She agreed. She wouldn't put up with vague, "Oh it was beautiful," comments. She wanted details. She wanted to know that I had thought about the places I had been. This also meant she had little patience for herself as she tried to say the words that would form in her brain, but that her vocal muscles refused to push out. She would hit her leg and curse her body for its failure.

Jean reminded me of my grandmother, another woman who liked a job to be done well, no matter how inconsequential it seemed. And my grandmother could also be pretty critical of people, and often sound like she never had a good word to say. Like my grandmother, as Jean got sicker, she also got softer. She would let us know very clearly and vocally when she was done with coffee hour and ready to go home, but she would also smile a little more and be more forgiving.

Unlike my grandmother, Jean left us pretty quickly. I noticed on my visits to her she was getting weaker, sinking deeper into her chair. When she went into the hospital just over a week ago, I went to see her in the ICU. She was like a baby bird in its nest. Her tiny frame was supported by pillows, her mouth open as she slept, her eyes in relief against her pale skin. I prayed with her, spoke with her, just in little bits. I brought a picture of my dogs, and she lit up a little when I showed it to her. I stroked her hair and told her about my memories of Ireland, how green it was, how I hoped she was dreaming of Dublin. She held my hand and called me Friend. I told her I loved her, and I meant it. She said she loved me back as she drifted back to sleep.

Fr. Charlie called me Monday morning to tell me that Jean was able to go home before she died, so she was able to go on her terms, in her house as she wanted to. But I wasn't sad. I had cried when I said goodbye to her when I left her on Saturday morning for a conference, and my prayers had been for God to please, please take her and end her suffering. She had cancer eating away at her body. She was on morphine to control her pain. It was no way to go on. I am relieved that she is with Jesus now, that all her frustration and pain are over.

I am writing this here because this is not the last time I will sit by someone's chair in her home, or at her hospital bed, and watch her die. That I will tell stories and listen to stories, be a friend to a person whose life will not last a year, or two, or ten. My grandmother sits in an assisted living apartment in Ohio, and I cannot be with her to talk to her, to help her go to her death. When I do get to see her, she doesn't remember me. She's closer to her childhood now than to the present, and picks up the paper several times as day as if she hasn't seen it before. I pray for her not to suffer, and I pray that I can serve her spirit by serving others. I pray that someone speaks to her each day as I spoke to Jean. I pray that my friend will look down on me and continue to see herself, her best self, in me.

Happy Easter!

We made it through Lent! I don't know about you, but this year's Lent was a contemplative season, even though it was busy. Taize services on Tuesday nights kept me centered on silence and God's peace. Sunday sermons kept me on track with my goals and where I should be (Thanks Charlie). I fasted on Fridays to connect with the suffering of so many of God's people. Maundy Thursday was humbling with an Agape meal and foot washing in our dimly lit parish hall before the symbolic stripping of the altar. As the perpetual light was taken down, snuffed out, and taken away, I had a huge lump in my throat that lasted through much of my time spent sitting up in the silent chapel during my wait with Christ.

But today, the church was filled with flowers, music and singing. Our congregation stood outside laughing and joking for a group photo before the kids went for an Easter egg hunt, and we all ate brunch together as one big family. But the best part, the part that brought me to tears, was saying and singing the Alleluias. They're back! Thanks be to God!

The BIG Question

We’ve been through two un-shepherded discernment meetings so far. The first one covered my spiritual autobiography and prayer life, and the last one, just this past Monday, covered my physical and mental health. I won’t go into all that here, but one of the members (who knows me well) had poked a little fun saying that my mental health is a little touch and go. This was meant in a positive way (see my last entry), but I also alarm some people. I’ve been known to read dessert menus aloud as if they were some sort of sexy romance plot. I don’t do this to strangers, but still… it’s a little strange.

Anyway, at the end of the meeting, after we had talked about my exercise, diet, drinking habits (social and not too often), my occasional need for therapy and bouts of depression and stress, one of the members said something like, “Next time I want to know THE answer to the BIG question. Why do you want to be a deacon?” I said, “Sure,” in a cheerful voice, but really, it’s not an easy question to answer.

I’ve been asked this question by a few people recently, all from my parish, and all inquisitive and positive people. I tell them about Trinity’s need for more leadership, about our priest’s need for help, about my own spiritual growth. But these were all short answers given to slightly curious folks who just wondered. The question in the discernment committee is a big one. And as my husband, Paul, said, if I don’t have a good, specific answer for this, why am I going through all this and making other people take time each month for it as well?

So I’ve been praying about it, and the Holy Spirit has been giving me some ideas. When I’m wearing my professor hat at Joliet Jr. College, I have three areas where I am asked to set goals: my professional career, my department and the college as a whole. So I go to conferences for me, and to bring back ideas to my department. I serve on committees for my department and my college (I don’t get a lot out of meetings for my own well-being). What if I look at my deacon calling in the same way? What do I feel called for personally? What about for my church home? What about the diocese?

Personally, I love serving people and God in them. Serving others feeds my soul. I’ve been taking my dogs to visit a woman named Jean in our parish who suffered from a series of strokes. She loves dogs but can’t have one of her own due to her abilities right now. I love to talk to her, to see how happy my little pups make her. But when other people in my parish find out I go to visit her, they tell me how kind I’m being. Maybe it is kind, but it’s not a burden. I like spending time with her and her friend Grace. So, being a deacon will bring me to more people in the world who need someone to talk to, who need healing and prayers. And by being with those people, I am also healed and brought closer to Christ.

My church is a small but vibrant and growing church. We have one priest who has to do most everything. Being a deacon will allow me to help him out in some ways that I can’t right now. We have a growing population of older folks who are home-bound or in nursing homes. Wearing a collar will enable me to be available in hospital settings where not just anyone is allowed to visit with patients. And since I don’t know a lot of our parishioners who aren’t able to attend church, a collar might make me more “official” as a church visitor than just some woman who stops by to say hello and say a prayer. I already serve on the altar, but I’ll serve in a slightly different capacity if I’m a deacon. The same goes with committee work or serving in our community. When we go into the community to volunteer, people know Fr. Charlie’s our priest since he’s wearing the collar. But unless the rest of us have t-shirts on that say “Trinity Episcopal Church,” we lay people aren’t as visible. I’d be one more visible person serving our community.

Deacons answer to the Bishop and are considered to be part of “The People.” They are liaisons between the world and the church. I pray, and am pretty certain, that if I’m allowed to become a deacon, I’ll be able to stay in my parish and serve. In fact, I’d be the only deacon in Aurora, IL since our other Aurora parish, St. David’s, doesn’t have a deacon either. I’d be able to be a voice for the people of Aurora in the Diocese of Chicago. That is a huge responsibility, but our city is one of the largest in the state of Illinois, and also of the suburbs of Chicago. I pray that more deacons will come to Aurora to serve the many populations here that are in need of help and prayers. But one person is a starting point.

I don’t know that these answers will be the ones that satisfy my discernment committee when we meet again on April 27th, so I’ll continue to pray about them. But this is a starting point. If you read my first couple of posts, you’ll see that this call didn’t come from within me. When asked why I should be a deacon, part of me wants to say, “I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, my priest was thrilled when I asked him about it, and then a deacon said I should move ahead.” But I know too that I need to hear the calling within me as well as without. And that call is growing more steadily and becoming less uncertain as I move forward in the process of discernment. This is a celebration of my work in the world and a confirmation that God is calling me to witness in His creation.