Grateful for a Bad Day

Yesterday I was working while going to church, which unfortunately you can do when you go to online church. I'm looking forward to sitting in a pew and just going to church when I leave my job working in religion. I literally cannot remember the last time I did that. Maybe General Assembly last June--but that's not the same kind of church. It's like Big-Top-Tent church, good and exciting, but it doesn't smell like coffee and you can't hear the fussy babies so it's not regular church.

I love the Church of the Larger Fellowship's online worship, it's really fabulous. And the Japanese Bowl sermon last week by the intern minister Joanna Crawford is still sitting on my heart. But it's easy to sit at the computer and do stuff while going to online church. Yesterday I decided I should clean out some of the thousands of emails in the inbox of the email account that I'll turn over in just under three months. It's 1998 technology, so not easy to manage. I can delete about 12 emails at a time, and that still takes almost a full minute.

I was back on emails from September 2010--deleting away 12 at a time. I saw the opening of the church building go by--October 2010--preparing for the dedication of the building. Frantic panic about 30 more kids than we'd expected. Funny to see little snippets go by just from reading subjects.

And then I saw an email with the subject, "Bad News."

Bad news. I could hear the blood pound in my ears and reached for the sweater on the chair next to me--suddenly I was freezing cold.

I opened the email. It told about a new development in the cancer, about a painful biopsy. It was rye with dry humor and still held hope. There was a string of supportive emails that followed, the women of the church sending love and light and hope and offering casseroles and child care. I read them, and tears fell to see the love and care and hope.

About one year later, the hope was over. A couple of months ago, we held the memorial service. She had to leave her sweet children behind which I am certain broke her heart and pissed her off, but the end was so fast that we never got to talk about it.

A simple little task. Emptying a long neglected inbox. But you fall in the chasm of this thing, this human condition. So hard, but really it is nothing at all. Really. Nothing at all.

I am grateful to be having a bad day, because I am blessed to be here and aware and crabby and unjustly accused  and unappreciated and thank God, it's a day.

Grateful for the sun and so much more

I was in our RE office on Monday trying and trying to get excited about making more animal costumes for the Christmas Eve tableau. I was so uninspired I thought my skin was going to peel off. I am not a crafty person and after six years of trying to do crafty things, and having already planning two multi-gen services in the last four weeks, I just wanted to throw the stupid oxen template out the third story window. And run. Bah!

But I made some little lamb masks from paper plates. And figured I'd have to trek to the craft store and throw myself at the mercy of the crafty folks who work there for ideas.

And I realized that I'm actually grateful that we needed to make 15 more animal costumes. It means we have many, many more children than the last time we did "Christmas in the Barn". And for that, I am grateful.

Yes, we have more work to do, more classes to run, more teachers to recruit. But it also means we have more people to love, more people to help do the work, more people who will bring soup and do child care when there's an emergency for one of us. And yes, when there are more people to love, there is a better chance that your heart will hurt for someone when hard things happen.

We're not supposed to get too connected, we religious professionals. We're supposed to be able to have some distance and keep some perspective. I have tried, but I'm not sure how you do that when you know the 10 year-olds who lose a parent or watch their parents divorce. I kind of think in those cases it is my job to be connected. A broken heart is just a logical hazard of the job.

So, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for being too busy and doing things that are not really my job, but just really need to be done for goodness sake, and are so important and worthy. I'm still not grateful for the task of making more animal costumes, I would have paid money from my own pocket if I just could have found some to buy, but I am grateful for the need for more costumes. I'm grateful for more people to love.

And yes, grateful for the sore heart, because it means even though sometimes I feel like my skin will peel off, this work still touches my soul.

Mr. Jule Sugarman, Unitarian Universalist, and an amazing man

We lost a treasure of our church community this week. Mr. Jule Sugarman died on Wednesday afternoon. At the end he was surrounded by people who loved him and kept vigil that last day, holding him in love and care.

This lovely church community that I serve will miss him, dearly. He lived a long and wonderful life. He was a man who lived to serve. He was profiled by the Washington Post and the New York Times and given much of the credit for getting Head Start off the ground as well as running it for most of its first five years.

But here's what I know about Jule. He never gave up. I was a brand new Religious Educator when Jule and his wife Candy first came to our church. I met them at a picnic down by Puget Sound. They were kind and full of energy, lovely folks. After a few years Jule became the president of our congregation. I attend monthly board meetings and offer reports about the children and youth programs. During Jule's presidency my reports were often peppered with mention of the inadequate space for classes and the difficulty of holding classes in foyer outside a restroom or behind a felt partition in the gym-like hall at the Masonic Temple we rented.

Jule listened. But he didn't just take it in. He made a plan. And....he never gave up. Never. I had long since decided that perhaps we just needed to use yurts or portable classrooms perched in the Mason's parking lot. Or perhaps nothing would ever really happen to give us the space we needed to provide a great religious education for our kids.

But Jule continued to host "New Home" committee meetings, he continued to look for creative options. He never gave up. I very distinctly remember him showing me plans he'd drawn up for one creative option and saying "look at that, Kari, think about what you can do in those spaces!"

Jule was absolutely convinced that there was a way. Somehow, that we would have a church home of our own. He was even mentioned in the Seattle Times article this fall.

And here we are, in our new church building. Two weeks ago Jule came to the dedication of our new building. I believe it was his last outing. Thank God that he was here.

Jule's spirit and dedication live on in every child touched by Head Start, in every person he helped through the programs and social action he championed. And his spirit lives here in the Westside Unitarian Universalist Congregation, in the reality that came from the dream he wouldn't let die.

Blessings, Jule. We are deeply thankful for all you gave us. And, we really miss you.

Amen.

The light and the dark

Coming home from church today, I felt like I'd been hit by a ton of bricks, like I'd been crying for hours and hours, like I hadn't eaten or slept for a week.

Yep, a pretty normal Sunday.

I'd love to say "no not really, usually I just kind of drive home and lah-di-dah, it's like a normal day at the office".

But I work for a church, and there are really no "normal days" at the office, not on Sundays anyway. Today was a little more special than most. We had a number of rituals, and maybe it's the Solstice and the darkness or maybe it's something else but wow, it really hit me.

At the beginning of our service we light a chalice, an ancient symbol of religious freedom, and in our community, when you turn seven you are invited to light the chalice for the first time. Today we had an eight year old who just joined our congregation light the chalice, sign the chalice lighters book and then play a Ode to Joy on the piano. She was wearing what she called her "Cinderella" dress with a beautiful wide white skirt and sweet young-girl fancy shoes. I get to help the kids light the chalice and whisper to them what to do next as we stand before the congregation.

Right then, as she finished signing her name to the chalice lighters book, I whispered to her "now we just smile at Rev. Peg" and we stood there, listening to her official introduction to the community, right then, I started to cry.

I cried while she beautifully played our grand piano, I cried during our annual Christmas child blessing for her baby sister and another older boy. During the ritual, I get to thank the parents for the honor of having their child in our community--more tears-- and then I get to lead the congregation in a promise to help raise the children, and charge the children of the congregation to welcome these children and include them in everything that happens. Tears. I held the sacred vial of water, this time it was the water our children collected from all over the continent for our water communion ceremony last fall. The minister touches the water to the forehead of the child, and we welcome them to this beautiful life. I hand them a rose,symbol of their unique beauty. Tears. It's such an honor to participate in this sacred ritual, such an honor.

Then after a lovely story for all ages and singing the children out, I stayed for the prayer of remembrance for a beloved member of our congregation who died on Wednesday. I sat in the back, and let the tears just go. He will be deeply missed by all. It was good to stay, it was hard, but it was good.

We have the new life, and the loss. The joy and the sorrow. The light and the dark. Coming to the age of reason, and gracefully letting life go.

No, it's not the paperwork or the dozen runs up and down our three flights of stairs, it's not the meetings, or the snafu with a projector, none of that wears me out. It's all the living and dieing and life that happens every Sunday, and every day in between in the life of a church.

It's awfully good work, if you can get it. And I am humbly thankful to be completely exhausted! Blessed day. Blessed light. Blessed dark. Blessed death. Blessed life.

Bless the Beasts and the Children

Today was our first Pet Blessing at Westside UU Congregation. It was lovely, really lovely. And despite the fact that I could hardly speak because I talked about our dear old Emmathedog, the service went pretty well.

But I realized something pretty big.

I have deep, twining connections with my dear congregation.

As I was telling the kids about our good old dog, and our sweet little new dog there were big events in the story that all centered around our congregation.

When I was really sad about losing Emma, one of our young members told me that I'd never really lose her, she'd be in my heart, but that he still missed his old dog, too. That made me feel much better especially that first week.

As I was trying to find a way to help Emma let go of this world and move on, our Story Time teacher gave me the perfect way to honor her, and then to let her go. I would have waited too long if I hadn't had the way to move ahead.

And when she was gone, my friend and fellow RE Council member gave me a book that let me imagine what Emma would have been thinking......and it let me imagine that someday we might invite a new dog into our lives.

Then when it was time to think about a new dog, it was a mom at church who told me about "Pet Finder" and how to look for the right "little" dog, that's where we found our wonder dog, little Noodles.

How would I ever have done this without my church community? Even though it's supposed to be that "I" serve "them" there's a whole lot of "us" going on.

Thank God!

And thank YOU Westside Unitarian Universalist Congregation. Thank you.

Forrest Church 1948-2009

I was lucky enough to hear the Rev. Dr. Forrest Church speak at the Unitarian Universalist General Assembly in 2008. I knew he had cancer. I knew I had to go see him speak. But it was so much more than a "duty call". He is inspiring. Or, well, was....I guess. He inspired me.

In 2008 this is what I wrote:

The one sentence summary of his whole talk is this: "The only thing we leave behind is the love we give away while we are alive."

Amen

Transformation and the Trans Am

I'm working on transformation. You know, transformation. When you fix stuff. Or evolve. Or you know-- transform.

The work that I do as a Religious Educator is so good for me, and so fulfilling and so rich with life. But as I'm writing my yearly report for the annual meeting, I'm realizing that this year has been a transformation of sorts. I think when you go into year five of a stint as a Religious Educator that it's often a transformation. I've seen a number of Religious Educators be transformed right out of a job at year five! So, yes, it's a little scary. But not really. I love my congregation (hi y'all!) and I love the kids--LOVE the kids. When you get to be the person a two-year-old will sit with at the pledge drive dinner while she eats her cupcake, and then get her on your lap for the Story for All Ages the next morning? Well, what's not to love there? It's all good. I think we've still got a good love fest going in my congregation.

But looking back over the year and looking at our goals from last year and the years before, evaluating our growth, looking at the changes we've made I realize that in some good ways I've kind of given up. For a long time I really wanted everyone to see what I saw; that bringing children to religious education classes on a regular basis could literally change their lives. It could. They would learn things and grow friendships with adults and children and become a part of their church in ways that coming once or twice a month will never, ever allow. This year I gave my heart and my soul and a ton of my time to sharing that message. And people really got it, they did.

It does not matter. Families may understand how valuable church can be. They can believe it. They can commit to coming as much as cold and flu season will allow. And still, life doesn't let them come. It hardly lets them participate in church life with any level of commitment. The family with a parent in a major role at our church is rare and usually fleeting. Family life is crushingly busy. There is no time for quiet or peace. Sometimes families need to just skip church to have a moment to breathe together. They need time to play and read and just be. Together.

So, for next year I guess we'll just work at being the very best drop-in program we can possibly be. I'll accept it. I may have to mourn a little. Things could be different, but I'm not sure they ever WILL be different. Parents and children have so many things pulling on their time that they sometimes just have to say no, and saying no to church is one of the easiest. There's no game, no RSVP, no starting line-up. And for us in the Unitarian Universalist church--as a fellow PNWD blogger notes, we're All Carrot and No Stick. There is nothing to scare folks into coming. Of course, I would never want that, really--never, but it is a little different than other mainstream churches. And families really need time together. It's just natural that church would be the thing to go for them.

I am revamping our whole plan for curriculum. There's no sense in crafting a big scheme that completes a long curriculum cycle. Almost no one is coming often enough to have it be meaningful. We'll keep it simple and try to keep the weekly class as consistent as possible, so the kids don't have to re-learn what to do and where to go in class if it's been a month since they've attended.

I'm sad, yes. I thought if people just understood they'd come more. They do understand. They try to come more often. Our lives just don't allow it. They just don't.

And with that transformation, I'm changing this little blog. I'll find some bright sunny pictures and keep playing with bright sunny colors and fonts and I'm looking into what it might take to move to wordpress and combine some of my wayward blogs and the pieces of my life. As my husband is preparing to be part of a panel discussion of the movie Adopted I'm reading KAD (Korean Adult-Adoptee) blogs like this amazing one called Harlow's Monkey and realizing that I just might find other spouses of adult adoptees who would understand the experience of being married to an adoptee. And people in recovery from compulsive food issues, maybe I should go there, too (at least I am in recovery today). I don't know. Lots of transformation.

So much transformation, I feel like I should be driving a TRANS am!. OK, bad joke with all the car stuff going on in this bad economy. Bad joke. But funny. At least, I'm laughing.

And hey, isn't that something after all? Laughing?

Yep, it is. For me anyway, it sure is.

The Perfect Solution

I have been so down inside myself. I miss my dog, it's dreary and I'm just clumping around here in my own pity party. With big ol' wooden clogs!

Listening to some fine David Wilcox always helps:

A Good Book

A friend from church gave me this lovely little gift yesterday.

She told me to tuck it away until the right time, but it was the perfect time right away, I miss my dear dog down to my toenails, so thinking about her isn't an issue. I already am.

If you know someone who has a dear dog friend at the end of their life, this is a wonderful gift to give them. It tells the story of the end, from the dog's view.

Yesterday at church we had the "make-up" solstice play from the missed solstice service. It was wonderful, huge turn out of children AND adults to play animals. And yes the dog costumes did bring tears to my eyes, but smiles to my lips, too.