Maybe today was a trying day.

Maybe your work spins around a September start-up and this week was when things got real real.

Maybe today, being Suicide Prevention Day, poked and pulled at you in good ways or hard ways or good ways that are hard because maybe you're a survivor or live with depression in your life in some way. Maybe you read accounts of people deciding to choose to live and you thought "ha, you ain't see nothing, baby." And maybe you felt instantly guilty, because who are we to know? Who are we to ever really know?

Maybe you're about to leap into a life change; heading to school, getting married, having a baby, getting a divorce, moving to hospice. Or maybe this is happening to someone you love. Maybe, it could be even harder, it is not happening this time.

Maybe this Irish Blessing will let your soul rest for just a moment, just rest, not rest and then do something. Just rest.

One time years and years ago a friend shared this blessing that is a song with me during a scary time, and it helped me. Maybe it is helping me, here again, on this September Saturday. Maybe you, too.

Because mothering is all I ever wanted from life.

Because being a mother and building a family and paying close close attention to every detail along the way was my work.

My life's work.

Because that phase of my life is really long since over and when no offspring live at home, now, in just over a week, it's really done. Or, well, it is not over but is completely transformed in a whole manner that leaves no anchor to that former life, at all, in any way.

And because of that, I think, because all of who I am and ever was is really now completely over, I am bereft.

I watch the "first day of 3rd grade" and "too angsty to let me take a picture of the first day of 8th grade" posts go by on social media. Those days were so long ago for me. But I loved them.
I still love them.

The way I remember it, I was one of those people who noticed at the time that I loved the busy days at home with kids. We were lucky enough to homeschool for a good portion of that time, so the days had a longer rhythm that ebbed and flowed more like the seasons than frenetic days. We read books and spent long days exploring that were in fact simply interesting days spent together following creeks to learn about salmon or taking in a midday play.

It was all I wanted. And I am so grateful.

But here's the thing. Women are taught to become things. We learn to become a mother or become a whatever-our-career-is-person, We learn to become a wife and become an activist and become an advocate. And then, sometimes, those things go away. Then, what are we?

That's been my question. What am I?

I had to un-follow some people on social media because their "next thing" is so beautiful and whole and they have origami folded themselves into a sleek crane who is going to seminary or trekking off on an adventure of self-discovery. Please. I have no money for grad school or a trek of discovering what comes next. We have ginormous college bills for those brilliant children because we didn't save when we were becoming parents at 12 or whatever so, no, I don't want to watch you uproot your comfortable life and cram it into this new amazing thing. Well, I do, but it makes me dark and all self-hatey. So, I stopped.

Here lies my challenge. Figure out life. No financial investment possible. But there are hours in the day. I have job that I like. No other responsibilities, really. Job, a very busy husband, some time with my adult children when I can. Two badly behaved dogs. And this question:

What to do with my remaining years? And just who the hell am I supposed to be?

I do this thing that I am pretty sure no one else does.

I have a meditation practice. It's horrible. I have a horrible meditation practice. It does not seem to matter how many books I read or classes I take or malas I hold. It's terrible.

Last night I was driving to a lovely little library out in suburban Orange County. It's like a cross between a plantation and a mansion with grounds that host weddings and big parties. As I exited the insanity that is the 405 during SoCal rush hour, I saw a sign for the University of California, Irvine.

"Hmmm" I thought, "I should take a class at UCI, it's really so close."

Sure. Good idea, right? Take a class.

Except that I AM taking a class at UCI. My second in a series. I had even done a big round of schoolwork earlier in the day, posting on the discussion board and reading two chapters of the textbook.

As I pulled into parking lot I parked back in the spots that are not green or signed with anything. I don't really understand the 22 minute parking zones with the green curbs (22 minutes? really?) in California but I don't need anymore parking tickets.

I had parked in this spot before, the last time I'd come to a meeting at what I keep calling the Katy Perry library because I can't for the life of me remember the actual name. But this time, as I got out, I found myself looking for an easy cross to the parking lot and a path that had no steps to get to the front door. Four months ago I'd crossed this same lot. Then, it was without a thought.

Good health is priceless. But sometimes less-than-good-health sneaks up on you. Maybe you don't notice until you stand at the top of a flight of stairs, hesitant to take the first step because you know it it is going to hurt. Maybe you are tired all the time, but you've been busy. Maybe you don't want to notice.

I have noticed. My rheumatologist rocks and I see her for a three-month follow-up next week. But the little meeting at the Katy Perry library was a wake-up call. I need to start, at least for now, making accommodations.

Grocery delivery, someone else to deep clean at least once a month. More sleep.

And, most difficult of all, open eyes.

It all started yesterday with International Women's Day; I was thinking about the women who have come before me, both the heroes and the humble. I wondered, what on earth does my life have to do with Margaret Fuller and her 19th century intellectual powerhouse of a life?

Nothing. Nope. Not really. I certainly did not suffer from life-long migraines due to being over educated as a child, in fact my intellect was judged to be below standard for the gifted program in my working class elementary school. No tears shed there, if they'd had a spirit filled dreamers gifted class, I'd have been the queen.

We all follow paths worn by the many steps of those who traveled before we pass by. We all shape our lives after those who have come before either knowingly or not. The question is, then, who am I following? Who made this path?

The answer came today during my writing class at church. We were writing on the topic of "Brokenness". The pattern goes that we read a poem and then write a bit and then share if we want to. I'm not even sure who said what, but I began to think about my great grandmother and how the story goes. She was a teenager in Norway when her sister decided to sail for the United States. Apparently letters were coming back from an aunt that things were so wonderful and so fabulous. If Marta would join her sister Severina then Mrs Johnson, the aunt (or cousin? the story twists in my mind) would pay her fare and she could work it off over time. The story goes that the work would be in the house, in the kitchen and while Marta didn't want to go, her family and her sister, and probably if I understand my DNA correctly, her Scandinavian guilt pushed her to sail.

Of course, the work wasn't in the kitchen, it wasn't in the house. It was in the fields; the sweltering tall prairie fields of South Dakota. And there was no early release. She worked for seven years. Now we would call her an indentured servant. One who had to work off her passage for so many years and then was free. But this ancestor woman of mine was never really free. Her whole life, so the story goes, she wanted to go home. She wanted to smell the wet, green air of Norway. She wanted to climb the hills and smell the sea on every breeze.

But, like all of us, life happened. She married a nice German man; a musician. She had two daughters and then years and years later had a son. She never let her daughters into the kitchen to cook a thing and was never, so the story goes, a very warm mother. Then, on May 4th, 1951, while visiting her daughter, my grandmother, she died.

This is the path I feel beneath my feet. Here are my ancestor women who nursed their babies and rocked them to sleep. The path of the my grandmothers grandmothers who lived as best they could and gave their children the best they could manage. The thousands of dinners set on the table, and hundreds of celebrations of holidays. The cooking and cleaning and managing and making do. I feel those dear ones in my body. They worked so hard and felt such loss. We have had so much leaving and loss on this path. We still do. You and me. Here in this world, we love and live and while maybe our plowing is different now, we still are working so so hard to do the very best we can.

And yet, and yet, I am able to have a bank account and credit and a college degree and I can vote. I have legal rights to my children beyond and outside my marriage (OK, OK, my children are grown men, but go with me here) and for goodness sake I married a man outside my religion and my race! I have a different life.

My path follows the dear worn way of my fore-mothers and it goes so much further. It's almost like I have a secret jetpack that allows me to walk and walk and then when faced with a cliff I don't have to soldier on as best I can. I have a new path, but not really. I have the "leap" button on the path, maybe that's it. I have more powers.

We have learned so much. The women I am drawn to honor are the ones who lived the daily life of getting by and getting on. Some of my other women ancestors were not simple women, but troubled and complicated. Their love for their children is hard to see in the stories told. I carry those paths in my cells, too.

So today, with my writing friends in my writing class I wrote the story of how my great grandmother might have felt. How this was not what she'd planned, how she never wanted to come to the great plains and always, always, always missed home. She pined. I wrote about the ripples of that life-long misery.

Women who are not my ancestors still pine, still get stuck, still become trapped in situations which are not fair nor just. Today. All over. Even where things should be better. And, of course they should be better every where.

Let me honor Marta and her sisters and our cousins everywhere. May my feet wear a path worthy of those who may follow.

May it be so.

Here's the thing about depression. You don't really know that you are deep in until someone points it out. Or validates it. Or notices.

At least that's how it was for me.

Today while I was working I hit a road block that had me questioning just why oh why I do the crazy work that I do when I realized something pretty big. A few months ago this very thing would have meant that my work day was over. Road blocks set me spinning into a "no go" zone which meant I might as well give up for the day. Usually it also stopped all practical work; no house work, productive errand or really, anything else would happen. Maybe I'd climb between my cozy flannel sheets and sleep or maybe just curl up on the couch and stay there.


Someone asked me a few months ago how I could tell the difference between the grief of losing my dad and depression. I didn't have much of an answer at the time--my brain was still in a fog, but the question stuck with me. Now, some distance out, I know the precise difference--in fact it is more of a Venn diagram with no intersection at all. Two different animals completely, with maybe a river or even an ocean separating them.



Grief is sadness, loss, regret for missed opportunities and a longing for things that will never be again.

Depression is hopelessness, feeling numb about everyday things (oh my God I have to choose what to eat? What to wear? Really?)  and wishing the pain of living would just be over.

That spin art of depression can take a person to some dark, dark places. For me it also hurt, I mean physically. My joints ached like I had some horrible inflammatory disease. But, the strangest symptom I experienced was an almost completely atonal voice. I think I am usually pretty expressive--but at the height of the depression it bored even me to listen to myself speak. I guess really, everything was flat: voice, energy, will to live.



I'm sure losing my dad contributed to my depression in some ways as did a whole lot of other events in my life. It's not been a good year. Or years. But some of this is about the way I think and the way I've been thinking all my life. Negative, or well, horrible and abusive self-talk can pile up a bit over the decades. It's kind of like laundry--the pile grows and grows until pretty soon you've got nothing left to wear. No place to hide.

For me I came to a point when something happened that one distant part of me recognized as just not OK. It was just too far, and if I squinted a little I could see that maybe I was actually worth at least a smidge more. That's when I finally called the therapist a friend recommended. It was hard to get that diagnosis--the validation that no, it actually was not OK. I was not fine. And not everyone feels this way. Not just depression, but severe. Like--really severe depression with a couple of co-diagnoses for good measure. It was an earthquake of the soul.

Bad stuff. Bad news.

But no. Actually, no. It was not bad news. It was good news. It was really good news because therapy with a good therapist begins to rewire the thoughts and feelings and reality that we all build for ourselves. For me Cognitive Behavioral Therapy is a good fit, and it has mended some of my very broken places, at least a little. Still, though, I have done some damage in my life that I'm not sure can be repaired. Folks think I'm maybe just not very organized or that I have terrible follow through. I see it and hear it in the daily interactions. And while my memory is much better I still have a hard time remembering details. Hell, I'm always bad at details and have developed elaborate systems to track them in my normal life. But this depression was brutal on my ability to recall, well, anything.

In truth and hindsight I should have taken a few weeks or maybe months off from work. But in the deep depths it's hard to know what you need. Impossible, even. It never occurred to me to ask.

So, here I am. Hitting road blocks and actually navigating around them. Getting better. Being better.

That is good news. Victory really. I am rebuilding my life. Finding joy and hope. Mental health trouble is so wildly stigmatized in our world, yes still, that I deeply fear even talking about it because, well, because of job searches and personal and professional reputation and being judged for what happened to me as being my new normal when it is absolutely not. But to hide is to be ashamed of the depression. And that gives it power.



That is not OK. No more power for the pull of the dark side. No more. It's over. The light won and the truth is I know that if not right this minute, that pretty soon I'm gonna be OK. For real. Whole and holy and good. And that is a good thing, a very good thing indeed.

Amen.

My dad is entering the final stage of his life. No one has said that to me, but I know it's true.

He's not even really himself anymore, and hasn't been for a while. He's back in the hospital, and I'm not sure he's gonna make it home again. Maybe. H
e's been surprising us for almost two years. But somehow this time is different.

Yes, I'm sad. Not sad for the letting go because at this point there's not a hell of a lot of dignity or meaning for him or for those who love him. Except, of course, doing everything possible so he's comfortable and cared for. I'm more than a thousand miles away, so there's not much real world I can do to take care of him. But I don't want to just be sad. I want to remember.

So, I'm kind of gliding through this day and it's tasks and holding memories. Like mixing homemade root beer in a vat so deep I was up to my elbow stirring with a long wooden paddle- I must have been about five. And the stories he told by sons about each individual lure in his tackle box. And the way he loved our crazy dog who ran away every chance she got. And his love of being busy and just having things to do, even if it was just going to the dollar store and having coffee at the local meeting spot.


I'm not sure what comes next. But it feels like waiting right now. And I'm OK with that. I'll wait. I'll wait.

Amen.

I have been a mother for almost exactly half of my life. You could argue that even though I'd been out of my parent's house for six years and married for four that I was just barely an adult when that dear first child was born. My husband and I lived in an awful little apartment kitty-corner from where we'd gone to high school. Just before our son was born, my husband painted part of the apartment building in barter for our rent.

But none of that mattered. I was young, we were broke, there was a terrible recession and few jobs, our families thought we were nuts for bringing a child into this mess, and it was all meaningless because I was a mother. A MOTHER!

This feels like a lifetime ago. Now, that little baby who lived with us across from our high school is an adult man, and a fine one at that. He's grown and gone but close enough to be dragged home to help with the yard work which he hates but does anyway because, well, he's a fine man!

The next baby came along almost exactly three years after the first, and he lives most of the year in New York going to college now, at least when he's not adventuring or researching in distant lands. He's gone for months and months at a time. I can see his face on web chat, but I don't get to eat lunch or watch movies with him for absolute eons at a time.

The last baby came along two years later. He's still at home, for now anyway, but turns 18 one week from today. He's headed into what passes for the second year of high school in this house--a second year of community college and if all goes well, he's headed for either a great BFA in musical theater after high school or maybe he'll just launch into a career. If I could choose it would be school. But this has been the biggest lesson of mothering.

Often I do not get to choose.

Often I am sitting on my hands, or biting my tongue or just smiling and waiting as these damn children go off and create lives of their own.

They choose girlfriends and schools and cars and jobs on their own!

Sometimes they even go to the doctor and book haircuts and good lord-- buy SHOES without me.

There was a time that I made all of these things happen for my boys. I even had say over the food that appeared before them and the clothes they had to choose from to wear every day.

And this is just how it should be. I am happy. I love my boys like a deep wide river that powers over every boulder and cliff it meets. Today I saw this photo and thought "there's my heart!"


But look at them! They are grown! They need me, yes. But what they really need is for me to have a full and interesting life and to leave them the hell alone!

We are in the season of leaving. College semesters begin, summer fun and travel are ending, we're settling into a low-key time of school and work getting back to our simple lives. That handsome boy on the right leaves on Friday and I will not lay my eyes on his physical being until Christmas. Christmas, people! I am devastated. And not.

It's a funny thing, the work of a mother is to make herself completely unnecessary to the daily lives of her children. And while yes, I think I may be succeeding in this, letting go of my children is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. The task at hand is to rip your heart out, and duct tape it to your child as they march off to their future lives and then smile and princess-wave to all those who are watching....And I have to do it three times.

If I were not a professional church lady I would say out loud "F*CK!! THIS IS HARD!"

Oh, well, I guess I just said it.

It may be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. But I would not have traded it for anything in the world. Not one thing. Not a million things. I have been blessed with this sacred role. I am a mother. A mother.

Amen.

People commit crimes.

People commit murder and if you want to go there, people commit adultery.

We humans are broken and we screw up and we sometimes act out the past wrongs done to us by screwing up other people--some of them people we absolutely treasure.

When we humans do really bad things we use this language. We commit crimes, we commit ills against society.

But I do not believe that people commit suicide. I believe that suicide is a tragedy and a horror and should never have to happen. I wish that we would cradle one another gently when times are dark and we should never be alone when depression tries to corner us and speak its lies to us about how we are unworthy and unlovable. I also know that sometimes the pain of living gets to be so much for some folks that they can't take it and they do the only thing that makes sense in the crazy twisted moment of that reality, and end their existence on earth.

I do not believe that taking your own life is some kind of a sin. I believe we are all here in this blessed and sometimes cursed life, struggling to do the best we can. And sometimes it hurts like hell. It's awful. Heartbreaking. Devastating to those left behind. But it is not worthy of what we mean when we use "committed". To say that someone has committed suicide, unless you really believe it to be a sin against god that disallows that person from a heavenly afterlife, is old, dated, inaccurate use of language that perpetuates the stigma of mental health problems.

People die by suicide. It is a horrible tragedy. But lets not make it worse by saying that our beloved brother or sister committed something. Language matters, what we say makes a difference and the words we choose change the meaning of what we say.

Let's all say what we really mean.

I am terribly sad that Robin Williams died by suicide. I pray that his loved ones can hold the beautiful memories of his life close as they reel from his loss. I pray that we can all try to take a little more care with one another and to learn to love ourselves--especially our broken parts.

We can take a line from Williams' character in "The Dead Poets Society":

I'm back at my crazy temp job, saving up to do the good work I mean to do which pays not quite as well as temp work.

Why yes, yes, thank you for asking, I AM living the high life...

At work we had three crazy days of learning a new project and getting qualified to actually DO the work--days when you start with 50 people in a group and end with 15 because those are the only ones who make the qualification test.

Why yes, yes, thank you for asking, it is brutal.

Today when we came to work the groups had been shifted around in our work space because, of course, we're have much smaller groups now, and I was lucky enough to sit by one of the first people I met in this crazy job. She's a lovely woman and I just adore her. I'm so happy to share work space with her bright spirit and kick-ass attitude; super fun in our academic sweatshop.

Today I was looking at her computer screen and I admitted that I was doing something I probably shouldn't have been doing which I will not admit now because that would be wrong, wrong, wrong. She said something about how I was going to hell.

"I don't believe in hell."

OK, pause....when you work in religion you often have a difficult time telling people what you do or did for work. People assume that you are a locked down person who never has any fun and they tick back through what they've already said to you wondering if they have incriminated themselves. I never admit it on an airplane, that makes for an awful flight. In Seattle if I say "Unitarian" people often say "Oh, I love the UUs!" so it's a little better.

At this job when people ask me what field I worked in or am looking for work in, since we're all looking for work, I say "Oh, I used to be a professional church lady" which makes everyone think of Dana Carvey on SNL. It's intentional. Laugh so you don't think I'm a freak. So, at this job it's kind of how people know me-- as "church lady". Whatever. It's fine. Everyone knows I'm somehow connected with a church.

So back to the hell incident. I said, "I don't believe in hell."

"WHAT?" she said? "But you're the church lady!" It's pretty quiet at our work, and this was pretty loud. Church ladies apparently believe in hell!

No. I don't believe in hell, or the divinity of Jesus or anything much, really.

Except people. I believe in people. I believe in people who screw their lives up and then keep going, and people who love when there is no way anyone could expect them to love one more thing because life has done awful things to them, and I believe in children because children are just so good and holy and whole--always, and I believe in the devoted love of a dog and the long love of dear friends and the moment of a smile shared between strangers in brief passing and people who help when they should probably just keep going...and all of it.

I FEEL the goodness in people. I feel the powerful force of love in this world and in just about every person I meet. People do good things because we, for the most part, are whole and holy and yes.....GOOD. Of course we're also bad and evil and so, so, so broken. But usually, if we have been given a break or two, the love is what guides us. We DO good because we ARE good. Love leads us. Love actually guides us.

From what I've seen in my few decades here on this earth, if we lead with love we are never, ever, ever, wrong. Hell is a magical story spun by someone who was trying to control people.

But love, well love is kick-ass, full-on epic-- real.

Real.

Amen.

Sometimes you get to do something in this life that just feels so right, you want to dance and sing and roll around on the floor in a pleasure bomb of joy!

OK, there was no rolling on the floor, but holy mother of all things good and pure and whole today was a really good day.

I got to go to my LREDA cluster meeting.

What? Why would that make someone dance and sing?

Well, have you ever been with a room full of people who would understand you with no words? Or maybe two words or three...."did you hear?" "Totally" "I know" "Amazing!"

Being a religious educator is not easy work. You often hold everything from supplying glue sticks for classrooms to counseling families through the death of a parent, and literally, every thing between. It is a profound honor and nearly impossible.

This was a room full of people who also follow this call.

I was welcomed back to this group which was my spiritual home for seven years with wide open arms. It has been two years since I have been a part of the group, but it felt like no time had passed. Yes, there was a new baby who's pregnancy and birth I'd missed, but I was the lucky one who held him as he fell asleep. And yes, some of my colleagues are gone, some in less-than-ideal circumstances and it made me very sad. But I got to see people I thought I might never see again. People whom I love. It was bliss.

If you ever doubt the importance of real, true support of people who understand your life and your soul without explanation, don't. It is profound!

As I walked to the parking lot with people whom I first met in far away states at long past events, I said "LREDA is magic! Here we are, in this spot, and it's just the same!" It was. It is!

Truth. Magic!

Amen!

I have been busy.

The sun is out!

The birds are singing!

The flowers are in bloom --yes, yes, yes, they're flowering weeds and bolted kale, but who cares!

And, my son is coming home from his first year at school!



I've done the kid-away-at-college gig before. But this one didn't just go to UW here in Seattle. This one went to school in Syracuse. Know how many planes it takes to get to Syracuse? Two. It takes two planes, you have to connect. It's far, far, far away. Three time zones.

But now school is over and he's coming home and he'll be here for, well, he'll be here for chunks of the summer between his field studies. I am happy, so so happy!

This year has been a tough one for me. In July my oldest son moved a few hours away for his first career job after college. And then the middle son moved to Syracuse for college at SUNY ESF, which has turned out to be the perfect school for him. It's good but it's awful.

Then there was the job search. I had so much trouble finding the right job. (Which I did by the way, I start at CLF this August and we're going to to amazing things with our ministry to families!) That search just about took the wind out of my sales for good-- I was ready to just work at the local gas station.....well, maybe not the gas station but I was pretty convinced that the right job no longer existed. None of those are terrible things, really. But, my dad is living strong with two kind of stage four cancer, which is always stuck in my throat. That's tough. And my husband hates his job. That's tough, too. Somehow, it all added up.

So this year, for a very lucky person, I felt like crap. A lot. I missed my two oldest kids, and smothered the poor youngest kid with too much mothering.

I tried to throw myself into volunteering, but probably didn't do as well as I could have because I always felt like I was just barely keeping my head above water. Depression kinda sucks the ambition right out of you.

I really, really tried to find a job, I got close on a few that seemed like a good fit, but nothing came through. I thought all those networks I had would kick in, but no dice. Looking for work is full-time work, and it's the worst job you'll even not have. Seriously. Brutal.

It's all over now. The middlest comes home tomorrow. We rented a van and we're all going to the new whale museum on Saturday to celebrate the May birthdays and Mother's Day. I am working a fine temp job that lasts til July and then I'll start at CLF in August. My kids will be here. My dogs are always here. We even  found a good dog therapist for the crazy one. Really, all is well in my world.

I am the kind of person who usually has a self-righting mechanism. I get really depressed, but I usually turn back around like those self righting bath toys and go paddling along on my grateful days.

This time took a little longer. But I'm here. Upright. And on my way.

Amen.

I am quite certain that this is not the most efficient way to do this. But I am a little fried after two months of scoring essays written by children during their yearly standardized testing marathons.

I can't figure out who would listen to my complaint, although I'm sure someone would; someone in power with he ability to make real change the way we do things.

Why does the "blogs" tab on the UU World website still have a "new" label?

I started Chalice Spark in 2008 and the blog tab was labeled "new".

I think we should not replace the "new" label with an "old" label! But it can just sit there all on its own. "Blogs."

Or frankly, maybe it should say "Social Media Updates" since our very own Heather Christiansen has been doing a fabulous job of rounding-up a growing field of media sources to our weekly Interdependent Web. "Click Here", or "where all the cool kids hang out" or I don't know.....something that does not say "new".

Thank you for listening.

And all I can do is think about how my post looks very similar to some of the 4th grade essays I scored today. Except they were just a little better. I can only give it a 2.

Sorry kid, better luck next year.

About 15 years ago I reached some kind of crack in the sidewalk of my life--nothing discernible happened, or at least nothing stands out in my memory. I just decided that if I really couldn't eat anything that looked like the animal it used to be, that maybe it was time to be honest with myself and just stop eating meat.

So I did. I had some leftover cocktail weenies from a New Year's party one January 1st and that was it, no more meat.

I wasn't a squeamish vegetarian, I still cooked a Thanksgiving turkey for my family and I made pork ribs and steak for my husband and sons.

I learned about the health benefits of being vegetarian, and got pretty excited about what someone at a women's retreat I attended called  "eating close to the earth." Obviously, eating no animals meant no feeding, watering, transporting, processing or packaging animals.

Eventually my sons grew into teens and the two oldest--both for environmental reasons--chose to stop eating meat. My husband got the ultimatum from his doc "get your cholesterol down or you're going on medication" and with side effects like muscle weakness, he was ready to get radical to stay off the drugs.

After all these years I had come to the point where I was not cooking meat at home, and after one final turkey carcass-picking incident, I ruled all meat had to come in our house ready to consume or be prepared by other people when I was not anywhere nearby. And good lord please don't let me smell it.

I thought when my oldest son, the one we always called a carnivore, went veg that I'd never see a more surprising change. But when my husband decided to stop eating meat, I wondered if I was living in some soap opera world where an evil family had made eternal winter in our town and somehow made my husband a completely new man. But he was all in and still the same great guy, no evil Carradine plan was at work, apparently.

My meat loving husband's cholesterol dropped dramatically on a mostly plant based diet. The doc made him come back again and again for blood tests because he was radically skeptical that the levels were really down. But his levels stayed down and he stayed away from meat, well, except for oddly important meals, like when he was in Korea on an airline accident investigation and an older Korean man handed him freshly grilled beef wrapped in lettuce, and he just ate it. Some things are just, you know.... a THING.

Pretty soon I was convinced by mounting evidence from social media pictures of cute chickens and really good documentaries that I should stop eating all animal products. I read statistics about the number of gallons of water it takes to grow a cow who would give me gooey brie cheese vs. a pound of beans. There was no need to convince me about the lives of animals and their value, I have spent my life owned by a series of beloved dogs and cows are just big dogs who eat hay.

And then when Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn explained endothelial cells in "Forks Over Knives" I was sold. Two years later I'm still not hard core, I do eat some cheese when I am forced to by it's awesomeness and when there are eggs in really delicious looking cookies, I might pretend that they are some kind of fake eggs and gobble up the cookie before I come to my senses. But I don't eat grilled cheese or scrambled eggs, nothing like that. And it's good.

It's actually really good.

And it's super easy. We cook almost all of our meals, we can eat out at almost any restaurant (great goddess of all things fried, Applebee's is even harder to eat at than a steak house for even the most resourceful plant eaters) but we like to eat at home because our food is better. It's not rabbit food, it's hearty and balanced and wonderful; just tonight we had a fabulous Shepherd's Pie that would make even the toughest meat eater swoon--and then reach for seconds.

But here, today, on Earth Day, I wonder why so many people who drive hybrids, hang their laundry to dry, keep their houses cool or warm and fight passionately against climate change don't do the easiest thing of all to keep our world safe; just stop eating animals. It's a change, but it's not hard, really, it's not. You feel better, you prevent disease in your body and you do your part to help our spinning blue planet. Maybe giving up meat is too much, but I know people who have Meatless Mondays and Flexitarian Fridays! You can try a Field Roast sausage brat or meatless crumbles in spaghetti sauce--so good. And really, no lie, easy.

OK, thanks for listening. Now, I will take my soapbox, and my leftover Shepherd's Pie, and I will go home!

Happy Earth Day!

Today I went visiting in a small town, or well, it was a kind of a small town, I guess--as close as I've come to one in a long time, anyway. It was real old-time visiting; coffee, cookies, talking about the weather. As we went from place to place it seemed like everyone knew my mother, they waved or said hello or made a bad pun, and they were all so kind and seemed happy to meet me. Well, she's been part of this place for 15 years--taking folks where they need to go and doing the things that need doing. No surprise they were nice to me.

The first time I heard the phrase "service is our prayer" I must have been about 16.

I was struck because even though I grew up going to a church pretty regularly, there was never a practice or teaching about how to go about living this life with any kind of foundation in faith or belifs. Many people at our little fellowship were very active in service, and truly did practice their faith in their work, volunteering and activism.

But no one said "hey, this is how you live your faith."

Eventually, I figured it out.

Now, well into solid middle-age-hood, I find that service that involves steamy kitchens, or icy construction sites or especially large pots of potatoes to peel gets me more deeply in touch with my soul than any hymn or prayer or sermon can.

Today I'm headed to the low barrier teen homeless shelter. We're making dinner. I am wearing my favorite work t-shirt and bringing cases of soda from a friend and some outgrown jeans from my sons.

With the piles of dust and dirt on my banged up my soul courtesy of this long and hope-sucking job search, I gotta say I hope that we're making the greasiest, splattering, burned-on mess ever. I can use the prayer.

Amen!

The first time I heard the phrase "service is our prayer" I must have been about 16.

I was struck because even though I grew up going to a church pretty regularly, there was never a practice or teaching about how to go about living this life with any kind of foundation in faith or belifs. Many people at our little fellowship were very active in service, and truly did practice their faith in their work, volunteering and activism.

But no one said "hey, this is how you live your faith."

Eventually, I figured it out.

Now, well into solid middle-age-hood, I find that service that involves steamy kitchens, or icy construction sites or especially large pots of potatoes to peel gets me more deeply in touch with my soul than any hymn or prayer or sermon can.

Today I'm headed to the low barrier teen homeless shelter. We're making dinner. I am wearing my favorite work t-shirt and bringing cases of soda from a friend and some outgrown jeans from my sons.

With the piles of dust and dirt on my banged up my soul courtesy of this long and hope-sucking job search, I gotta say I hope that we're making the greasiest, splattering, burned-on mess ever. I can use the prayer.

Amen!

The end of the holiday season brought a month long visit by the middlest to an end, and a month of "use it or lose it" vacation for my dear husband to an end. We even had ten whole days with the oldest. It was lovely. Now, it's over.

Life is back to normal.

Or kind of normal.

I have to remember how to cook for just three people, and one of those three people is in a show four nights a week. We're talkin' left-OVERS.

And, well, we live at the 47th parallel. The solstice is a few weeks past, but it is still not light 'til 8 and it's dark at 4 with the clouds and rain and mountains.

So, this week is all about the comfort food. Well, you know--vegan comfort food. Tonight was Victoria Moran's Baked Chee Spaghetti Casserole with harvard beets on top, just like the mac and cheese we had at my mom's daycare center when I was a little girl, except of course tonight we had no Velveeta. Tomorrow is Gardein Chick'n Scallopini and mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy. We know how to do this thing with the vegan stuff. Still warms your bones, yes, even though it's been in the 50s here, the wet chill follows you in the house.

The short days and the emptying house and the rain and the job search make cozy food hit the top of the "to-do" list. Sometimes it's good to have a nice, tidy "to-do" list to keep you from watching entire runs of shows on Netflix, or--you know....eating all the left-OVERS!

May the sun return soon. Real soon. Hurry on back, now!

Please consider voting for this fine young man.

Yes, he's my son. He's an adventurer and will soon be a biologist. He has a passion for telling the story of the arctic.

If he gets to go on this fabulous dog-sledding trip and travel from the coastal lands of Norway through the highlands of Sweden, it's likely he'll be treading on lands that our ancestors traveled.

How cool is that?

Voting through Facebook, go here

Thanks. xo

What a victory! DOMA ended! Prop 8 not upheld! True marriage equality feels closer than ever!

I am happy. My marriage, at least legally, has been simple and easy. But I feel an acute kinship with the folks fighting for their right to marry and be recognized nationally; 50 years ago my interracial marriage would have been illegal in some states. I hope, like Loving vs. Virginia, that we will soon have a sweeping ruling that implements marriage equity for all.

Yet, I feel unease hovering below the joy.

The Supreme Court acted making the Voting Rights Act impossible to enforce. And while Texas Senator Wendy Davis lit a fire under many women's rights advocates, the ugly maneuvering behind the scenes, which might have worked had thousands of us not watched exactly what happened on the floor of the senate while cheering along on Twitter, proved again that many, many powerful white men think that they have a right to hold power over the rest of us.

And I worry.

One hundred and fifty years ago, Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton put their work for the rights of women on hold to fight for abolition. The common thought was "first abolition, then women's rights" but after slavery ended, the movement scattered. Some prominent abolitionists joined the Boston based American Woman's Suffrage Association, but the National Woman's Suffrage Association, the one Stanton and Anthony led that fought for an amendment to the constitution had very little support from the powerful white males who had worked for abolition. One hundred years later, during the Civil Rights Movement men discounted the oppression of women; the word "sex" was added to the Civil Rights Act at the very last moment, almost accidentally, by Senator Howard Smith (D-VA) but surely at the behest of Alice Paul, the author of the Equal Rights Amendment.

Women are still disadvantaged on the tenure track, in equal pay, in business, and in politics. And white men in power constantly seek to regulate our health with the hidden agenda of regulating our sexuality. 

Women are taught to work through proper channels, to follow the rules; not to draw attention to ourselves unless it is by achieving the "perfect" hair or "summer legs" or "lips he'll want to kiss".

I am sick of it.

No, it's not time to let someone else go first. I was here in this god forsaken line for equality and dammit, it is MY TURN. It should have happened in 1920 when my grandmother voted in the first national election women were allowed to vote in, it should have happened for my mother during my childhood when we chose not to travel to states in the south that refused to ratify the Equal Rights Amendment. If I have to wait for my granddaughters to have legally protected equal rights, I will be mad as hell.

Can you imagine the power to change the world and bend that arc toward justice if women had power and money? If women had support for parental leave that almost every other country has? If women earned on par with men, just think about the donations that could be made to elections, campaigns and work for justice. If women held power in corporations and politics at par with men, imagine how policy could be influenced.

Yes, I am happy that marriage equity has passed another legal hurdle. I really am.. It means the world to me that people I love can get married and those rights, at least nationally, will be uniform.

But let us not forget that half the population, more when you consider the sad and sorry state of gender rights beyond the binary, lack legal protection. We need equal rights for all people. Pretending that men, and in particular powerful, wealthy, well educated white men, do not have a profound advantage over the rest of us perpetuates injustice and limits our inherent right for freedom and equity for all.

It has been nearly a full year since I left my position as a religious educator. I think because I left quite publicly and with a loving leaving, over the past many months I've been the confidential confidant of more than half a dozen folks who were exploring leaving their positions as religious educators. A number of these fine folks were credentialed, long-term, dedicated folks who held leadership positions and loved, loved, loved what they did.

What happens? Why do we as a whole UU-beast have such a high rate of turn over for the folks who bring to life our ministry for children and youth? And what on earth can be done to change it?

Well--I don't really know. Maybe someone knows the whole answer and just selfishly sits on that answer, cackling with mirth because the rest of us are stumbling around trying to sort it all out. But my hunch is that it's a complicated answer.

I watched the VUU again today, and again felt like I was eavesdropping on a minster's meeting--this time about parenting and ministry. This balance of family (or self) and work is also very difficult for religious educators, and for me it was the reason I left. I don't regret it for a second--while I MISS the work, I am so desperately grateful I had this year of evenings and weekends to be present with my kids. TWO of them are moving away next year, making this year absolutely precious.

When compared with the challenges for ministers with families, religious educators have the added difficulty of two things: 1--doing work that has traditionally been "women's work" with the expectation of lower pay, more responsibilities and a smiling happy-to-have-the work expectation of attitude on the part of SOME congregations and 2--Very few congregations expect the minister to work every Sunday, but most expect the Religious Educator to do so. That's like turning the toaster oven on broil and walking away. Family time doesn't mix well into that burned up mess of pizza rolls and religious education.

I know there's a fuss about metrics and growth and mission and vision and leadership in the big picture UU stuff right now. I don't know what to do about that, either. But we could remember that these are people who do the work, and people who deserve to be treated with respect and dignity. And we could remember that our professional ministers are not the only leaders in the game--I tell you the secret, ugly truth--people will stay through mediocre sermons for great religious education for their kids, but they will not stay for great sermons if the programming for their children is sub-standard. (Again, not the situation at the church I worked for-I saw at least three standing ovations for sermons from that minister over the years.) There's more to look at here.

For the regular Jo in the regular church dealing not with huge metrics and consultants, but with the daily stuff of running a church, maybe for that Jo I do have a little advice. It's not all brand new, but it all still applies. Start here: Proper Care and Feeding of Your Religious Educator, then go here to Part 2 and then to Part 3. I should write one called "after the letter of resignation" because that's a tough one, too. But this is a place to start. Don't be one of the churches who says "gee, we thought everything was going well" it may very well be your religious educator that I've been chatting with since January. The resignation letter may be half composed in the computer.

Go see if you can make it better. Search committees are hard to fill, and good religious educators are hard to find. Pay a living wage, give time off, support professional development. And hey all you big-wigs, remember that ministers and metrics and end statements are not the only reason churches and institutions thrive or fail. Start with people, end with people and take care of the people in between. It's not the big answer, but it's a place to start.

I just watched another round table video discussion between UU ministers and soon to be ministers on the VUU, and while I think the video gremlins finally caught up to the fine folks from the Church of the Larger Fellowship, I enjoyed the discussion.

The most important information, in my mind, came in a comment on the youtube comment stream from UU World editor, Chris Walton. There was a comment from Rev. Hank Pierce (from Hot Stove UU Media Megapersonality fame) about the ages of the UUA moderators. I think in response to that comment, Chris posted this:

I believe in evolution, not just the apes to man, Galapagos Island variety, but the personal mind-body-spirit kind, too. And I think I just noticed a giant leap in my own mind-body-spirit evolution.

For a few years I worked in the trenches of my faith, and I loved it. I loved knowing who was who and hearing about what was going on and understanding the scuttle about why or why not this or that was doing something or other.

But no more. As I turn on the curve of my year away from church after leaving the job and really begin to think of myself as the middle aged woman in the back pew wearing jeans and a t-shirt and sneaking out early to be ready to serve the coffee, I realize that I've changed. I'm no longer church staff, no longer an insider and I really no longer care about the intricacies of the settlement process of ministers or the debate between the efficacy of one seminary or the other.



Today I watched a very cool thing, technologically. It was a panel discussion live on YouTube hosted by some great, caring people who run a non-bricks and mortar church. The panelists were passionate and very knowledgeable--all ministers with one seminarian, I believe. They seemed to have closely held beliefs and opinions about how ministers get to churches, and what the ins and outs of that are. There was a time when I'd have been very interested, but no more. It was great for lots of people, but I'm just not there anymore.

I want to see my friends and be a part of a community who cares about one another and does a little good on the planet. That's enough. No, actually that's huge! I'm sure there was a time when I would have considered that to be downright heresy. Faith is about grand, lofty goals! Transformation! Transcendence!

Sure. That's fine, if that's what you're into.

Not me. I think I've evolved. And this is just where I'm supposed to be.

Amen.

(Update-- 4/12/13)
I had no intention of disparaging the new VUU show from the Church of the Larger Fellowship. I think the show format is a fabulous concept with great technology that was in all likelihood for many members of CLF was just exactly what they needed and wanted to see. This blog post was intended to be a personal reflection on my own experience of transition out of church work. I don't think my church (CLF) could or should provide programming that only interests me. We are a vast and varied community with many vast and varied interests. I wish Rev. Meg and Rev. Joanna all the best of luck for a successful run, and hope that my musings will not be taken as a negative review of the show.

So I was doin' the mom shuffle today, you know, driving a kid from here to there on their way to the other place, and my son said "Did you invite all your chalice spark friends to GNOWUS?"

And I sat there at the stop sign, in the rain, banging my head on the steering wheel.

"No."

"Duh!" he said.

Wisdom from the 16-year-old.

So you are cordially invited to visit the new partner blog I have with my friend Jennifer. It's called:

Girl's Night Out With Us

and while we really do have a real monthly outing, with us, we also are launching a cyber book club and movie club. And the first one is tonight, from 4:30-7:30 PST--yeah, that's in about 10 minutes.

There will be nothing Unitarian Universalist about it at all, except that both of us are or have attended a UU congregation. But come anyway. And if you've read the book or watched the movie, all the better! There's even free stuff for people who comment. Who doesn't love free stuff?

And the reference to "Girl?" yeah, it's all tongue in cheek, all genders welcome. Bending good. Safe for all here.

Tonight's movie: Wanderlust. Go here: http://gnowus.com/?p=219

Book: 50 Shades of Grey. Go here: http://gnowus.com/?p=221

And if you want to hear more we'd love to have you. Come subscribe, we're still under construction, but are on our way to a fun, lively blog. I am excited to blog again on a regular basis, and would love to have you all there, too.

gnowus.com

xoxo

Kari

The UU World article "Obama's Religious Roots" contains references to his mother attending a Unitarian congregation as a young person, and his own brief experience with a Unitarian Universalist congregation during his childhood. There is a detailed accounting of contact and interaction with the two congregations; his mother with Eastshore Unitarian and his own with the Honolulu congregation, including an account of Mr. Obama searching for the restroom at his grandmother's memorial service. Much more interesting is the exploration of why children who grow up in the liberal faith, or have familiarity with the faith through Sunday morning visits or family connection choose not to associate with Unitarian Universalists as adults. The author, Thandeka, deftly explores the emotional void often left for people who are raised asUnitarian Universalists; there is an emphasis on intellectual development and connection, yet the emotional and very human connection needed to overcome resistance to religion is not addressed.

Missing from this exploration about why children raised UU don't stay UU is an understanding of how programs for children, youth and families are crafted. Also missing is the voice of the people who craft those programs. In many congregations most of the leadership, lay and ministerial, has very little to do with the programming for children, youth and families. As resources outside of Boston shift, and districts come together as regions to support the work of congregations, some are choosing not to support programming for children and families with any staff at all. So often, the work of creating this lasting bond for children and faith falls to congregation-based religious educators.

Religious educators are hard working professionals who come to the work from many different disciplines. A few have educational backgrounds which have prepared them to work in systems or religion, but many rely on an on-the-job training, leaping in to the very deep end of church systems, pastoral care, curriculum development and volunteer management. The Religious Education Credentialing program offers one path for professional development; some religious educators enter seminary to expand their knowledge. These are the fine people usually entrusted to connect children with an identity as Unitarian Universalists. But find the religious educator in the local congregation and you're likely to find an absolute whirl wind of activity, even a line queued up waiting to speak to this person during a coffee hour following services.

The religious educators in many congregations are barely keeping their heads above water, the culture of over-functioning in some regions leads to short tenures and frequent turn-overs, leaving congregations without stable and consistent programming for children, youth and families. It is also true that the majority of people serving congregations as religious educators are women, leading to the question: is there gender bias in the field as a whole? This is neither a post-racial nor a post-feminist time in history. Is it, perhaps, part of the reason that children grow up and leave Unitarian Universalist churches in great numbers, that the staff people charged with developing the programs meant to engage them fully are stretched too far, their time too thin, the expectations of congregations unrealistic.

Why did Barack Obama attend a Unitarian Universalist church as a child but settle in a United Church of Christ congregation as an adult? Why do many children follow the same path, or follow no path at all? There are many reasons, many influences, but if the question is to be asked, it should be asked of those who are the closest to the question. The religious educators.

Grief and loss don’t necessarily end, but, usually, we find ways to build our lives around them. I do remember September 11^th, 2001 very well. I was one of the people who got a phone call to turn on the TV, and I watched the second tower fall. Then I laid out clothes for my five-year-old.  It was horrible and it was nothing in contrast to what so many others lived.

If I could wear a sling today, to carry my heavy heart, I would. There have been so many tragic things happening so close to us, I had to physically restrain myself from blocking the door to keep everyone home. Seattle has had a horrible run of violence, and it feels like we've been in the middle of it.

No, we have been in the middle of it.

It's nothing compared to people who have really lost loved ones, of course. But it's still real.

A 17-year-old young woman, killed by her boyfriend just blocks from our high school. She had classes with our son.

A young man, killed when he fell 11 stories from his residence hall on the UW campus, our son's residence hall.

A horrible shooting, killing 4 in the U district, 12 blocks from our son's dorm. The man killed again while stealing a car to get away. The car was found in the community where I work.

And a tragic end when the shooter ended his life as the police closed in 1 mile from our church, where I'd walked a block to my car an hour earlier. Cast a small radius from his location, and you'd touch dozens of loved ones.

What can you do? How do we move forward with compassion? Nothing makes sense.

Today was an early morning in my home. Everyone was up and half were gone by 6:30. Right then, when my son was about ready to leave for the day, I turned around and screamed and screamed, running from the room, because an uninvited visitor was in my kitchen.

A juvenile sparrow.

He'd hopped through the open slider, and I think he was standing behind me calling loudly for some time. I'd turned to close the door--so he didn't come in. Too late! I screamed more and grabbed the dog. My poor son, a trained black belt, who is always ready to defend the helpless, came running.

The poor little fellow fled from the insane screaming monster, and was hiding in the bathroom. My dear, wilderness-loving son gently covered him with his sweatshirt, carried him outside and held him up high--opening his hands, releasing. The bird flew away into the rain.

What do I do? How do I move forward?

I think this is the answer, we take care of what's in front of us. We care for the helpless and vulnerable. We make granola. We slow down a little and we just...well we just go on.

The little bird is perched in our yard, now, calling and calling. Like he's asking for food.

"Are you my mother? Oh, you are not my mother, you are a snort!"

Amen.

I watch my sons navigate the busy world of today's teen, and I find myself on-my-knees grateful that we've found a way to offer an intimate Coming of Age program, a break,  for the four high school teens at our little church. Sorry, our middle sized church. I forget.

This church has grown like one of those crazy huge sunflowers that you can almost see stretch for the sun, the children's program often leading the way. But as often seems to happen, the families who attend like clockwork with little ones, get busy, get burned out, get lost or just stop bringing the kids along as they reach the teen years. So our numbers of high schoolers are small.

For my middle son, he was the only one left in his age group when it came time to do a "Coming of Age" so we did it DIY style--you can read about it here.

At our little church on the hill we have one teen a year younger than my middle son, and three two years behind. Not a whole lot of teens. But there are many 8th graders on their way up. If there is one thing that we've learned, it's to do something small before you do it big. Run a program with five core kids, learn all kinds of things, and then run it big with a group. Even with my leaving in a few weeks, a fabulous group of adults have taken on leading this group, with a commitment to hold what they've learned to use next time. Lessons learned will stay put. We are calling the program "Sanctuary" because it's a little time out of the triple-speed teen life to think and dream and just be for a while with a group of other teens who you have known since you were just a little kid. A safe place to rest and prepare for the next part of life.

Then, this morning I read this great post in the UU World about religious heritage and how a search of the religious identity of your ancestors can help you be grounded in your own identity, and I realize what an amazing group of leaders we have. This was their inspiration for our little group as one of their projects, a family tree of faith--or "what did you great grandfather believe and where did he go to worship?"

Brilliant.

This is the biggest lesson I've learned in my work these last seven years. We must trust the wisdom of the people, trust the process of a small group of committed people. Yes, there are wonderful curricula out there to guide groups through this Coming of Age process, but sometimes knowing and dreaming and creating together brings to life just the thing that is needed.

Sometimes you just have to pray and talk and hope and then take a huge running leap.

Amen.

Yesterday I sat down in church. Yes, I did tell the story for all ages, and I helped with the sorting of children after they left the sanctuary, helped calm a three-year-old and distract him with playdoh and building train bridges until he forgot he missed his pop-pop. I counted noses before the 6th-7th grade group headed down to the park for Earth Day. Then I grabbed a secret cup of coffee and headed to the balcony where there is no carpeting to ruin if coffee spills and I disturb fewer people with my coming and going.

Then I sat. Only one other person was with me in the balcony, but he was tolerant of my leaving to check on classes. The day was so beautiful many of our families were not at church, small classes often mean fewer issues and less need for the "mean lady" to take kids from class for a while for a little break.

So, I got to hear most of the service. Most of the music. I even got to have a little of the fellowship of experiencing a moving service next to a kind person. I can't remember the last time I listened to a sermon in the pleasant company of a fellow congregant. It magnifies the meaning and deepens the emotion.

Then I ran off to set up tables advertising a fund raiser, peeked in for the singing of the final hymn and then zipped back down to the fellowship hall to welcome the hot and sweaty middle schoolers back from the park, reminded young ones not to eat a whole cake and poured more coffee.

When I leave my work as a religious educator after these seven years, I will leave church for a full year. For a year I will hike or have brunch or visit friends or just sleep on Sunday mornings. Then, I hope, I'll come back to church and sit through services and experience a moving sermon in the warm embrace of loving fellowship. I don't think I had any idea how much I missed it.

Amen.

I was driving home in the pouring rain last night, listening to my friend National Public Radio when the hour turned and a new program came on, I think it had been the BBC which often just sounds like people chatting in the seat next to me, I pay so little attention. This was a speakers' forum and the speaker was religion scholar and author Diana Butler Bass, and her topic? The whole spiritual but not religious controversy. (Link here)

I am not sure why no one told me this, but when you leave a job a really bizzaro thing happens. Someone else comes in to do the job after you. For real. And people really care a whole lot about who they get to do your job. Yes, for real.

The next Director of Religious Exploration was announced today. And my gosh, she sounds just amazing! And when I emailed her to congratulate her, she seemed super kind and intelligent and very caring. Holy amazing transition batman! I think we're in the middle of the middle phase of a loving leaving. Hot dog!

One thing though. I promised her that we'd have the library all organized before she arrives. Maybe you haven't seen our office, but the library might be half in stacks on the floor. We worked really hard on organizing it last summer, or well--our ADRE did. And I know where most of the books are. But if someone who wasn't us looked at it, well they might think it was, you know. A mess! A really big mess with sloping piles of fabulous resources for children, families and teachers. But still. A mess.

Better get on that.

At the same time, we've got almost all of the summer program in place. The story tellers for summer are just about set. And the teaching teams for next year are shaping up. I brought home the dog bed that used to sit under our desk. And while the files will take a few more weeks, we're on it. SO many files we collect in seven years. Oh my!

This is what we do when we leave because it's time to leave and we want more than anything in the world for everything that happens after we leave to be good. It's a lot of work, but it's good work.

And really, I'm on the library. Seven weeks, that's about 39 books a week! Psssht. No prob.

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.

You know that moment when the crushing fatigue sits on your head and you look at the floor and just want to collapse on the soft rug and curl up and sleep? Oooooh! And if there might be a blanket and a couch, man--watch out. This is the workplace danger of working from home. Especially if there's a little dog with those sad eyes who just really wants to snuggle up for a nap. But there are hours and hours of work left to do, so you don't .You don't rest. You don't stop. Instead you grab coffee or do a desk-chair yoga moment of trying to get the blood to flow back up to your head. Gotta get things done, finish the project, find the answer, create the magic. Go.

This morning's Daily Compass is singing my song. How DID I get to be an adult without realizing that I need rest? How did I get in this spot of having way too much to do, no time for friends and family and no plan at all for what to do next? Where is my "slow" speed?

I should write this down on a sticky note and stick it on my bathroom mirror so I don't have to learn this again. And again. "SLOW DOWN"

And then somehow I'm six again, and my grandmother is singing Simon and Garfunkel to me:
 Slow down, you move too fast, gotta make the mornin' last, just kickin' down the cobblestones.....

I'll let you finish the song.

Leave it to your mother to quietly point at something, raise her eyebrows and give you a little nod. Oh yeah, really gotta pay attention when all three of those things happen.

Except in my life they happen on facebook these days, since I ruined my mother's life and took three of her four youngest grandsons 1,200 miles away.

Yes, my 80-year-old mother is on facebook. And she has a kindle and an ipad. And she skypes, too.

"You're in the UU World again" I think was about all it actually said on facebook, the point and eyebrows and nod were totally implied though. I could tell.

My UU World had been sitting on my desk, waiting to be read in the rush of all things family and church and the ittle bitty district job I'm juggling right now. But yep, sure enough there it was in the blog responses to articles in the last UU World, a post I could barely remember writing much less living. December 8th somehow feels like a million years ago. But I clicked through to the post and sure enough, it was something that we'd just been talking about across the kitchen table in the RE office a few days earlier. And as I read it I thought "people must think I either have been straight up lying in this blog or that I'm a total idiot for leaving this job."

And then I read back through the posts. "Love the job, love the people, joy and peace and bliss and blah blah blah perfection in all things church and faith" and holy mother of all things of worth and dignity, I swear, it's all true. I have absolutely loved serving this congregation. It is full of the most amazing, giving people who are full of love and who I swear to the spirit work like oxen on espresso! I could hardly speak when I sat at the table with the board of trustees to submit my resignation, it was so sad. And when a beloved six-year-old gave me the chalice she'd created at a chalice chapel, well, I'm still teary about that. I will rip out little pieces of my heart and stuff them in the cushions of the pews and the bins of legos when I leave.

But I have to go. Some people have a call to serve God or work with the street children in poor cities. Some people wake up and join the Peace Corps. I didn't get those texts on the God phone. Nope.

For me....it's pretty straight forward. It's time for me to leave the congregation I love.

And if you stay when it's time to go, well, that's about the most unkind thing you could ever do to a group of people you love.

So, thanks mom, for pointing me to the blog and reminding me that I used to be a blogger. And that people might be wondering.....hunh? What on earth happened here?

Nothing happened. Life is complicated. I am making the tidiest most amazing and well organized office, storage and programs (teacher teams for 2012-2013? Already on it!) any leaving person has ever left behind. It is a profoundly loving leaving.

Eventually, I will love actually sitting through a church service and singing hymns and that thing where you go away on a Friday and come back on a Sunday and rest and relax....I think it's called a weekend away. But I will miss being the adult who children trust and the storyteller people listen to and the strong one who keeps things together from time to time.  I will miss it a lot.

But the seasons go round and round and the years actually grow wings and fly by. And even when you're nearly 45 your mother can still remind you about the things you really need to do. On facebook.

It's a good thing and sometimes good things just break your heart.

I'm leaving this work, but it might be just right for you or for someone you know!

Go here. 

Blessings.

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.

I'll admit to being a ginormous fan of the Rev. Christine Robinson. Once when I was working at the greeter table greeting people at my little church on the hill, some folks mentioned that they were visiting from First Unitarian in Albuquerque and I think I actually scared them with my gushing praise for their senior minister. Brilliant writing, fabulous, warm, insightful and a wonderful web presence, too.

The Rev. Robinson's article in the winter edition of the UU World, "Risk Blessing" had me nodding at my computer this morning. Yep, yep. Uh huh. Oh yeah.

I hear the call "avoiding decline"--it's not even really about growth, just avoiding decline! In the little church on the hill that I serve, more than once our RE team has waved a white flag and called "UNCLE" because we've grown so fast. Last year we had to add not one but two age group classes. We grew something like 30 kids in just a few months. This was nothing new--really, yes, we're competing with the given day for birthday parties (why, Sunday morning of course) soccer games, swim meets, Girl Scouts and yes.... a quiet family morning just hanging out in jammies---but our RE Program has been on super charged vitamin fueled chalice water for six years.

Until this year. We had braced for more big growth, we had a plan in our back pocket of a class for active kids that would actually go down to the wooded park near by every Sunday when these current classes busted out, because unless we pitch a tent in the parking lot, there is no more space for us to hold classes (and yes, when we rented space we DID have preschool class in a tent, it's kinda fun). We trained our teacher teams about how to deal with crowds. We prepped our congregation that two services were inevitable, and soon.

But--no go. Last years "new folks" are not coming back. Yes, we're getting the regular influx of visitors who fall in love and join three committees and the choir. We've got the same kids who were born to us and we've known since they were just a wish, or maybe a little older. But that old-new group is not coming back.

People who work with church kids know this group, they visit in the fall, in the Pacific Northwest, maybe you lose them for ski season, and then they are pretty regular for spring, fall off for summer and come back in the autumn with a gleam in their eye of "we're gonna do this church thing for real now...."

So, here we are, our little church on the hill, with a half decade long history of about 15 new kids every year, with-- a flat growth line. But you know, we really are on a big hill. There are signs that go out on icy days "Road Closed", because you will slide for a good half mile before you get to about sea level and stop. And that's what has me worried. Is there something slick out there that I'm missing? Why are people not sticking? What happened?

I'm not sure exactly how church goes every Sunday, I'm usually running the weekly RE half marathon up and down the three levels of our building, checking on classes, making frowny faces at kids who are throwing sculpy at each other, running for missing supplies. But I think we do the things Rev. Robinson thinks we should to stop declining. There is a deep spiritual energy and when I lead our services I sure feel it like a huge wave of loving spirit from the congregation--these folks are going deep. We have a happy population of folks like me who grew up UU and feel that hunger for ritual and spirit, and they seem to be getting fed.

But something is up. And maybe there's reason to look closely. Is it the classes? Curriculum? Or is it just that push-pull of the weekly rush of family life and the creep of the schedule into what used to be a Sabbath? What? I don't think these folks are afraid of change any more than any human, maybe weary after so much change.

Maybe I'll go out and see if someone has put signs up that say "Church Closed"....not real signs, but those secret signals that you can't see anymore after you've been a part of a group for a while, I guess they are real, but not in a wood and paint kind of way. "go away, you don't fit in here, go back to the Sunday morning paper and a nice, spiritual-but-not-religious life."

For now, we'll just enjoy manageable classes with great kids and a nice, long holiday break from the RE half marathon. Except, who was it that thought that three multi-gen services in a one month span was a good idea? Please!

Um, yeah. That was me.

Happy December!

I am really not sure how this has happened, but I've been a religious educator for a long time, now. I'm not the skin horse, yet, I'm not the wise old toy in the nursery who explains the truth to the Velveteen Rabbit, but when a new religious educator asks for advice or information, I have some things to say. It still surprises me a little that I've been around for a while. It seems like just yesterday I was figuring out how to turn the lights on at church. In cynical moments I could say that it's gone by so fast because I haven't had time to look up from what I'm doing! But those moments go by quickly. I love what I do. I love my work. And it's worth all the busy rush and the Sundays that last 13 hours and still aren't long enough.

What I love about my job:

People. Big people and little people, people who come and empty all the garbage and recycling in the building every single week, people who sit across from me and make me laugh so hard I can't remember what I was doing and no longer care anyway, people who teach when they are too busy to teach and love it, people who deal with cranky teens in the moments when I just really want them all to convert to some other faith and people who show up and do the things that just need to be done again and again.

Spirit. I love getting to talk about that magical spark that is the essence of being and to see it at work in young people. There's no need to be politically correct--we're on the same page about this one (although we don't all use the same words to talk about it.) Our young ones are so much closer to the wild truth that everyone is a miracle, when you tell them that they are made of star stuff, you can almost see on their faces "I knew it!"

Love. In all the work I did before this,  there was never a formal place for the power of love. As religious educators we get to celebrate the power and grace of love, every single day!

Worship. Being a part of making the magic that becomes worship is an honor and a gift. Inviting a group of children and adults into silent prayer--and hearing the sweet twittery stillness?  Amazing.

Colleagues. I love the religious professionals I serve with at the church I work for. I couldn't ask for a more skilled and supportive team. But the work I do would be absolutely impossible if it were not for my brother and sister religious educators. They are the sun and the stars and the moon and if I were not able to be in their presence on a regular basis--both virtually and in person I would have shriveled up and left the work years ago, I would have been one of the short timers. I love my colleagues. And the longer I'm in this work, the more I realize just how lucky I am to do this work, and know these people. It's a blessing.

The truth is, I am wildly luck to be a religious educator and even luckier to know the people it brings to my life.

I have cobbled together a mug of steaming coffee. The kitchen is prepared to brew 80 cups of regular and 40 of decaf, but I only need one. I've walked into the sanctuary, past the spot where it was decided a year ago now, that no coffee will be allowed in this newly fixed up space.

I am breaking the rules.

Half way back I take a seat. Here I can see the beauty of the simple sanctuary, but not be overwhelmed by it. And then I close my eyes, anyway.

I don't really need to see. I am here to pray.

Earlier this morning, my computer would not connect to the outside world again. I have learned that instead of trying and trying and trying to make it connect, I have to just let it find it's own way, in it's own time. So I organize a classroom, or fill out a report, I do something with things that you can touch. Today I went and made coffee and came back to see, but no, it was still thinking about how to connect. And then I checked my phone, no email, no messages, but ahhhh, the distraction of social network.

Again, a request for prayers from a friend. Her loved one, headed for tests, a long struggle trying to discern what is wrong, the outlook scary and then scarier.

So I am sitting, and praying. Not everyone has an actual sanctuary beneath their office. But I do.

The coffee cools. I am trying and trying to pray. The request was for the wisdom and insight of the doctors to find  out what was wrong and what could be done. I am trying to pray by holding a light around the imagined doctors. But my attention wanders. The list of TO DO things, the phone calls, the discussions needed, the many tasks. I am breaking the rules of praying, now. So I drink the rule breaking coffee and I breathe a little.

Try again. I close my eyes. Then I see the hands. I see the hands of my friend holding the hands of her loved one. I see the hands of children and the hands of adults, talking with hands, grasping hands, hands holding tight. And then I see the strong hands of  healers. I think they might be doctors. Calloused hands, and soft hands, big ham hands and the slender hands of a delicate artist, art with a scalpel.

I'm breaking the rules again. I am not praying only for my friend and her dear ones. I am praying for my loved one, and praying hard over and over again that the scalpel will be smooth and quick and that all will be well.

I open my eyes, I look at this room and notice how even the pews are, even though I am pretty sure they were placed free hand after the new carpet was laid last year. It's amazing what people can do when they care. When our hearts are involved, people are unstoppable. So I pray again, I pray that the hands of the healers will be guided by their minds and even more so their hearts to care for our loved ones well, to do all that they can to make things better. I pray with light and hope and a little desperation.

And then I go back up to my office, where my computer still won't talk to the outside world, but it's OK, I have a little more crying to do first anyway.

Mix:
One part pressing need
Three parts dedicated volunteers
Two parts beloved community

Shake vigorously

Fold in careful consideration
Sprinkle consensus

Let rest for one full month until the next committee meeting comes around

Form into fine ministry that serves all people with love and hope
Serve a fine church with ministry for all

(Had a fabulous RE Committee meeting tonight! Thank you for the opportunity to serve, what a lucky girl I am!)

Amen!

Last April when I looked at the long and completely empty calendar of summer programming for children at our little big church, I admit it. I panicked. How on earth was this overwhelmed religious educator going to fill all those dates? Who was going to come do amazing and fun things with all those children? Why did we think it was a good plan to grow this tidy little church, anyway?

In my panic, I offered to plan three all ages services this summer. Ha! There is no need for kid's programming on multigenerational worship days! One would be the regular celebrations Sunday that ends the year of formal programming for kids in our church. One would be offered to a local seminarian to practice leading mulitgen worship and I'd do one. OK, no problem. If you were the person planning a full summer of Sundays would you say no? No. So it was a go.

Here we are in August and this Sunday was the final multigen Sunday. The other two were fine, the celebrations service turned into a full on party with balloons falling from the balcony, a middle school rock band playing Katy Perry and a whole congregation dancing together. The one by the seminarian, done. Now it was mine. And of course I'm still trying to fill those empty spaces for fall, and I leave for two full weeks in just three days. Our congregation's first week ever hosting "Family Promise" the homeless families program we've been working with for years began yesterday. And there is always, always, always too much of everything to do in a growing church. What was I thinking! Why did I think this was a good idea?

But I had heard that the music folks were doing "True Colors" the Cyndi Lauper/Glee song. And I knew that I was not likely to get a chance to speak in front of the congregation again any time soon. So I decided to pull together a service all about being who you really are and having the courage to stand up and say it out loud. I asked a young girl to speak, and also one of the women who had come over from the church that closed it's doors last year and joined us. They'd both told me these things that just blew me away--stories from their lives--but with such grace and power the stories stuck with me. And I got to bring in my sons and one of our super child actors to do a reader's theater version of "A Bad Case of Stripes" for the story.

Still, yesterday morning, I was sure the service would be an awful disaster. It would be disjointed, and the technology of the movie (the girl was interviewed on camera and we'd show a video) and the slide show of the pictures for the story would fail. The amps from the band would interfere with the sound system and we'd have feedback the whole time. The kids would be antsy. The sanctuary hot. And I'd forget the words to the songs I planned to teach as energy breaks. And no one would show up. And the sanctuary would be full.

Maybe I was a little irrational. Or this was full-on panic.

It went fine. No technical problems. No disasters. One little girl clapped after the sung response to joys and sorrows--but it was delightful, not distracting. The speakers were moving. And I got to say my little piece. I took a hand held mic and wandered off the dais and said:

Here are three tips to have strength and grace when faced with something hard, either from inside or out.


1. Listen to your deep inner voice. Get really quiet. Listen. Find that still small voice. Now, if your voice wore clothes, they would be be flip flops, and cutoff jeans, and a tank top. The voice would have a smile that just makes you smile back and if it could offer you anything it would be a steaming mug of chamomile tea. It would pat your hand and say "mmmmm hmmm" and nod. 


BUT be careful, sometimes you'll hear a voice who wears combat boots and has a baseball hat pulled down over it's eyes.It's got a scowl on it's face. This is not your inner voice, not your still small voice. This is the voice of all your fears and every time someone has told you that you're not enough. If you hear this voice, open the door and show it out, tell it that it is no longer welcome. 


2. Listen to your voice. The flip flop one, not the combat boot one. If it tells you to wait and see, do that. If it tells you to stand up and stomp your feet and put your hands on your hips and stand for who you are, do that. Do what the voice says to do. 


3. But sometimes you can't hear what the voice says. Sometimes it's just too hard. That's when you need to ask for help. You can ask for help from your family, or your friends. From teachers or co workers. Or here at church--from the people you are making coffee with or that you're sitting next to, or from your RE teacher. Or the ministers. Because here, we see the real you. We see that you are amazing. Here-- people see your true colors. And they are beautiful... like rainbow. 

I'm glad I offered to do this crazy service. I'm glad we grew. I'm glad it's OK for kids to make noise in big church. And I love teaching songs even if I have a back-of-the-canoe singing voice. I love music in worship, and I hope the tears are cleansing and healing. And I love kids who roll around in the pews when they're bored--it reminds me to hurry up and finish so we can all go eat cookies.

It was a good day.

Amen.

I noticed that there is a blog reaction in the weekly round-up to the terror attacks in Oslo. I have been thinking and thinking about how to share my reaction in a public way, and just couldn't figure out how to go about it. Well, I guess I just couldn't figure out how to make time during the frantic summer season in the life of a religious educator of trying to fill teacher teams and figure out all the curriculum needs for 40 million classes as well as finding time to run a summer program! Too much, I tell ya! Someone neeeeeds a vacation!

But this Oslo thing. It's been sitting here on my shoulder. I'm half Norwegian. We still have cousins in the Bergen area. If you look at the past prime minister, she looks just like my mom. And I guess she was actually a primary target of the terrorist. Because she's a rabble rouser, just like my mom. It felt like my cousins were attacked. And I guess they probably were.

I was, at first, really heartened by the Oslo mayor's comments about peace and democracy and fighting the hate with love. That's just what we'd say in my faith community, I think.

But there was another thing that crept in to my reaction. Racism. You gotta face the racism. It's not just going to go away with love and fierce adherence to democratic principles. It's just not.

People react in racist ways, people simply are racist. It takes work and education and for goodness sake HONESTY to work through the racism. And I think we've all learned that love isn't enough.

My husband's friends who were adopted from Korea to Norway and the Netherlands tell the story of deep and frequent racism that is completely ignored because--of course--such liberal and educated people simply could not be racist.

But, of course, they are.

We all are, and it's denial that is the biggest most dangerous problem.

Fighting it means naming it, understanding it, and working to learn how to be who we wish to be. It means understanding what it means to be white. You have to come to terms with the underlying feeling that white is normal and everything else is beeeeaaaauuuutiful. Tokenized and marginalized and just not, well, normal.

These are the same things, I believe anyway, that we face in our mostly white, mostly rich, mostly well educated Unitarian Universalist churches. It's not impossible to overcome, but if we ignore it? Then, yes, it is absolutely hopeless.

Go here:

The Mosaic Report

Building the World We Dream About

It's been a couple of days now, since I got home, but still.....it's so nice to be home!

I really missed:

my dear husband

the kids I left behind (one was there in NC, although not really "with" me)

fresh brewed coffee (didn't buy s-bux even once....)

the little dog (even though she ran away while I was gone and they found her in the middle of an INTERSECTION! Naughty dog.)

hot baths with bath salts

KUOW, my local public radio station (OK, I'm not done being mad about Mister Keillor and his abuse of my faith, but I promise I'll pledge again)

fresh food that you cook and eat right away

my kitchen table

tofu

Pacific Northwest weather.....but getting up to at least 70 degrees would actually be OK with me, really.

Seems to me I'm getting to be a little bit of a homebody. But that's OK with me. I like being home. I have a whole lot to do, and eventually it'll get done. But for now, I'm happy to be home. It was really heart-healing good to be with dear colleagues and friends. It was good to just get to sit and experience soul deep worship, I sure miss going to church during the year. And even though I'm still a little tired, and looking to some of the details of fall planning makes me actually shiver a little, I'm feeling a sense of hope and renewal. It's clear that this faith makes a difference, and the things we stand for and the things we do change the world a little bit every day. So, I guess it's worth it all.

Welcome home! or Happy Trails! Hope the summer is beautiful and filled with peace and solitude and fun!

The gathering of congregations from my faith is nearly over, I'm getting ready to leave.

What I'll bring home is:

A sense of renewal.

A really beautiful mobile for the new preschool room.

Great joy at getting to witness my son in his home church--the "First UU Church of GA-ville".

Some fabulous books.

Some new things to do in leading worship--maybe not throwing a ball, but hey--we dropped balloons from the balcony a few weeks ago--anything is possible.

And a commitment to bringing race and ethnicity into the conversation in working with our RE Committee and  in our teacher training. The truth is that with 125 kids I am not often in direct contact with all the kids, so it's a training issue in the weekly implementation. I am white, and I've really struggled with bringing a strong message about race into the program-I realize that I really don't "Get It" about what a person of color experiences. I know I'll never really know. I am white. I live white. I know that I cannot possibly know what it feels like to be anything else.

But I think I might know a tiny grain of something. Here's the story:

The day after the Fahs Lecture by Dr. Mark Hicks entitled: "Religious Education for People of Color" I was having dinner with a friend who mentioned that she'd checked in with a member of her congregation about Mark's charge that we go out into our churches and bring race into the conversation. She mentioned a family from her congregation that has a trans-racially adopted child. She had asked--following the lecture-- if they'd like to have race and ethnicity be touched on at their church. They said "no." They didn't want their child singled out, and they didn't expect church, certainly, to deal with race. After all, they expressed, they don't think she experiences racism.

I am sure that I know so little about race that I don't even know what I don't know. But this is absolutely untrue. I share my life with a trans-racially adopted man--my dear husband. And yes, you may say, things are different now 40 some years after he was adopted. Maybe. Maybe that's true--maybe that's what I don't know. But actually I do know. Things may be different but they're not that different.

Race is real and present in the lives of our children. What my husband has told a very few white people (because he'll say, you don't say this to white folks) is that you never tell your white parents. You hide it as fast and as far as you can, you even try to hide it from yourself. Because it is a horrible and shaming experience and you don't want anyone to know what has happened to you.

I mean here--replace race with gay/lesbian/trans/bi or gender identity and see what you get. They didn't want their child singled out, and they didn't expect church, certainly, to deal with "sexual orientation" or "gender identity". After all, they expressed, they don't think she experiences "homophobia" or "transphobia". No Way.
Do we have "Building the World We Dream About" for Kindle? Maybe this is what I need to read on my way home.

Safe home all my UU friends! Thanks for a lovely GA!

Hoo boy, I think I forgot to say anything about our "Breakthrough Congregation" award yesterday!

Here's the video of our big moment on the stage, but even more importantly....our video! It's about 18 minutes in.




And just for fun, here's the "response" written by a member of the congregation I serve, Mr. Rand Cufley--it was actually used to kick off the pledge drive this year. The theme of the pledge drive was "Carry Through". Love the line "It's not enough to break through if we don't break through together."



And really that's all you need to know about the congregation I serve.

But it was quite an honor to receive this award. And I really enjoyed presenting with the other congregation who shared our workshop slot: the fabulous Beaufort Unitarian Universalist Fellowship. What a fabulous group of excited folks! I think they're not done growing, not by a long shot.

Once upon a time I blogged every day at GA.

Man, that was a long time ago!

Yesterday was a good day. A fabulous day! I mean, what a great day.

I learned a whole lot, I met up with friends and colleagues and people who live in my heart but who I almost never get to actually wrap my arms around. And I got to debrief the day with my brilliant and insightful son when the day was over.

Here are my fractured-brain reflections:

God is a verb. Uh huh.

Dr. Mark Hicks is a brilliant and gifted leader and we have a whole hell of a lot of work to do to make our Religious Education ministries "expect" to minister to children of color in our classrooms. He even mentioned the unique needs of trans-racially adopted children. He didn't specifically speak about children who come from "Loving" families--mixed race kids, but still, good stuff.

Then the New Epiphany Revival. Sometimes what you really need to do is to sing out loud and to hold hands with those people who you are actually getting to see finally and to cry a little. That's good stuff. And it almost made me have a little hope and faith again after a year that made me so tired that sometimes I just wanted to curl up on the floor and rest. Just for a minute, you know. But this was hope. And faith. Good. Stuff.

And then there was the Synergy Worship (and how BRILLIANT was it to have the Nick Page concert roll directly into Synergy--SO good so good so good. Thousands of people stayed)

Ok, and who knew that Nita Penfold is married to Nick Page? Really? Spirit Play and music? Way to go changing the world in THAT household! Amazing.

The Synergy worship was fabulous. Watching our youth bridge to young adulthood was deeply moving. Hearing Bill Sinkford and Lee Barker speak about their experience as UU youth and Liberal Religious Youth--also fabulous.

But the most amazing thing I heard last night was from Betty Jeanne Reuters-Ward. And it was not completely comfortable to hear. She spoke of broken promises to youth--and how painful it was for the young adults who treasured YRUU that it's gone. And that we don't really have a continental structure for youth any longer. I know, because my son's been smack dab in the middle of the whole process, that the goals and hopes and dreams for youth are good and very well intentioned. I know that there is a hope and dream that our youth will have their spiritual needs met in their own congregations and districts. I understand. I   am a "boots on the ground" religious educator trying and trying to make youth ministry vibrant and vital in my own congregation.

And the truth is that there are no easy answers, and that there is a huge amount of work ahead to find the right and good answers about serving our youth well. And the only way to really get there is to speak the truth. Even if it's uncomfortable. And even if it's right in front of Bill Sinkford.

Amen. Amenamenamen!

First: have you seen that you can stream events happening at the UUA GA?

OK, you should. Please. Now. Really, I mean it. Even if you're not a Unitarian Universalist. If you care about people and love and life, come on. It's the ONE thing you can do.

The other thing I can say is that I am so glad to learn that the people I was partnered with in our year-long study group about UU theology were really the top notch folks thinking about theology and life because I seemed to be a little over my head, so yeay for the people who crossed the stage tonight. You rock. And thank God I really should have had no idea what was going on when we were talking hard core theology.

Yes. Off the hook.

Blessings all!

Two things:

1) Free bananas and apples at the hotel are fabulous.

2) Getting a "smoking" room accidentally is a real bummer. But--oh well. This is one of those times I wish our "middle-class-gold-member" status would fix a hotel issue, but I guess a full hotel is a full hotel. So, whatever! Good to remember that having a place to sleep and air conditioning is really quite a privilege. And the guy at the front desk says he's got a magic machine that will fix some of the stench. Hope so.

I had a really lovely day at the LREDA Professional Day. I learned a lot about what's happenin' and hoppin' in the world of Religious Education and I got to see so many people who live in my heart all year but I almost never get to see, and that might be the best part of all.

Somehow though, I do feel a little like it's my first GA and I'm just learning how to be a religious educator. Except that when I read through the different things expected of a religious educator today at the credentialing panel, I realize I'm no rookie.

I've been around. Kind of a while. Nothing compared to some, but still....kind of a while.

And the most important thing I learned today?

I am really lucky. Really super freaky lucky.

I serve a congregation of well grounded beautiful people who have a wide experience with other UU congregations. I serve with a wonderful partner in ministry (can you believe, there are people who have to be CAREFUL around the minister they serve with?! horrors. Really. Horrors!) and the music director who started last September has joined the ministry partnership in a professional and fabulous way. He's a partner and an ally and he likes my dog. What else on earth could a person need?

Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, maybe a good hot baked potato, but other than that? Nothing at all! Looking forward to the opening ceremony. Amazing? I bet, I bet it will be just that. Amazing.

Amen.

The Severe Thunderstorm alert is running across the bottom of the tv screen in my hotel room. We had a rockin' round of boomers here in Uptown--my friend and I barely got back from dinner before they really rolled in, but I didn't mind getting a little wet and moving fast after sitting all day in airplanes and airports.

My flights were fine, if a little delayed at my connection in DC, due to the same storms, I think.

And even though I took off with no hotel reservation this morning ( I could SWEAR I booked a second reservation for tonight at my hotel after I decided I could come today, not just tomorrow.....I think it's like my order from the Gap...didn't quite hit "confirm") I'm settled in a lovely hotel really close to the one I'll be in the rest of the stay. And yes, Michael won't be able to dump his stuff in our room, but oh well, it's all good.

I got to see a few dear faces tonight and I'm looking forward to seeing many more tomorrow.

My little dog ran away from home today, since I didn't bring her with me when she tried to sneak into my suitcase. But they got her home and fixed the broken fence. Naughty dog. They found her in the middle of a busy intersection. My heart is still pounding.

I forgot to bring band aids, and of course, already raked a door across my foot so I might actually wear my Birkenstocks with my leggings.....ha! I brought an umbrella but have to remember to actually bring it with me when I go out. I worked on our power point for the Breakthrough Congregation session, but I'd better run it by the others who are here....I may have added too many pictures of kids. Wait, can there ever be too many pictures of kids?

It's hot here, our average temperature this past month in Seattle has been 57, so 100 is a huge jump, but who cares. I'm here, I'm happy, and it's time to enjoy the week! LREDA meetings at 8:45 tomorrow, so even though it's not even 9pm my time, I'd better skedattle to bed!

Tomorrow is one of my favorite days of the year; Opening Ceremony at GA! And of course, LREDA Professional day! Oh happy smile.

Blessings to all! Big, bright stormy blessings!

About six years ago I headed off to my first UUA General Assembly of congregations in Fort Worth, Texas. I had been a religious educator for about 12 minutes and I begged everyone I met for help figuring out just what the heck I was going to do with all these 23 children for a whole year.

The next year I went to St. Louis with two youth--one of them my oldest son who was 14 at the time. We stayed very, very far away from the convention center and walked our teens home at night through areas people probably shouldn't walk though at night in St. Louis. I witnessed some history at the "Transracial Abductees" panel and cried pretty much the whole way home, but still--was filled and enriched by the experience--well, eventually anyway.

The following year must have been in Portland and I remember being so thrilled to just get to drive to GA and to be able to bring oranges and a case of soup with a hot pot to heat it up. We brought 4 youth that year--all on scholarship from our district. And my son was elected to national leadership.

In Fort Lauderdale I got to room for part of the time with one of my best friends in the whole world, and we ate Cuban food and drove her Prius to the beach. Michael was the Jr. FUNTIMES manager and I had to make an appointment to have dinner with him he was so busy. It was hot. Really hot. So hot. Super hot. But I had a fabulous time and I launched this blog during the week.....

Then we were in Salt Lake City, and I was coming on to the LREDA board holding the GA Portfolio. It was a flawless GA for me, except for the thunderstorm that shattered the glass in the Convention Center and the tension over the election for the UUA president. And of course, it was hot. Michael was the Sr. FUNTIMES manager and I wasn't even his sponsor because he had to come even earlier than the LREDA board.

Oh and then, Minneapolis. And I got to see another of my very BFF--cool how my friends are UU, isn't it? And I was in the town I grew up in, and got to drive past the location of the nursery school my grandmother and mother owned from the 40s to the 70s. I had a fabulous time with friends, and I hope did an OK job on the LREDA GA presence. Michael was the HUUPER, and didn't need a sponsor because he was an adult. But I saw him once or twice anyway. There were thunderstorms that I walked through holding my shoes so they didn't get wet and it wasn't too hot at all. The rooftop happy hours with my dear roommate were probably the highlight, though!

Now, I'm packed and headed to Charlotte, NC. I had hoped to bring my youngest son, but the airfare of $700 we'd have had to have paid was impossible. I am again rooming with my oldest, both of us holding much less responsibility than we have for a while, both of us looking forward to roaming the exhibit hall and just attending sessions. Our congregation has won a breakthrough congregation award, but other than that, I have few responsibilities. I'll listen and learn and sit next to people and beg them to tell me what to do when you've just moved into a church building of your own and you have 125 registered children and youth and you're already out of space. I'll rest a little after the craziest year ever, and I'll hope to come back with ideas and resources to see us through another year.

And I'll tell you all about it! Hope to see you in Charlotte, or at least in the comment section!

Look for me, I'll be wearing a very relaxed expression, and you know, maybe--leggings.

I've been just a mess these past couple of days. My youngest son had a lovely run as Fredric in "The Pirates of Penzance" this weekend. He isn't really a tenor--a high baritone, yes, but not a tenor but between the heroic transposing of our music by our wonderful music director and my son's fabulous voice teacher, he just sounded fabulous through three shows and a dress rehearsal over the past few days. And his very best friends in the world were in the cast, and the rest of his closest friends--in the audience. He was even supposed to kiss the girl in the last scene, but I think it felt a little too weird since he's known her since she was in preschool, so he picked her up, twirled her around and then did a deep dip away from the audience which you could interpret however you may like.

It was a fabulous performance. I'll post video soon because it's out of copy write--yeay! so it's legal! The whole cast of almost all middle schoolers was simply amazing.

And since I can talk easily in front of people given my church life, I was asked to do the "thank yous" at the end, which was fine but by the end it was all I could do not to sob out loud.

This school has been one of the solid centers of our family life for seven years, just a few months after we moved to Seattle. We've celebrated births and mourned deaths with our friends there, we've spent holidays and vacations and every milestone possible with our extended family from school. Our boys have really grown up there. And now, we'll never, ever go back. I don't have to go sit in the lunch room and study airport codes, or read curriculum or do mountains of dishes that teens left behind. It's over. I can visit, but it'll never be the same.

People tried to compliment me on my son's performance last night, and all I could do was nod and bite my lip and try not to fall completely apart.

That's the other thing--he went from being forced to take the musical theater class which performed a canned, packaged musical that lasted 20 minutes to being an accomplished actor and the lead in an operetta. It's been a blessed gift to be here. Our middle son took his first biology course here and did his first animal experiment ( at age 9-nearly identical to the one just completed in AP Biology!) and dissected his first animal--now he's headed off to work toward an Associate in Science at the community college instead of his last two years of high school. And the oldest was a member of the robotics class and then the coach of the First Lego league team--and was assistant director of two musicals (Suessical and You're a Good Man Charlie Brown) and is now headed to an engineering degree and maybe even a drama minor at the University of Washington.

Our little homeschool school has been a beautiful bright blessing in the life of our family.

I will miss it. I will miss everyone.

And as I mourn myself into a self pitying puddle of muddled drama, we hear the violin soar...

Sun rise, sun set.....sun rise, sun set.

We've only had a church building for just over a year now. And sometimes, it still surprises me a little. How did that even happen?

It's a long story about how we got here. Come to our session at GA, Friday at 2:45pm--Breakthrough Congregations small to medium.

Back to the day..... I'm here today, mostly waiting for my youngest son while he attends a music council meeting. But also doing some last minute prep for tomorrow's RE Celebration Sunday. It involves kites and leis and many, many balloons. And it's very, very Saturday.

Top Ten True Things about Saturday Afternoon at Church

10. There is always someone working on the garden. Gardens. Many gardens.
9. The parking lot has a few cars, but not the same staff cars I always see.
8. No lights are on.
7. The office is quiet.
6. If you work in your office, you'll hear a smattering of laughter and hooting and hollering--especially if lively musicians are meeting.
5. The view out the window is especially serene.

4. A squeaky chair is extremely loud.
3. The ticking clock, also extremely loud.
2. Desire to wander into the quiet sanctuary and just sit for a bit-huge.
1. Feeling of peace and love--still everywhere.

Dear Universe,

Thank you for the church building. We like it very much.

Love,
Kari

Amen.

OK, I actually laughed out loud at this post by the dear and dedicated PeaceBang about......leggings.

I mean. Come on! Leggings! Who the heck cares if people are rocking the REI style and wearing leggings with their casual and funky dresses during the summer months (apparently--forbidden by the goddess of goodness in dress for clergy and others everywhere) who cares?

Not me!

Well, I do. I don't want to be forbidden to do anything. ANYTHING! Especially by an illustrious "Rev. Dr."--you know--two sets of letters in front of anyone's name kind of brings out the rebel in me.  Tell me not to?? Well, I might just cancel my Ann Taylor order for clothes for GA and replace it with an lovely little trip to the local REI. (where, it just so happens, my dear middle son who is only 16 works--they don't hire people his age, but that's just the kind of kid he is....yes that was bragging, oh go jump in a lake if it bothers you!)

I mean, let's quote our dear Ms. PeaceBang here...."If I see you in these I will fall to the floor and roll around with my tongue lolling out like some medieval poisoned monarch."


That sounds like a challenge. A challenge I just might take. But there's more. Isn't there always more?

This actually brings to mind a significant difference I've discerned in the coasts. I grew up smack in the middle of the continent as a Secular Humanist UU--and in the past 30 some years I've grown into a warm and fuzzy West Coast liberal who says "God" sometimes wears a suit to lead worship--sometimes with just the right fashion accessories, and sometimes (GASP) without. But as a friend at a local congregation just experienced--we don't necessarily fit PB's rules. We're different when it comes to other rules, too. One dear person I know who is looking for work on the East Coast and is striking out, could probably--no easily, find work out here on the West Coast--we're just more open and friendly and relaxed and accepting. It's different.

I like it a whole lot better. Here we have real freedom to believe as we are called to believe, to worship in ways that we are called to worship (as my colleagues who asked this week when the walked thru the new lovely sanctuary of my church--yes! we DO use the drum set almost every week!) and to....

wear what we wish to wear!

But still, not without a really long tunic or a dress, that much I'm buying completely. Yes.

Here's where to find the best "left coast" look around http://www.rei.com/. And if you come to GA and you deign to wear  l e g g i n g s--find me! We'll make a down right scene out of the thing!






And remember.....it's June and we STILL have highs in the 50s out here some days. It's different. Really different. Don't judge til you come out here and spend some real time. We NEED leggings to pretend it's summer and keep us warm!


Happy Friday, all! And bright blessings for all things good-- and free and cool ankles.

I have joined the new decade--just a little late, I know, but hey--I've been busy and I work for a non-profit. It's just the way it goes!

But as I learn how to check my three email accounts, and facebook, and pandora and the super cool weather app-- I have realized what's been happening in the volunteer support portion of my job.


iphone syndrome.

People say to me: "I didn't see that email". "We've got a meeting tonight?" "You tried to reach me?" "You're not going to be there?" "When?" "Where?" "How?"

I thought I was absolutely losing my mind. Really? How did I get so extremely flaky? But then I realized that half the people I thought I'd communicated with, knew about the meeting or the plan or whatever.

Then I got my iphone and the rest became clear. If you read a message in the parking lot between the grocery store and the car--you may not remember either the details or the whole message, you probably won't reply, and you certainly aren't going to take time to put it on your calendar.

But there's more than just iphone syndrome. People are not checking email--opting for texting and facebook instead. They're probably active on twitter, but that's on my list for July, so I'm not even aware of what I'm missing there. And when they see "church" come up on their caller id, they let my calls go to voice mail--I know that's true!

It's good to know I've not lost my mind. And it's good to know that some of the lovely volunteers and parents and teens I communicate with aren't just dismissing me out of hand. I think I just need to adjust the way I manage communications. I need a twitter feed that posts to a facebook page that you can sign up to receive text messages from. And I need to learn to communicate in 10 word bursts. "like" the status and I'll consider it a done deal.

Or I'll just build a bonfire and learn to send smoke signals. Or semaphore. Or drumming. Or maybe I'll just pare down the schedule a little, post the information on a bulletin board and call it "retro" scheduling! Ha.

So all that said, when I blow off your cute facebook post on my wall, hit me back--I probably just read it on my iphone while buying huge vats of hummus at Costco. Ha!

Almost summer. Almost summer. Almost summer.

It's finally June. Well, it's been June for a few days now, but it's finally sinking in. We held the last day of classes for our church school yesterday. And we had our final Religious Exploration committee meeting last night. I could hardly even socialize at our impromptu outing to a local restaurant, I was so exhausted.

It was really nice to see this article from Marilyn Sewell and to watch the official trailer for her movie which is about to debut.



This is what I want to do, the things she speaks of in the opening scene. I want to help create a place that gives children the freedom to be who and what they are deep in their soul. Not sure if that is possible anymore. I'm too tired!

Maybe some coffee, some mindless work cleaning out electronic files. And then maybe the sun will come out and I can sing like Annie and find that spark of hope again!

Because, at least--at least--it's JUNE!

I'm so sorry, there must be a rampant rage of vampires running wild here in the dewy dawn of June.

Vampires.

Sucking every last stinkin' minute from the week.

There was the last minute need at our little homeschool school because almost every family has a child who is sick so all the moms and dads are home.....but of course sending the one or two healthy kids to school. And our brand new hardly- ruined-at-all office manager was out sick, and our temporary-doing-heroic-double-duty-work program manager actually has to teach the high school classes on Thursday--so she was busy. I think the first adult in the building wound up subbing in the office (reason 348 to never walk in the building first...one other being the possibility of discovering ant infestations...) and so when I saw the call on facebook for a headcount of who was going to be on site for the day--with no replies, I knew I was on.

No problem, really. This school has been our home and offered a fabulous education to all my boys. I can give a day.

So that was no vampire, really. Just a need.

And then there was this project I said I'd do that I didn't really want to do but I felt obligated to do because it wasn't really that difficult after all, and the people asking me were really overwhelmed with other things.....so I said yes. Oh dear. Say no. Never say yes. Practice with me. "No" "Noooooooooo!" "Nope" "No" "No thank you!" Um, yeah. Didn't say no, and I really should have. Well, unless *I* ask you for something. Then say yes.

So, yeah, that was kind of a vampire. Vampire-ish. Taking lots of time and lots of time to just worry about busted deadlines and falling reputation.

Then there was all those children I had a couple of decades ago who need to go places and eat and register for new schools and interview for internships and you know.....live in my house. Geez!

No, OK, not vampires at all. Just lovely children who are so happy to be together after months apart that video games are played until all hours of the night and homework is sloppily completed--so much so it's sent home again. Oh well. People are more important than algebra, right?

And then the actual work I do, which is lovely work that is only possible with the combination of a devoted faith community and families and children and the end of the church year. And movies--the production of the year end movie. And bridging gifts which can no longer be purchased at the local drug store but must now be purchased from a mega-provider of Kindergarten bears. Because we've grown by some 60% this year. And I'm tired, and it's overwhelming every time I walk in the building, or log onto email. or think about our little church busting out of it's walls....still busting out of it's walls.

But that's not a vampire. That's a glad gift of exhausting and exhilarating service. And it's lots of amazing children and youth. That's always a good thing.

OK, I guess I take it back. It wasn't vampires that consumed my week. It was my life. My rich and full and vibrant life. And it wasn't sucked out of anything. It was just the real truth of what happens when we engage in this one wild life and when we care. It's life.

My life.

Amen.

I'm bringing the flowers tomorrow for the chalice table at church, which I do a couple of times every year. I honor teachers and leaders--I honor the lovely and talented colleague that shares my job. I like to make my gratitude public and share it with the whole congregation.

But this time I'd like to share my gratitude even further.

The flower dedication written in the order of service says:

The flowers today are given by Kari Kopnick in honor of the women in churches everywhere who lovingly "mother" the packs of children who raid the snacks and run when they should walk and are sometimes loud.

Especially in honor of one of Kari's "church mothers" Barb Bollag; with heartfelt thanks for passing down the family china to a church daughter.


I grew up with the blessing of a group of church mothers. These were women who were always there, who's presence runs through the story of my growing-up years. I have a wonderful mother, but I was wildly blessed to have a pack of church mothers, too.

Recently, Barb Bollag, the woman I mention by name in the flower dedication, offered my family her beautiful family china. She doesn't have a daughter or daughter-in-law to use the beautiful dishes. But of course, family isn't always arranged by blood or by marriage. Sometimes family just happens.

I flew back to Minnesota for a my nephew's wedding a few weeks ago, and my mom and I went to pick up the china. It was lovely to see Barb, and of course we had a good discussion about politics and about what was good and not so good in the life of our little church, my home church. The dishes were even more beautiful than I hoped, and we loaded the boxes in the car.

I explored just about every way of getting them home, but finally decided to take a long term approach--I very carefully packed all the plates in a carry-on bag, we packed a box of serving pieces in a whole slew of bubble wrap and peanuts and we decided the cups and and saucers would have to wait at my parent's house until the next time we drove back. Everything made it back to Washington without a chip.

I finally got to use the dishes for Easter....first I had to find a special place to put them (clean out cupboards, buy felt dividers.....)










and shop for just the right linens (spring but not kitchy--these dishes are far too classic for bunnies and eggs!) and then the old flatware just looked awful next to the beautiful new plates, so--new flatwear came into the house! That was a fun process, and I am so pleased with the result:



Today is my Mother's Day. Since I work on Sundays, we've decided to reschedule our holidays, so we're celebrating by buying a chimnea fire pit for the patio, and spending some time all together, and having take-out on our beautiful new family china.

Thank you to church mothers everywhere, and thank you, Barb, for the family treasure. It means the world to me.

Blessings all, for a lovely Mother's Day.

This is the most amazing song about church life and community--and the man singing is pretty amazing, too. Not only is he the chair of Westside's nominating committee, he taught Junior High Our Whole Lives sexuality class--that's October through March. And he even chaperoned a sleepover. His family is woven into the fabric of the whole congregation--his wife is the chair of our Religious Exploration committee, his in-laws volunteer and play music. And his kids will do pretty much any job I ask of them--from fun ones to not so fun ones. Our church is a much better place thanks to this family. But then Rand Cufley writes this song, and well...go listen.



Yes, Westside has been named a "Breakthrough Congregation" and yes, it's not enough to break through, it's time to carry each other through.


Amen.

I suppose I should feel grateful that I'm healthy and my family is well. That we're employed and we love each other and that we have a little dog who is a little neurotic, but who loves us.

But I'm not. I'm not grateful. I'm pissed.

People should not get sick. Life should not take a turn for the worse and cancer sucks.

Things that feel solid and regular--pieces of life that have finally smoothed out should not get ripped right out from under your feet.

I feel like the cartoon character who runs off the cliff. The ground is suddenly gone.

But my solid ground is not gone. It's right there. This is not free falling. This is just a lousy bounce of life for someone I really care about-- for someone who has had an enormous influence on the lives of my sons. It's not my issue to rail against.

I will write meaningful notes of thanks, make a nice dish to pass for the hastily planned and low key "good-bye" lunch. I'll smile and blink back tears. I know it's just the way things go. I know. And really, who knows what gifts are hidden in the manure pond of this lousy thing called cancer?

There are often gifts.

I pray that there are gifts.

Amen.

I am relieved. I didn't want a million people to be furloughed, I didn't want vacation plans to be disrupted and passport applications and tax returns to be delayed. I am happy our National Parks will stay open.

But really, I'm happy my husband will continue to be paid.

In 1995 the government was shut down for 21 days. Three weeks with no pay would have deeply affected my family. And I'm relieved.

But I'm also incredibly angry with our government.

I'm angry with the people who claimed on national news that they are "for life" and that they can't support the money that the government gives to Planned Parenthood. What? WHY! You don't want people to get tested for STIs and to get free condoms?

I'm angry with the people who were in power in February of 2010 when this budget was proposed and would not pass the budget because there was a freakin' election coming up and they were too stupid to stand for something that was right and good.

I'm angry with the whole entire system of governance. This is not governance, this is simply the absolute worst of human nature thrown against the worst of human nature and smeared all over tv and internet in a 24 second news cycle.

I know it's not over, this budget issue, but I have been damaged. I used to appreciate our leaders, I used to be proud of my country. Now I'm ashamed. Driving home tonight my skin was crawling with disgust as I passed the strip malls and the darkened houses. These people who live near me believe the things they are told. They buy into the rhetoric and the hate. They do not have the strength to think for themselves, much less actually study an issue to understand it.

How is it possible to be a person of faith, a person that believes that each among us is worthy? How is it possible to raise children amidst this hate and the slinging of blame and deceit? When is it time to throw out the entire system and to begin anew? Is it now?

I wonder.

Let us try to find a square centimeter of common ground on which to build and let us try to come together as a people. And let us reconsider the way we govern ourselves in this land. There is so much potential for good, but this thing we have now--this way of governing ourselves is absolutely not it.

You would think that I'd be used to parenting teen age boys. It's been like what, almost six years I've been doing this. But it kind of sneaks up on you. First there's one young 13-year-old who likes to play video games and is a little surly.

Then there are two--one older and one surly one. You get some drivers ed, some grown-up like things, say....traveling across the country alone.

You get to three teens--one living away at college, one driving and working and leaving home for weeks and weeks of wilderness travel and one surly one performing in front of a thousand people and knowing more about applying make up than I ever did, and well, it's a little surprising.

They're really becoming men, and I'm becoming a mother of young adults.

And it's opening night for the youngest's latest show. Have you seen this show? Lots of companies are performing it, "13 The Musical"? This is actually his second run in the last year of the show. But it's a good one. And it's pretty appropriate for the stage of life we're in here. It's about growing up, coming of age, becoming a man.

I need the play "43! The Musical" that's all about getting old and growing up and coming of age, learning how to be the mother of young adults. Maybe it could include henna tattoos and a mani pedi. And a box of kleenex. Because as much as it's amazing and wonderful to see your sons grow up, it's constantly heartbreaking.

Break a Leg tonight, kid! Hope the show is amazing. I'm just thankful the theater is dark, so no one can see me cry through the whole damn thing.

I know this is all we 40-something women seem to do: whine about our busy, busy lives.

We are so busy doing everything that we can possibly do and we are damn lucky to have so much, but we whine. OK, it's our role, it's just what we do.

But I have been super-duper-hyper-blast-drive-busy this whole year. And I have not had time to do nice things like see my friends, or you know, sit down.

Recently my lovely little homeschool school had some trauma and we have a new policy that requires parents to sign up to be "monitors". I've been sitting at the hallway handing out hall passes (and making the teens do things like give me an idea for dinner for the menu I'm working on or to at least say "hello" to me before they can have the laminated green hall pass). But yesterday we had a little confluence of the moms who have been around at our little school for a long time. We're supposed to stay til 1:30 even though all the kids go to class at 1, so we had a half an hour to visit before we were all scheduled to be someplace else doing something very busy.

It was a play date for the moms.

And it was wonderful. We laughed and talked about hormones and teenagers and new babies and work and you know, being busy. We shared the space and the time. We've raised our children together for years and years. And there is respect and care between us all, despite huge ranges of faiths and politics, we care about each other.

My years here are coming to an end. Next year I don't think I'll have any children in the little homeschool-school. My kids go to regular high school for a couple of years and then on to what we call "Running Start" or early college for high schoolers. So it's almost over.

I'll miss the shared dirty kitchen that gets cleaned up over conversation. I'll miss the toddlers and preschoolers who easily visit with teens and other adults in the family room. I'll miss the impromptu ballet class offered by the nine year old to the "little kids" in the preschool area.

It's the end of a season of my life. I'll pre-mourn for a while and by the time it actually happens, I just might be ready. Or not.

Seasons come and go. Life's just like that. It really was a lovely day.

I'm sure I'm a helicopter parent, hovering over my children, fussing with the details of their lives.

And I've certainly been a soccer mom, complete with the mini-van and the whole "hang the stuff from the folding chair so it doesn't get wet in the grass" talent but without the vodka in the travel mug.

I've been a swim team mom who knows how to run the meet and even how to time relays with splits.

Once I went from being the soccer mom with soaking wet jeans from sideways rain to being a swim team mom with soaking wet jeans from the flip turns of fast kids--all in the space of an hour.

The latest one: "Stage Mother"--I hate that one. And I'm not really even a stage mother. The program my son is working with right now prevents the whole stage mother thing by keeping parents completely out. You can sit outside the door and listen, but you can't ever come in. Not at all--never. You see the show when it opens.

Yesterday I dropped him off at the stage door and he ran in right behind the dresser--chatting and animated. It's tech week. Eight hour practices, missing school, homework gets done in snippets and snatches. Then I went to six stores looking for the perfect shoes--for some reason we "Stage Mothers" provide shoes, nothing else. But his character is obsessed with shoes, which makes me obsessed with shoes. And I have 20 discount tickets lumped in groups on my kitchen table, my weekend is carefully planned so that I can see all six shows. Yep, guess we're there, aren't we.

Show opens in TWO DAYS! Exciting.

I can't even imagine what the next label will be. What is the mom who knows all about the SATs and college applications? How about the one who sends cookies during finals week? Who cares. It's all good.

I'm in.

In a previous life I worked for an airline.



No, actually I worked on the phones, you know, taking calls from people. Usually taking calls from people who were having trouble.


The worst kind of calls we got started with a little whisper in the headset. It let you know that trouble was coming because the agents at the airport had rolled out the portable bank of phones. Not good.

"....rebook..."

Oh no. Not rebook. No, please.

It usually meant bad weather or some other bad thing was happening in some poor city. And people were going to be stuck. I mean, eventually they'd get out and on to their vacation or business trip or they'd get home to their cat or their baby or their elderly great Aunt. I mean, no one gets stuck in an airport forever.

The poor folks would yell and curse or sniffle, but really--there was not a whole lot I could do. Planes usually fly mostly full--even the flights from other airlines. There's not a whole lot of room on other planes to get you there, buddy. Sorry.

We were authorized to put people on other airlines when things were really bad. Usually when there was a mechanical delay to the flight--a problem with the plane, not weather. I mean weather just happens and if one airline is grounded, they're all grounded.

There was a hierarchy to getting the passengers on other airlines. The airlines with codeshare agreements were highest on the list, the ones who shared the routes and mileage plans and all. The others were lower on the list, but we could do it when things were really crazy.

But not Southwest. They didn't code share with anyone. No luggage agreements, no shared flight information. They were on their own, no need for any other airlines.

I gotta wonder how things went on those zillions of cancelled flights this weekend. And oh man, am I glad I wasn't anywhere near that mess!

Give me a quiet church kitchen with some crusty dirty dishes left over from a big auction and a quick turn to a soup lunch any day! Upset kids having a bad morning and needing to do the rounds with me? Yep. They hug you at the end of the day. Sweeping up after a very successful money making lunch while a marimba band practices? Oh yeah.




But please, never again ".....rebook..."

I had no idea that a fabulous Peter Mayer concert in my own church would just wring the everything right out of me!

No, don't get me wrong, it was absolutely the most amazing concert I've even seen.

Peter opened with a prayer in song, singing the first verse of "Blue Boat Home" a capella. That was holy right there. But then he went on for another couple of hours. I cried and cried at "Japanese Bowl" where he talks about how the broken parts of Japanese potter are filled with gold, pretty sure he wasn't just talking about ancient bowls. And then he sang about "Driving With My Knee" and the trio of little girls behind me were all loving the music. Then "Jamma Day"? They were all over that one, too. Then when Peter asked if we were up for singing with him and an eight year old said "Yeah!" and he noted that he had one singer for sure, well then I was totally gone.

Talking about walking to meet his future in-laws after the snow storm of the century and realizing that that was the storm that we had when our oldest was 10 days old? Yeah, that one put me over the top.

Singing "Blue Boat Home" with Peter, while standing in the sanctuary that I have seen transform with paint and carpet and re-situated pews--that I've seen blessed with joy and holidays and sorrow--Peter singing the harmony while the gathered people sang the melody. By this time I was not even in my mind any longer--just a soul riding along with the beauty and community and love.

Then Peter came back for an encore. I'm sorry to admit...the two songs that the audience called out that Peter finally settled on? One was from me,and one was from my youngest son. But oh my, they were good songs to end with. Peter explained the story behind the song "Tandem Lives" and I now finally understand why the song always makes me cry. It should. It's a beautiful story, not my story so I won't tell it, but one of those stories mixed up with sweet and sour, love and sadness and the things in life that in the end really matter.

Then we sang "Where is the Light" which ends with "This Little Light of Mine" and we danced and sang--our young and old together.

I'm happy. He could have played all night and it still wouldn't have been enough for me. But he's lovely. He noticed the fedora my son was wearing and called him "hat guy" and signed his new guitar pick necklace. I mean really, this 14-year-old has Peter Mayer on his ipod, it's gotta feel pretty good!

It's not quite the intensity of hearing "Holy Now" for the very first time in the adobe chapel in the foothills of the rockies, sitting on the bench seats, early morning sun streaming in. Not sure anything can ever match the depth of spiritual connection that the group of religious educators who were spending a week together shared in that moment. But it was holy. And as wiped out as I feel? Well, I do feel completely whole! Blessings!

And Amen.

Oh I am so excited. I can't believe the day has finally arrived! I can hardly sit still and I am not able to get anything at all done!

The Peter Mayer concert is tonight! TONIGHT!

I hope he plays:

Holy Now
The Hat Song
John's Garden
Church of the Earth
Tandem Life
and
Blue Boat Home

and
God is River
and

well......we'll just have to stay til 2AM.

I am bringing my dear oldest son who has been home for the week on spring break. He loves folk and guitar. I'm bringing my youngest son who plays guitar and (shhhhh) actually has the whole Heaven album on his ipod and his friend who is a wicked blues guitar man and will love the guitar. And I'm also kind of dragging my husband and middle son who can't very well stay home and MISS the fun! They're not big folk fans, but Peter is so fun and engaging in person, I'm sure they'll have a great evening.

Oh I can't wait. I wish I could be at church for the sound checks and prep! But we have to go grab the youngest from a day of rehearsal before we can go. That's OK, the anticipation is good, too!

Here's the one that's been going through my head all day:



Happy!!

When I was a little girl growing up in a little fellowship in Minnesota, this was the hymn that we sang when there was a big reason to sing--like Easter, or a special service like our most holy water communion.



I think for this generation of children the "go to" hymn is this one:



Before our little church on the hill in Settle even had a paid music director, we put a group together a group to accompany this hymn for a visit from Gini Courter (UUA Moderator), and now years later, we have a first class music director and choir, and we still sing it for our special celebrations. I think congregations across the continent sing it for special days.

And in just a few days, Peter Mayer is going to come and SING with us in our own beautiful holy space! Oh please don't let me gush too badly. I am so excited! I can't wait. Can't WAIT!

I have picked the absolute worst time on the planet to get sick. Completely. If I had pulled up my google calendar and said "hmmmmmm.....when can I find the worst weekend to get sick, let's see" this would have been it.

Bad timing.

This was the kind of  sickness that makes you want to scrape out your lungs with one of those plastic scrapers that come with stone cook wear. And it makes you wish you could just sleep but the stupid cough wakes you up again and again and again. And you just wish you could fast forward a week until you're just a little tired in the evening and you've almost caught up on your work.

No luck.

Here's the thing; a Director of Religious Education can't just call in sick. Stuff needs to happen. Programs don't just stop. And here's  the other thing-- the people I work with are absolutely lovely, and everything that needed to happen, happened. People just stepped up and rolled up their sleeves and said "of course I can help". My church community is overflowing with the most giving and caring group of people who have ever worked hard on church work, ever. This is what I wish for people who have been wounded by church, I wish that they could experience this kind of church. The church of love and care and faith and hope.

Bless you, Westside folks. You make it so easy to love my crazy, impossible job. Bless you all!

I had a wonderful staff meeting today. Or well, you know, I walked out of a meeting at 9:45 pm and had a nice conversation in the parking lot with the minister I serve with.

For a couple of weeks I've had to miss my regular Wednesday office hours for a family commitment so I've been working from home. Today was  a work from home day but it was such a busy day with deadlines and hot deadlines and then smoking hot deadlines. But I had to go in to church for an evening safety meeting.

So, tonight I was telling my colleague about this busy but super productive day and she said "me, too!" and then she told me that she'd just cleaned out all the stuff she'd been carrying around in her brief case that she really didn't need. I said  "Me, too!" Really, it's true. I just did that yesterday.

And then we both said "something is different" "something has settled down a little" and then the Twilight Zone Show theme music started playing. OK, not really. But it COULD have. It really could have.

I have no idea what happened to the "busy" juju. There are still meetings that go for hours and hours every week. The money in this budget year is tight, the tasks ever increasing--still. But something is good, and calm. And it feels really nice.

I like having staff meetings in the parking lot.  It's all good. It's actually all pretty smokin' hot good.

Change. That's really one of the only things we can really count on in this life. The sun comes up and it goes down. The dog loves you like you can only hope God loves you. I'm very lucky and have a few friends that I know love me even when I'm fussy. And my spouse and I have been through hell and walked out the other side, so I finally believe that he really loves me and isn't going anywhere.

But the only other thing I can trust to always be the same is nothing. If you love the way something is right now, sink down into it, breathe it in, swim around in the way it makes you feel. Because it will probably change. Maybe sooner or maybe later. But surely, something, somehow will be different. The lovely part of this is if you're in pain or hopeless, then things are also likely to change, sooner or later there will be a new day and something will be different.

Last night my oldest son was home, just for a few hours, just for dinner. But we all settled back into the five-person family instead of the four person version. And it just felt a little more settled. He's a lovely person who is very pleasant to spend time with and really when anyone visits, all the good things come out in everyone, but more than that it was just our well worn old comfortable way of being in the world. All of us, five. Everyone smiled a little more, stories flowed easily. Laughter and warmth settled on everyone's shoulders.

I know that our children grow up and move out and move on. I know that's the hope and the goal and we are deeply grateful that he's healthy and safe and sane. But there's a loss. It's a change. It's as if a piece of me has moved on. And I guess it has.

It's a blessing to be here, and sometimes it's awfully hard.

Amen

I know it's a smarmy holiday that's been misappropriated from everywhere, but it's a great excuse to make sure the people I hold near and dear know that I love them!

Well, oops. It would have been a great opportunity. Uh, yeah. Oops.

Hey all y'all! I love you! Thank you for being in my life. I am on my knees, grateful, singing-to-the-angels, rock-solid filled with gratitude for all of you.

For a couple of years now, we've held a lovely family dinner for Valentine's Day  "Secret Ingredient--LOVE". If you watch Iron Chef you'll get it. If you don't, well trust me, it's funny. Just laugh a little polite chuckle to make everyone think you get it.

The first year we did this I checked cookbooks out from the library, we each chose a recipe, we shopped and we cooked. Same basic plan last year. This year? Well, yeah. Now I work 30 hours a week instead of 20 and there's that new church building and there were meetings and dinners and mopping and I don't even know what else all over Saturday and Sunday and then office hours today. I almost gave up on "Secret Ingredient--LOVE" and said "take me to a burger joint, it's over!"

But the eldest who is off at UW living on campus and for the most part forgetting the rest of his family exists said he's be happy to come home for dinner. And the other two didn't have to see their girlfriends because they already saw them this weekend. So we pulled "LOVE" together all last minute like.

This summer we're going to take a road trip to California so why not use that as the theme? I dropped the youngest off at his final audition for this latest play, went and picked up the eldest and we headed for Trader Joe's. Eventually he asked me if I was just going to buy everything that said "California" on it.

Yup.



We had a lovely dinner--California Rolls, Napa Salad (OK, really we had Caesar, but whatever-there were avocados for it) roasted vegetable sandwiches on sour dough ( you know, like in San Fransisco) and a lovely organic red wine from California. There was a little flurry, but no homemade eclairs or tenderized beef. A few packages were opened and slapped on baking sheets. But there were lingering conversations, and there was some goofiness.

Then there was a jam night. They're really rockin'. Last winter the eldest's girlfriend wondered if "bringing the rock" had something to do with solstice and bringing a rock someplace. No. No solstice rock. No Valentine rock. just a good old Tom Petty song that the middlest yearned to drive to before he had his license. All performed live in our own little choir loft.


It was lovely. And fun. Lesson for me here is we've gotta take it when it comes to us. Whether it's a meeting or a youth group or mopping the floor or a last minute moment with family, it's important to pay attention and soak it all in.



Happy Valentine's Day all y'all! I hope you are all surrounded by big love. Amen.

We had a busy day at church today. Teacher Meeting-Sunday Service-RE Council meeting-OWL-Youth Dinner-Youth Group. And lots and lots of mopping of floors so they're ready for the preschool who rents to come in first thing in the morning.

Too much!


But the youth group has so much energy it's hard to ignore that something is working well here. It's not like when we had 40 or 60 kids who belonged to the church. Back then we had to arrange car pools and really good food, and kids had to bring friends to make our youth group function.

Now we have a nice Jr High OWL class and after OWL a few more kids come and a nice family cooks dinner and youth group advisors come in and we have a wild rumpus that eventually turns into youth group. WITH meditation. I sometimes get a little worried when the noise stops, but now I know; it's the meditation. Or they're getting ready to play freeze tag. That actually might be the same thing.

And you know-- they drive me crazy and make big messes and push each other around and yell and holler. And sometimes there are minor family disasters that make one kid have to wait an extra half an hour to get picked up which means the two kids who ride home with me have to wait, too. And maybe they get a little silly. But don't doubt that they are still driving me crazy, even as I bribe them to pose for pictures. They're completely wild and silly. Trouble. Capital T trouble.

.

And I am totally in love with the whole lot of 'em.

Blessed Sabbath!

Amen.

I'm sitting in the main office of our new church building, we just finished up a lovely planning meeting for our Breakthrough Congregation presentation. The wind seems like it's coming straight off Puget Sound and trying to push the church right off it's perch on the hill. Rain is slamming into the windows.

But there's no pushing this church off of anything. It's solid as a rock.

It was such an honor to sit with some of the wise leaders of this church as they brainstrormed how to convey the story of our breakthrough. This congregation was founded in 1963, it's older than I am. And it has had a long and lively history. But the recent story, the one I'm familiar with, is what leaves me still smiling as I pause before the next event here tonight.

Tonight we'll have a gathering of families with children in Kindergarten through 5th grade. If everyone shows up, we could have 40 families. Now that is a crowd. But it hasn't always been this way.

In 2005, when I started working here, we had 113 adult members and about 23 kids. Today, we have 180 adult members and 101 registered kids. That's part of the story, a lovely part that allows us to have three levels of Our Whole Lives classes and a real youth group with sleep overs and hide and seek games in dark.

The other part of the story is about the passion and fire of this pretty small group of people, who, during the darkest of times in the US economy, raised almost a million dollars to buy a church home in about four month's time. And then, when the paperwork was all signed and filed away, they rolled up their sleeves and proceeded to renovate the building, taking it from a near disaster to a beautiful church home. Today they're still working hard. We're a fair share congregation who have paid our dues to the district and the UUA for as long as anyone can remember. Our members clean and maintain this building. Yes, we could hire a sexton if we didn't pay those dues. No one has ever suggested it and no one ever will. It's part of the mettle of these people. These lovely people. No one here is afraid of really hard work. They thrive on it.

How do we tell this story in 6 minutes of video that will be shown at the UUA General Assembly? We might just have to bring buckets of sweat and tears and somehow --I have no idea how--convey the love that guided every move.

What an honor to serve this group.

Speaking of serving this group, there are lights to be turned on, doors to unlock and a fussy old dishwasher to go wrestle with to be ready for the families who will arrive out of the blustery night very soon. But you know what? It's all good. I appreciate all the work there is to do, because it's quite a testament to all the work we've done to get here. Hard work really does have its rewards.

And I've got a lovely church dinner to prepare for.

Amen. Big, huge Amen.

She was waggly and I could almost see the smile on her doggy face.

Oh my gosh, it's been such a fabulous ride! For the past year I've had a monthly meeting with a brilliant group of dedicated Religious Professionals, a "What Moves Us" online study group. 

May the light return in many ways for you and the ones you love.

Blessings

It was pageant day! A bright sunny day and our new windows combined with the extremely low solstice sun to sweat us just about out in lamb and cow costumes! We used the lovely Joyce Poley pageant "Would You Like to Hold the Baby?" and it was fabulous.

We almost felt that somehow we were, you know, breaking through. I mean, after all, I've hesitated to ever do such an involved holiday program because we never quite knew who we'd get from week to week or how things would go.

Definitely a breakthrough for us.

In fact, decorating for the holiday before the afternoon of Christmas Eve was fabulous even though our minister our ADRE and a number of other core folks spend three hours assembling a fake tree. This was another breakthrough. We love this whole owning a building thing. Fabulous. Except that now we can't just call the people we rent from to fix things, but oh well, who cares. It's obviously a breakthrough.

So many breakthroughs for little Westside Unitarian Universalst Congregation.. So, so many.

I mean, you'd almost think that we'd be headed to the UUA General Assembly this year to accept some kind of honor for all of our breaking through. Almost. I mean, maybe it really is true. Maybe.....

Yep. It is true.

Westiside Unitarian Universalist Congregation, the little church on the hill that could, IS a 2011 Breakthrough Congregation. See y'all in Charlotte!

And, by the way, whoo hoo!

I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave the world of religion and children and head into a new career as a booking agent. I'm sitting here listening to my sons and husband jam and whooo boy, they're amazing!

A few years ago we tried to buy my husband a drum set for Father's Day. They were like 40 gabillion dollars. So we gave him a "drum set" card and I figured if he could justify spending a gabillion dollars on it, well then fine. Bah humbug or bah father bug or whatever.

But the boys just kept getting better and playing more amazing music. I mean, have you seen this cover of "Melt With You" it's better than Psycho Furs, but then I'm the mother and all but see?? It's good.




So he was left out of the party. Poor guy. This Thanksgiving my dear husband found an inexpensive drum set on Craig's List and went out at 7 at night to meet the young family who needed grocery money and was willing to sell their drum set. I think they even met in the WalMart parking lot--in Renton! The one place in our town that gets by far the most police calls each month. Yeah.

But the drum set is great. And he's a fabulous drummer. They sound amazing. They jam blues and jazz. They play pretty much anything the youngest--the music phenom--can play. So here I sit under the Christmas tree, listening to them.

I can see it now.....they'll play the cruise ship circuit. I'll be a lady of leisure. Or I'll be Julie from the Love Boat. It's my new calling....

Or maybe we'll just play with our little family band and we'll do the prelude on Christmas Eve at church and we'll continue to have great jam nights in our own little home choir loft-- at least as long as the oldest is home from college. And it will be a wonderful Christmas.

I was in a hibernate-y mood. Too much to do, too much to think about. Too many people needing something from me.

But it was time for what in the slang in my head I call "butt-day"; time to put in my hours at our little homeschool-school. Time to sit myself down and just be there as part of the cadre of parents who hang to keep the peace during lunch and PE.

Oh I didn't want to go. Yes it was supposed to be my day off from work but there had been paint trauma with the living room prior to the new carpet going on on my work day, so I was behind. And my kind of job never really allows for a personal leave day or anything--the work just sits in the corner and patiently waits for you. It's got those glow-y eyes, too.

So, I took myself up to school. After lecturing my youngest son about personal responsibility and discipline all morning, I felt guilty just thinking about blowing it off.

It was lovely up at school. There were babies riding in back packs, littles playing in the preschool room. Teens were clustered in little groups--some playing guitar, some studying. Some just hanging out.

There was a soup lunch that one of the kids had arranged, she's trying to raise enough money for a "Cheese of the World" package for Heifer. We had a bake sale for the Musical Theater class and a candy sale for the drama class. Lots of people were working and laughing and playing and getting ready.

I realized that my "butt-time" is coming to an end. This is our youngest son's last year at the little homeschool-school. Yes, the middle son may go through this school for his early college program next year, but it's not the same. That's just stopping in for paperwork and saying "hi". If you're a parent of a "Running Start" student, you don't have to do volunteer hours in the same way. After all, your kid isn't one exploding beans in the microwave, or getting a little too loud with the guitar in the hallway. So for me, these days are coming to an end.

Zap. The whole day shifted. I was deeply grateful for the mess of soup bowls to wash. And deeply grateful for babies toddling out from the preschool room to snitch a cookie from the bake sale. Even the trauma of another little injury during PE made me smile. It's not just our own children we care for, a child with a bump brings the whole village-strong response. No one at our school ever is left alone with a problem. And it's even sweeter now that it's almost over for me.

The seasons of our lives do turn, one to the next. It's funny but the things that seem to be drudgery at the time, are often the things that I miss the most when they're gone.

I am blessed and lucky.  Amen.

I've been so upset with my president. Come on Barack, don't you know that we don't negotiate with terrorists, or they'll just take hostages again?

And I'm sorry to family and friends who are on the other side of the aisle, but I have lost all compassion and faith for anyone who has ever voted for a Republican, ever. It's been nice knowing you and I wish you well in life, but buzz off. Now.

Here's the thing. I work hard. My husband works hard, get this--for the government--keeping planes safe and flying--he's gone every day for at least 12 hours and he often works at home, too. And yes there is no pay raise for the next two years so if he doesn't look for a job in industry that offers bonuses and actual cost of living increases I might just scream, but anyway.....we make a fine living. We're compensated pretty fairly for what we do. I work for a non-profit which by it's nature is lower paying than a business type job, but still, we are not wealthy but you'd think we'd be solidly middle class. And really, we are.

But here's the other thing: we're members of the screwed generation. Our parents graduated from high school, got jobs, worked. They had families and a nice house in the suburbs. They worked a fair day for fair pay. They had whole weekends off with two days in a row when they didn't have to work. It was rare that they had to go to work in the dark AND come home in the dark. They were able to pay for the medical procedures and services that they needed. They went on nice vacations, they had two cars each and then they retired at age 55. Nice.

And not happening for us. My parents never had high level bosses that made an obscene salary or benefits that were fit for royalty. Of course, we don't either! My boss drives a 15 year old car because she's a dear. But the wage disparity between the ruling class and the rest of us is grossly unfair.

"During the late 1980s and the late 1990s, the United States experienced two unprecedentedly long periods of sustained economic growth—the "seven fat years" and the " long boom." Yet from 1980 to 2005, more than 80 percent of total increase in Americans' income went to the top 1 percent." from New York Times columnist Paul Krugman. 


And we feel it, don't we? The buying power of a regular paycheck seems to diminish every year. Groceries feel like a bigger hit, any home improvement projects need to be carefully planned, and furnishings are kept in service past a broken frame and a threadbare cushion. And if you're going to talk tuition to a four year institution, well, it's a huge hit. Huge.


Of course these people, these very wealthy people who give huge sums to politicians are pressuring the people in power. They don't want to have to budget for what they want. They don't want to choose between a crown for a broken tooth and carpeting. They want to continue to live a life of privilege. These are the wealthy who just bullied their way to a tax cut. A tax cut. During a time of war. Where is their patriotism? Where is their 40s style commitment to 70% taxes because it was the right and honorable thing to do--a privilege even--that's the way the wealthy viewed it then. 


I am reminded of "The Good Earth" and "The Grapes of Wrath" and the lessons from the Great Teacher (that's what Unitarian Universalists often call Jesus of Nazereth). The money and gross privilege eventually becomes a target. And people who have nothing for their children eventually rise up. 


I've had Pete Seeger songs running through my head all day. And while I find some gross problems with some of the power and money held by unions, it seems that working class folks banding together and saying "enough" is the only way to end the power and inequity wielded by the wealthy. I love the lyric I found in the original version of "Which Side Are You On" by Florence Reece 


"Their children live in luxury, our children almost wild" 


Still fits.