the things she carried

at 34 weeks pregnant
she realized she was carrying more than a five pound fetus
one that would easily live outside the womb
(in america)

she knew she was carrying a boy:
the blood test had said XY
and the pictures had shown testicles clearly
and she was carrying high
(if wives' tales are to be believed)

and because it was she carrying the boy
she carried a white boy
who would be born into privilege
(not every privilege, but enough)
because he was being born in america
to parents who would love him
to parents who had been to college
to parents who work hard

she carried Board meeting agendas
fundraising events
class passes to three studios
two swollen feet (one markedly moreso)
a parental leave/business continuity plan
what felt like a sobriety coin
water, vegan snack bars, Poise pantyliners
insomnia

at 34 weeks pregnant
her husband got sick with the flu
so she carried her husband's daughter to a bed
she had made on the floor of a friend's house
(a quarantined inn)
she woke the child up to give her medicine
she took her own medicine
she carried herself to the bathtub
and less gracefully out of the bathtub

she carried groceries and more medicine
and clothes and toys and soup

she carried a phone that alerted her a faraway friend--
one she had chosen as her son's godmother--
had bought her
a spa gift certificate

she carried messages of
where are you registered
who is your doctor
when are you due
do you know the sex
you want to do it naturally?

a five pound fetus
a nation
bloodwork
pictures
a Masters degree
a workload
volunteer obligations
stepmotherhood
a yoga mat

(a lot of extra weight)

she was carrying a firstborn son
dreams and expectations
hopes and wishes and fervent prayers
(anywhere you go, a mother has already prayed for that journey)

she carried the future
(an heir, the class clown, someone's groom)
tried to focus on the present
(plenty of rest and fluids, all the nutrients, keep blood pressure low)
tried to let go of the past
(doubts, debts, unkindness)

and focused on the most important thing she'll ever carry, ever give, ever bestow or be bestowed:
love.

first Tuesdays

I attend monthly lectures on spirituality put on by the Loyola Institute for Ministry and hosted at the Church of the Immaculate Conception, one of the most beautiful and holy spaces I've ever experienced. I've heard some really powerful thoughts from people of all faiths over the past few years, and I enjoy the fellowship and perspective it gives me in the middle of my work day.

At the end of today's lecture, the Ignatian priest asked us, "When did you feel God today? Where have you seen God in your life today?"

Admittedly, I have not been much focused on today. I had a huge Board meeting yesterday, and tomorrow is my stepdaughter's birthday. I had 13 Board packets and a testimony to prepare yesterday; I have 29 people dining in my home tomorrow.

So I hadn't given much thought to today. I got through emails and text messages this morning. I made myself breakfast and drank lots of water. I got makeup on. I got to my lecture on time, walking by new construction in the Quarter to see how it was going.

I honestly didn't find much about the conversation today compelling until the priest posed those two questions. And then, suddenly, today started to mean something more than GiveNOLA Day. It meant more than a gateway from yesterday's challenges to tomorrow's celebration.

I have not felt God in this damn cold that won't quit me or Beau. I definitely don't see God when I look at our mountains of used Kleenex. And I'm not sure where God fits in to this scenario, but we haven't kissed on the mouth in days.

But I feel God every morning I get to wake up beside the person I love most in this world. I see Her in the sunshine and low humidity of early May. I feel Him in my ability to walk to my meetings.

I see God in the police officers I communicate with almost daily, as they try to protect our community... but I don't see Her when I hear about the rape of a mentally incapacitated woman.

I tried to help a friend see God in me by stealing her away for afternoon coffee and listening to her cry. I try to show God to others in the way that I laugh and forgive and connect... even if that means tracking down RSVPs at the last minute.

I did not feel God in the two giant spills/messes I made tonight or when I snapped at my husband for something really dumb or when I blew my nose for the 87th time today... but I think She was there for dinner on our back patio, surrounded by our garden at sunset.

I see God in my stepdaughter: her sheer joy, her solitude, her empathy.

And I will make a more conscientious effort to feel and see God in my every day, in the mundane, in the work and the blessings and the laughter, in the low grade fevers and the perspective of strangers, in the tears I've been entrusted to witness, and in the patience and grace my husband grants us.

The sun rises, and the sun sets. It's up to us to be honest with ourselves about how we can love our neighbors best, one day and one moment at a time.

page 423

Today we had our second (of three) counseling sessions with our priest. We went through the liturgy that will be used during our ceremony (and nearly all Episcopalian weddings).

He started out by asking how we were feeling, and we both answered variations of "overwhelmed' and "stressed," and then Beau realized the priest was asking if we still wanted to be married.

Oh. Yes!

At which point we discussed how we felt we had been planning our marriage for a long time, and the wedding is just the first day of it, and we hope our lives together will span several decades.

So then it was on to the liturgy. He warned us that very few people follow along in the Book of Common Prayer (beginning on page 423), which is so strange to me. There's a whole book sitting in the book rail in front of you with nearly every word of the ceremony... don't you want to know when it's your turn to chime in? To kneel? To sit?

Or at least how many more pages until you board a bus and head towards champagne?

We talked through the vows and the prayers. The priest had advice on how to not cry through the entire ceremony, which is especially helpful because Beau and I are both major weepers.

We're having one hymn (sung by our beautiful and talented friend Christian Sineath) and one reading. We are not having Communion. The homily will be brief, as the priest seems to understand that while everyone is excited for us to join our lives to each other and God, he's standing between us and what we all hope is the best party you've ever attended.

May there only be happy tears.

beloved

I have written before about writing for World in Prayer. I volunteered this week, and I used the Scripture that will be read at our wedding as inspiration.

As I concluded the prayer, I needed a synonym for "empower," a word that I loathe, and discovered "embolden," which reminded me of one of the best compliments of my life.

On the morning of September 7, 2016, I walked Beau's daughter to school. We had a brief exchange en français goodbye, during which I kissed her, told her I loved her, Daddy would pick her up from school, and we'd have dinner with my mom, who was visiting. A class mom grabbed me afterwards. 
She said, "Y'all just have a different kind of love." I was completely taken aback, worried as always that I'm failing terribly at parenthood, and somehow differently from everyone else. I said, "Different... bad?!"

She replied, "Not at all. I'm just really glad she has you. The love she gets from y'all is really big. Y'all love out loud. It makes her bolder."

We do love out loud. We hug. We kiss. We hold hands. We tell each other that we love each other (in two languages!). We apologize. We practice empathy. And we love our neighbors.

Our "mundane" is big. We celebrate having dinner together, because that's something we don't get to do every day. When you only have a child present in your life half the time, you choose to love really big to make sure it lasts through the times when you're absent.

This summer, when Beau and I were trying to figure out how to entertain his daughter at church without Sunday School, I emailed the World in Prayer team and received this amazing and beautiful response from another member:

Even if you don't have [her] all the time, trust that what she is being exposed to with you and [Beau] will "stick", even when, in the future, there may seem evidence to the contrary. Most of all, your behavior- that of the two of you- will speak far louder than any words. Telling of a loving God needs to be demonstrated by being loving, and exposing her to a community where she is loved and accepted. I spent a lot of time "bored" in church as a young child and I ended up a pastor. She will still be absorbing the liturgy, the hymns, the prayers...I knew the entire Lutheran liturgy by the time I was four, plus words to lots of the hymns. Trust yourselves; trust the Living and Loving Spirit. And remember, [her] story/journey will be hers, not yours. And she will be writing it every day, which is as it should be. 

I hope she will live it out loud. I hope we have emboldened her. I hope that the love the three of us have for each other will resonate within her when she is feeling tired or weak or quieted or ignored. I hope that it reminds her that she is capable of anything and that we will love her no matter what.

It's an honor and a blessing to hug and kiss her, to walk her to school, to celebrate with her. I will be forever grateful for the moments we have, and I can't wait to see how she uses her big, bold heart to improve her world.

prophet

The Episcopalian Church does not prescribe any readings for its marriage ceremony. In fact, we don't have to have a single liturgical word spoken at our ceremony. But we met at church. We strive to love and serve God. However, we are not Bible readers, and our favorite stories are not wedding appropriate. (Good Samaritan, anyone? I could remind my most dearly beloved to "Go and do likewise.")

It turns out that documents that are more than two millenia old, written almost exclusively by men, may not share the same perspective on love and marriage that my beau and I do. And when one googles "best wedding readings," one get excerpts from chapters that especially don't reflect the perspective on love and marriage that my beau and I do. I'm a contextual person, and I believe that the first moments of our marriage should be taken in toto.

So we've decided on a passage from 1 John that talks about God is love and love is God and, my interpretation, love is love is love.

I texted my mother with our selection, and she read my message without the "1", and this was the passage she thought we'd selected a passage from the Gospel according to John that ends with this dialogue:

The woman said to [Jesus], “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.” He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”

 “I have no husband,” she replied.

Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet."

She called me, very confused, and read me the passage, and then we could. not. stop. laughing. 

Go and do likewise.

authority

These are the steps I have to go through to get a marriage license in the state of Louisiana:

• Have a current driver's license or passport (check)
• Have a certified copy of a birth certificate (uh... due to an overly complicated website, I'll be calling the Florida Department of Vital Statistics tomorrow, since I don't need a commemorative birth certificate... or a road trip to Jacksonville)
• my social security number (not a card (?), just to know the number) (check!)
• a completed application to obtain an Orleans Parish Marriage License

The marriage license fee is $27.50 + $5 per copy that we wish to have in cash or check only. 

Licenses are valid for between 72 hours and 30 days.

They are only issued between 8:15am and 3:15pm in downtown or between 9am and 3pm in Algiers, Monday through Friday. We both have to go unless I want to notarize my application separately. 

Kind of makes you rethink love, huh? 

It would be convenient if waiting periods to get married were the same as they are to get divorced. I'm not sure why the state of Louisiana thinks it knows me well enough to marry me within three days and then keep me married for six months if we don't have children and for twelve months if we do. 

But, then again, the state of Louisiana has a disdainful record of doing what's best for women, families, and children.

I'm irritated that we have to get a marriage license. Necessarily, other licenses require tests (driving), education (medical/legal), background checks (guns), all manner of safety permits (selling alcohol)... but a license to marry?!

My commitment is to my God, my husband, and our families. It has nothing to do with the state of Louisiana. And the more I think about how intimate and reverent the matrimonial ceremony is, the more irritated I get about having to involve four government agencies across two states, business hours, and a prescribed waiting period.

I have waited a long time.

I know that he is the right choice for me.

I look forward to committing myself to him, to my family, to our God.

And, hey, I get a certified copy of my birth certificate out of it, too.

muertos

Exciting news: I'm getting married next month.

Lots of people have suggested that I journal about this exciting time in my life, and I am a fan of 30 day challenges, so, for the month of November, I am going to write one blog post every day. I will try to capture all of the emotions I feel about this next step in my life.

Today is Dia de los Muertos. In January of this year, we were in San Miguel de Allende (first time for each of us to visit Mexico) and had a wonderful, enchanting time staying at Belmond Casa de Sierra Nevada. I expected my beau to propose the whole time we were there. It was so beautiful and lovely and loving, and I felt confident that this year would be ours. I simply needed to be patient.

Several years ago, a girlfriend suggested a relationship/self-help book to me that I remember really enjoying but whose title both of us have completely forgotten. It was the first time I'd read a book about finding a partner, and it was solid advice. A year after I read it, another girlfriend got engaged, and I learned there was a wedding planner version of the book. The premise was something about being a mindful and present bride before "mindful" and "present" were buzz words. I bought it for my friend as an engagement present, because I worried she was planning her wedding and not planning her marriage.

They divorced this year.

One of the exercises in this book (at least according to the amazon reviews, which I may misremember) was to spend some time thinking about the people on your guest list who could not attend because they are no longer alive.

Today, I am reminded of the dead who meant so much to me when they were alive. And I will honor them here by telling you about my people who will be included "in memory of" on our wedding programs.

(in alphabetical order)

Elizabeth Blanks

We moved to Wilmington, NC in the summer of 1983, when I was three. My mom's parents helped us move. While getting shoes repaired, my grandmother asked the cobbler if he knew anyone who was a housekeeper, because my mother had just moved to town with two small children and was going to need help.

He replied, infamously, "I got me a real nice ex-wife."

And thus came Thelma. But in August, Thelma told my mother she was a janitor and would have to cut back her hours to half days once school resumed. My mother, nearly despondent, told Thelma she was going to have to find someone to work the afternoons.

And that's how we got Elizabeth.

Thelma and Elizabeth were my second mothers. They loved us like children, and we loved them like mothers. Elizabeth was one of the best cooks I've ever known, and I am certain now that my ability to fry was because I watched and learned from her. In the almost 12 years she worked for my family, she never took a vacation day (she just asked to be paid double for two weeks), and she never declined an invitation to babysit/work extra hours. She was home every day after school. She called me "doll," a pet name I've never allowed anyone else to call me.

Elizabeth gave birth to twelve children. One died serving our country. One had terrible kidney problems. She didn't drive, because she'd had or been in an accident and chose not to drive again. She had a drinking problem, but never around me and my brother. Hers was a sad, complicated life. I hope I gave her happy.

Right before Valentine's Day when I was in ninth grade, we got a phone call at 7:30am. I was almost ready for school, and my mother informed me that Elizabeth had had a heart attack, fallen down her stairs, and died.

It was the first time I'd lost someone I loved. Our family was completely distraught. Our dog waited for her every day at noon for months. For years afterwards, I'd go visit her grave. I should, the next time I'm home.

I've lived more years of my life without her than I lived with her, but her legacy lives on every time I successfully fry chicken. I know she's feeding people potato salad and love now. She was very good at both.

Robert Harold Hutchins

Another great part of 1983 was that we moved into a house that was next door to a family with a girl a year younger than me, also named Emily. She was my closest friend in elementary school. I spent as much time at her house as I did my own. Her parents, Dr. and Mrs. Hutchins, took us to the beach almost every weekend in the summer. I spent every July 4th and Christmas Eve with them.

The therapist I had in my late 20s suggested that my father was my first love. I told her if that was the case, I'd had two first loves.

Dr. Hutchins always seemed happy: happy to be with us, happy to share time with us, happy to love us.

My brother called me in June 2009 when I was at my ex-boyfriend's aunt's house for dinner. I asked if I could call my brother back, and he said no. My heart sank. He told me that Dr. Hutchins had died. He had been sick, but I hadn't known, and hardly anyone had known how sick.

Of everyone who will not be at my wedding, I will miss Dr. Hutchins the most. He would have loved my beau. They are both small town boys with incredibly stylish tastes. They both love their mamas. They both remember where they come from and give back to their communities. They both love their little girls.

I was lucky to be one of his.

Harry Cecil Remington, Sr. and Billie Remington

I mean. "Harry Cecil" was his given name. He had to be a character, right?!

All of my grandparents lived until my senior year of college. My father's father, Pop, passed first. He and my grandmother had married when she was 16. He was a decorated World War II veteran from the Pacific theater; he flew one of those planes that land on water, but on the day he died, he didn't know how to swim. No one had taught him. (!)

My grandmother buried him and then her daughter (see Trudy, below) within 11 months and basically gave up her will to live, and no one blamed her. It was ten long years before the Lord called her home. Hers was a steady, prolonged decline none of us wish for anyone. She was a woman full of steadfast faith, and I wish she had not suffered as much as she did. I am grateful that she is now at rest and without pain and surrounded by souls she loved the most.

I remember that Granmom hand wrote very long letters full of news of my cousins. I remember feeling inadequate that I had such nothingness to report: good grades, no boyfriends. I am 20 years older than she was when she married. But I'd like to think she would approve, because she always seemed to value her family members' happiness. And I am happy.

Trudy Remington Roberts

My father's sister Trudy was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1996. She went into remission shortly after she cleared her five-year cancer free checkup. None of us need a month of pink to remember or to honor her. Her death was one of those that can only be explained by "God needed another angel." Her funeral was the saddest one I have attended, because we all felt such heaviness and darkness and frustration. She was in her early 50s. Losing her wasn't, and isn't, fair. Her daughters were about to marry. Her son was on a great scholarship to college. It wasn't her turn. We deserved to love her longer. We all felt we had earned her presence.

Alas. God needed another angel. And, boy, did He get the best one ever.

Trudy had one of the most infectious laughs I've ever been around. It didn't matter if it was a "tee hee hee" or a belly laugh that made you "tee hee hee" your pants. She laughed hard and unapologetically, and I'd like to think I learned this from her.

Trudy was one of those people who embodied Jesus: grace, humility, kindness. She wanted the best for her children but didn't interfere when they veered off the course she thought was best for them. She was full of positive energy before anyone talked about another's aura. Her life was very challenging and full of hurt, but she radiated goodness. She was content, and she loved broadly.

The light within me is brighter because of the light that was within her. And so is everyone's who knew her.

*

May their souls rest in peace.
May our souls find peace in their absence.
May we be ever mindful of the beauty they brought to our lives
and may that beauty live on through us.
On this All Souls', All Saints' Day...
Amen.

the greatest generation

I am in Bradenton, Florida, where my parents grew up and where my grandparents still live in the home they purchased in 1963. My grandmother turns 91 in December, and my grandfather turns 93 in March. They are still super sharp; the only way you can tell they are as old as they are is because you are hoarse after a conversation with them and because they are not particularly mobile. Not using hearing aids or walkers is a point of pride for them.

My grandmother has never been like other grandmothers. She's more like a Golden Girl. She is the happiest person I know. (This offsets my grandfather's predilection towards pessimism/grumpiness. The two of them together are hilarious.) She's the closest thing I have to a kindred spirit; I am most similar, or hope I am most similar, to her than to any other person in the world. She sees things romantically, with kindness, with hope. Her perspective is a bit more naïve than mine, but I do really believe that she has always strived to love her neighbors. She is one of those people who has never met a stranger; I know that I get my willingness/need to talk to people at the grocery store, on airplanes, in restaurants, anywhere from her. I also love that she treats all people, regardless of age or "class" or position (bellhop to billionaire) with the same level of respect. Everyone feels like s/he is the most
loved/important person in the world around my grandmother. It's just who she is.

She took writing classes when I was younger. She wrote stories, none of which I've ever read. She always encouraged my poetry. After I finished college, I perceived that she was incredibly sad that I didn't keep writing; at some point, my poetry would have been more difficult to share with her, because I stopped writing about happy things. It's much easier to write about pain: people will belittle your happiness, think you don't deserve it, begrudge you. Except for my grandmother. She thinks I deserve happiness even on my worst days.

Maybe because, even on her worst days, she finds happiness.

My grandparents are the only people from whom I've experienced unconditional love. They used to go to church every Sunday (mobility limitations), and I think they believe in the same kind of God that I do. One of their favorite sermons was one from a priest long gone onto larger parishes than Bradenton, but it was about how small we think God is. "Your God is too small. God is much bigger than you think."

My God is as big as I feel their love has been. I see love in them.

My grandmother and I spoke most regularly when my parents weren't speaking to me, Round 1. When I had pneumonia in 2009 (Round 2), Grandmother made me call every day with a report. She now tells me when I call, less frequently than I wish I did, that she gets homesick for my voice. I think it's the most bittersweet thing anyone has ever told me.

We finally convinced her to get hearing aids (she owns them, she just doesn’t wear them) when she could no longer hear me say “I love you” on the phone. I was inconsolable the first time it happened.

*

One of my favorite stories about them is from right after they got married. Grandaddy was working at his father's funeral home, and Grandmother was taking the bus to Sarasota (a 30ish minute commute at the time) to a nursing job there. She hated it: the commute, the coworkers, the being away from my grandfather. One night at dinner, she was particularly cranky, and Grandaddy said, "well, Eileen, I'm making $45 a week. Why don't you just quit?" She said, "I'm so glad you think so. I quit today.”

They lived above the funeral home until my mother was 8, when they bought the house they live in now: an acre on the Manatee River. They've since had to divide the land, because states that don’t have income taxes tend to have pretty stiff property taxes.

Their yard is amazing: trees to climb, trees to collect fruit from, trees that house birds and squirrels and flowers. They have a patio always set up for entertaining. It is the most lush place, an oasis for anyone's soul.

And it's right on the river, on a pier I have fished off of with my brother and father, watched one of two moonrises in my whole life, shared cuddles on with every extraordinary love I’ve had. That pier is a home/refuge I cannot explain. It’s self soothing to think about how quiet it is out there, watching stars and listening to fish jump and being a part of the earth's breath upon the shore.

I sleep in my mother's childhood room/bed when I'm here. It gives me space to dream; gives my soul space to stretch out; gives my heart room to try to love my mother better, to understand where she came from.

*

After a visit to Bradenton in late 2011, I no longer wished to withhold my poetry from my grandmother, so I started this blog in 2012. I print out posts and mail them to her or bring them with me when I visit, since she never learned to use a computer. Never writing about anything I don’t want my grandmother to read is a fantastic gauge, and I often think about what part of my life I can share with her when I choose topics to write about or which poems to publish, since she won’t wear her damn hearing aids and therefore misses a lot of what I try to tell her on the phone.

I consider karma every time I offer to help an elderly person with bags or as they cross the street. I considered karma when I chose a Junior League assignment in my second year that required me to spend one day a month volunteering in an assisted living facility. I consider karma as I write this, wondering what I can do to be loved as dearly as I love them.

Tonight, I sat at a table I have eaten at with five generations, a table where my parents told my grandparents they were pregnant with me, a table that has hosted hundreds of celebrations… the biggest one of all, of course, being my grandparents’ testament to how to live your life, how to love, and why to laugh.

vastness

I believe in a really big, loving, forgiving God.

I am one of the volunteers for an organization called World in Prayer. Each week, a member of the international team writes prayers for the whole world, highlighting current events. In my first year, I (randomly and way ahead of time) was assigned the weeks of the Newtown massacre and the Boston Marathon bombing. I worried I was bad luck for the world, but it taught me important lessons in stillness during chaos.

Last week was my turn to write, and below is what was read as the prayers of the people in churches of many denominations across the globe.

*

Gracious and Good God, we come towards All Saints’ Day with darkness in our world and with hope for your light.

We pray for the saints who have entered your kingdom who healed individuals and neighborhoods. We pray for those angels among us: those who feed the hungry, comfort the aggrieved, and love their neighbors. We pray for the dying, the sick, and the hopeless, especially those who are alone in their pain and despair.

We pray for the saints who have entered your kingdom who improved the lives of children and families. We pray for families across the world who mourn the loss of children due to disease, malnutrition, and displacement. We pray for the families in China, where the one-child policy has ended. We pray for foster children and for their families. We pray for those who are unable to conceive.

We pray for the saints who have entered your kingdom who were travelers, who proclaimed your goodness, who founded communities, who were martyrs, and who brought peace into the world. We pray for South Sudan, where new reports of crimes against humanity are emerging. At least seven ceasefires have been agreed to and broken since conflict started in December 2013, and more than two million people have become refugees.

We pray for the saints who have entered your kingdom who were people of the cloth and people for the people. We pray for Nepal, which elected its first female president.

We pray for the saints who have entered your kingdom who were artists: musicians, poets, gardeners, teachers. We pray for the victims of school violence in Aberdeen, Scotland and in Columbia, South Carolina, USA. Help our schools to be safe havens for children, staff, and families. Help our cultures of violence to become cultures of love.

Since last All Saints’ Day, many of us have mourned the loss of someone who was a saint in our lives or in the lives of our loved ones. May we feel their heavenly presence more than their earthly absence. May they be missionaries of your love and protection.

We have darkness in our world and hope for your light. Amen.

election

Today at lunch, I attended a lecture at the Church of the Immaculate Conception, a beautiful cathedral in downtown New Orleans. I discovered "First Tuesdays" a couple of years ago; on the first Tuesday of the month, the church hosts "Spirituality in the City," which is a lecture given by different religious leaders and local lay celebrities (Leah Chase was my favorite). The lecture is accompanied by a simple, free meal. Usually, I attend noon Mass beforehand, even though I am not Catholic, because the inside of the church feels holy in ways I rarely sense.

Today's lecture was given by David Crosby, a Baptist pastor whose monologue centered on the Good Samaritan, easily my favorite story in the Bible. (When it was the Gospel reading in church in the summer of 2008, I cut it out of the bulletin and taped it on my bathroom mirror so that I would be reminded, daily, to show others mercy.)

Jesus finishes his parable by telling his disciples to "go and do likewise." It's my favorite message, partly because it's such an easy one to understand.... and partly because it's so applicable to all of humanity, regardless of religion: love the people around you, even if they are strangers or hurting or want to hurt you.

Pastor Crosby said, "Strangers are always at risk in a human community."

It's natural to not trust new people. It's natural to flock with birds of your same feather. I think it's become natural for us to shame, to "other," to judge... although "they" were certainly around in Christ's time.

Another message today was "the love of neighbor is the foundation to all of Christ's others teachings." I couldn't agree more.

It is difficult to love strangers, but it's more difficult for me not to. I have been known to buy the groceries of the person in front of or behind me in line. I sometimes buy a bottle of water or a jar of peanut butter for someone who asks for my spare change. I smile at people disabled in body and/or mind, knowing that, sometimes, all people need to feel validated is to feel noticed.

The pastor admitted that it is very difficult to love our neighbors: "loving a stranger takes our blinders off." It's true that we all create cultural structures that give us security and comfort, mostly so we know who "we" is and who "they" is.

Rarely are we Americans as divided as a people as we are on Election Day. It's one of the perils of a two-party system. No other day do we shame or "other" or blame or disrespect our neighbors so much. It is rarely a day of love or unity... because it is impossible for one person to represent all of the views of the people who elected him/her. And with so many issues that people see as having only two sides ("we" are for something, and "they" are against it), it makes loving one's neighbor awfully hard.

Especially because, in America, voting and political ideology comes down to a lot of people's interpretation of certain pieces of the Bible... hardly of any of which I would argue is "love your neighbor." That's a pretty difficult thing to interpret incorrectly.

So let's try. Let's show each other, and ourselves, mercy as the results roll in and we, "they," and the pundits forecast what the next two, four, six years mean for us and for our neighbors, despite whether they vote red, blue, purple, or green.

Let's elect to love.

prayers of the people: December 9

Heavenly Father, 

we come to you as your people

your lacking

but faithful 

people

We ask that you come to us

that we may share in Mary's joy 

as people victorious

as people who clearly see who we have been

and what you have asked of us 

as people who are stretched and changed

as people who know 

that peace is always born of travail.

Together, we ask you to 

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come to your world as King of the nations.

Come to North Korea, where the government prepare for a long-range missile test.

Come to Syria, where the civil war continues.

Come to Israel and Palestine, where barely established peace agreements are threatened.

Come to Egypt, where people cry for a new constitution and for equality.

Come to the Northeastern United States, where Hurricane Sandy recovery efforts continue.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come to the suffering as Saviour.

We pray that the sick will be restored

the fallen will be raised

the heartbroken, the survivors, the orphans, and the widows will be consoled.

We pray for the dearly departed,

especially _______

and those we name at this time.

May they share in your victory over evil and death.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come to us as guardian of our souls.

Break into our lives,

where we struggle with direction:

we struggle to believe that here, now, is where we are meant to be.

Set us free to love and serve,

and may the light of God's coming dawn shine

on those who only feel darkness 

on those who live within the shadow of death

and on those who see the future through fog, as they try to discern next steps.

And allow us all to shine

so that you may find in us the completion of your redeeming work.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come to us as a listener

As we name at this time

all we have to be thankful for

all of our blessings

and all of our gifts.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come to us as shepherd.

As we gather gifts and decorations and lists

gather travel plans

gather comfort and kindness

Remind us to slow down

to find awe 

to wonder

to be.

Come, Lord Jesus.

irene --> isaac

Last year at almost exactly this same time, Hurricane Irene ravaged the Northeast.

The prayers of the people at church that Sunday were from World in Prayer, which disappointingly completely forgot to mention the Gulf Coast this week.

They are applicable to everything I feel right now.

*

For warning systems that work,

for people who heed the warnings,

for safe travels away from danger,

for all who flee,

and all who help.

For shelter for the displaced,

for all who keep order,

for food and medicines and diapers delivered.

For buildings that withstand the onslaught,

for resources to rebuild, restore,

for helicopters that reach where roads and bridges no longer go,

for people who lift fallen trees

and crumpled vehicles and torn up stones.

For those who braid together severed power lines,

and start running water trickling through pipes again.

For those, days later, still without electric power,

and those, days later, who are still shaken by finding they are powerless

against such forces.

For learning to let go of things we thought we needed,

and finding things we thought we'd lost.

For finding our inner selves intact

and healing

in the face of change and loss.

For new friends made, and communities strengthened,

and unexpected angels in unexpected places,

For heroes, and cowards,

the wise and the foolish,

children and grownups.

For discovering that the dead are still alive in our memories,

and life still treasured in our hearts.

For the assurance that You, O God, were there at our beginning,

are with us in all our journeys,

and will be with us at our arrivals...

For this and more, and more, and more,

We give you thanks, O God.

prayers of the people: August 26

Heavenly Father, you have assured us that you are to whom we should go with our questions, petitions, and thanksgivings. We ask that you listen to these prayers of your people: our questions, petitions, and thanksgivings.

Please respond to each verse with "Lord, hear our prayer."

We ask you to protect all people in the path of Tropical Storm Isaac. We ask that neighbors are able to help each other, especially the elderly or infirm, as we prepare for bad weather. We ask for homes to remain intact, for rain and wind and flood to be minimal, for all our loved ones and strangers to find shelter. We ask that help, food, and clean water is able to reach any who need it in a timely manner.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Conversely, we ask for rain to reach the middle of our country. We hope that our nation's cattle and crops may be sustained and that one day no one is hungry.
Lord, hear our prayer.

We seek your guidance at the beginning of this school year. Grant relief to those parents who suddenly realize a more empty nest. May all parents and families believe that their students are increasing their knowledge and improving their communities. May all visitors to this church know that this congregation is committed to our young people.
Lord, hear our prayer.

We ask your blessings upon all persons in a state of transition:
those leaving home for the first time
those moving into a dormitory for the last time
those who are between jobs
those who are recovering from an illness or from surgery
those who are welcoming home a newborn
those who are unable to conceive
those returning from war
those who are divorcing
those who mourn
Lord, hear our prayer.

Let us pray for our own needs and for those of others.

Turning to page 837 in the Book of Common Prayer, let us thank God for our blessings in this life.

prayers of the people: August 12

My priest asked me to write the prayers of the people for tomorrow's service. Our readings have been full of stories of food recently, so that's how I came to this theme.

*

When we say the Lord's prayer, we petition our heavenly Father for three things: to feed us, to forgive us, and to lead us.

Our prayers of His people this week will focus on these three petitions.

*

We will conclude the following prayers as a congregation, saying, "Feed us, O Lord."

We ask that you nourish our bodies: grant all people access to clean water, to fresh produce, to markets like the Carrollton pantry that replenish our communities and stabilize our diets.
Feed us, O Lord.

We ask that you nourish our minds: provide literacy for all ages, bless our teachers, broaden our perspectives to include our enemies'.
Feed us, O Lord.

We ask that you nourish our spirits: lighten our loads so that we may enlighten others', give us time to relax and to embrace wellness, grant us the inner peace that comes from knowing all can be resolved or redeemed.
Feed us, O Lord.

We ask that you grant us solace for all we grieve, whether dreams deferred or people who taught us what love should be.
Feed us, O Lord.

Let us pray aloud or silently for our own and others' needs for daily bread.

*

We will conclude the following prayers as a congregation, saying, "Forgive us, O Lord."

We ask that you forgive our insistence on worrying, knowing that our energy could be better spent finding favor in your sight, loving our neighbors, helping the weary among us to rest, shielding the joyous, laughing among the living.
Forgive us, O Lord.

We ask that you forgive us for those things done: lies and betrayals, harm to those we may or may not profess to love, failure.
Forgive us, O Lord.

We ask that you forgive us for those things undone: the unkept promises, unreturned communications, ungiven time or faith or kindness.
Forgive us, O Lord.

Let us pray aloud or silently for our own and others' trespasses.

*

We will conclude the following prayers as a congregation, saying, "Lead us, O Lord."

We ask that our paths may be wide enough for all people to walk with us. Please help us to be your servants to those strangers who live next door, those infirm in body or spirit, those who are addicted, those who are outcast. Remind us they are your friends, made in your image.
Lead us, O Lord.

We ask that you give us the strength to go and do likewise, showing mercy and grace in our anger or annoyance or apathy.
Lead us, O Lord.

We ask that you send us into the world in peace and grant us strength and courage to love.
Lead us, O Lord.

Let us pray aloud or silently for our own and others' deliverance.

sunrise

Easter service at the church I grew up in is, I'm sure, a majestic affair. However, we've attended the sunrise service for as long as I can remember.

The steeple at St. James church is square, and sunrise service is held atop it. Narrow, steep stairs built possibly two centuries ago lead the way, along with a space one must crawl through (have you crawled recently? it's inelegant)... winding up through stained glass, past the bell tower, onto the very top of the steeple: the highest up I've ever been in my hometown.

You wear jeans, and usually sweatshirts, because somehow it's always a cold Easter morning. I didn't even bother with makeup or contact lenses today, which is the opposite of the nearly two-hour long beautification process I undertook at Christmas.

Facing east, then south (toward the Presbyterian church); then west (to the river, which this morning still had a bright moon over it); then north (toward City Hall); then east again for the final song, which always is sung just as the sun crests over the horizon. I don't know how they always get the timing perfectly. This morning, the keyboard wasn't working, so we sang four hymns a cappella. Blessedly, the choir master was in attendance.

*

the cadences of my prayers were formed at this church

where I pause, mid-sentence, even if there's not a comma

or when I skip over commas

as well as the dialect of my prayers

which often, out of nowhere, have an eastern Carolina accent

even when I am in New Orleans

especially so

a boy I went to kindergarten through 11th grade

wasn't there

but his sister, who is my brother's age, was

and his mother and father

on the drive back to the house

after our brief 25-minute service

my mother mentioned that his mother had cancer

or has cancer

my brother and I asked after the correct verb tense

but my mother didn't know.

I still feel too young for our parents to be dying.

I think a lot of it is that I still have three of four grandparents

and my one deceased grandfather

did not pass until my senior year of college

this church taught me how to worship

I have since learned how to pray

and will keep her in my thoughts

and hope she finds a past verb tense

while living

maundy

Today, Maundy Thursday, is one of my favorite days of the religious calendar. Jesus is/becomes so human in his final hours, and, unlike the making of miracles or the damn near illogical parables, I can empathize with him. He is sad, scared, sure.

My grandmother and I went to Village Chapel of Bald Head Island for their service today, which was tenebrae.

We started with:

Celebrant: God is light, in whom there is no darkness at all.

People: Jesus Christ is the light of the world.

Celebrant: And this is the judgment that the light has come into the world.

People: And we loved darkness rather than light.

Then, John's account of The Passion was read, broken into 16 sections, extinguishing candles after each.

At the end of the service, we sat in darkness. (Well, we sat in the cloudiness of an impending thunderstorm, overlooking a marsh untouched by man.)

And I kept reading "And we loved darkness rather than light."

How many times in our lives do we choose darkness, whatever our darkness is, instead of our light? Do we love it? Crave it? Not know how to give it up, like our other Lenten sacrifice(s)?

And if we could learn to love light, how much better would we be, as individuals and as a group?

*

"Maundy" comes from the Latin "mundatum," which means "command." Jesus commands his disciples to love one another after he washes their feet. It is his final request of them.

I give you a new commandment: Love one another as I have loved you. By this shall the world know that you are my disciples: That you have love for one another.

Let us love light. Let us recognize each other's light. Let us love each other.