Project POTUS

A once in a lifetime opportunity.

It's a crazy day today.  But I'm excited to join the national conversation about economic opportunity for women with BlogHer and the White House on behalf of the amazing agency where I serve, Crisis Assistance Ministry.  

Even more exciting?  A fabulous and inspiring mom I have met through my work will actually meet the President and hopefully get to talk about childcare needs for working moms.  That's what it is all about, friends: empowering each other to speak up and speak out for the needs of our entire community.  More later.

Let there be LOVE

I can see them now, alternately laughing and melancholy, lit with the glow of youth and the burden of judgment real or imagined.

"Did you know we used to be in love?" they asked with a knowing look in their eyes.  Well, I didn't know for sure I said, but I figured it was something like that.
"And what do you think about that?" asked my friend.
I don't remember what I said exactly, but I imagine it was something fairly neutral and perhaps even dismissive.  For me, it was a casual and inconsequential conversation. Looking back, it probably didn't feel that way to them.

The older, lithe blonde had long ago confided, after imbibing a great deal of tequila, that she had expected to find a formerly girls' college to be filled with lesbians.  I didn't realize the meaning of her confidence then, but it had slowly come into focus as we moved through our collegiate years on a campus that was too small for such secrets to keep.

Now, as we shared a room on our journey across Alpine Europe, they were opening a tiny window into their dying relationship. I wish I had said more.  I wish I had known how to convey acceptance and love for each of them -- individually and together.  But that afternoon, the subject moved on to tomorrow's itinerary, to which of our traveling band had consumed a little too much alcohol the night before, and to other minutia of daily life on a study tour in a far away land.

That was January. By May "B" was dead.  Dead by her own hand -- tormented by the pain of a lost love and the agony of the world's judgment of that love.
I still remember the day after. I went quietly into the chapel (a place I was not often found in) seeking solace and a place to think.  I opened the Book and my eyes fell almost immediately on that verse -- familiar to the churched -- but nearly new to me.  "And now these three remain, faith, hope, and love, and the greatest of these is love."
They are words that always bring me back to that Spring and the morass of emotions swirling around us.  I can hear the strains of "Tears in Heaven" echoing through the chapel, see "E" standing at the front reading her own verse, and picture the rainy graveside scene where friends held her up as she wept. It was all so intense and surreal for a bunch of college kids who had yet to enter the so-called "real world."

Within the next year, "E" too took her own life.

Love.  It is powerful and painful.  For my two friends, it was also dangerous. It carried with it the pain of ostracism, the judgment of family, and the loneliness of being "other."

As my church discussed the question of marriage equality this month, all of this came back to me in a rush of memory.  Two sparkling young women, not much older that we were on that January day, shared their journey toward marriage.  As they talked about the power of that institution in their lives, I couldn't help but wonder what my two friends might be like now.  What if they had been embraced and supported by their families, their friends, and the community around them?  What if they had been able to stand before their friends and family and make a public commitment of their love without risking scorn and even violence?  What could their lives have become and what gifts could they have shared with us all in the 20+ years since they left this earth?

I don't know the answer, of course.  But I know this: I do not want another person to perish for lack of love.  I do not want another human being to feel so foreign, so unwanted, so condemned that they no longer feel worthy of life.  The only thing I know to do is to keep on shouting from the pews, from the streets, from the workplace, and from the mountaintops:  Love wins.  Love wins.  Love wins.

For "B" and "E", and all the others lost to the world -- let there be LOVE.

Happy Birthday Mom.

"Thought of you with love today, but that is nothing new. I thought about you yesterday, and days before that too. I think of you in silence, I often speak your name. All I have are memories and a picture in a frame. Your memory is a keepsake, with which I'll never part. God has you in his keeping, I have you in my heart."

Someone's FB status today used these words. They exhorted you to repost if you missed a loved one. I'm not big on the trendy, cause reposting, but this one spoke to me.
Mom would have celebrated another birthday this past Saturday and it made everything a little bit more melancholy in my world. Every time I look into the face of little E I wonder what things would be like had Mom lived to be her Grandma.

On reclaiming my gifts

"I'm just really good at writing, It's what I do," she said.
And it was all at once eye-opening.  So am I, I thought.  And I'm going to do it.  I'm going to do it because I miss it and because I must and because I should and because -- I'm just good at it.  Period.

On Mothers Near and Far

I have been blessed with many "Moms" in my life.
It's been five years since I said goodbye to my lifelong mother-- who gave me life, nurtured my talents, and shared my dreams. I still miss her almost every day.  There are so many of my own mothering milestones left unshared, so many things I long to ask her, to tell her, to hear her tell me once more.

When she left, I was grateful for the gift of a kind and patient mother-in-law who offered to be my "Mommy on Earth" for a while.  Her kind ways and thoughtful ear have been a blessing as I make my way through the murky waters of motherhood.  She is so like my mother in many ways that our relationship gives me comfort.  I know I could not manage the demands of caring for Ellen and Kevin and myself and everything else without her.

Still, there is another Mother I am thinking of this week. My mom called her friend and confidante.  They shared many mothering milestones together as their children grew.  We children shared our mothers too.  Their family grieved my own mother's loss almost as dearly as our family did.  Though our adult lives have been very different, we will always share some precious childhood memories and the clear, sure knowledge that we were (and are) loved by our mothers and each others' for our whole lives. 

Somehow, knowing she was still around -- making chocolate chip cookies, doing needlework, and putting food coloring in her mashed potatoes -- made the absence of my Mom easier to bear.  I'm devastated to learn that Cancer has already begun to ravage her body, to consume the wry twinkle in her eye, and to wrestle her life from this Earth and from her children and grandchildren's world.  I don't wish that pain on anyone.   I didn't realize how painful it would be for me too.

If you are reading this, stop and think about the mothers you have had in your own life -- not just the one who kissed your boo-boos, packed your lunch, or signed your homework -- but the other women in your life who have offered guidance and comfort, cheered your accomplishments, and paved the way for your daily successes.  Tell them thank you.  As Elizabeth Edwards so aptly wrote on her way "up yonder" -- "The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered . . ."  Don't Wait.

I Thank God For You

Long ago in a church far away (metaphorically), I heard a sermon with this title.  The message that day was that a "church" was bigger than any single building, individual, or leadership structure -- that the community built within those walls was the real church and for that, he was thankful. I have thought of that day and that sermon many times since we came to Caldwell. I have even thought of putting pen to paper and recording the amazing truth of that message, but I never followed through with that notion.
Today, I don't know what else to do but give thanks for each and everyone of our extended community.  Whether you came to know us through Caldwell (or that "long ago" church), through Plaza, through school or the Brewmasters, or some other shared history, each of you has been amazingly generous with your time, talents and treasure.  Even before this latest mishap, so many of you embraced our evolving needs -- for rides for Kevin, for hugs for Ellen, and for neverending support for the interesting challenges we've navigated.  Through infertility, adoption, MS, surgeries, and just.plain.life, your love and kindness has always reflected the love of our Creator in our daily lives.
This month, as I receive the very clear message to "slow down" and even "sit still,"  I have also found myself literally speechless.  People I only know in passing are going out of their way to pick Kevin up and get him where he needs to go.  Someone has been here almost every day making sure the laundry is done, Ellen is happy, and we all are well-cared for.  People call and ask for more days to bring food, offer help I didn't even know to put on "the list," and continue to inspire me in ways big and small.
There are simply not enough ways to say thank you for the loving community you create for our family.  When this little malady recedes, I only hope I'll find my way through the daily gauntlet to be of similar support to each of you at some point in the future.

Yes We Did

I am still not sure I believe the beauty of what I'm witnessing tonight. Hope really has overcome fear. Opportunity really can be extended to every one of us. My children really can aspire to the tip of the mountaintop. And, I'm imagining a little round woman running up and hugging "Toot" and jumping up and down in mutual celebration. For both their grandchildren.