When I was 7, I found out that my dad was pretty sick, sick enough to be in the hospital for a long time. At 7, I didn't understand that he wouldn't eventually come home. He did come home, but with Hospice and died 4 months after I turned 8. I wasn't allowed in the hospital room because hospital rules were different in the late 80s and many people thought kids should stay in the waiting room. As soon as he died, we were inundated with people and food. As an only child, I watched as my mom navigated something no book or advice can prepare you for in life. People told my mom and me that things would get better and time heals all wounds. I remember understanding at 8 that what these people were saying was stupid and couldn't be true even for a soon-to-be 3rd grader.
I started 3rd grade as the kid whose dad died over the summer and had classmates engage me at arms length afraid of what to say. In fact, their hyper-sensitivity to not making any comments about death, dads, or anything sad was a relief for me. It was the adults who were the problem. They meant well, but the comments I received from some people before, during, and after the funeral were dismissive not only of the possibility that an 8 year old can and should grieve, but didn't consider that grief does not go away and shouldn't be considered a hump to get over so that your life will go back to normal. I eventually learned to steer clear of any talk about my dad with people I barely knew in hopes of avoiding these trite comments and developed a thick skin that allowed me to pretend to listen when people did try to make themselves feel better by telling me it was all going to be okay. Inside, I wanted to yell and scream and say, "how do you know? has your dad died so you know how it feels?" Fortunately, I did have people close to me who showed their support with their presence, accompanied by a hug and "I love you" or "I'm here for you." They knew better. My close friends talked to me and invited me over to their house to play just like before so I didn't have to feel different like I often did at school. As I got older, I had fewer and fewer memories of my dad, but the sadness and grief of missing him did not go away. I still hate going to funerals because it brings up a lot of other emotions for me and though I have lived 22 years of my life without my dad, I still have the urge to yell and scream when I hear someone say time heals all wounds or you will eventually move on even if it's not directed at me. The sympathy card industry is the worst. My mom and I have had many conversations about how we should start a sympathy card company that replaces the ridiculous beach/water/birds flying scene accompanied by insert-your-own disingenuous, theologically messed up statement. Instead our cards would say things like "This sucks. I'm sorry. I can bring alcohol anytime. I'm here for you but I promise not to say anything. I promise to punch anyone who says anything dismissive of your grief and pain. I love you and this blows" and be accompanied by pictures completely unrelated such as puppies and baby sloths and seals. Unless the card is for someone who lost their beloved pet and then you get a card with a hot air balloon or flowers. To this day, I rarely ever buy a sympathy card because I hate them so much and always get upset because I can't stop myself from reading them all just to see how horrible they are. I usually just pick a blank card with a pretty scene on the outside and write my own message.
Though I really hate sympathy cards and the companies who make them, what they put on their cards is only a symptom of a larger problem in our society. Our culture does not allow people to grieve properly and as long as necessary, which is forever. We've moved away from accepting that we don't have the answers about loss and that grief is not something you can put in a box with easily defined edges to giving what we think are answers and shoving grief in a box whose edges tell people how they should be grieving with a clearly delineated timeline and when they're not doing it right. Humans have an innate need to understand and to define, but loss doesn't work like this and when faced with one's own loss or a close friend's loss, we don't know what to do, so we do what we've learned from society around us and tell ourselves and those friends that it will get better and it eventually won't hurt anymore even though deep down there is no way we truly believe that. But it's what we've been taught and there are sadly few examples of how to do this differently, to be genuine about our loss and pain. It has to start somewhere though.
Recently, my husband, Billy, had to do a lot of funerals at our church. One of those funerals was for a 7 year old boy who died of no apparent reason. When an older person who has lived a full life or a person who has struggled with a long illness dies, people are often able to justify that these deaths were for the best. When a child dies, it's something totally different and completely raw. Billy isn't usually asked questions about death and how God could allow this, but with the death of this child, people asked the questions that they have probably lived with their whole lives. How could God allow this to happen? Why? There are religious leaders in our culture who think that telling parents that their child has gone to be an angel with God, that this was part of God's plan, and we can't question it is theologically sound and helpful. This couldn't be further from the truth. This kind of hurtful theology mirrors our society's need to understand and to make everything okay. I am proud to say that Billy took the time with this child's family to address their questions and shared that he truly did not know why this had happened, but that he was certain that God had not been responsible for their child's death. God did not plan their child's death, just like God did not plan the illness that killed my dad or the Alzheimer's that took my grandmother 5 years ago. How could people believe in and worship a god that did do this? Instead, Billy told the parents that God was with them in their grief and grieved with them, that God's role is the comforter, not the planner of loss. We can't understand the mystery that is God and when we attempt to put God in a box just like the box we have put grief in, we minimize God and minimize the people we love who we've lost. For thousands of years, religious people have asked questions about theodicy, a fancy word for the attempt to understand why bad things happen and the role God has within a world where terrible things happen every day. Thousands of years later, we still don't have an answer because there is none. For once, we humans should realize that not having the answer is okay and stop providing trite, dismissive, and disrespectful comments to people who are grieving. Instead just realize that there is nothing you can say that will make it better, so just keep your mouth shut and offer to bring food and take them to a funny movie. No offense to Elizabeth KΓΌbler-Ross, but your 5 stages of grief can suck it.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
living in someone else's house
I live in a parsonage. Sometimes I like to call it the vicarage because it sounds fancy and English. Billy and I don't pay rent. If anything goes wrong, we call the church council, which is awesome since being a minister isn't exactly a lucrative career. Except it's not our house. Many people at our church have told me about how the church bought the parsonage (which I should mention is not right by the church, but in the same town), the time that someone stole the refrigerator and how great the previous minister's wife was at gardening. I can still see the remains of that awesome gardening in our backyard where all kinds of things have bloomed this spring and summer thanks to no help from me. I can't even tell you what the plants and flowers are and I've already killed 2 plants that church members gave me. My single planting contribution last year was planting marigolds around the house as a natural bug deterrent. At the beginning of July, my mom helped me take it up a notch with the gardening. By taking it up a notch, I mean 5 porch pots plus my marigolds and the miracle flowers that bloom despite no attention from me. This is the end of week 2 and they are still alive. In case there are parishioners who do "drive bys" of our house, maybe they'll be convinced that I have a green thumb, but they better come this week. I can't make any promises for next week.
As much as I love not paying a mortgage or rent, it's weird that I live in someone else's house and that someone else (our church) is financially responsible for the upkeep or repairs. Especially when you have an 1 year old dog. Jolene has a boyfriend, Champ. Champ lives across the street and they met one fateful night this spring when Champ saw Jolene across the street peeing and ran to her. They have been inseparable ever since. Champ whines for her from his window and has been known to get loose from his backyard and run to our house and sit on our porch and howl for her. Jolene has also taken advantage of the 2 seconds when I take her off her lead in the backyard to run to Champ. I have never seen two dogs interact the way they do; it's adorable. What isn't adorable is that Champ and Jolene teach each other how to do bad things. Jolene taught Champ how to dig a hole underneath a bush in his backyard so that they can both sit together in the hole and rest in the shade. Champ taught Jolene how to tear up the carpet in our basement. I used to be able to leave them alone in our basement, which is long, unfurnished and perfect for playing, until I found what Jolene and Champ did to our carpet. The church council will find out eventually unless we get permission to pull up the carpet. For now, I have an old coffee table over the problem area. If we get in trouble though, I'm totally blaming Champ. My mom always said that boys were trouble.
P.S. You can see pictures of Jolene and Champ's love affair on my Facebook. He's the dashing reddish-haired dog in my recent video.
As much as I love not paying a mortgage or rent, it's weird that I live in someone else's house and that someone else (our church) is financially responsible for the upkeep or repairs. Especially when you have an 1 year old dog. Jolene has a boyfriend, Champ. Champ lives across the street and they met one fateful night this spring when Champ saw Jolene across the street peeing and ran to her. They have been inseparable ever since. Champ whines for her from his window and has been known to get loose from his backyard and run to our house and sit on our porch and howl for her. Jolene has also taken advantage of the 2 seconds when I take her off her lead in the backyard to run to Champ. I have never seen two dogs interact the way they do; it's adorable. What isn't adorable is that Champ and Jolene teach each other how to do bad things. Jolene taught Champ how to dig a hole underneath a bush in his backyard so that they can both sit together in the hole and rest in the shade. Champ taught Jolene how to tear up the carpet in our basement. I used to be able to leave them alone in our basement, which is long, unfurnished and perfect for playing, until I found what Jolene and Champ did to our carpet. The church council will find out eventually unless we get permission to pull up the carpet. For now, I have an old coffee table over the problem area. If we get in trouble though, I'm totally blaming Champ. My mom always said that boys were trouble.
P.S. You can see pictures of Jolene and Champ's love affair on my Facebook. He's the dashing reddish-haired dog in my recent video.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
An Open Letter to the People of NW Indiana
Dear Neighbors,
As a recent Southern transplant to your fine region, I really enjoy your proximity to Chicago and Lake Michigan, the actual existence of wind particularly in the summer, and regional cuisine courtesy of your Eastern European ancestry. While I know in my heart, I can never embrace deep dish pizza (thin crust all the way) or your love of TGI Fridays, Chili's, and Applebee's I have been welcomed here and it's been great. You are the reason we found Jolene, the best dog ever, and I am forever grateful. However, I do have a few questions and concerns.
1. What is the deal with the fireworks? You all are obsessed and it's really freaking me out. To be clear, I am not easily scared (the exception being motor vehicles, which is a separate issue) and I have set off fireworks myself so I did know they are a common part of Fourth of July celebrations. But open-year-round fireworks stores everywhere? I'm not talking one or two stands, but 20-30 stores in a 10 mile radius of our house. Random summer nights filled with constant popping sounds? I know that even in the midst of a recession and a global economic crisis it's important to find joy and have fun when everything around you seems depressing, but spending all your money on fireworks? Really? Does it not seem like you're just throwing money in the trash? Throughout the summer and especially the week leading up to the Fourth, there was a constant evening barrage of fireworks and then the actual Fourth of July arrived. Holy Freaking Crap. Our street looked like a war zone. Billy, Jolene, and I stayed inside most of the day. A firecracker shot towards our house right as Jolene was trying to use the bathroom in the front yard and we both screamed. The next morning the streets, sidewalks, and yards were full of burnt fireworks and leftover packaging. We were one of the only houses whose trash cans were not full of fireworks on trash day. Don't get me wrong, I'm from the South. We know how to party, but fireworks? I don't get it.
2. How could you let a Krispy Kreme go out of business? When we moved to your region, we drove past at least 5 Dunkin Donuts and then we saw an empty, closed down Krispy Kreme. What the hell? Did you even try and embrace them? Didn't you see the sign when it was lit up alerting you to hot, fresh donuts? A year later, the building still sits there and the hot donuts sign mocks me as I turn to head across the street to my gym. Recently, the vacant Krispy Kreme became the 1,000th fireworks store in Northwest Indiana. Really, people?
It's fine if you guys enjoy blowing things up, but choosing fireworks over donuts? Where are your priorities?
Sincerely,
Confused and A Little Disappointed
As a recent Southern transplant to your fine region, I really enjoy your proximity to Chicago and Lake Michigan, the actual existence of wind particularly in the summer, and regional cuisine courtesy of your Eastern European ancestry. While I know in my heart, I can never embrace deep dish pizza (thin crust all the way) or your love of TGI Fridays, Chili's, and Applebee's I have been welcomed here and it's been great. You are the reason we found Jolene, the best dog ever, and I am forever grateful. However, I do have a few questions and concerns.
1. What is the deal with the fireworks? You all are obsessed and it's really freaking me out. To be clear, I am not easily scared (the exception being motor vehicles, which is a separate issue) and I have set off fireworks myself so I did know they are a common part of Fourth of July celebrations. But open-year-round fireworks stores everywhere? I'm not talking one or two stands, but 20-30 stores in a 10 mile radius of our house. Random summer nights filled with constant popping sounds? I know that even in the midst of a recession and a global economic crisis it's important to find joy and have fun when everything around you seems depressing, but spending all your money on fireworks? Really? Does it not seem like you're just throwing money in the trash? Throughout the summer and especially the week leading up to the Fourth, there was a constant evening barrage of fireworks and then the actual Fourth of July arrived. Holy Freaking Crap. Our street looked like a war zone. Billy, Jolene, and I stayed inside most of the day. A firecracker shot towards our house right as Jolene was trying to use the bathroom in the front yard and we both screamed. The next morning the streets, sidewalks, and yards were full of burnt fireworks and leftover packaging. We were one of the only houses whose trash cans were not full of fireworks on trash day. Don't get me wrong, I'm from the South. We know how to party, but fireworks? I don't get it.
2. How could you let a Krispy Kreme go out of business? When we moved to your region, we drove past at least 5 Dunkin Donuts and then we saw an empty, closed down Krispy Kreme. What the hell? Did you even try and embrace them? Didn't you see the sign when it was lit up alerting you to hot, fresh donuts? A year later, the building still sits there and the hot donuts sign mocks me as I turn to head across the street to my gym. Recently, the vacant Krispy Kreme became the 1,000th fireworks store in Northwest Indiana. Really, people?
It's fine if you guys enjoy blowing things up, but choosing fireworks over donuts? Where are your priorities?
Sincerely,
Confused and A Little Disappointed
Friday, July 6, 2012
here we go
After some suggestions from friends and with my current unemployed status killing any good excuses, I thought why not write a blog. I mean there are so few out there and people really tell so little about themselves on the Internet these days, I'm sure I have something to add. So here goes...
When I started dating Billy, the person who would later become my husband, my close friends made a point of remarking how hilarious it would be if I ended up marrying him, a MINISTER, and became a pastor's wife. I laughed with them. Irreverent, often inappropriate, sarcastic me? That really is funny. And then I did marry Billy, a jointly ordained United Church of Christ and Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) minister, and lo and behold, I was given with much reluctance and outright chagrin the title of pastor's wife. It's not that I am not religious. It's that I have a rather complicated if not downright contentious relationship with organized Christianity (really organized religion in general) and becoming the "First Lady" of a congregation, as a former work friend calls me, is the exact opposite of what I imagined for my life. Let me explain.
I was raised at a relatively liberal church in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) denomination in Nashville, Tennessee where I learned acceptance of all religions and people, a nice little pluralist window within the Bible Belt. I am also a product of the absolutely fabulous religion department at Texas Christian University (Go Frogs). When most people think of religion and Texas in the same sentence, some scary images come to mind, but the religion department at TCU is unique. Conservative religious schools in Texas called us atheists. In actuality, it was and still is a department of awesome professors who teach world religions, history of religion in America, philosophy of religion, Hebrew Bible, New Testament, and much more. For many students, whether they came from a liberal or conservative Christian background, these classes literally blew our minds. By the time my friends and I were in senior seminar for religion majors, our understanding of faith and religion had been deconstructed and much of what was left for me of my faith was small seedlings of new understandings about pluralism and academic understandings of the Bible. I left with a lot of academic knowledge, faith questions, and a whole lot of anger towards conservative Christianity. My complete confusion about what I believed and how I understood religion in general led me to study some more religion at Vanderbilt Divinity School. I wound up studying history of religion in America and earned my Masters in Theological Studies, which provided a whole lot more academic knowledge, but unfortunately no newly reconstructed faith or job prospects. While I was finishing up at Vanderbilt, I met a friend of a friend, a minister in the Chattanooga area, and despite the fact that he loves Jesus and the Church a lot and I have a few questions for both before we can really start something serious again, a relationship grew and now here I am, a pastor's wife.
Billy just completed his first year as the minister of a congregation in the Chicagoland area and for the first time, I am a very visible person within a congregation (before he was the associate minister and no one paid me much attention, which was awesome). I am asked questions that range from the insanely personal to downright odd. When are we having children? Do I need help finding a job? Am I certain that I can't sing in the choir? Do I think I can handle the winters up here? You should be impressed that so far I have managed to smile and provide a simple, vague response to each question because that's definitely not the response that I'm thinking in my head. To be honest, I really do like the people at our church and have enjoyed our first year here. It may not be what I had imagined, but I like it and it sure makes for some funny stories. Plus, Billy got me a dog.
When I started dating Billy, the person who would later become my husband, my close friends made a point of remarking how hilarious it would be if I ended up marrying him, a MINISTER, and became a pastor's wife. I laughed with them. Irreverent, often inappropriate, sarcastic me? That really is funny. And then I did marry Billy, a jointly ordained United Church of Christ and Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) minister, and lo and behold, I was given with much reluctance and outright chagrin the title of pastor's wife. It's not that I am not religious. It's that I have a rather complicated if not downright contentious relationship with organized Christianity (really organized religion in general) and becoming the "First Lady" of a congregation, as a former work friend calls me, is the exact opposite of what I imagined for my life. Let me explain.
I was raised at a relatively liberal church in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) denomination in Nashville, Tennessee where I learned acceptance of all religions and people, a nice little pluralist window within the Bible Belt. I am also a product of the absolutely fabulous religion department at Texas Christian University (Go Frogs). When most people think of religion and Texas in the same sentence, some scary images come to mind, but the religion department at TCU is unique. Conservative religious schools in Texas called us atheists. In actuality, it was and still is a department of awesome professors who teach world religions, history of religion in America, philosophy of religion, Hebrew Bible, New Testament, and much more. For many students, whether they came from a liberal or conservative Christian background, these classes literally blew our minds. By the time my friends and I were in senior seminar for religion majors, our understanding of faith and religion had been deconstructed and much of what was left for me of my faith was small seedlings of new understandings about pluralism and academic understandings of the Bible. I left with a lot of academic knowledge, faith questions, and a whole lot of anger towards conservative Christianity. My complete confusion about what I believed and how I understood religion in general led me to study some more religion at Vanderbilt Divinity School. I wound up studying history of religion in America and earned my Masters in Theological Studies, which provided a whole lot more academic knowledge, but unfortunately no newly reconstructed faith or job prospects. While I was finishing up at Vanderbilt, I met a friend of a friend, a minister in the Chattanooga area, and despite the fact that he loves Jesus and the Church a lot and I have a few questions for both before we can really start something serious again, a relationship grew and now here I am, a pastor's wife.
Billy just completed his first year as the minister of a congregation in the Chicagoland area and for the first time, I am a very visible person within a congregation (before he was the associate minister and no one paid me much attention, which was awesome). I am asked questions that range from the insanely personal to downright odd. When are we having children? Do I need help finding a job? Am I certain that I can't sing in the choir? Do I think I can handle the winters up here? You should be impressed that so far I have managed to smile and provide a simple, vague response to each question because that's definitely not the response that I'm thinking in my head. To be honest, I really do like the people at our church and have enjoyed our first year here. It may not be what I had imagined, but I like it and it sure makes for some funny stories. Plus, Billy got me a dog.
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