Mommy

It’s been 364 days, 20 hours and 5 minutes since my Mom died.  May 22, 2012 at 2:25 pm she breathed her last after a long year of hospitalizations for a broken hip, breast cancer and congestive heart failure.  There are no words to express what it is like to watch someone you love die – particularly a death where they are drowning in their own fluids. It is a pain that cannot be articulated, especially when that person is your mother.  It has left me with heartache that I believe I have not fully engaged in as of yet; a grief that will take a lifetime to process and why wouldn’t it? 

Heidi was the woman whose womb I grew in; the woman whose nurturing hands tended to me when I was sick or mercilessly teased at school; and the woman whose own traumatized childhood set the context for my own.  She was the person I most adored and sometimes resented.   One smile from my mother could make me feel so deeply loved and I never doubted her joy when I walked into the room – it would explode from behind those beautiful baby blues piercing deep into my soul.  You see my mom delighted in the personhood of all people, and she was never happier than to sit listening to another’s story.  Those that knew her adored her; her hospitality and servant hearted nature was a gift touching many. 

Like all mother daughter relationships ours was deeply complicated.  I am the first born and with it came all her adoration as well as every one of her unreasonable and at times impossible expectations that follow the trailblazer of subsequent sibs.  The responsibility for her emotional well-being landed smack dab on me and I spent my entire life trying to fill a hole left by her traumatized past unsuccessfully.  My mother received more of my time than other adult children give to their parents; yet even when present I felt like I could never be present enough.  There was something about our dynamic that made me feel like she wanted to consume my being back into her own.  The ensuing outcome was that I never felt like I could be enough, do enough or love her enough. 

I once heard someone once say that when those you love pass you only remember the good.  I’m so glad that is true of their experience; but it really isn’t mine.  My nature screams for authenticity and truth; and I cannot face this experience without speaking honestly about the good, the bad and the ugly.  The grief over the loss of my mother is a mixed bag that contains sorrow I can’t yet get close to and relief that I no longer have to bear the responsibility for my Mommy’s pain.   Those who have lost parents know the heaviness that descends over everything, the exhaustion one feels even after twelve hours of sleep and the loss of part of yourself that was mirrored by one who was your foundational relationship.  No matter your age, you have lost a part of yourself and you don’t fully know who you are without them. 

This journey has been complicated by having to watch my Dad grieve the loss of his life-mate of fifty years….to him – the loss of his life.   I watched my father age right before my eyes, listened to him promise her he would search the stars when he passes; and come home to countless swollen and puffy eyes knowing he had spent the entire day in loneliness and sorrow.   A part of me wonders if the full weight of my Mom’s loss will hit me when my Father passes.   Nonetheless, I have promised myself not to borrow trouble from tomorrow; and to stay present today navigating the waves of grief when they consume me. 

This week has been heavy – but, light has begun to find its way back into our lives.  The constant heaviness is lifting and energies are beginning to return.  I find myself noticing both the best and worst of my mother’s characteristics within myself; embracing the good as a gift that says she is still with me; and working to relinquish those that did not serve her.  Today I grieve her passing, but I also hold onto the hope of resurrection, in my character, in my relationships and in my tomorrows.  And maybe, just maybe; when it’s my turn to close earth’s chapter,  I will see those love filled baby blues again.

The Millennial Generation

The Millennial Generation is once again being castigated in the media as the ‘me, me, me generation’.   This time it is Joel Stein’s article in May 28^th edition of Time Magazine.  It begins with an admission that he is doing what has been done by generation’s prior – accusing the younger generation of being lazy, entitled, selfish and shallow; but before anyone derides him he goes on to say that he has statistics to back up his evidence, stating that the incidence of narcissistic personality disorder is three times higher in this generation then that of the Boomers.  That is as far as I got, because to read the entire article would mean I would have to purchase a subscription online – no thank you, not interested. 

Now, I am not a part of the Millennial Generation.  I was born on the cusp of the Boomer and Gen-X transition depending upon whose data you are going by.  For the most part I identify with the Gen-X Generation much more than the Boomers for a wide variety of reasons that are irrelevant to this blog.  What I can say is that about sixty percent of my friendship base is currently Millennial so I feel compelled to speak out on their behalf.  This amazing group are some of the most talented, insightful and authentic people I have ever met. They question everything – as they should!  This is what makes them the loving visionaries whose social minded ideals propel them toward making a better world than the one they were born into.

Accusations of this sort are nothing new with this trend beginning with the 1960’s – its Flower Children were accused of rebelliousness born out of discontent – those that had been given too much with no sense of appreciation.  Gen-X was treated as the throw-away generation – a lost opportunity, very rarely identified as anything other than an extension of the Boomers.  Those who are now among America’s unemployed/under-employed work force raising families in the face of economic and social difficulties.  Now the trend has moved to point the finger at the Millennial – the Peter Pan generation - those people born in the 1980’s when American prosperity and indulgence was at an all-time high.  

The Millennial Generation is largely in their twenties and the question I would like to ask; who wasn't somewhat entitled, selfish and shallow at this time of life?  These should not be lobbed toward them as inherent character flaws, but an acknowledgement of a real and certain developmental reality.  The twenties lend itself to a time of leaving one’s family of origin, while venturing out into an unknown world trying to figure out who we are and how we fit.  This is a deeply self-reflective time of life that may look self-absorbed, but quite to the contrary is a necessary step toward maturity.  This is not a unique experience to this generation, nor should they be lambasted for circumstances that have been largely out of their control. 

In many ways this generation has been robbed of that development process growing up in a historical backdrop that is filled with economic uncertainty and social unrest; a period of global instability and redistribution of employment opportunities that have kept them from finding positions that are well below their talents and qualifications; or not at all.  Are they resentful?  I would say they have a right to be!  One in two college graduates are unemployed still living with their parents.  This is not only delaying careers, but obscuring their overall vision as they face a future filled with more questions than those that plagued the generations before them.  If the prophecy turns out to be right; and they are a narcissistic generation of lost souls, we only have to look to those who raised them, a generation that were so consumed with economic advancement, they neglected to take account how that might affect future generations.

My personal experience has led me to believe that this generation is going to be one of the finest generations in over a century.  I have met them, spent time with them, been loved by them and believe in them with all of my heart.  So I turn to my Millennial friends to say, I have nothing but the utmost confidence that you will face the challenges life places before you touching the world in profound ways.  You constantly amaze and inspire me with your passion.  You remind me to keep dreaming, to embrace life and to continue to grow in relationship with each other; as well as the world we live in.  Millennials I both love you and salute you!
   

Shame

Shame – crafty, scheming, devious and illusive - an emotion whose name alone conjures its own feeling like a witch calling forth an evil spirit.  It rises from the abyss to plunge its serrated edged dagger of self-loathing into the core of the soul; ripping open the victim’s self-image from the inside out and leaving their psyche trapped in its putrefied scent like the wanderer’s misstep into pitch.  With its prey firmly constrained it sinks its fangs of denigration into their character extracting all traces of self-worth, but never satisfied to leave one numb from the void. 

It resolutely attaches itself inside of the shadows hiding behind memories waiting like a street thug to strike at any hint of trauma’s echo.  Its elusive nature coerces its target to use its own voice against itself; compelling the bound to participate in its own demise like a victim at the mercy of its perpetrator.  With stealth like intimidation it attacks convincing the quarry its damaged goods leaving them indefensibly cloaked in an oppressive shroud of torment and driving them deep into the darkness dividing them from all that is good.

Shame is an aggressor skilled in treachery that prostrates the martyr at the altar of its deception exacting revenge and driving self-retaliation.  Shame promotes anguish, discharges sorrow, conceals dignity, hides self-worth; demanding allegiance to isolation’s depths.  Shame rejects all counsel, discards support, refuses the truth, snubs encouragement, disallows legitimacy and rebuffs love.  Shames goal is to eliminate pleasure, dissolve satisfaction, question integrity, induce agony and kill dreams.  It is a calculating, fraudulent, misleading enemy that oppresses, humiliates and threatens bent on destruction with the ultimate goal of dehumanizing its prey.   

Some capitulate to the idea that shame is inherent in the human condition, born out of humanities depraved nature well deserved in the face of its guilt.  LIES!!!!!!!!!!!  Perpetuating that perception binds shame's sufferer to the baseless belief that they are defective partnering with shames duplicitous satisfaction.  God’s testimony speaks to the cherished and distinctive nature of humanities essence; its creation a precious investment that testifies to his/her goodness and mercy.  Creatures whose worth is so deeply inherent that God nailed her/himself to a cross, not to appease Divine anger, but to solidify the profound legitimacy of his/her eternal acceptance, love and the priceless nature of one’s person-hood. 

Shame is the antithesis of acceptance and authenticity; the burial garment of hope born out of unimaginable helplessness and traumatizing pain.  Shame is the heaviness of sorrow draped over the heart's eyes obscuring the ability to see one’s authentic self in all their unique purpose and beauty. Shame is not an emotion that leads to life; but a tyrannical persecutor that intimidates, rejects, distorts and devours one’s capacity to be loved.    

Shame IS the Guardian of Darkness. 

Chaplaincy

The final requirement for my master’s degree was to work in a clinical setting for eleven weeks as a chaplain intern.  Entering into a hospital setting just four months after my mom’s passing filled me with anxiety, uncertainty and trepidation; but, I needed to complete the requirement if I wanted to move forward with my future goals.  I was carrying with me grief, sadness, exhaustion and doubt; and I worried about how I was going to navigate an environment that houses tremendous suffering in the midst of my own sorrow and dark night.  The journey of CPE is a cyclical process of patient care, reflection, writing, round table discussion, insights returning back to patient care.  We spent a significant portion of time processing the experience and confronting personal presuppositions, theological assumptions and internal responses.  Questions of theodicy are theory for some, a much more significant reality for others.  On life’s continuum there is no rhyme or reason why it appears that some individuals skate through life with only minor challenges; and others seem to repeatedly face the effects of evil on an exponential scale.  A hospital setting is the great leveler and suffering is the great equalizer.      

Several individuals who know me well have watched as I wrestled with the pain and fall out of years of repressed trauma.  During this season I have examined everything I have ever believed including the question, is God a sadistic sovereign intentionally ‘allowing’ evil for some broader purpose that we can’t or won’t see; or is God a benevolent being that loves humanity with every microcosm of its existence?  A Divine being whose passion is so far beyond the limits of human comprehension, and whose mercy, grace and kindness drives it to its ‘metaphorical’ knees in sorrow and tears over the pain that humanity is suffering under?   Working as a chaplain is demanding; as if it is not enough to carry your own personal pain; you sit across from patients at their most vulnerable.  Watching their suffering can be agonizing at times.  Stories of premature baby’s deaths or sitting in the suffering of a thirty-four year old mother of six; as she faces stage four cancers, even after surviving a life as the daughter of an addicted mother turn prostitute, breaks one’s heart into a million little pieces.  There is NOTHING fair about this life.  The randomness in which its horror visits sometimes feels like it wants to overcome and swallow up any vestige of hope. 

Questions of how I was to present the love of God in the midst of that kind of pain – a love of God I’m unsure of, filled many reflections.  Theological questions born out of difficult encounters led to even more complicated inquiries.  After one particular encounter with a schizophrenic gentleman, I asked who God is to the mentally ill.  Questions of whether or not they may be prophets among us filled my mind.  Do they see and experience life normally or are we the delusion?  This seems reasonable to ask when looking at the various prophets and the extremes they took to bring what we define as God’s message to Israel.  If they were walking among us today, there is little doubt that they would be the marginalized; the homeless, the poor, the weird and untamed; the people that challenge our well maintained constructs.  How can we incorporate them in the Body when as an institution we struggle to accept those who are defined as ‘normal’, but who challenge its theological ‘norms’ – i.e.: women, singles, and the L.G.B.T. community?  How do we answer Christ’s call not to forget those who are in ‘prison’?  That is what mental illness is – a prison of the mind that in some situations has little hope of freedom. 

Christian scripture declares God to be the absolute solution to human suffering.  The question - how is that manifest?  Some promise that it comes through the supernatural, if only we believe.  Others say it’s a far off reality at the end of the age.  While sitting as a chaplain I was confronted by theologies that were a mixed bag of suspicion and contradiction; I listened to scriptures twisted into excuses or used as weapons binding individuals into an ‘I should’ prison.  I sat with people who wept because they were too sick to attend church; and others, to spite their suffering, who were grateful for each moment of life.  At the end of eleven weeks a few beliefs have begun to re-emerge; the first being the significance and inherent beauty of humanity; and the amazing reality that each individual person is created in God’s image (the imago Dei). 

No one person spoke louder to this reality than Mrs. L. and I fell in love with that woman during our numerous visits.  She is a beautiful, strong and powerful woman although her frail and failing state deceives the eye.  She shared her story of raising three children as a single Hispanic woman in the seventies; one of two women who owned her own business in the largely male dominated field of boxing; and who was transfused with tainted blood that brought on a lifetime of illness.  I sat with this woman in her piercing vulnerability as the nurse cleaned her; she serenaded me with a Mexican ballad; and even when she had little to no strength she gave me the gift of her unconditional love and acceptance by blowing me a kiss.  She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and not because of an external aesthetic; but because life’s light shone bright from deep from within her soul.   The second conclusion - life is the most precious of gifts.  Watching an individual grasp for each breath can reveal two realities – one that we are biological beings who ‘need’ air, but there is a spiritual aspect to that as well.  Every breathe we take is a gift that should be honored and appreciated because we never know which one will be our last.

I have not drawn any conclusion to the problem of pain; nor have I reconciled my many theological struggles; but this one thing I know, unconditional love communicates the acceptance and mysterious message that God transcends human constructs.  It was in the midst of the comforting words my fellow chaplain brought to a woman who had just watched her premature baby die that I again arrived at the following conclusion; we are not called to ignore, minimize or theologize pain by giving answers where there are none.  Nor are we called to help others escape, deny or hide from the darkness that arrives at the most unexpected moments and in the most tragic of ways.  We are called to sit in the pain with those suffering and help them hold it; to be present and and to alleviate  some small portion of its weight. 

I recently heard a Kelly Clarkson song that resonated deeply of the truth that darkness is always present reality – a prophetic call asking if love can still be offered in the midst of it.  I believe that this is where both hope and healing lies. 

Oh oh oh, there's a place that I know
It's not pretty there and few have ever gone
If I show it to you now
Will it make you run away?

Or will you stay
Even if it hurts
Even if I try to push you out
Will you return?
And remind me who I really am
Please remind me who I really am

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

Like a diamond
From black dust
It's hard to know
What can become
If you give up
So don't give up on me
Please remind me who I really am

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

Don't run away
Don't run away
Just tell me that you will stay
Promise me you will stay
Don't run away
Don't run away
Just promise me you will stay
Promise me you will stay

Will you love me? ohh

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

Don't run away
Don't run away

Don't run away

Promise you'll stay 

Cynic or Realist?

Social networking –its existence brings with it a host of response. Some people love it – others absolutely despise it; yet regardless of where they fall on this continuum a huge percentage of the population is participating on it one way or another. I love social networking! I think its invention was a stroke of GENIUS. I am so grateful to those whose vision of a virtual community created an environment that allows for me to draw those I have loved from childhood and since onto one site. Life’s circumstance often separates us from those we never wanted or intended to lose touch with. These SN sites provide a way of reconnecting, restoring and re-engaging relationships that at another time would be forever lost. Attachment in all its various manifestations is always a plus in my book, so to Mark Zuckerburg and others like him I send you a hearty thank you.

With that said, what prompted this particular blog was an incident that occurred on a social networking site yesterday morning. As usual, I checked in and posted a quote picture that was cryptic in nature, but had tickled my funny bone. In the status directly following mine, someone posted a prayer for God to protect them from the toxins of cynicism. Now this could have been and most likely was a complete coincidence but, it caused me to reflect on how we, as humans; interpret, project and judge the meaning of sound bites that are commonly known as statuses. I try to be balanced and systematic in what I post. I understand that this is a public forum and I work to project myself in the same way I would any other public space. But, even with that intentionality there are risks taken when sending a message out into cyberspace. This experience had me once again ask myself what kind of picture are you painting of yourself. It also had me asking, am I a cynic?

The definition of a cynic is one who is distrustful of human nature and motives – one who believes that human conduct is motivated wholly by self-interest. I love people!!! I rarely struggle to find common ground during interpersonal encounters and like most. My current profession is the study of human nature and the ways in which it can be served, helped and healed. Several months ago during a conversation where relational frustrations were being aired, I shared that I had learned to live in the tension of having high hopes for people, but low expectations. For those in their twenties that seems like such an oxymoron, but once you have experienced enough disappointment in relationship, both facilitated and received; this paradox can be internally accepted without contradiction or anxiety. Life’s experience led me to internalize the reality that people are a mixed bag of dark and light, ambition and laziness, self-destruction and benevolence….theologically speaking humanity is defined as sin-filled and at the same time a beautiful reflection of the imago Dei (God’s image).

Actually, I think a dose of cynicism is healthy. Does possessing it preclude having high hopes –absolutely not. Seriously, why choose to enter into the people helping profession if the belief is that people are incapable of change? Nevertheless, change is rare and it often comes about at a snail’s pace. The investment made in another is a blind leap of faith with shifting outcomes rarely seen by those doing the investing. This is why the Scripture reminds its followers not to be weary in well doing. Yes it is true, human beings are self-serving. Even in our benevolence, we want to feel good about assisting others as well as serving God. If we approach helping situations without this understanding; at the very least we will be seen as naïve Pollyanna’s who are easily taken advantage of and/or not to be taken seriously. Or, at the worst hold unrealistic expectation that leads to repeated disappointment, weariness and eventual bitterness when the fruit of our labor is limited.

To the nameless individual who posted their prayer of protection; I say thank you for initiating another round of self-reflection leading me to process through these thoughts. I too send up a prayer - for an understanding that cynicism is not the antithesis to hope; and in the midst of much needed idealism the knowledge that a healthy dose of skepticism brings balance to one’s expectations.

To answer the question, am I a cynic? No….but I would say that I am a realist.

Hope

I recently had a conversation with a friend who responded following our dialogue, “I need to hear hope”.   Yes, it’s true I have been navigating a faith crisis, what some would call a Dark Night of the Soul.  My seminary experience challenged me to my core; relationally, theologically and emotionally exposing the buried shame, pain and questions of a traumatized past and defended by a religious system that promises what it was never intended to deliver.  As if this was not enough stress, my mom’s health failed and as some of you know she died less than two months ago.  Nevertheless, my friend’s statement had me seriously contemplating the definition of hope. 

I did what I initially do when I begin to ruminate; I pulled out my thesaurus.  Words like confident, expectant and optimistic jumped off the page…. secure, cheerful, content, undisturbed and upbeat challenged my current sensibilities.  So I moved on to the antonym section.  Discouraged, disheartened, dreary, gloomy and pessimistic are not terms that I would use to define my present attitude either.  I am grieving.  I am in pain over multiple losses which include my mom’s suffering and foreseeable death; the reality of deception both self and other driven; dreams deferred and deceased; time robbed that should have been spent building a career and family; and the sheer weariness of navigating a life long journey to restore health and hope.  Yes it’s true, I have spent the larger portion of my graduate career weeping, wailing and lamenting….. does that indicate that I am or have been without hope?

My answer is a passionate and emphatic no!  Hope is not solely an emotive expression or affirmative sound bite that offers shallow responses to wells of agony.  Hope is the human drive to survive… an instinct; a survival mechanism and an internal motivation to move forward when everybody and everything screams, ‘give up’.  Hope is intrinsic to being human – it is engraved on each individual’s heart and is primeval.  Hope is the motivation to continue to exist or function in spite of adversity.   It is something that propels me forward even when I can’t clearly see – it causes me to persist, ride out, carry on, endure and weather the storm.  At my lowest point, when hope’s vision was eclipsed, I had the word “Hope” tattooed onto my wrist.  The very act of doing the opposite of what my internal life screamed speaks to hope. 

Theologically I ask the question - was Jesus propelled by hope to endure the cross?  I am pretty sure that his countenance was not cheerful or upbeat.  I can confidently surmise that grief accompanied Christ’s journey to his crucifixion, yet it did not obscure the joy that was set before him.  I would say that my life has been and continues to be a testimony of hope.  I have had to fight against and endure obstacles that most, gratefully, will never have to.  I have had to persevere, to rise above conditions that would and has bankrupted others.   Yes, I may be experiencing a season of sorrow, but I can say with all confidence I do have hope......and so do you.   

My Fuller Journey

My trek through Fuller Theological Seminary is almost at an end. As I face the completion of my master’s program a whole host of emotion rises to the surface. I never imagined or anticipated the extraordinary journey I have experienced; the challenges I faced and the gift of a community consisting of some of the most amazing human beings I am humbled and grateful to call my teachers, my peers, my friends and my family.

What is it about Fuller that created an experience unlike that of other academic institutions? I’ve tried to answer that question with each prospective student I met over the past couple of years. Fuller is a seminary that chose the road less traveled – that of full academic liberty within the Christian context. They avoid the process of indoctrination, but instead support the challenging of and deconstructing of the student’s faith. Each scholar confronts theological inconsistencies, wrestles with life’s difficult questions, and discovers at their core who they are; as an individual and a faith community. This process allows for one to admit their doubts as well as own their remaining faith without apology.

To the institution I say thank you for being one of the few Christian establishments that has the courage to trust - to provide the freedom that allowed for me to critically analyze theology in all its various forms; drawing my own conclusions regardless of where it led - even when these assumptions fell outside of what some would define as conservative orthodoxy. Thank you for modeling what you teach – equality, diversity, and most of all faith. Thank you for being led by it first and foremost trusting that God’s Spirit is working in and among your student-body; and believing that I too can hear that still small voice leading me into all of God’s truth. In a religious system whose theology is often driven by fear, I have now internalized what it means to hold my faith without it.

I will be eternally grateful that you challenged my theological presuppositions, deconstructed my faulty assumptions and left me unsure of what I believe. I know my journey of reconstruction will be difficult, but the truths that remain are internalized in a way that no institution or individual will ever be able to censure again. To my many professors I say thank you for teaching me about God’s grace. Your willingness to meet me in the questions during the height of many crises taught me more than any attended lecture and reminded me that a journey of faith is just that – a journey and not a destination. Yours is a faith that I continue to seek after.

With a heavy heart I say goodbye to a group of people that have filled my life with so much love, acceptance and joy. My academic passage would not have been what it has been without the extraordinary community of students that attend Fuller. I am continually impressed by the quality of people I have been privileged to attend school with. Each and every one of you is beautiful beyond compare. Your talent, intelligence and strength of character never cease to amaze me. You touched my heart in deeply profound ways and I am so grateful for your curiosity, your willingness to listen and share yourselves; and most of all the unconditional love extended to me during some very difficult circumstances. You too modeled grace and I am changed for the better because I have known you. I am going to miss this collective group of people deeply, but I know you will profoundly touch many others in the same way you have touched me – from the bottom of my heart I say thank you and I love you.

A very special message goes to my inner circle. I don’t think I would be walking across that stage if it wasn’t for the commitment each of you repeatedly shows me. To my recovery peeps, ours is and continues to be a unique journey of faith. Unfortunately, our lives intersected with darkness in a way that many others have fortunately been spared. The commonality of this knowledge has made your friendship vital in ways not easily articulated, but silently understood. Thank you for your inner resilience and tenacious spirit that moves you to rise above the ashes – each of you inspire me to do the same. To the PhD student that will remain nameless, but knows who he is. Thank you for teaching me that strength can be found in vulnerability and it is worth the risk. Carenda – my covenant friend you are grace personified. When looking back on my time at Fuller you will be first and foremost in my mind as one who set aside everything to sit silently in places that required no words. Cameron – my kindred spirit, you boldly went where most men fear to tread. Your love and loyalty has forever changed me, thank you.

Goodbye Fuller and thank you for making God's grace so much more than an intellectual concept, but a moment by moment experienced reality.