Bibs

I found my bib overalls. I lived in those blessed things for close to fifteen years. They saw me through each pregnancy (pre and post). Now that I know about "Mom Jeans" I'll never need to wear them again. Mom Jeans SNL

I wore them nearly every day when I lived in Angoon ages ago. I often wore them with my big hair and awesome Birkenstock clogs that the teens affectionately called my "can't get laid in those shoes." 

Deanna and I making pizza

Seeing my bibs made me think about living on Admiralty Island over twenty years ago. I loved the village and I despaired in the village. It was relaxing and beautiful; it was lonely and exhausting.

There were tremendous lessons in canoeing, gathering gumboots and clams, and surviving in a town where milk was close to $6 and I was always an outsider. Some crazy stuff happened there, but it's the same stuff that happens everywhere. The difference was that everybody knew.

My dreams were so vivid in Angoon. The pace of life was slow and something amazing happens to the brain and imagination when things slow down. 

One dream has always stuck with me and serves as a reality check to my naïveté and arrogance. In the dream, I gather all the kids into the teen center because I know there are hungry wolves circling outside. But I can't keep them in. They keep wandering back out the door. I know the wolves will get them and I can't do anything to stop them.

I knew I would be a pastor the moment I realized I couldn't save anyone. It's one of the rare callings where you get to sit in the brokenness, the darkness, and sorrow without being able to fix or solve anything. Who wouldn't want to sign up? You don't get to restrain people, shoot the wolves or lock the doors; I can provide a safe place and compassionate heart that gets broken for and with the people I love.

I've fallen in love with the book Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion. It is written by the priest who started Homeboy Industries to help ex-gang members claim a new life and identity.

He talks about his early days trying to save everyone. A couple of quotes:
It's infuriating and death-defyingly stressful when, consciously or no, the kids you love cooperate in their own demise.

In the early days . . . I'd ride my bike, in the middle of the night, in the projects, trying to put out fires. Trying to "save lives" is much like the guy spinning plates attempting to keep them from crashing to the floor . . . It was crazy making, and I came close to the sun, to the immolation that comes from burning out completely in the delusion of actually "saving" people

Possessing flashlights and occasionally knowing where to aim them has to be enough for us. Fortunately, none of us can save anybody. But we all find ourselves in this dark, windowless room, fumbling for grace and flashlights. You aim the light this time, and I'll do it the next.
The slow work of God.

I'm thinking about all those folks in the helping professions who know what it is to come close to burning out. I'm thinking of all those who live with children or work with youth who "cooperate in their own demise." I'm thinking of all those who've wandered into the wolves and feel torn apart and abandoned.

We can't keep anyone from the wolves. We can provide safe spaces, reminders that all people matter, and shine a light in the darkness.  Trusting God means trusting I'm not God.

I loved my bibs. I actually loved those shoes too, but when Kirt came to visit Angoon as a sweet nineteen year old I do think I wore my hiking boots instead.

What the heck?

What the heck?

A group of sixteen quirky and lovely folks from the church spent five days listening to stories and playing around LA. One of the interesting phrases that I heard was “what the heck.” It continues to echo in my head as I replay stories and realize how many Holy Spirit moments are prompted by the surrender of “what the heck.” 

Our own trip started with such a sentiment. We try to do a service trip every winter. I have three goals with these trips:

1. Be warm and refresh Vitamin D supply

2. Serve others and learn about national issues on a personal level

3. Get to know each other as a group

I know something about Jesus should be on that list, but I find that Jesus shows up whether I put him on the list or not.

I choose where we go with the simple calculation of where we can fly cheaply and who we can mooch off. This year, we could go to LA for $275 roundtrip and we had a prime mooching opportunity so we said what the heck. We’ll fill in the rest of the details as we go along.

I live a lot of my life like that so it was consoling to hear others who dive into adventures because . . . why not? 

The house we deep cleaned for a couple of hours for families who are experiencing homelessness started with a couple who said, “what the heck, why wouldn’t we buy an old Victorian house to help house families in our neighborhood?” 

The gang member who got a new start at Homeboy Industries said “what the hell, can’t be worse than what’s happening in life now.”

Then there was a ping pong “what the heck” game going on at the Martin Luther King Jr. parade. I love our group of folks from Juneau. There is nothing more fabulous than taking a group of people with very pale skin to the largest Martin Luther King Jr. parade in the nation. 

Juneau doesn’t have a huge population of African-Americans and all the talk about race in the news has not resonated with this crew, until the parade. We stood out, but we made lots of friends and it was a blast. 

There was an episode of civil disobedience that sparked tremendous conversations and realizations. There was a huge police presence in the parade and partway through a team of protestors went out into the middle of the parade and laid down. They were chanting about police brutality. The only part that made us nervous was a guy behind our group who was chanting profanities and rage. 

We experienced some tension. But the fascinating thing was to hear the “what the hecks". What the heck? Why are our unarmed young men of color being shot? Why this huge police presence? Why isn’t anyone listening? And there were those responding with what the heck? Why are you ruining a fine parade? Why aren’t we doing something to stop the gang violence? Where are the jobs?

There are complexities going on that I can’t even pretend to grasp and a lot more profanity than I’m putting here. 

But, there are lots of connections that go off in my brain when I hear the question in it’s non prudish version. . . what the hell? 

It can mean surrender, giving in to a risk. It can mean a questioning of the status quo.

There is no information about the etymology of “what the hell.” It started showing up in the English language around 1921.

All I know is hell is an odd word. It comes from the Germanic roots for hidden under a covering. It is the translation in the Bible for Sheol (the place of shades), Gehenna (the cursed valley outside Jerusalem), and Hades (the underworld). It comes to be a place of either torture or the sometimes worse affliction of numbness. 

Without starting too much of a conversation, I began thinking about what people are trying to say when they utter, “what the hell.” 

It may be the risk to escape the pain that was, 

a statement about the cursed or hidden places in our lives, 

or a declaration against the numbness that can be. 

And all of this might just be the pondering of a tired lady on a long flight home from LA who’s seen the spirit of the living God often erupt in lives when we finally say, “what the heck.” 

Incontinence

Once is a forgivable mistake. Twice is an issue.

Twice now I have received a coupon upon checkout for incontinence pads. I normally don't notice coupons because I've found my only path to sanity when coupons and Fred Meyer are concerned is to throw them away instantly. My children advised me to do this because I embarrass them when I mutter, "this coupon won't work" through the whole checkout process. I'm just trying to prepare myself for the moment of failure.

No, the only reason I noticed that my takeaway coupons were for incontinence pads was because the cashiers mentioned it. Both times. Different cashiers. And they laughed.

Incontinence pads are awesome. After having three children, I know my bladder's response to sneezing and jumping on the trampoline is a foretaste of the feast to come. But I'm thinking I have another twenty years or so on my female parts so what am I buying that is making the algorithm figure I'm incontinent?

I'm thinking it's the sushi. The only reason I go to Fred Meyer is to buy sushi. Maybe there is something about buying four packs of sushi every time I shop that signals to Fred Meyer's marketing I obviously have bladder issues.

Regardless it has gotten me thinking about aging gracefully and I've decided not to do it.

I learned a great lesson from a porcupine Cassie and I bumped into today.

Porcupines have a brilliant defense system. They turn around, stay still and bristle. Porcupines are not aggressive with their quills. They just put them into the position where they look intimidating and can be easily detached. The porcupine doesn't attack or necessarily run (they can climb really well), but she simply turns around and bristles. Bring it on baby.

I think it's a great way to approach aging when I'm not feeling all that gracious. I'm going to turn around and bristle. I think they also release some kind of nasty smell to deter predators and that happens easily enough for me too.

So in my ideal world I want to age graciously and laugh away pains and limitations, but I'm okay embracing some porcupine moments too. Next time the cashier points out my coupon, I'll just turn my back and bristle. That will show her how wrong they are about my demographic.

Hmm. It might put me in a totally different demographic. I need to think about that.

Pain

I was going to insist that everyone start calling me Ralph Macchio, but after forty-five minutes in a karate lesson tonight where the average age was eight, I'm way more whiny than he ever was and not worthy of his title. I'm also pretty sure my groin will never be the same again. 

Elijah and I started karate lessons. There was one other parent who participated, but all the other adults stood on the side pointing and laughing. Actually, they didn't. It's against the rules. I laughed a lot, but I think that might have been against the rules too.

It was fun. Don't get me wrong. I signed the contract for life in blood and my Gi is in the dryer right now. We are black belt all the way. 

Unless my personality flaws get in the way. 

I noticed that I'm slightly cynical with some authority issues. I know this is shocking and has long been part of my charming personality, but it definitely gets in the way in karate. So, I'm going to practice for one hour twice a week being obedient and trusting. 

I'm sure I can build my stamina up for the push-ups, stretches, and kicks, but it's going to take a lot of self-control to not be a sardonic stinker. 

I also noticed there are lots of directions. Wow. Lots of rules and lots of directions. That is not my happy place. 

If you know me, then you know I only listen to the first direction and then figure I will make it up from there. I seriously hear "Turn right at the stoplight, blah, blah, blah." Even if I try to focus, I just don't compute more than one direction at a time. I did better than the six year old next to me, but I tried not to rub it in.

The Sensei also expects you to know your left from your right. My mom will tell you about my labelled shoes well into elementary school. I still have to do Ls to tell the difference and then it takes my brain a moment to remember which direction an L should go. 

I'm not sure if it is comforting or shaming that all the six year olds struggle with the same thing.

Finally, there is the whole depth perception thing. Kirt knows he is safe if I'm trying to hit him because I will invariably miss. I just don't judge space well. So I missed kicking the pad repeatedly. It wouldn't be a huge deal except I almost kicked Elijah in the head. I'm hoping if I get this figured out without wounding the children around me, then I might also conquer parallel parking.

What am I doing? I'm busy; this is uncomfortable and hard and it makes me feel old. I suppose I'm doing it to help Elijah risk, but I'm also doing it to remind myself to do the same. It will be good for me even if I never master the crane kick.