One Dozen: A Year of Gratitude

It’s become my Monday night ritual … settling in to one of my favourite writing spots with a treat and a beverage close at hand, spending time checking in with my cross-country writing group, then disconnecting for about an hour to write.  Lots of that writing has ended up here in one form or another, but much also never sees light beyond its place on the pages of my notebook.

Tonight feels a little different.  It’s Monday night, I’m settled in to one of my usual spots, and I anticipate catching up with my writing buddies shortly.  The thing that makes it different is that it’s December 17th and today is my birthday.

As he always does every year, my dad asked me if 43 felt any different.  Nope was my not very awake response.  It was truthful.  43 today doesn’t feel any different from 42 yesterday.

But 43 today from 42 a year ago?  That’s a different thing entirely.  It’s not about the my age.  It’s about so much that has changed over the last twelve months. I could never have imagined what this year would bring, but I am grateful for so much.

So here is my year of gratitude.  Much of it has already been shared in this space, but I didn’t always realize at the time how each little change and discovery was going to lead me through the year.  Seems appropriate that this is actually a baker’s dozen.  The list needs to include both Decembers in order to be complete.

1. December – For recognizing unconditional love and allowing that reality to sink into my soul.  For reminders from unexpected places and shiny people who make the world a better place simply by being in it.
2. January – For a job that I enjoy, that allows me space outside of work for other creative pursuits, that provides security, and that allowed the purchase of my new car Suzy.  Almost a year later and it still makes me grin when the car payment comes out of my bank account.  She’s a little more fully mine and I love the freedom she brings.
3. February – For the end of our writing apprenticeship and the beginning of something new. We didn’t want our time together to be over, but it was time for us to take what we’d been learning and keep growing. For inspiration, accountability and challenge to keep writing. For writing buddies who are now dear friends.
4. March – For choosing to own my story.  It’s not a part of my faith story that I felt I could talk about when I was a youth pastor.  I was ashamed and embarrassed. It made me want to hide.  Telling it was the first step of finding my way to a faith that feels like I can belong, just as I am.
5. April – For rediscovering my love of writing poetry.  For the faithfulness of long-time friends. For new friends with unexpected things in common. For learning that sharing my writing can be beautiful and healing. For support and encouragement sometimes from surprising sources.
6. May – For celebrating the wedding of my dear friends Hunter and Chris.  What a privilege it was to be asked to help officiate the wedding ceremony of two of the sweetest people I know.
7. June – For first glimpses of a spiritual practice that fits. For plans changing at the last minute. For wisdom shared. For learning to sit with my own shit and name it honestly.  For admitting anger at God. For trying and embracing new things despite fear. For discovering that a non-bendy person can do and enjoy yoga.
8. July – For five magical days spent with a beautiful group of women in Garrison, New York. For our Creative Joy – Flow small group. For a continuing circle of women who will always be a place of coming home no matter how far apart we live. For leaders who shared their hearts, their sorrow and their joy and helped us stretch and bloom in ways we never imagined.
9. August – For the lessons learned during August Break.  Taking one photo a day seemed like such a trivial exercise, but it helped change the way I see the world.  There is so much beauty in this world but it is so easy to miss out if we’re not deliberately paying attention. Oh, and for new haircuts!
10. September – For finding a path beyond anger and through hurt. For re-discovering faith in a creator who calls us beloved and invites us to respond in kind. For guides along the path to remind that we’re not pointlessly going around in circles. For spirals of learning that gently allow us to dig deeper with new perspective each time around.
11. October – For finding comfort in practicing yoga at home.  For learning to be gentle with and accepting of my body exactly as it is.  For yoga teachers who are kind. For discovering the joy of meditation.
12. November – For a new sense of community found. For friends who draw us out of our comfort zones and help us find new places where we belong. For creative expression of all sorts.
13. December -  For friends old and new, in person and online. For family, biological and of the heart. For realizing that this year’s birthday greetings resonate differently than they ever have before. I know the spirit of them hasn’t changed, but I can hear them now in a way that I was afraid to trust before. This year they made my heart sing with the joy of being known and loved. You are held so close to my heart.

I am truly blessed and so very grateful.

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An Apology and an Invitation

I believe stories are important.

I believe understanding our stories helps us get unstuck and find new ways to live. I believe sharing our stories helps us cultivate joy in each moment.

I believe strength, peace and encouragement can be found in communities (face-to-face or virtual) that honour each other’s stories.

I know telling our stories can be scary and uncomfortable. I’ve spent a lot of my life not telling the stories that were closest to my heart, but I believe telling our stories can make a difference, sometimes in the most unexpected ways and in the most unusual places.

I wrote those words on Saturday morning. I believe them to be true at the core of who I am, but I realized something as I headed home after hitting publish on the update to my “Who Am I?” page.

I owe some dear friends an apology.

When I started to write this blog, I decided to remain primarily anonymous. It gave me a place to write in a public way and still feel safe. I knew I needed to say some things “out loud” but, as some of you will know, I’ve occasionally made unwise choices about who to trust with the writing that is closest to my heart.  I’ve gotten burned. For the longest time, I had a love-fear relationship with writing.

So I wrote anonymously to find a way past that fear blockade and I learned to love writing whole-heartedly.

But I continued writing anonymously because I was still afraid.  Not that my writing would be rejected, but that I would be rejected, because I wasn’t … enough.

So I hid. Slowly, I started to share my stories with complete strangers and new online writing friends, but I chose not to share my stories with those of you near and far, who have known me, stood by me, and loved me unconditionally for years. Even after reconnecting face-to-face with some very important people in my life last fall, at some level, I still chose to act out of fear.

I’m sorry that I’ve hidden this part of my journey from those of you who know me best. For those of you who feel hurt because of this omission, I would ask your forgiveness and your understanding.

I didn’t hide my story because you were not trustworthy. There are so many of you I could name who have shown me so much unconditional love and support over the years. You have been beacons of light and hope. Despite what I may have said on the outside, and what I may have said to others about how valuable and loved they were, I didn’t believe you could possibly mean that about me.

There are old stories that have defined my life in ways I hadn’t even realized. I’ve started telling those stories, rather than hiding them in shame. In doing that, the light you have shone into my life has finally reached the places it was most needed. It just a took a while. Thank you for being patient while I finally discovered the truth of what you’ve been showing me all along.

I believe that sharing our stories is crucial to changing our world. And it’s not enough to share stories in a way that allows me to hide from those who are most important to me. That does not honour the roles you play in my life. It does not honour the stories we share together.

So this post is also an invitation.

To those of you who have been part of my world for short or long times, who have been friends, mentors, shepherds, teachers, beacons, confidants, garden friends, and family by biology or by heart, I would welcome you to join me on this part of my journey as well.

You have changed my world in more ways than you can begin to imagine and you are loved and valued more than I have words to express.

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A Little Owl Told Me So

It makes me chuckle me to remember that not so many years ago, I preached a sermon on unexpected twists in the road. I’d recently left my job as a youth pastor and I thought my life had taken as drastic a turn as I could begin to imagine. Today, I know that the path has continued to meander, to twist and turn in ways I never would have expected. While I still live in the same physical place, the spiritual and emotional landscape is almost entirely different.

I love this new place. The grass is green. There is new life and growth. There is a sense of contentment and peace balanced with a sense of adventure and excitement around each corner. There is a greater depth of knowing myself and accepting myself than I have experienced before. There is more bravery and less hiding in hopes of avoiding notice and hurt, than I have felt since childhood. There are friends with whom I can be my real self without fear of judgement and rejection. There is joy with wild abandon and there is quiet reflection in equal quantities.

It’s a good place.

But sometimes, in the dark, in the quiet, there are questions and doubts that poke their heads above ground like little prairie dogs. Except these aren’t so cute and innocent looking.

How could you walk away from what you know to be true?

How can you love your body? You’re fatter than you’ve ever been. (I almost wrote heavier, but it wouldn’t be honest about what that voice says.)

How can you be happy in that job? It’s nothing like following the calling that you dreamed and studied for 10 years to see come true.

Remember how proud Grandma was when you decided to become a pastor? She’d be so disappointed in you now.

That last one cuts the deepest. It’s been quietly hanging out, not drawing attention to itself in obvious ways, just making things feel unsettled, "not right" in some indefinable way.

My friend Ellie, the Headologist, calls that voice the "evil auctioneer". When he starts selling his crap, I’ve got answers for most of his lies that stop me from buying. But the one about my Grandma? I’ve been an easy sell when that one comes calling. I’ve purchased without stopping to hear what is really being said. Unthinkingly, I’ve accepted it as truth and it’s left me unbalanced and uncertain.

It is true that some of the choices I’ve made would definitely cause my Grandma concern. I can’t deny that. I know who she was and I know what she believed. I know she would be sad that I’d made the choice to walk away from being a youth pastor. I know she would be troubled by my distance from anything called a church.

But I realized something last week. Yes, she would be sad, because she would grieve for the hurts in my life that led to those decisions. Not because she was disappointed "in me", but because she was disappointed "for me". One little word makes all the difference. One phrase is about judgement, disapproval and not measuring up. The other is an expression of unconditional love that feels the pain of the one who is loved.

If there’s one thing I have always known about my Grandma, it is that she believed and lived that love was unconditional and that grace was given freely to all, not just to those who "deserved" it. Somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten that unconditional love also applies to me. I’ve never had to do anything to earn her approval. I’m her granddaughter. I know that she loved me no matter what.

The funny part of this story is what reminded me of that truth.

A little owl told me so.

Literally.

An owl necklace in a picture of a friend and mentor who has been speaking a lot of truth into my life.

I’m part of a writing apprenticeship with Kyeli from the Connection Revolution.  Along the way we’ve laughed much about our rather different spiritual paths. Me, the former Baptist youth pastor in a small Canadian town. Kyeli, the lesbian witch from Texas. We admit it’s an odd combination. But it works. I’ve rarely connected with someone so quickly and easily.

My Grandma? She was a traditional, conservative lady. Don’t drink. Don’t dance. Don’t smoke. Don’t play cards. All of those stereotypes that go with being a Baptist.

Weird, right?  I know. I can hear you asking the same question … How in the world did Kyeli’s owl necklace speak to me of my Grandma’s unconditional love?

Kyeli and my Grandma have very little in common on the surface, but they share at least two things, one frivolous and one world-changing-ly important.

The first, a love of owls. Kyeli’s twitter feed often includes photos of her latest owl find and they’ve always made me smile as every time my Grandma immediately comes to mind.

When I saw this particular picture, I smiled and thought how she would have appreciated the necklace. But then came something unusual. Sitting at my desk, at work, (yes, I was checking twitter during work hours) I felt this tangible wave of love wash over me. It brought tears to my eyes. It was so powerful and so clear. It was overwhelming.

That’s the second thing they share, an ability to live out unconditional acceptance and love in a way that few people do.

They’re shiny with it.

In an instant, I heard what the evil auctioneer had been selling.  I knew it was a lie and had been all along. There was not a drop of truth to be found.

My Grandma would be thrilled for me. She would see how happy I am and how I’m finding ways to use the gifts I have to change the world. She wouldn’t understand why I’ve made some choices, but it wouldn’t matter. She would love me and accept me just for being me. She’d encourage me to live life to the fullest, to take risks, to follow my dreams and never stop believing in myself.

Oh, in case you were wondering …

She’d love my new friend Kyeli too! They laugh and sing and talk of owls.

But, most importantly, they’d shine really bright together.

Hmmm… it makes me wonder … are there other people in my life whose acceptance and support I’ve been underestimating?

What about the people who depend on me to be their beacon in the dark? Can I shine more brightly or more clearly for them?

How about you? Who’s shiny in your life?

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