A toast!

A week ago today, the Supreme Court ruled that it is discriminatory for states to prevent same sex couples from marrying. Auds and Curt were visiting, and they giggled a little when I responded to the news with a hearty "THANKS BE TO GOD!"  I forgot that such a response is not entirely universal! But to God be the glory.  Any time the arc of history bends toward justice, God is at work.

The end of the day brought us all together very briefly before we went in separate directions: Sean picked up the kids from day care, and then Auds and I set off for a sewing party to make re-usable sanitary pads for girls who live in countries without access to pads (I told our wonderful hostess, "This is our kind of party!")  Sean and Curt took the kids out for fish fry and put them to bed. But there was this brief moment, after day care and work and before we all scattered, when Sean gathered us in the van and told us we were going to have a toast.

He'd bought two bottles of sparkling grape juice and cider, and grabbed some plastic kids' cups from the kitchen.  It was pouring down rain, that serious summer rain that instantly floods the driveway and drenches you to sogginess. We all crowded into the van: Sean in the driver's seat, me in the front passenger seat, Walter and Sally in their carseats, Curt in the back and Auds crouched down next to Sally. We gave Sean our full attention.  The kids knew something important and interesting was happening.

"So, today," Sean said, as he started getting the juice and cups ready, "Today the Supreme Court, which is part of our government, decided that people who love each other can get married. You see, it used to be that there was a whole group of people who weren't allowed to get married, but now they can."

"It used to be that only women and men could get married in a lot of places," I clarified. "But now, all over over the country, women who love women can get married. And men who love men can get married. So, when you grow up, you can marry the person you love, whether that person is a man or a woman."

Walter listened with growing excitement.  It was clear he had something to say ... an announcement of great importance to make:

"I am going to marry Mama!"

We shouldn't have been completely unprepared for this; it's a pretty common assumption among three-year-old boys.  Also, he's told Sean in the past: "When I grow up, I'm going to sleep upstairs with Mama."  "Where am I going to sleep?" asked Sean. "Probably with one of the neighbors."  Sean was relieved that Walter still wanted him to be nearby.

But we did fumble slightly in the moment, and while we didn't guffaw or anything, we must have smiled and given him an "oh, sweetie" look, because immediately his joyful, proud look changed to one of shy disappointment.  "Mama is married to me," Sean explained. "But she'll always be your mama."  "And I'll always love you," I added.

With the grape juice poured and glasses distributed, it was time for the toast: "To marriage equality!" said Sean. "To marriage equality! To love!" I said.  "To love! Cheers!" the kids and Auds and Curt joined in.  Auds had offered to share a cup with Sally, but it was clear that Sally did not need any help drinking her grape juice.  A refill or two later, and we went our separate ways into a fun Friday night.

Sean texted me during the day on Friday to ask if we could sing "How Can I Keep From Singing?" in church on Sunday, and that morning the band backed him up while he sang (beautifully, and a little tearfully.)  The song was a perfect bridge between lamentation--as we mourned the murder of nine black church leaders at the hands of white supremacist--and celebration ("When friends rejoice both far and near, how can I keep from singing?")

It was my Umma's (my grandma's) favorite song, and I remember hearing it sung on a Prairie Home Companion, and hearing her sing along with all her heart.  I've always like Enya's version of it, too, and we used to listen to that album on our way up to visit Umma during the last year of her life.  It makes me think of summer, of 1991, of fresh raspberry pie from Norske Nook, of the sound of Umma's voice that I can just barely remember.  I wonder, now, what she thought about while she sang the song, and what it meant to her.

I don't know for sure what memories Walter and Sally will associate with the song, but I can tell you that they have been singing it a lot lately.  To make sure he could sing it without crying too much, Sean practiced singing it almost constantly over the weekend--while changing Sally's diapers, while getting Walter ready for bed, while walking Hank the Dog.  And so the kids, also, have been singing it as they go about their daily tasks of life. Walter likes to add a little extra vibrato when he does: "How can I keeeeeep .. from singinginginging!"

As I told the congregation on Sunday: God is at work for justice, peace, mercy and love in the world.  And we are called to be God's instruments in that work.  And we have a lot of work to do.  But as we work, we sing.

How can we keep from singing?

These are the lyrics Sean put together for church on Sunday, a hybrid of Pete Seeger and Evangelical Lutheran Worship:

My life flows on in endless song;
above earth’s lamentation,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing.
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

What though the tempest round me roars?
I know the truth, it liveth.
What though the darkness round me close?
Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Love is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

In prison cells and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing!
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Love is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

Fresh Air

Baba had been pestering and pestering me to take Sally outside; I was sure it was too hot, but, being a dutiful daughter, I finally relented and decided to try sitting out on the glider for a few minutes.  Sally was awake, alert, and chill. Baba was right: it wasn't too hot, and there was a nice breeze.  We sat in the shade on the glider, listening to the marsh insects hum and feeling the wind in our hair. After a nice long time of low key interaction with Mama, Sally started giving hopeful motions with her tongue, as if saying, "What a lovely opportunity to nurse al fresco!" So we did, discretely tucked behind the screen of Umma's herb garden and the welcome fact of no traffic on the street out front. Hank pestered Baba until he finally relented and brought Hank outside to sit with us.  Hank relaxed enough to lie down for awhile but mostly guarded us with noble courage.  We three sat quietly, enjoying the moment.

Thank you, God, for moments like this! (And thank you, Baba, for the pestering. =).)

Always Being Made New

Dear Walter and Sally,

Something big happened today.  The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the denomination I serve as a pastor, elected a woman to be presiding bishop for the first time.

Her name is Elizabeth Eaton, and when she was elected she was serving as bishop of the Northeastern Ohio Synod. I don't know anything about her other than what I saw and read today.  She seems earnest, which I really like, and smart, and passionate about her faith and the life of the church. People who already know her as a leader say she is honest, direct and wise, and that she's weathered many storms already in her time as a synod bishop with grace and compassion and integrity.

We don't know yet what kind of presiding bishop she will be.  So far, she seems kind of nervous and overwhelmed, which is very understandable.

You're probably wondering why this is such a big deal to me.  I hope, anyway, that by the time you two read this the novelty of women reaching the highest leadership positions in the church and elsewhere is thoroughly out-of-date.

Like you, I grew up in a church where women could be ordained and serve as pastors.  The rules changed to allow it in 1970, and I was born in 1981, so I never experienced life as a Lutheran without women pastors.  The congregation I grew up in had several pastors who were women, and they had a profound influence on me and forming my faith and my identity as a Christian.  Of course, the pastors I grew up with who were men did that, too.

But it was a powerful experience for me, growing up in a predominantly Roman Catholic town, to grow up in a church where women could be pastors.  I realized very early on that I had options my Roman Catholic friends who were girls didn't have.  My parents always told me I could be anything I wanted to be, and do anything I set my mind to doing.  I felt like my church affirmed that message, not just for me but for all girls and boys: you are beloved, you are special, you are gifted and called by God ... and whatever it is that God is calling you to do, you can do it.

Of course, it wasn't completely true, back then.  There were still rules and other barriers to people being ordained and being elected to leadership positions. As I've gotten older, the church has gone through some amazing transformations that have made that feeling of being affirmed and empowered in my calling that I had as a little girl an actual reality for more and more people.  In 2009, the ELCA voted to change the rules so that people in same-sex relationships can be ordained. This year, one of my favorite professors, recently ordained, was elected as a synod bishop--the first openly gay person in a committed relationship to be elected as a bishop in the ELCA. And today, the first woman presiding bishop was elected ... and not only that, but of the top four candidates, three were women.  There wasn't just one qualified woman leader to choose, there were many.  

I used to think that I wanted to be the first woman presiding bishop in the ELCA.  The idea of being a history-maker appealed to me.  But this is so much better.  I will be able to tell you, Sally, that just before you were born a new possibility for women in the church was born, too. And Walter and Sally, you will both grow up in a church that allows me to look you in the eyes and say, with total honesty, "You can do anything God is calling you to do."  You may not want to be pastors or bishops, but being gay or straight or a man or a woman isn't automatically going to disqualify you from doing those things.  The door isn't pre-shut.  And that's a pretty exciting, wonderful thing. Something to celebrate!

The theme of the assembly that's going on right now is "Always Being Made New," so I think today and every August 14th we should celebrate Always Being Made New Day.  On that day I think our family should celebrate options and possibilities and potential.  On that day we should also celebrate Umma and Baba's wedding anniversary, because their love is Always Being Made New, too.  And also because they've always encouraged me to dream big, and to look toward the future with hope.

On that day, we should eat cake.  Because cake is delicious and Baba and I really like frosting.

Anyway, in some ways I hope this hoopla seems a little silly to you.  But I hope you also know how proud I am to be a pastor in the ELCA, and how proud I am of both of you, and how limitless your potential--our potential, all of us--seems to me right at this very moment.  I am feeling hopeful, excited, and very much being made new.

I love you!  Happy Always Being Made New Day!
Mama

Everything is Broken, Part II

I am bedresting.

This has put a major crimp in my nesting.

It's amazing how much can go haywire in a short amount of time.  Tuesday morning, I was tired but fine. Tuesday night, complete screaming agony.  While I writhed around in pain from the worst hemorrhoids of my life (hemorrhoids hemorrhoids hemorrhoids ... if you're grossed out, stopped reading now) Walter woke up coughing and screaming at regular intervals, throwing up at one point, too.  There was a thunderstorm, as well, adding an extra exciting element to our perfect storm of a terrible night.  Between taking care of me and Walter, Sean got almost no sleep at all.  Every once and awhile the household whimpering would abate long enough so that I could hear Hank the Dog snoring. Hank: "I am so used to this by now.  Good night, crazy family."

When Walter woke up again at 3 am I decided that our misery could only be improved by company and I crawled into bed with him.  It was a terrible idea, but it worked: Sean got a few hours of sleep, Walter got a little sleep, maybe, and definitely some rest, and I got one more snuggle in with my boy before that snuggling became absolutely physically impossible.  It was not a comfortable three hours for the Mama.  At one point, I had to turn over on my other side, away from Walter.  He woke up a little bit, snuggled in behind me, and did his best to rub my back (because he knows, you see, that back rubbing is what you do when you want someone to go to sleep.)  He's a very sweet boy.  When he woke up at 6 Walter was cranky to find a giant pregnant Mama taking up so much space in his bed and blocking his route to the door.  I was cranky and unable to get out of said bed (the turtle-on-her-back metaphor is truer than ever these days.)  Sean came and rescued both of us, like he does, and as we started a new day, I think we all thought we'd probably seen the low point and it could only be up from there.

Our optimism, while a treasured family characteristic, was misplaced in this case.

Since then, Dr. M. put me on bedrest for the duration of my pregnancy (me: "If I get better, can I go back to work?" Dr. M. "No.  That was easy.") and I made arrangements for my maternity leave to start (and end) a week earlier than we'd hoped. While my helpless turtle self lay around in pain all day, Walter got really impressively sick.  Pink eye in both eyes and a case of hives that spread so quickly and aggressively it took our breath away.  There was a trip to the emergency room and two trips to see Dr. L. The second trip to Dr. L. was inspired by a bad case of tremors and blue fingertips. Walter had his first lab work since the day he was born--a blood draw and urinalysis that came back totally clean. Armed with two antihistamines, steroids, and antibiotic eye drops, we were told to dose up our boy regularly, watch and wait. All of this, we were repeatedly assured, was perfectly normal and not nearly as scary as it looked.

And it was true.  But ohmygoodness was it a terrible three days before we started to see the light.

The light was there all along, of course. It was immediately there in the form of prayers and offers of help from family, friends and congregation members. It was there in the fact that none of the conditions that put me on bedrest are life threatening to me or to Sally.  The light was there because of all the work I'd already gotten done to get ready for maternity leave, and because the incredible staff and volunteers at Redeemer immediately jumped in and made everything else that needed to happen, happen. The light was in Walter, who braved all those doctor's visits and pokes and prods like a trooper, and in the truth that he is really OK and going to be fine: his body is just fighting a regular old virus in a somewhat overzealous way (really, immune system? Do we need this over-the-top histamine response?)  The light was in our wonderful doctors, Dr. M. and Dr. L., and their wonderful nurses who take such good care of Walter and me. Walter was so excited to go see Dr. L. on Thursday morning that he ran around the house happily chanting "Dr. L.! Dr. L.!" It's a little weird, but it's definitely better than being afraid to go to the doctor.

The light shone in and through Sean, who--sleep deprived--summoned strength, love and patience abundant (where does it come from?) And the light very much arrived with Umma on Friday evening ... that was the turning point, when we knew it was going to be OK.  When Walter woke up this morning he declared it: "Umma, Umma-Day."

We're not out of the woods, yet, but Walter's hives are getting better.  The main struggle now is getting all four medicines into him while he's 'roid raging like a tiny, angry baseball player. So, so angry.  I'm doing OK, too, although the hemorrhoids are now bleeding a lot (I told you to stop reading) and I'm kind of anxious and cranky (with no steroids to blame for it.)  I've got a bit of a Rear Window thing going on ... kind of ... really, nothing like that at all except I sit around all day thinking that bad things are happening out there. I'm going to have to distract myself with a lot of Star Trek next week, I think.

On Wednesday morning, after that first terrible night, Sean and I couldn't help but draw parallels between this 37th week of pregnancy with Sally and my 39th week of pregnancy with Walter (the week that Sean immortalized in the original "Everything is Broken" post.)  I made some sort of "well, maybe this time it will be less expensive" comment, but I should have knocked on wood, because Sean has had to take two and half unpaid days off so far, and the ER isn't cheap, and the emotional and psychological costs racked up in just these few days have been considerable.

It stinks when it feels like everything is going wrong all at once. You try to keep perspective, you try to count blessings and realize that it could be so much worse, but it still stinks while you're in the middle of it.  A lot of the light/darkness dichotomies in the Bible are unhelpful at best and racist (or often used racist-ly) at worst, but there is something to be said for the image of the light of Christ shining in the darkness, like a candle flame shining persistently, maybe sputtering a little bit now and then, but shining nonetheless.

On Thursday Walter was heartbroken to find that two of his "happy birthdays" (battery-powered LED candles we had in our windows at Christmastime) were out of juice. "Broken," he announced, sadly.  When we got the third one to glimmer, he was completely delighted, and let out a big, very surprised and happy "YAAAAAAAY!"

So, thanks be to God for Umma Umma-Day, for dear ones who come bearing shredded BBQ chicken, for snoring dogs, for Sean, for the impromptu concert of Muppet music Walter gave us tonight (he let us know when each song was over by clapping and shouting "Yaaaaaay!",) for Sally dancing to the beat of her brother's singing, for sitz baths, for steroids and antihistamines and antibiotics, and even for bedrest (and the luxury of being able to take bedrest when I needed it.) We are a little broken, but still glimmering away.  YAAAAAAAAY! Amen!

MICE communion!

Walter is super possessive, I think moreso than his peers.  He's really into saying "My turn!" these days, which tends to mean "This and every other toy is mine and my turn is infinitely long."

He also says "mine" but he's been mis-pronouncing it.  And so he ends up saying very sternly, seriously and certainly: "MICE!"

Walter is often very little and very grown up in the same moment. So far, Sean and I have been very successful at not laughing during these moments.

In other news, Walter now says "peanut butter" instead of "bilily" and "chicken" instead of "bawk bawk."  I'm impressed and wistful at the same time.

This is my very-buried-lead way of saying that Walter took communion for the first time today, and I was impressed and wistful at the same time, and he was so little and so grown up in the same moment, and most of all I just couldn't contain all the joy of sharing this beautiful gift from God with my son. As I cried through everything after communion and practically sprinted to the back of the church to get my big post-worship hug from Walter, one of our dear friends and congregation members said, "Your cup is overflowing." Amen. Alleluia! (Or, as Walter says, "A-min! Allelula!")

Sean carried Walter up for communion. Umma went first to show him how to do it. I handed Walter a wafer and expected him to eat it right away.  Instead he asked, "Dip it in?" We'd been debating in the van on the way to church whether or not Walter would be able to handle intinction.  In fact, Baba had said, "Is he going to D-I-P the the wafer in?" and from the back of the van Walter said, "DIP!" We maybe need to start coming up with strategies other than spelling.

So, Walter, who had been paying attention in the van and who has probably been paying attention to communion for a very long time (in Walter time) before this day, looked up at me and said, "Dip it in?" And I said, "Yes, you can dip it in. Daddy will show you how."  He watched Daddy dip his wafer in the grape juice and then dipped his own wafer in, of course putting his fingers all the way down into the chalice (*shudder* we'll work on that.) When he brought the wafer out he wasn't sure what to do.  Daddy gently gave his elbow a nudge and made a little Cookie Monster "om nom nom" noise.  Walter ate the wafer, chewing very thoughtfully.

He's brought it up throughout the day today.  "Communion! Dip!" and also, "Communion again? Dip again?" and, memorably, "MICE communion! Please!" He's excited to have it again next week.

I always underestimate what Walter knows and understands, in part because I don't want to overestimate and forget that he's still so little, and still lacking in so much basic life experience. The possessiveness thing for example ... parents of older kids remind me not to be too hard on Walter, because, from a child development perspective, he can't grasp the concept of sharing right now the way he'll be able to a year from now.  The area of what Walter knows and understands and what he doesn't know and understand is still mysterious to me, though, and something I only figure out in bits and glimpses.

The great thing about sacraments (one of the great things about sacraments) is that what Walter does or doesn't understand is irrelevant.  Baptism and communion are gifts from God: tangible, splash-able, taste-able signs of God's love and God's promises. God does the work: God turns water into forgiveness and eternal life, God turns bread and wine into the true presence of Jesus Christ, who IS forgiveness and eternal life. Walter doesn't need to know the finer points of Lutheran theology to receive these gifts (although I hope he has an interest in learning it someday, because I would enjoy sharing that with him, too.)

For the record, I think Walter knows communion is something very special, and that it's a wonderful thing that he gets to share with his family at church.  Today at church he also got to see a long-longed-for baby get baptized, and later he got to be there to celebrate a renewal of marriage vows. He also got tons of attention from the pre-teens and teens who are so sweet with him, living out the promises they made when he was baptized by helping us raise Walter in the faith (mostly by playing peek-a-boo with him. And teaching him how to say "hamburger" and "pickle.")

It was a cup-overflowing kind of day. Amen. Alleluia!

**Edited to Add** I realized shortly after posting this last night that Walter isn't mis-pronouncing "Mine," he's saying "My's." He's figured out that the usual rule in English for making things possessive is adding "-'s" (Mama's, Dada's, Walter's, etc.)  Sean says such over-regularizing of language is common among kids his age. I think it's freaking brilliant.

More than enough

Walter's new absolute favorite song is "Dayenu," a Passover song which means "It would have been enough" in Hebrew.  There are verses, but Sean and I only know the chorus, which is pretty catchy. "Day-day-enu, day-day-enu, day-day-enu, dayEnu, dayenU! (Dayenu.)" Walter loved it from the first moment he heard it and now requests it often and sings along: "Nanu! Nanuuuu!"

At his request, we sang it to him tonight as a lullaby, and he kept asking for us to sing it again. "Nanu! More!"

At first I thought it was kind of funny, to never be able to get enough of the "it would have been enough" song.  But it actually shows a fairly deep theological understanding on Walter's part.  The song is about how God delivers God's people, again and again.  It would have been enough if God had just done it once, but God keeps going, giving more and more and more.  God gives and loves abundantly; God is more than enough.

Also, it is a really fun word to say.