closet full

This weekend a good friend is getting married.  We are making a quick trip to Maryland for a mini reunion/wedding.  So for the last couple of weeks the drum solo in my head has been beating out "go-to-the-store-buy-something-new-to-wear" over and over.

There is a myth that I've bought in to for a long time.  That the outfit I need to make me feel thin-energetic-successful is just waiting at a store for me.  Probably on sale.

But I have a closet jammed with clothes.   Some I love, like presents from my stylish, pro shopper Mom.  She takes time to consider flattering fit and wearer's delight. Some are hand-me-downs, practical pieces that are now part of my every day rotation.  Some I've grabbed, running through a store, because they were soft or a pretty color and only $6.00 on clearance. I've got lots of pieces, so many clothes and yet I'm still waiting for something else.

This summer I put a ban on more shopping.  I got strict with myself.  "Go to your closet."  I said.  "Dig deeper.  Be creative.  Stop thinking it's out there.  Find it in here."

The day of Jake's graduation, deep in my closet, I found a green and raspberry floral shell.  It was two years old, tags still on and beautiful.  I didn't have anything to wear with it.  Except a raspberry sweater that I bought a year ago and wear all the time.  Put them together with my white pants and I had a new party outfit.

A couple months later I was packing for my trip to California.  The one thing I was missing was a pair of nice, dark-ish pants to wear on the plane.  I kept thinking I would get to the store, and then found just what I needed at the bottom of my summer box, clean and folded since last year.

Yesterday I found an emerald green sweater to brighten my gray and black outfit and fight the chilly fall air. It was in a bag, bought on clearance during humid, hot days and tucked away.  It looks great with a multi-colored scarf I've had for years.

I need to trust that the closet is adequate. In so many ways.  Not just with clothes.  I find myself panicking about being equipped for my new job.  That what will make me feel thin-energetic-successful as a principal are the classes I can't take until next year, or the books I haven't finished reading, or the review I will get from my boss. The drum solo beats "you-don't-know-what-you-are-doing. You-are-in-over-your-head."

Then I look inside.  I realize that chaplain months in emergency waiting rooms with families, swallowing pat answers so I could hear their pain, is just the tool I need with frustrated parents.  Drawing out shy hospice patients is surprisingly not that different from drawing out shy 6th graders.  Plotting a sermon series uses many of the same skills that creating an art curriculum takes.  And leading an interdisciplinary team is a lot like leading a faculty meeting.

When I start to freak out I have to get strict with myself. "Dig deeper.  Be creative.  Stop thinking it's all out there.  Find it in here." I may be a brand new principal, and I can't wait to have more experience, but there are some good things in the closet.

I think about Elijah, looking for God outside of the cave, in the wind and fire and earthquake.  But God was inside the cave, Elijah's closet, whispering quietly to him.

So it's back in the closet for me.  To listen to God's quiet voice, to trust in my journey, and right now to find something to wear with a purple lacy J Crew skirt for the wedding.

blue -part one and two

Part one:  Once upon a time I had a blue office.  It was a really cool office, with tall windows, a square black table-desk, and two beautiful blue walls.  I loved this office.  I loved the color and the space.  I loved to sit at the table, look at the mountains and write and plan and think.  

Then I lost the office.  

After a while I started working at Spartanburg Hospital.  I had a cubicle.  And I was very thankful for the cubicle.  I hung a blue picture on the wall and learned to chaplain and chart and bare my soul.

Fourteen months later I became a hospice chaplain in Buncombe County.  I didn't have an office but I worked from my blue car.  I was so happy to be back in Asheville.  I visited and comforted and prayed with my patients.

I loved my work.  But it was hard and sad.  Sometimes, in the quiet of my bedroom or while driving back roads I would dream about someday having an office again.  With blue walls like the one I had lost.

I found out about the Principal job, interviewed and accepted it within one weekend.  I didn't even think about it coming with an office.  And then I walked into my new space and saw blue walls.  In that moment I felt God's personal, redeeming love with such force that I could hardly breathe.


Part two:  My blue walled office had been inhabited by a string of men.  It was very utilitarian.  There was a huge leather couch that took up half the room.  A third of the room was used for storage of various boxes and supplies. There were five different styles of chairs in one room.  I didn't care.  It had blue walls.

But I did call my friend Angela.  Angela is one of those friends who will sit in your living room and chat with you for hours.  And she will never wince at the dust piling up on the piano, or mention the door knob that has been broken for 36.5 months, or point out the slip-covered chair that once was white.  She is just restful and calm and friendly.  Until you call with a decorating emergency.  And then mild mannered Clark Kent turns into Super Decorating Woman.  You haven't had fun until you've watched dainty Angela move huge pieces of furniture back and forth across a room. Or balance on a chair to hang a picture.  Or sweep the room with her laser eyes before coming up with the perfect solution.    She is my hip fairy god decorator.   She took one look at the office and said "well, the couch has to go." And I knew things were going to get good.

She showed up with bags and furniture.  She brought chairs from her basement.  She found a beautiful table and lamp, a colorful rug, pillows, and a blue mosaic mirror.  Lots of rearranging and artistic perspectives later and my office is bright, welcoming, feminine, beautiful and.... blue.  I still cannot believe that this amazing room is my office!

I love this quote from C.S. Lewis about restoration and rebuilding. I can't read it without tearing up, because it reminds me that what Angela has done for my office, God is doing with my heart.

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” 
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

dayenu

It's one of the realities of school life in 2014 - We have several students with food allergies.  One of the third grade boys is allergic to gluten.   I am too, so I am very sympathetic. His parents arranged to bring g-free muffins and donuts in and put them in our freezer.  That way if someone in his class has party or brings treats he won't be left out.  They arrived with a big bag of deliciousness and on their way to the kitchen, handed me a fresh loaf of g-free rye bread.

Rewind.  I have always been a sandwich girl.  Put it between two pieces of bread and I am happy.  Gluten intolerance and carb watching have put an enormous dent in my joy.  Once in a blue moon I will make a Udi's bread sandwich and feel content.

But this rye bread was exceptional.  It had that rye-ie smell.  It had the little rye seeds.  It was soft and promised delicious sandwiches.  I stopped at the store on the way home and bought sharp cheddar cheese, a cucumber and two tomatoes.  I swooned.  I had sandwiches for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner.  With every bite I thought "If this was the only food in the world, it would be enough."

And every time I said that it reminded me of a paragraph from Naked Spirituality.  Finally I got the book out and found this quote.

There is a Hebrew word.  Dayenu. The word is from a Jewish song that has been a key part of the passover celebration for over a thousand years.  It means, "It would have been enough," and it functions within the retelling of the story of God's goodness over the generations:
If God had brought us out of Egypt, Dayenu - it would have been enough.
If God had split the sea for us, Dayenu-it would have been enough.
If God had led us through on dry land, Dayenu -it would have been enough.
If God had provided for our needs in the wilderness for forty years, Dayenu - it would have been enough.
If God had fed us manna, Dayenu -it would have been enough
If God had given us Shabbat, Dayenu - it would have been enough.

Singing this song fills one with a sense of surplus, of being superabundantly blessed, of being saturated with good things, of one's cup being full and running over.  And it fills one with a corresponding appreciation of God's unlimited generosity:  Dayenu-but there's more!  Dayenu but there's more! and more, and more!  Thanks be to God!"  Naked Spirituality Brian BcLaren

I love the spirit of gratitude that seems to be growing.  I see gratitude lists on facebook, and books on gratitude continue to be published.

I will add a few from my list.
My three boys. Healthy and happy.
My phone, which keeps me connected, at the touch of a button, to my faraway family
Weekends.  And the God who invented Sabbath.
My 205,000 mile car which is still limping along.
My cozy house
My high styling office (thank you Angela.  That's a whole 'nother post....)
And the genius baker who made G-free rye bread.  Dayenu!

opinions

The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions.  Leonardo da Vinci.

I don't think of myself as an opinionated person. I'm a peace-loving phlegmatic ENFJ 9.  When people start raging on politics or painting team colors on their faces or going into debt for a certain kind of car, I'm baffled.  What is worth that much angst?  I am amused hearing Steve passionately discuss the merits of the pedaling kayak.  When Jake and Josh argue about McDonald's french fries vs. Sonic, I have nothing to add.

But then I remember that I could wax eloquent on why Ben and Jerry's Heath Bar Coffee ice cream is the best in the world.  I am very decided on the certainty of the Loch Ness Monster.  I feel my blood pressure rise when contemporary worship is debated.  I could tell you a thing or two about exceptional weddings and the need for chaplains in hospice.

So maybe I am opinionated.  I asked my husband, who can always be trusted for a truthful answer.  He thought about it for a while and said "It's hard to separate bossiness with being opinionated. But I'd say you have the right number of opinions. "  Hummm.  I actually do have a few opinions on why I might be bossy.....

One of the strangest parts of my new job is the amount of opinions I am supposed to have.  And how quickly I am supposed to form them.  

Do I want the bell choir to wear tux shirts or white polos?
Should we retill the mulch or order more?
Can the lunch tables stay up during band?
Do we want to install a keyless entry system?
Is it ok to serve cotton candy at the fall festival?
Should 5 or 7 tardies by the limit?
Can girls wear scarfs on cold days?
What color should our new kickballs be?
How do I feel about number 2 pencils?

I don't!  No opinions.  Make your own decision and then tell me about it.  Don't care.  

But I have to.  It's my job.  Not only to form opinions but to follow through.  To learn to care and figure out how it will affect or help people, to make decisions.

Ernest Renan once said "Our opinions become fixed at the point where we stop thinking."  That's probably often true.  But I'm realizing there is a difference between having opinions and being opinionated.  I'm learning to ask better questions, listen more carefully and then engage in the discussion and provide direction.  I'm learning to have resonable, flexible answers.

By the way, I think our new kickballs should be red.  This year anyway.

recharging

I hit the wall at approximately 8:37 pm last night.  Yep.  This is the whining part of the post.  July was a crazy month.  Winding down one job while ramping up the other.  Hospice by day and principal by night.  Visiting families for both. Reading for both. Schedules and paperwork for both.

Hospice ended on Wednesday.  On Thursday I packed clothes and food for the boys for their Maryland trip, tidied the house, and then left for a long weekend of teacher's meetings in Gatlinburg.  The meetings were good.  Good speakers, nice people, fun conversations with my new team.  I learned a lot.

Monday and Tuesday were long school days getting ready for registration.  We cleaned, dusted, mopped, scrubbed.  Then we organized, set up and discussed what needed to be included in the Principal's talk.  I came in early to run the track and then weed the school's front garden before rushing home to shower.  I stayed out late shopping for a new, principally pant suit.  Everyone was pitching in.  Everyone was working hard.

Which culminated in three hours of a loud and boisterous registration.  Students happy to be reunited with their friends.  Parents harried to get forms signed and bills paid.  Teachers touring and explaining and greeting. I smiled and shook hands and talked and listened.  And just before the end, I realized that my tank was empty.  I'd hit the wall.  I gritted through the last few minutes and limped to the car.

In 18 hours I had to board a plane to California. But right now I was too tired to drive 7 minutes home. I was too drained to cry.  I was even to spent to call my mom and get some comfort.  But I could hear her voice in my head.  "Go home, take a bath, crawl in bed Annie, you will make it."  I did.  

Mid cozy warm bubble bath I realized that I had 18 free hours to replenish in any way I chose.  To do anything I wanted to fill up.  Who gets that?  How lucky am I? And then I got to get on a plane and jet through the night to see my family.  To celebrate and chatter and catch up.  I was so excited to plan my renewing day that I wondered if I would be able to sleep.  I wondered that for 3.6 seconds after my head hit the pillow. zzzzzzzzz.

So what would you do with 18 hours?  Here are my ingredients -
1. Sleep - 8 hours of quiet peace.  A dark room and a cozy bed. I could have stayed there half the day, but I love watching the first 30 minutes of the Today.  It was lovely to become awake on the couch while Matt, Savannah, Al and Natalie shared the news with happy camaraderie.

2.  Quiet - Silence is healing to me.  After the news, the TV went off for the rest of the day.  I didn't turn on the radio in the car.  I didn't take headphones on my walk.  I listened for the whir of the fan, the purring of my cat, the gurgling of the water and birds singing to each other.

3.  Exercise - The last thing I felt like was pushing myself.  But I knew that a long airport to airport day would be much better if I got my blood pumping.  I headed to the park along the river before it got too hot.  The fresh air and elevated heart rate were healing and relaxing.

4.  Food - And then I was starved.  I had emptied the fridge since no one would be home for over a week.  So I checked out Biscuit Head, a tempting West Asheville bakery and bought a gluten-free egg and cheese biscuit. And a few doors down, Urban Burrito, where I grabbed a big salad to eat later.

5.  Tasks - Then home.  To leisurely pack. To clean the kitchen and finish the laundry.  To read a couple chapters of my current book. To choose which magazines should go in my carry on.

And then it was time to head to the airport.  I was relaxed and excited, packed and tidied.  Ready to nap on the plane.  Even more ready to see my parents and brothers.  So thankful for a replenishing morning.

last day

My last day at hospice was Wednesday.  The Friday before was a wonderful going-away party.  Perfect for many reasons.  It was for both me and our beloved boss Craig so not too much spotlight on me.  We ate Mellow Mushroom pizza and home-made peach blueberry crisp with vanilla ice cream.  There was lots of laughter and fun to off set the sweet words and goodbyes.

I planned to be done with visits by Friday.  To have the last three days of this week for paper work, last minute conversations and turning everything in.  But of course things didn't go as planned.  My last day I had three scheduled visits.

They couldn't have been more different.  A Hungarian couple, he in a nursing home bed sleeping.  She by his side every day, hungry for company.  Their priest had been by that morning to give communion.  But she wanted someone to hold her hand and listen to stories of the war, and how they'd met.  In the last 6 months, I have so enjoyed her stories. 

My second visit was to a tiny Asian Buddhist woman who lives alone in a log cabin in the woods forty-five minutes out of town.  She wanted to talk about how faith carries a person through sickness into death.  And how to know if you picked the right faith when it comes down to the end.  Rich discussions interspersed with "where to get great chinese food" when she wanted a break from the seriousness.  I could have visited her for many months to come and looked forward to each visit.

Last was my favorite.  Larry, a North Carolinian Baptist.  I started visiting him three years ago in his home.  Now he lives in an assisted living center.  Each week we talk about his wife, who passed away five years ago.  We talk about Heaven and what he is longing for there.  We talk about Nascar and Duck Dynasty, hamburgers and the beach. As it was my last Hospice day, I asked Larry's permission to visit occasionally as a friend.  I know, it's my issue.  I want to finish the journey I started with him.  Larry's response was classic Larry.  "You better."

As I drove home, I thought about how much I have loved the last 5 years of chaplaining.  I love my team.  I love a lot of my patients.  I love exploring the county in my little blue car and designing my own schedule.  I love all the prayers and spiritual conversations I get to be a part of.  I felt a wave of fear and regret to be leaving all this.

Then I remembered what my supervisor Robin told us as we left chaplain school.  "Each time you make a change, the adjustment gets easier.  You take with you every single thing you've learned and apply it to the next job, the next team, the next patients."

T.S. Elliot had a different spin on it. “If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” 

So here I come school.  Ready for a new team of teachers, and a case load of vibrant, healthy students.   Willing to embrace all the changes and challenges ahead.  Ready to share all the wisdom I've learned in five years of chaplaining.  And so ready to face all that I don't have a clue about.

runner

This July is full of surprises.  I was offered a new job.  New as in totally unexpected.  Principal to elementary school children instead of chaplain to hospice patients.  This month I will be finishing my old job while I start my new one.  A new identity as well as exciting challenges and timely solutions.  I'm blown away!

But as I'm reeling with the changes, my twelve year old turned thirteen. We picked up five boys, fed them all the pizza and rootbeer floats they could handle and let them play basketball at the gym until they were totally worn out.  Josh was in his glory.

Three day's later it was Steve's birthday. I wanted something a little less little-caesars and a little more grown-up-celebration.  I made my mom's to-die-for eggplant patties with arrabbiata sauce, fresh green beans and corn, salad and bread.  And of course, Steve's must-have Southern Living's Best Carrot Cake Ever.    

An hour before our friends arrived for the birthday dinner, I did finishing touches on the house and set the table.  All week I had planned to use a beautiful woven runner for the table that went with my flowers and plates.  I had planned the decorations around it, but our table is a mess, and no matter what way I turned the runner, I couldn't get it right.  So I found a blue table cloth and a red flowered napkin that did the trick.

The next day I got a call from a patient's wife.  She said Larry was rallying today and was wondering if the baptism we had talked about for so long could actually happen today.  I told her I was on my way over.  I looked around my house for what I could take to make this chair bound, spontaneous baptism feel holy and eternal.  I got my Bible and a little glass pitcher.  And on the way out, I grabbed the folded woven runner.

Larry and Gail are  sweet people with a simple, tenacious faith.  Illness has tested it over and over, but they have kept their warm, grateful spirits.  They inspire me every time I visit.  

Come Thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy praise.

Today we read Matthew 3 together.  How John was a voice calling in the wilderness  "Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him." We talked about how we want to remove any stumbling blocks from our hearts and clear the way for God to have unobstructed access.  We talked about the symbol of baptism and what it means to hear God's voice saying "This is my beloved child."  We prayed together.  Then I wrapped the woven runner around Larry's neck.  With the pitcher of water I baptized him in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for sounds of loudest praise.

As I dried Larry's head with the ends of the runner, I thought about how an ordinary table cloth had become sacramental stole. Ordained fabric.  I thought about how often I make plans.  Even lovely plans.  But sometimes they just aren't high enough.  

Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.