Faith Formation under Construction

Typically, I'm not one to talk much about my own faith formation journey in the company of others, especially among strangers on a three-day retreat weekend.  Nonetheless, while assembled on a team coordinating said retreat, was delegated the task of doing just that.

I don’t even preach the Good News to people known for decades, so why this task?  The answer may surprise you as much as it surprised me.  Because no one is the type to evangelize their faith, so why not you?  

You’re not going to come off with an attitude of righteous indignation.   

You’re not going to use big theological words.   

You’re going to keep it simple, present in the common everyday surroundings and may integrate a brief anecdote or two.

Now how to illustrate the desired points for a variety of age, education levels, learning styles and keep it interesting for eight to ten minutes.  There is a list of points that have to be worked into the final presentation and some critical review opportunities by the whole team. No pressure there.  Then there is the whole issue that for one ministry that I feel called to participate in, requires participation in a ceremony of being received into the community and sent forth to bring the Eucharist to people who are too ill or infirm to leave their homes to attend church.  Received and sent forth by the patriarchal structure that is the church, no less.  A whole nother story there...

One of the reasons we migrated from the Roman Catholic Church to the Episcopal Church was the lack of high church formality, a greater acceptance of people whose life journey’s included transitions beyond the typical white, Anglo-Saxon, heterosexual experience and the sacrament of Confession no longer being a requirement to receiving Eucharist.  “Catholic lite – all the tradition with half the guilt,” is the way it was explained by the vicar.

The path of my faith journey has had some crossroads, detours and overpasses in its progress.  Raised a fifth-generation Catholic for the first 20 years of my life, where every weekend and every church event saw factions of my family from start to finish setting up, preparing or cleaning up after every activity. Married in a full Catholic wedding to a spouse raised Baptist who now considers himself a Taoist by nature. We (I) continued the Catholic tradition for the first part of our boys’ lives with Sunday school, confession, communion and the like.  

A move to a different neighborhood, after the death of my Catholic grandmother, brought us to an Episcopal church in walking distance of our neighborhood.  It was a uniting factor to walk through the neighborhood park with my sons on Sunday mornings to attend services and then meander back through the park home.  We had some interesting conversations on those walks.   And often a stop to swing which should be built in to every Sunday afternoon.

When the boys entered their teens, a change to a church further away due to personnel changes.  At that point, only my oldest son would attend with me when he had audio-visual tasks at services.  Both boys and spouse would help at social events when asked – illustrating acts of service as a form of faith, but none are fervent attendees of the worship service.  Now I work administrating home health and hospice services for a Methodist based non-profit organization whose base motto comes from the quote most often attributed to John Wesley:

“Do all the good you can. By all the means you can. In all the ways you can. In all the places you can. At all the times you can. To all the people you can. As long as ever you can.” 

Why do I attend church without the rest of my family?  It has been an issue over the years.  It can hurt to see complete families all in a row when mine is scattered over miles.  It has become my time to renew the vessel that is poured out each week in support of others through supporting my coworkers, family, friends and the world at large.  It is a big and taxing task list that I carry each week.  My extended family is at church.  Many of the women I am closest to are 20-30 years my senior.  My parents attend the same worship service. The opportunity to do a one-stop shop check in with each one and monitor their social, physical and mental progress in the aging game is best done in the supportive community with others to help if needed.  The accountability to and support received from the greater community sustains in time of need and rejoices in time of thanks.

My spouse completes yard work for elderly people in our church community as his ministry to care for creation and live out his Taoist philosophies.  Our sons do tasks when asked by me or their grandparents that are often menial or physical labor that is more easily completed when many hands assist.  In this manner, they learn cooperation, how to integrate instruction from various persons and the satisfaction of a job well done.  Work completed with a senior generation imparts a work ethic not often found in this generation.  The expectations are high, but the results are achieved.

Husband didn’t attend services except when pressed for Christmas and sometimes Easter.  First son stopped attending regularly after high school.  Second son at the ripe age of 5 said – NOPE.  Not doing that routine.  So I waited for him to come around.  He’s 18 now and still waiting… he considers himself an apathetic agnostic – don’t know, don’t care.  Faith will be there when and if I decide it is important in my life.  Just not right now.  They may be on to something… there are several days when the opportunity to sleep in and not be responsible for anything is highly appealing.  Then that old Catholic guilt kicks in and here we go on that merry-go-round again…

The benefits of avoiding eternal damnation vs. the investment of an hour or two a week of effort seem to be worth it.  I also have the concept of a forgiving God who won’t separate me from my loved ones for all eternity.  But you can bet I’m going to remind them often that it was my efforts that brought them along for the ride.  And if it turns out not to be the case that the eternal life exists, we’ll all find out when it’s too late for regrets or retributions.  So there is that.

House Guest Encounters of the Slobbery Kind

One of our nurses had a bad experience the last time she boarded her dog at a kennel.  He came home dejected, malnourished, with bite wounds, an eye infection and kennel cough.  Cost her $350 and the kennel fee to get him back to normal.  His bouncy demeanor was subdued and it took him weeks to bounce back.  She was looking for other alternatives.

Since I have a 18 year old son at home with no summer job.  I thought this would be a slam dunk. Then he got jury duty.  And an attitude that he did NOT want to do this, but we were already committed.  Anyone who knows me is keenly aware that once committed, there is no other alternative.  But that's a whole nother story.

Her house is 50 miles away, so the dog had to be moved to our place.  When she said large bulldog, I was thinking 30-40 pounds English bulldog; not 85 pounds American bulldog.  We moved him crate, leash and oversized food bowl into our home.  Complete with jowls, big feet, dandruff, stink and attitude.  Dwight is a big guy with more brawn than brain, but also some interesting quirks.

Dwight - our house guest

His favorite treat is a strawberry or an ice cube.  But, freeze the strawberry IN an ice cube, BLOWS his walnut sized mind.  Has no idea what to do with it.

If he walks into the room while you are dressing, he turns his back to you to give you some privacy.  He WON'T leave, but he'll ignore you.

He doesn't bark unless he's frustrated - has wound his leash around the posts outside and can't move.  But squeaks to get attention.

Seems to recognize the theory of the word HEEL while on a leash and will think about it momentarily, then fakes complete dementia and does his own thing.

He doesn't poop while on a leash.   But won't pass any vertical pole without a through smell and watering.

Grunts while he eats his dinner.  The only way he will chill out and lay down on the ground is if you put a bare foot on his back and use him as a footstool.  The day I put lavender lotion on my feet and then put him on the floor he wrapped around them like a dinner roll and zoned out.  He was in his crate and snoring by 8pm.

The guys have been hard-pressed to spoil him, we had to give him thyroid Rx in his food, spray him down for dandruff treatment and keep him tethered outside due to a fencing issue.  Dan let him sleep on the bed for a while, so he may return home more spoiled than harmed from this venture.

I'm cured from thinking fostering dogs from the humane society would be a brilliant hobby for us.  Our house stinks like dog, our furniture is decorated with dog slobber, the floors ARE pretty clean for once, except that he likes to chew bits of wood into tiny splintery pieces.  I've decide the proceeds from boarding Dwight are going to a thorough house cleaning to rid all the dog evidence once he's gone.  Then there's the toxic waste clean up of the back yard to be dealt with as well. Gloves, boots, ventilation mask and shovel may be required.  The deal for the kid to tend to the dog for the week was that I would assume dooty duty. This kid may have a future in negotiations...

Clothes Captains Changes Con Texts - closed captions changes context

While watching the recent DNC convention, was anyone else struck with a sense of loss over the end of the Obama legacy?  Not only for the Mr., but for the poise, grace and sometimes even humor that the girls and the Mrs. Showed.  A video that is going viral is “Thirteen moments when we fell in love with Michelle Obama” which features everything from a “Beyonce-esque” karaoke to a SNL skit on Mom Dancing.
https://www.yahoo.com/style/13-moments-made-us-fall-150000025.html

I had closed captions running while watching Ms. Obama’s address.  If that were the filter through which you were processing this event, would it have been contextually accurate?  Look at some of the vague and glaring transpositions of context that appeared:

CAPTIONED                        SPOKEN
Sinner of our world – center of our world

Is my here like yours?    Is my hair like yours?

It’s about cool will have the power -  who will have the power

I struck – I trust

Avoid the game – avoid the gangs

Anything yet hard life – anything in her life

Give north tendency – given her tendency

Military in New York a man - Military in your command

Mets third – measured

Prices hit – crisis hits

I’m with terror.  – I’m with her. --  by far my favorite

On behalf of our children – about half of our children

Euros – Heroes

That’s being of segregation – sting of segregation

It got knocked on every dollar – knock on every door

It’s still electing HC adds president - Into electing Hillary Clinton as president

 

Looks like the RNC took control of the keyboard, doesn’t it?  Makes her address into something Malia Trump probably wouldn’t want to plagiarize.  But that’s a worthy offense at this point in the game.

Imagine, if you will, a Trump presidency.  Is his 12 year old heir going to behave with the grace and poise of the Obama girls, not likely.  Have you seen the photo riding a stuffed lion?  How long until it's a safari trophy shot?  His life will be a series of photo opportunities, hopefully not police mug shots.  Will his cabinet be full of A-list choices like Colin Powell, Condi Rice and Elizabeth Warren?  Not so much, cronies from the casino table and failed business partners.  Will his First Lady take charge of an issue like childhood obesity or minority health care?  Or just take the charge cards for a romp with alarming regularity?

Even an HR Clinton presidency brings a sense of the unknown regarding what to expect from Bill.  What will Bill’s token issue be - Will sax solos be featured at state dinners play the same way that it did on Arsenio Hall in the 80's?  Will all the White House interns have to be male?  Will it make a difference? When was the last time we had grandchildren of the POTUS on the south lawn frolicking? Will it be safe for them to do so in our present society?  There are far more questions than answers at this point in the game and the stakes are high.  Or, if I’m on closed caption – the steaks are fried, but that’s a whole nother story.

My greatest concern for a Trump presidency is reinstating the draft and using our military to defend his short-sighted asinine comments with defensive maneuvering, costing lives, collateral damage and further destroying the impression the United States has in the rest of the world.  Of course world tyrants support Trump, he would make them look sane by comparison.

The slogans have gained ground - "Anyone but Trump." "We're better together".  If left to the caption writers, we'd be seeing 'End to one, butter rump' and 'Where butter to gather?'  If I can’t have Bernie, I’m willing to back HRC, but in a perfect world – I’d want to write in Jon Stewart, just for the running commentary of sound bites.

Uber, Hearse or Death Cab to a Death Cafe?

In reading for work the other day, I discovered an unfamiliar term, the “death café” movement.  Apparently, it is an opportunity for people to gather and discuss the taboo subject of death, explore end of life options and share opinions on the matter.  Knowing just that it was a meet up and sharing opportunity was okay, but what does one serve at a death Café?  Angel or devil’s food cake?  Decaf coffee, espresso, heavy cocktails or tea?  Death by chocolate?  Moon pies?  What kind of people would it attract?  Goths, zombie fanatics, insurance salesmen or funeral groupies?  What do you order at a death café?  Would a well-done burger be called back to the kitchen as “cremate it”?  Would death by chocolate be served in a chocolate casket?

Our society has a weird fascination with death.  Ghost tours, haunted locations, paranormal experiences, zombies, etc.  We are intrigued by it, as long as it doesn’t come too close to us or those we love.  And it is one of those experiences that we don’t handle better with frequent practice.  The more we experience death and grief with little time for recovery between incidents, the less compassion we have for others to help them on their grief journey.

Work research is leading me to hospice, end of life and life enrichment readings.  One pal was a contributor to an article on the 11 aspects of a good death.  Now, I’ve seen a great many top 10 lists, and not one of them was a list of things that make death a good thing.  Among the factors found in research were:

“A recent study published in the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, which gathered data from terminal patients, family members and health care providers, aims to clarify what a good death looks like. The literature review identifies 11 core themes associated with dying well, culled from 36 studies:

·        Having control over the specific dying process

·        Pain-free status

·        Engagement with religion or spirituality

·        Experiencing emotional well-being

·        Having a sense of life completion or legacy

·        Having a choice in treatment preferences

·        Experiencing dignity in the dying process

·        Having family present and saying goodbye

·        Quality of life during the dying process

·        A good relationship with health care providers

·        A miscellaneous “other” category (cultural specifics, having pets nearby, health care costs, etc.)

In laying out the factors that tend to be associated with a peaceful dying process, this research has the potential to help us better prepare for the deaths of our loved ones—and for our own.”  The rest of the article specifies what is meant by each of these items, and a link: http://qz.com/727042/the-11-qualities-of-a-good-death-according-to-research/

If I were to host a death café, who would I invite?  Would people be insulted because I thought they should have their affairs in order or amused because I thought they’d enjoy a morbid discussion?  Even worse would they be offended if I left them out because I thought they wouldn’t find it an appealing subject?  Like most of my pals, if there’s wine and chocolate involved, they are in no matter what the hook is.  But that’s a whole nother story.

My current group of friends, range in age from primarily early 50s into the 90s, and none of us are getting any younger.  I had to remove a past job from my resume because all of the pertinent references are deceased. The reality is that my next decade or two is going to be spent in the end of life care and tending to pals at the end of life spectrum from needing in-home care, moving to assisted living and even calling to arrange home health and hospice care – possibly from my coworkers. I’d better find a little black dress that I really enjoy, because it could be getting a significant amount of mileage.

Death no longer provides the anxiety it did in my 20s and 30s. Doing time at the funeral home cured that in a hurry.  If there is no past history with the deceased, they just seem to be peacefully napping folks. The Taoist culture believes it is a rebirth to another form of life unfamiliar to us.  Just as foreign as what happened after birth to the life we now know.  In talking to someone about whether having a faith base makes a difference, the point was made that we invest all this time at church for the great reward of Heaven as a destination.  Why do we still feel sadness when people achieve that final goal?  That’s the final goal.  It’s like winning the church LOTTO.

I’m still looking into the death café possibility, and there will be Costco desserts.  Let me know if you want to be on the very much alive guest list.

Love, Honor and Negotiate

Summer brings another wedding season and one thing you can always find to talk about at weddings is whether or not OBEY was in the vows. Everyone is committed to the love part, the honor part is not a source of dispute, but throw that obey word out there and all bets are off.  Traditional, same sex, interdenominational, nondenominational, civil ceremony or full blown church affair - the simple word in the context of marriage gets our hackles up.

Early on Mr. M and I had a plaque that read "Love, honor and negotiate" which worked for everything from what to have for dinner, to whose turn it was to control the remote, choose the car radio station,  and when it was - or wasn't - time to have kids.  The general rule was, if one person felt more strongly about an issue that the other, acquiescing to keep the peace was the better part of valor.  And in return, the other partner would do the same.  But if we both had principals invested in the matter, it could be a long, cold standoff - like how the toilet paper should be replaced on the spindle - YES, immediately and off the top.  What do you mean - roll off the back?!?!?

Those early childhood years tend to be more of a hostage swap than involved parenting - can you watch the kids while I do my important non-kid conducive task, and then I'll watch them while you do your non-kid conducive task?  The first five years with a young family is all about negotiation.  Most often the parents feel like the hostages, rather than the negotiators.  But that's a whole 'nother story.

We are getting to the age where our sons are adults and no longer at home needing fully involved parenting.  Now the parenting often resembles gentle advising - most often by text message.  We were just discussing that now that the co-parenting role is gone, many of our acquaintances found that they had little in common and divorced after the kids left home.  We both feel we are entirely too lazy to pursue that option and were then discussing where that leaves the role of our relationship. 

There are activities that we each enjoy independently, one of us loathes social events that the other thrives on, we don't travel well together and our hobbies are not all that appealing to the other person. Trying to come up with activities to share... made for a very short list.  So far we have playing cribbage and other card games, classic or exotic car shows and cheap dates mostly involving watching sunsets from a public beach with our lawn chairs, take out dinner and a flask of adult beverages.  I had concerns that this provides kind of a weird dynamic for our sons to pattern in developing their own relationships, but then decided if they happen to find people with whom to enjoy peaceful sunsets and life's simple pleasures, it makes the love, honor and negotiate parts more easily navigated.

F-Bombs Away, B!

Stop and think about the last time someone told you to F yourself or F you?  Was it warranted?  Did you even realize that you had done something to incite such an outburst?  Did you even realize it was directed at you?  Did you react with a single digit salute?  Verbally respond with the same phrase or let it go?  The counter-attack F-U escalation is as ridiculous to watch as it is to participate in, if you think about it.  Think of how foreign visitors or aliens would report back on that exchange:

‘The first two-legged furry creature told the second two-legged furry creature to enjoy copious copulation in a vernacular phrase of “fuck you!”   It is often used to critique one human’s skill and expertise in motor vehicle operation.  Also appears to be an exuberant greeting for competing males occupying the same territorial space with body, 2 or 4 -wheeled vehicles and is often also used as an exclamation of acceptance as in “fuck yeah.”  The lesser utilized variation of “fuck me” seems to be a statement of disbelief or astonishment.  But when the word was researched in trusted resources only has a sexual definition.  At no time when I saw or heard it was it being used during the copulation act. Puzzling.'

It’s sobering to me that the worst insult we hurl at perfect strangers is a wish for them to get lucky in the sack or to utilize their genitals in a physically impossible manner?  The F bomb is the most common denominator of expletive insult that we utter with alarming regularity for everything from an unintended slight to not paying attention when crossing the street, a delayed response when a light turns green or not allowing enough personal space especially with regard to our motor vehicles.  

In the same vehicular gold fish bowl where we feel we can comfortably pick our nose, we hurl vulgarities at other drivers that when contextually considered are wishes for successful copulation.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to wish that karma provide retribution for their inconsiderate actions?   Or that a well-placed law enforcement officer witnesses their next transgression?   Or that an uninsured motorist crosses their path at an inopportune moment?  Or that said genitals erupt in painful rash making physical union undesirable? Or that they find themselves in a state of undesired celibacy for an extended period of time?

Another favorite is the female dog vernacular which is directed at women more often and in more situations than usually warranted.  Female dogs are the bomb.  They bring forth and nurture more than one infant at a time, fiercely protect those pups from all predators, provide sustenance and instinct training to allow them to survive with their human pack after JUST 8-10 weeks.  That is wicked efficiency.  We women should take that expletive in the nature given that we are a force to be reckoned with and getting things accomplished.  The other day someone called me a B.I.T.C.H. and they were understandably taken aback when I graciously thanked them.  

People INTEND to throw you off your game by calling “bitch” to infuriate and put us on the defensive, usually inciting an escalation of the behavior that caused the term to be used initially.  Callers use it as a mean way to call out snarky, mean or overly assertive behavior that puts them off or at a disadvantage.  Usually it happens when patience pays off and you snag a choice parking space, or a line or lane merges and you are forced down to one lane where someone doesn’t want to allow for merging traffic.  Don’t you find that it’s more often men using the term to intimidate and infuriate women rather than being gentlemanly and really shocking us.

Putting the term in a new framework often diffuses the intended response.  I think of B.I.T.C.H. as an acronym for Beautiful, Intelligent, Talented, Caring, Human.   Not the way most people intend as Bold Intense Tacky Cocky Hellcat or Belligerent Inconsiderate Traitorous Callous Harridan… depending on your last cumulative Reader’s Digest  “Enrich Your Word Power” Score.   

When I explain my frame of mind on the term AND THEN call someone that, it causes a completely different sense of empowerment.  Of course, I only bestow the term on those who have the appreciation and common sense to understand me.  I’m not going to waste time explaining my logic to someone who clearly embodies the negative aspects of the term, which would be a waste of energy that could better be used interacting with another talented caring human in activities of an intimate nature.  But that’s a whole nother story…

I think we need to come up with an alternative to the F-U that would be widely used, easily adapted and could receive the same kind of universal acceptance but be entirely more appropriate for the situation. “Potty Mouth!”…  “Bad Karma!”… “Celibacy!”… “Knicker Knots!”… “Granny Panties!”

They just don’t have the same ring to them, but wouldn’t be as embarrassing to come from the child in the car seat behind you.   The sobering noise of a toddler uttering your favorite driving cuss words is a marked rite of passage in the parenting handbook and one that we’ve all thought “F@#&! Where did the kid learn that kind of language?!”