Well Hello...

Long time no see.

Yes, I still exist.  Yes, I do remember I have a blog.  Yes, I do miss writing here.

I'm finding writing difficult, these days.  My work days have me up between 5:45 and 6:30am, depending on the day, out the door by 7:25 (at the latest) and home between 5:45pm and 6:30pm...depending on the day. There is a span between Tuesday evening and Thursday evening that I usually don't even see Yo Momma...and we live in the same house!  The last thing I want to do have energy for when I get home from work, in the two or so hours before I go to bed, is think and write a blog post.

The weekends aren't much better.  Being a true introvert, my Saturdays are usually spent trying to recharge so that I can call up all the energy I need to pretend to be an extrovert for work on Monday...and church on Sunday.  Add in the weight of grief and depression I've been dealing with for awhile now, and well, I just don't want to think very hard on the weekends either.

The time that inspiration does strike I'm usually either,

1. In the car driving to or from work.
2. At work.

Neither of those times are conducive to writing a blog post, so the blog sits, waiting for attention.

Actually, a lot of things, and people, sit waiting for attention.  I just don't have the energy, mental, physical or emotional.

I've struggled with the guilt of seemingly letting people down.  It is difficult to navigate the road of other's expectations and my own mental and emotional health.  I've had people try to shove guilt on my head and I've had people look me in the eye and say "You have permission to focus on yourself, to take care of yourself."  I'm trying to listen to the latter group.  What I realize is that I am not the person I was in April 2014.  I've changed...life has changed, not just in the last year but in the last three years...and I can't go back to being the person I was.

I'm wounded.  I'm healing. The scars are still fresh and painful to the touch.  I'm waiting for the day when they just ache but that's still a long ways off.  Until then, I get by the best I can.  It's all I can do at the moment...and that's enough.

Where am I going...I don't know

I had a visitor in the office yesterday.  He just showed up.  We hadn't met before but he had a couple of questions, knew the office address so he came by.  Seeing as how I send out monthly newsletters to over 3000 people and the office address is on the newsletter, I'm actually surprised I don't have more unexpected visitors.
This gentleman sat and talked for quite a while.  He has a heart for helping those in need, for helping people find their voice and using that voice to better the world and their lives.  I think I answered his questions...actually, I think he just needed someone to listen, and so I did the job required of me for that moment.  As he was getting ready to leave, he asked me, "So, what great things are you going to do?"  My answer, which is standard when I don't haven an answer was, "That is a great question.  I have no idea."

It's true.  I have no idea.  I know that I'm marking time on the calendar, making check marks next to the days and there is a placeholder where my future goals are at the moment.  Some of that is residual from starting a new chapter in life 3 years ago, taking a leap of faith into the great unknown.  Some of that is the continuing journey of grief and knowing that my soul is still healing.  But really, I just don't know where I am going or what I want to be when I "grow up".

What I do know is that I have a job.  A good job, with good people.  But a job that doesn't completely satisfy my soul.  I do know that I have a story to tell and a desire to help other people.  I do know that I can do more than what I am doing right now...I just don't know what that looks like.  I don't know where I'm going.

Growing up, I developed a love for a non-typical Clint Eastwood movie called "Paint Your Wagon".  The movie was musical of sorts, set during the California Gold Rush.  Ever since my visitor yesterday, I've had the chorus of one of the songs in my head...

"Where am I going?
I don't know.
Where am I headin'?
I ain't certain.
All I know is I am on my way."

I know at some point in time, I'll look back at this period and life and connect the dots.  I'll have new stories to tell and new revelations but until then, I don't know where I'm going...all I know is I am on my way.

(The video below is not from the movie...but the song is!)

An hour in Star$

I'm sitting in Star$ in an area of town that has a little trouble with bathroom abuse. So they have put a lock on the door that requires a code to unlock.  People keep going up to the bathroom door and trying to get in, despite the code lock on the door. They turn the handle multiple times, to no avail.  Multiple times, they try the handle, only to finally realize they can't get in.  There is a man sitting near the door who keeps telling the people the code. 10-6-6-9.  Over and over again.  He should be given a free cup of coffee for his efforts.

There's a mom and her kids at the table next to me. The kids are having a great time on their games, while the Mom is focused on whatever work she is doing at the moment. She has said several times to the kids, "we're going to go soon, I promise."  Soon is a relative word.

The employees are busy behind the counter, one taking incessantly. His voice reminds me of someone I know...but it's not the same person. He is, however, an employee that was at my regular Star$.  The one that I could tell didn't do much of anything when the manager wasn't around.  He still doesn't do much but talk...loudly.  

People flow through the door with regularity.  Life just keeps moving along. I'm a silent observer.  Watching and listening and pondering it all.

Dear Facebook,

I saw the generated post on my wall the other day "It's been a great year!  Thanks for being a part of it!"  I saw the photo that the algorithms came up with as the one to highlight my "great year"...and I pulled the drop down arrow to hide the post.

For me, Facebook, 2014 was not a great year.  It was a pretty sucky year.  I would give pretty much anything for a do-over.  The photo chosen as the cover for that generated post was the last photo I have of just me and my Dad.  I know a bunch of people liked it, which is why it was front and center on that slideshow thingy.  When I saw it, though, I started to cry.  I'm not blaming you, Facebook techie people.  I know the intention behind the post thing was to remind people of the good things that happened, the places we've been, the people we've met, the memories we have, the things that occurred in our lives, so in one sense you did accomplished your goal.

It's not your fault, Facebook, that in 2014 leukemia disrupted my family.  It's not your fault this f***ing cancer wasn't eradicated by the massive amounts of chemo my Dad was given, opening his immune system up to the infection that took hold of my Dad's lungs and wouldn't let go.  The photo's that slide through my mind when I think back to 2014 aren't on your generated post.  They are in my head, snapshots of moments when I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again, as I watched my Dad go from strong, healthy, happy and hug-able to a resigned, defeated man who spelled out the word "torture" with his fingers, because he was on a ventilator and couldn't speak, and mouthed the words "I'm ready to die".  You don't have the pictures of the wild look on his face when the fever spiked, nor the picture of the scene of the room when the crash team came swarming into his hospital room.  You don't have a picture of the hospital chaplain who stood by my side in those moments offering a silent prayer, with her arm around my shoulders, nor of the ER doctor who rode by on his bike as I sat outside by the fountain, the day my Dad died, and gently raised his hand in greeting as our eyes met.  He knew what was happening in the room three floors up.

I'm the only one who can see that slideshow.  It reminds me daily that 2014 was not a great year.  It was a year that my family is going to take a long time to recover from.  Yes, there are some good memories in there.  Somewhere down the road I'll be able to go back, look at 2014 and find the good memories.  So, thanks for storing those memories, Facebook.  But if you don't mind, I'm just going to skip right over everyone else's "It's been a great year posts".  It just hurts too much today.

Sincerely,
Brittany

On the other side of the pew

Christmas Eve found Yo Momma and I in a small Presbyterian church in Lake-town.  We have been there before, for Christmas Eve services. The sanctuary is always beautifully decorated and cozy.  It was a nice service and helped me to usher in Christmas as best I could this year.

Going to this church reminded me of what I love about small churches.  There is a beautiful, awkward, tenderness with small churches, especially when it comes to putting their best foot forward for times when the expected crowd will be filled with unfamiliar faces.

Here's some examples of what I mean:

• Everyone was handed a bulletin when they entered.  All the hymns were typed into the bulletin, and there were five hymns, along with all the scripture readings, thus the four page bulletin was in 9pt. font.  And we were reading it in a darkened building.  I appreciated that everything was there and we wouldn't need to fumble through the hymnal but...
• Thankfully, the words to all the songs and the readings and responsive readings were projected on a screen.  I have absolutely no problem with projection systems in sanctuarys.  I prefer to look up when I sing, rather than bury my head in a hymnal or bulletin.  It's much more worshipful to me.  A typo did catch my attention, though, during the responsive reading.  Instead of "And we are stunned"  it read "And we arse stunned".  Having been the one putting the media stuff together, I know how easy it is to make those mistakes...and miss them completely until it's projected on the screen for all to read.  (I smiled with memories of the year that Yo Momma was the church secretary who typed out the words to Silent Night in the bulletin only to find, on Christmas Eve as we were singing if I remember correctly, that she had typed out "Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, ass is bright".)
• A couple of choir members were honored with lighting the advent candles.  All was going well until the Christ candle was to be lit.  The woman who was so excited to light that candle hadn't been given instructions on using the candle lighter and the wick wasn't far enough out of the candle lighter so as she valiantly tried to light the candle, it just wouldn't catch.  Her friend, beside her, kept trying to help but didn't want to ruin the moment.  Finally as everyone bowed their head for prayer, the problem was solved, the candle was lit and I breathed a sigh of relief for them.
• The time came for the offering and as the Pastor gave the introduction and started to pray, I heard the lady in the pew behind me whisper urgently to her partner, "Offering time, that's you!"  He scampered up to the front, the offering was taken while a soloist sang and then came more whispering, "What do I do with the offering?  Should I take it up now, should I wait?"  The person was told to take it to the front of the sanctuary but not before they took a few steps, then turned around to double check with the person in the back and before heading up again.

The service was nice.  The Pastor was personable, sincere and humble.  The choir sang well...though, the next time I hear someone complain about the guitar/piano/worship band being too loud, I'm going to tell them that organ's aren't particularly quiet instruments themselves...yesh. The offering was taken without mishap.  We were welcomed when we walked in the door and I left the church service with a smile on my face, more for the comfort of seeing, watching and hearing the familiar, than anything else.  There are moments I miss those days of being up front and doing my best to create an environment where people can meet Jesus in a meaningful way...but sometimes it's nice to be on the other side of the pew, where I can smile to myself, empathize when things go awry and smile and say "Thank you, that was lovely" as I walk out into the cold, dark night.

Unpublished posts

There are 27 drafts of blog posts sitting in my blogger dashboard.  Some are deep, emotionally charged entries, some are pithy throw away things.  Some have been there for a year or more, many have been written in the past 6 months.

When Papa Bear died, one very wise friend who has been on the journey of grief more than once said, "Keep blogging...even if those posts never see the light of day, keep blogging."  So I have.

Blogging started out as a way of communicating with the people back home when we went on our Mississippi Mission trips (plus there was this one blog ring that had caught my attention and I wanted to be a part of that group!)  It was much easier to write on a blog and add pictures than to send an email to each person wanting to know what was happening while we were away.  Blogging also helped me process what we had seen and done those days.  I kept it up after coming home and soon started a separate blog just for the Mississippi Trips...ca2ms.blogspot.com.

Blogging has become an emotional outlet, a place where I can air my thoughts and feelings and either people read it or people don't.  Lately, though, the blog posts have started piling up.  I tend to edit what gets published for multiple reasons.  One is out of respect for those who read this page, another is out of respect for my own piece of mind.  Some would read what I have written and become VERY concerned about where I stand with God these days or how I am dealing with grief or my political stance or...  I need to write down my thoughts, my hurts, my heart on this journey of life and grief but I don't always need feedback or input.  I just need to write.  I've never been great at keeping a journal in handwritten book form (it's too slow!) but I can type my thoughts out, hit save and go on my way.  Blogging works, however irregular posting happens.

And so, my blogger dashboard has 27 unpublished posts just sitting, waiting, ready for that moment when I reread them, do a little editing and hit the "publish" button or simply hit "save" and let them sit for a little while longer.  So though it may be weeks between posts, never fear, I am here.  I am blogging...I'm just not publishing.

Okay...make that 26.

Blue Christmas - A reaction to a Facebook thread

Every once in a while something will trigger a reaction I did not anticipate.  I try not to be a reactionary person, but rather one who takes a step back from my reactions and examines the whole situation before moving forward.  What this means is that in conversations or places where I can leave a comment, I don't say anything.  Many times, my initial reaction will be off the charts ridiculous and it's better that I didn't say/write anything at all.  Sometimes, though, my reactions are sound and deserve to be aired, however long it takes.

When I was still working for Old Church, I became aware of a service that some churches hold around Christmas called "Blue Christmas".  Some call it the service "The Longest Night of the Year".  I prefer Blue Christmas.  The premise of this service, as I understand it, is to offer a time in the midst of the Christmas season, to remember, to contemplate, to acknowledge that for some people the Christmas season isn't a happy, joyous occasion.  I broached the subject of a Blue Christmas service with Old Church staff and it went nowhere.  At that point in time, I wasn't willing to push the envelope and yet I was constantly mindful that though the season of Christmas, for Christ followers, is celebrating the birth of new life in the form of a baby named Jesus, not everyone could embrace the celebration...even Christ followers.  The deaths, literal and metaphorical, in their lives simply swamped them and the joy of the season was muted.

A friend of mine, Ralphie, participated in a Blue Christmas service last year.  He and LN invited me to attend.  I had other things happening and couldn't, but this year, oh this year, I have been anticipating that service with a ferocity.  I need to be able to sit, in the midst of the joy of the Christmas season, and allow the pain and sorrow of this last year to surface.  I need the church universal to stand with me in my grief and pain and give me a space, with Christmas decorations all around, to allow the tears to flow and my heart to grieve the loss of my Dad.  (Of course, it will probably be held on the weekend that I have planned to be out of town but still, if I'm around, I'M THERE!)

Awhile back, in a group I am a part of on FB, a thread was started about Blue Christmas services and among the comments was one that triggered a reaction.  A very strong reaction.  I shut down FB, walked away from the computer and cried.  I don't believe the comment wasn't meant for harm, simply an observation from one person's perspective.  In that moment, however, I was thrown back into a state of wondering why I do church anymore.  

My reaction wasn't rational, yet at the same time there is an element that I believe church folks need to hear and be reminded of, as we approach the season of Christmas.   I can only speak from my perspective and so I offer my truth this Christmas season.  I love Jesus, I love the Christmas season and yet I'm going to have trouble finding joy this Christmas.

Please don't deny, belittle or otherwise make light of those who aren't joyful this Christmas season.  For it isn't Jesus' birth that makes us sad, it's the life and love we find and lose on this earth that brings sorrow, heartache and grief.  Yes, there is joy in Jesus and yes, there is joy in Christmas but the reality of life means we also deal with the reality of loss.  In diminishing or otherwise denying that reality, we risk alienating the very people who need us the most this Christmas season.

Ralphie asked if I would be willing to sing with him at the Blue Christmas service this year, a song that we had sung together three years ago at a joy-filled Christmas celebration.  I answered honestly, I'm not sure that I will be able to sing.  But, if I'm in town, I will pull out my guitar and play as he sings.  I will allow the words to penetrate my grief-stricken heart and give myself the space to be sad in a season of joy and take comfort in a body of believers who recognize "through all my tears, for what I've lost, there's still my joy for Christmas day."

http://youtu.be/qGLA3QNEyVA