Here

My family and I missed each other during my absence.  It was the longest that me, solo, had been away from the three of them.

My first grader bravely and enthusiastically reported the happenings of every day on the phone, always ending with, "but I REALLY REALLY miss you. Every second."  She was waiting right at the screen door when I got home, standing taller than I remembered and ready with a big hug.

The dog wormed in front of her to greet me with his paws up on the screen door, tail wagging furiously with his whole self shaking.  He has followed me into every room I enter, and graciously shared "his" couch with me for a little nap, snuggling against me.

My teenager spent a long time on the phone with me Friday night, vetting my story about my flight problems and inability to come home when planned.  She asked to accompany me to the grocery and if we could resume our tradition of reading before bedtime again.

My husband caught my arm as I rounded a corner with a sack full of laundry. He looked me straight in the eye and said in a very humble voice, "Honey, I really tried to keep up on laundry and not have the house be a mess.  But we still managed to make a lot of work for you." (I PROMISE I hadn't said a word about the house or laundry! I hadn't even sighed! I was so happy to be home I didn't even feel one bit upset about it!) I smiled and assured him that I understood how difficult running a household is. "I'm really glad you're home," and he pulled me into a big bear hug.

I was feeling a bit of pressure to do something fun with the kids.  I had promised myself that I would intentionally spend quality time with them.  But after their hellos, everyone sort of scattered and resumed previous activities.  The house had a comfortable feeling of being.

It was as if they were just happy that now I am here.  The world of our family is right again.

When I was leaving, Anna said, "I don't like when you go away, Mommy.  I don't like when Daddy goes away.  Believe it or not, I don't even like it when Molly spends the night at a friend's house.  I like when everyone is at our house the way it is supposed to be.  Me, you, Daddy, and Molly.  And Biscuit."

It is one of the nicest things about being part of a nice family.  You belong there.  When you show up, everyone is like, "Well, it's about time you're here!" and the space you are supposed to occupy is filled with you, and everything continues.  My business trip so happened to carry me to the town where my parents and one of my sisters and her family lives.  The same thing happened there.  Of course there was a spot for me on the bleachers at ball games. No fuss, just cozily there.  I can't explain that feeling.
I was born into it.

Not everyone has that experience, I have learned over the years as my awareness spread beyond the borders of my own family.  People crave belongingness. It's one of the things that Circles®, the national project the agency I work for is part of, seeks to provide.  We call ourselves a family. I believe it's why people stick with it when the going gets tough and they can't meet their goals.

Churches are supposed to be places where people can feel that belonging.  Feminists are supposed to try to make the world a place where everyone belongs.  Jesus offers that to all in himself. I think it is part of the work he wants us to carry on - to invite people into his big old family.

We don't do that well.  Not well enough.  Too many people are on the outside looking in.

What if we challenged ourselves this week to be glad people are here?  What if we acknowledged the belongingness of our families, coworkers, people we come in contact with in anything we attend this week?

There's nothing more soothing to a soul than knowing that just being here is enough.

All We Have to Offer

There are real Christian Feminists in the world.  (I am pretty sure that I don't qualify on a few technicalities).  Anne Lamott is a real one.  And a real author.  And a funny person. (Again, things for which I am disqualified on a few technicalities). 

Recently, my husband earned an $800 gift certificate to Penguin, a publishing company that still prints REAL books!  It was like winning a mini-lottery.  Kind of.  Except it was his and he earned it and we really could have easily tripled the amount and still not been done ordering real books.  Our shelves are now stuffed with lots of classic spy novels (like Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy), obscure and ancient writings on faith (think Thomas Aquinas), and Russian classics (like War & Peace). My husband kindly let me elbow some room for a little Toni Morrison and Japanese classics and such.  He also scooped up a few recommendations from friends whose opinions we completely trust.  A few Lamott books joined our new collection.

Having acquired a windfall of time waiting on airplanes (Look, quick! That's me mustering good attitude and correct perspective!) I read one. Now I have lots of food for thought, some great new quotes, and a new friend. I am assuming she felt the cosmic connection and I can call her a friend. Anne and I do not see eye-to-eye on every topic, but I find her opinion interesting and energizing, thoughtful and beautiful, and I am officially recommending Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith to you, readers.  Yes, you Amanda.  Tash - are you reading?  Ami, Cathy, Beth - you will hear more about this on Monday night.  So you might want to secretly stage a cancelled meeting if you don't want to hear about it.

In one chapter, Anne chronicles a story of conducting a service at a nursing home with her son and friend.  She describes the scene: "the people here are shipwrecks, and sometimes there is not much left, but there is a thread in them that can be pulled and still vibrates." 

I have done my own visiting in nursing homes, and I am going to be doing so again in a few weeks. I also work with people in poverty, and there this quote is applicable as well, in a different sense.

Then again, we are all in different states of shipwreck.  Some of us haven't crashed yet.  Some might be in the clean-up stages or the re-building stages. But we don't always see it that way.  As happily cruising along sailors or sunbathers or perhaps captains, we may not be aware.  When we see the actively shipwrecked, the ones in danger of losing hope and life, we don't always know what to do.  Maybe we want to jump in and start helping, throwing life preservers or money or something.  Maybe our hearts just break and we look away because we don't know what else to do.  I've also spent a whole week at a training for my work and have had some time to reflect. 

Sometimes, I think our best response is to recognize the thread of connection in our situations.  The human condition applies to all of us.  Lamott's response to the very old who were sick, unresponsive, frail, or not in their right minds: "I realize again and again that this is all you have to offer people most days, a touch, a moment's gladness.  It has to do, and if often does."

You may think this sounds calloused and cold, but it beats the Savior complex so often present in non-profit work.  It lends perspective when the the number of lost souls aimlessly bobbing about the sea seems to be multiplying, and more seem to be slipping beneath the surface.

I have been out of control of my traveling situation this past week, at the mercy of airlines. This kind of non-control keeps me aware of the house of cards that is my life; control is really a borrowed commodity of moments, dependent on so many fragile balancing acts to keep it at hand.  Poverty, old age, mental illness, addiction, etc. are just more obvious shipwrecks, fallen card houses, and such.  All we honestly have to offer is that acknowledgment of the Divine present in the human.  "I see you, person of immeasurable value.  I know you are here." Anything more we might have to give at any point in time is just another borrowed commodity.