Grace
There would be no point in detailing for you the various ways in which I was made to suffer when I was a Pastor's Kid. I know, from years of note-comparing, that my experience was not unique. Suffice to say, it was my introduction to injustice and the all too true notion that with some people you are "damned if you do and damned if you don't".
You must also understand that I have not spent the last 30 years sticking pins in dolls or in any other way stoking the fires of resentment. There were people, stupid and petty people, who made me very unhappy. I forgave them, a long time ago, for their stupidity and pettiness. I did so not because they sought it, but because it was what was required for the healing of my own sweet self.
But then, as an added precaution, I had not returned to the scene of the crime. The last time I darkened the doors of First Baptist of Whiney People it was because I was in my friend PHP's wedding. That would have been 1979.
As we got closer to the church, I found myself more anxious. It wasn't a hand-wringing, gut wrenching anxiety; more a "steeling oneself" sort of thing. I wasn't the only one. Dame Judi, Audrey and I kept saying things to each other like, "You're not leaving me, right?" "No one is to be left standing alone, right?" Walking into that church...well, the funny thing is that my impulse was to cross myself before entering...not as a remembrance of my baptism but to ward off evil spirits. I refrained.
We stood, looking about, seeing no one familiar and then I found myself in the arms of a young woman, a few years older than me, who had been one of the "newly marrieds" when we were first at FBWC. She looked exactly the same and it was so lovely to see her that I started to cry. Which surprised the bejeesus out of me. I honestly hadn't even thought of her in decades but seeing her brought back a rush of good memories.
As we made our way to our pew, this scene repeated itself...not so much with the weeping but certainly with the long hugs, the "oh, so goods" of greeting. This friend and that, people who had become adults, certainly, but who you knew in a second. Then the service began.
I am not a fan of the praise chorus. For those of you who don't know, these are Scripture verses usually set to emotionally manipulative music, sung over and over until the worship leaders get tired. They seem not to be bound in any book because the usual form is to display them from an overhead projector. The good thing about praise choruses is that you don't have to know them; because of their repetitive nature, one time through and you pick it up.
Having very snottily said that about this form of worship music I have to tell you something surprising.
We stood to sing the first song of the service...a praise chorus that Uncle Gib had loved a lot. There was a moment, somewhere around the 4th or 5th time through the song when I felt completely overwhelmed. I could only move my mouth to the words...actual singing became impossible. In that moment, something purely miraculous happened. First of all, the music sounded really beautiful to me...all those voices raised in praise. And then, I felt Uncle Gib. I really did. I could tell he was there, in spirit, celebrating with us his Homecoming...because that is what his death was for him. And then I felt something else. I felt good. It felt good to be in that place, singing with those people. It felt good to be in a place where I had so often felt so very bad.
The service went on and it was moving and funny and when it was over, there were more surprising greetings with long-lost friends. Warm embraces, loving looks, laughter. There was only one family of the "evil toad" variety who were even in attendance. The parents were as sour of face and disposition as ever (although the mom did shake hands with Dame Judi). Their daughter, who had once been my friend and likely would have continued as such had it been allowed, came up to me. We spoke very comfortably for a few minutes.
(Although I must confess to you what I confessed to Sean Connery: I am a horrible person. One proof is the fact that the whole time I was talking to K, all I could really think about was that she looked old and grey and fat and I didn't. I still have a few things to learn about grace).
We were probably there after the fact for an hour. Never even made it out to the coffee/cookie piece of business.
Then we went up to Gib and Nancy's for lunch with the family. DJ told me later that it felt wrong, that we were interlopers. I said no. Auntie Nan had wanted us there. We weren't loping. It just felt weird because Gib wasn't there.
The drive home was more subdued, each of us with our own thoughts. I suddenly felt very tired and was entirely too prone to tears.
We got back to the folks' house around 5pm. My plan was to drive home. Sean had to go put finishing touches on his sermon. DJ made me a cup of coffee and we had a "moment" as she sent me out the door. I got in the car and my stomach started to hurt. I pulled away and started down the main street and it was still hurting. Instead of heading for the freeway, I drove about town a bit, hoping I'd feel better. I didn't feel worse but better wasn't in the cards either. So I drove back to the house.
I had been steeling and bracing myself all day. Now that it was behind me I could relax. But sometimes knots hurt when they are loosened. I went back upstairs to find Dame Judi at her computer and told her I was staying one more night. And then we talked. Floodgates were opened. Dame Judi apologized for not having handled things differently and I told her I didn't blame her or Sean. She said something about someday understanding parental regret and I told her I already knew that feeling and we cried some more. And I told her about the moment of grace in the church, about how after preparing myself for the worst what I was met with was the love and affection of true friends. I'd been so busy arming myself to face the jerks that I never allowed myself to think about all the welcome faces I'd see. And there were so many more of those than the other. So many more. And for the first time in 30 years I was able to put to rest something I didn't even realize was still holding me, however slightly. I still don't think of that time as the best in my life, but being able to revel in what was truly good about it was a gift I didn't see coming.
All this wiped me out. I slept like a rock, waking early. DJ and I had coffee and talked about movies and family. As soon as it was light I drove home, still very thoughtful. A brief chat with the family on my return was followed by a 4 hour nap. And that evening I fell asleep at 9:30, in the middle of a Jane Austen movie. See? Tired.
I'm all back to rights now, but still a little amazed by the surprise of redemption, grace and forgiveness. Also, my hair still looks superfantastic.
You must also understand that I have not spent the last 30 years sticking pins in dolls or in any other way stoking the fires of resentment. There were people, stupid and petty people, who made me very unhappy. I forgave them, a long time ago, for their stupidity and pettiness. I did so not because they sought it, but because it was what was required for the healing of my own sweet self.
But then, as an added precaution, I had not returned to the scene of the crime. The last time I darkened the doors of First Baptist of Whiney People it was because I was in my friend PHP's wedding. That would have been 1979.
As we got closer to the church, I found myself more anxious. It wasn't a hand-wringing, gut wrenching anxiety; more a "steeling oneself" sort of thing. I wasn't the only one. Dame Judi, Audrey and I kept saying things to each other like, "You're not leaving me, right?" "No one is to be left standing alone, right?" Walking into that church...well, the funny thing is that my impulse was to cross myself before entering...not as a remembrance of my baptism but to ward off evil spirits. I refrained.
We stood, looking about, seeing no one familiar and then I found myself in the arms of a young woman, a few years older than me, who had been one of the "newly marrieds" when we were first at FBWC. She looked exactly the same and it was so lovely to see her that I started to cry. Which surprised the bejeesus out of me. I honestly hadn't even thought of her in decades but seeing her brought back a rush of good memories.
As we made our way to our pew, this scene repeated itself...not so much with the weeping but certainly with the long hugs, the "oh, so goods" of greeting. This friend and that, people who had become adults, certainly, but who you knew in a second. Then the service began.
I am not a fan of the praise chorus. For those of you who don't know, these are Scripture verses usually set to emotionally manipulative music, sung over and over until the worship leaders get tired. They seem not to be bound in any book because the usual form is to display them from an overhead projector. The good thing about praise choruses is that you don't have to know them; because of their repetitive nature, one time through and you pick it up.
Having very snottily said that about this form of worship music I have to tell you something surprising.
We stood to sing the first song of the service...a praise chorus that Uncle Gib had loved a lot. There was a moment, somewhere around the 4th or 5th time through the song when I felt completely overwhelmed. I could only move my mouth to the words...actual singing became impossible. In that moment, something purely miraculous happened. First of all, the music sounded really beautiful to me...all those voices raised in praise. And then, I felt Uncle Gib. I really did. I could tell he was there, in spirit, celebrating with us his Homecoming...because that is what his death was for him. And then I felt something else. I felt good. It felt good to be in that place, singing with those people. It felt good to be in a place where I had so often felt so very bad.
The service went on and it was moving and funny and when it was over, there were more surprising greetings with long-lost friends. Warm embraces, loving looks, laughter. There was only one family of the "evil toad" variety who were even in attendance. The parents were as sour of face and disposition as ever (although the mom did shake hands with Dame Judi). Their daughter, who had once been my friend and likely would have continued as such had it been allowed, came up to me. We spoke very comfortably for a few minutes.
(Although I must confess to you what I confessed to Sean Connery: I am a horrible person. One proof is the fact that the whole time I was talking to K, all I could really think about was that she looked old and grey and fat and I didn't. I still have a few things to learn about grace).
We were probably there after the fact for an hour. Never even made it out to the coffee/cookie piece of business.
Then we went up to Gib and Nancy's for lunch with the family. DJ told me later that it felt wrong, that we were interlopers. I said no. Auntie Nan had wanted us there. We weren't loping. It just felt weird because Gib wasn't there.
The drive home was more subdued, each of us with our own thoughts. I suddenly felt very tired and was entirely too prone to tears.
We got back to the folks' house around 5pm. My plan was to drive home. Sean had to go put finishing touches on his sermon. DJ made me a cup of coffee and we had a "moment" as she sent me out the door. I got in the car and my stomach started to hurt. I pulled away and started down the main street and it was still hurting. Instead of heading for the freeway, I drove about town a bit, hoping I'd feel better. I didn't feel worse but better wasn't in the cards either. So I drove back to the house.
I had been steeling and bracing myself all day. Now that it was behind me I could relax. But sometimes knots hurt when they are loosened. I went back upstairs to find Dame Judi at her computer and told her I was staying one more night. And then we talked. Floodgates were opened. Dame Judi apologized for not having handled things differently and I told her I didn't blame her or Sean. She said something about someday understanding parental regret and I told her I already knew that feeling and we cried some more. And I told her about the moment of grace in the church, about how after preparing myself for the worst what I was met with was the love and affection of true friends. I'd been so busy arming myself to face the jerks that I never allowed myself to think about all the welcome faces I'd see. And there were so many more of those than the other. So many more. And for the first time in 30 years I was able to put to rest something I didn't even realize was still holding me, however slightly. I still don't think of that time as the best in my life, but being able to revel in what was truly good about it was a gift I didn't see coming.
All this wiped me out. I slept like a rock, waking early. DJ and I had coffee and talked about movies and family. As soon as it was light I drove home, still very thoughtful. A brief chat with the family on my return was followed by a 4 hour nap. And that evening I fell asleep at 9:30, in the middle of a Jane Austen movie. See? Tired.
I'm all back to rights now, but still a little amazed by the surprise of redemption, grace and forgiveness. Also, my hair still looks superfantastic.
Labels: amazing things, Dame Judi, my dad Sean Connery
cobbled together by Moi at 6:13 AM
16 Comments:
These deep thoughts were worth waiting for.
"...sometimes knots hurt when they are loosened..." I like that line.
Sounds like it was the most appropriate day ever for having superfantastic hair.
Oh I like this story. Although, I do hope your next road trip includes me and goes no where near praise chorusuzuz. (:
And you know everyone there thought you were smokin.
Inappropriate? Perhaps.
But still true.
Thanks for sharing that. It's always very big/good/generous of you to share these personal moments with us.
Do you ever pray the Rosary? I don't, but the Divine L does nearly every day and the way she describes its effect is very similar to your description of the praise chorus... except of course the Rosary is usually done in silence and solitude.
Forgiveness....it's a big word. Maybe when I can say it out loud and spell it I will feel it. You are a good woman, Lorraine...with great hair.
God's cool like that, huh?
You are a gifted writer...
Grace comes in many ways - including in the written word. Thanks
For real, JP.
Um, Hat, I'm pretty sure you are involved in the next TWO road trips. And there will be B52s, but no praise choruses. I wouldn't do that to you.
I have periods of time when I pray the rosary, Dariush, although it's by no means one of my main devotions. But what the Divine L says, yes.
You're pretty terrific yourself, Rosie. Really.
Totally cool, Anne.
Thank you, Anon.
You're welcome, dear Willym.
thank you
Forgiveness is often painful, but so very much worth the pain.
And the hair is quite fab!
See!..I knew people would seek you out.
I'm not very good at these kind of gatherings,so I avoid them.But you have related the experience eloquently.
O my dear sis! Floodgates are sometimes indeed good things. I am pleased for you. It was a bit like coming home was it not. I too, had apprehensions, with all the "wonder if's" and such.
I also was wiped out and slept well.
I like the feeling of floating above the old baggage.
I love you, 'Martha'
I am amazed by your writing ability, especially at 6:13 in the morning.
We must talk sometime soon. My life is about to get absolutely insane. But this whole week, I have mornings free until about 3:30pm. Do you have any openings?
You're welcome, my Mouse.
That's the truth, Doralong.
When are not right, Sling? FYI, if ever you DO have to attend such a thing, I'll go with you and watch your back, if you want. It's what I do.
That was the oddest bit, Martha, how it managed TO feel like home when it has so not factored that way in remembrance. But for that moment, that time for Uncle Gib, it was all the best and none of the worst. "Floating above old baggage"...you're funny. Kisses.
Emma Louise, yes. I have time for you. I shall hie to MySpace to confirm.
Remember when I attended Mass with you? My experience there was a lot like yours here. I'm glad you were there to share it.
Wow, that was a lot to pack in one post. No wonder your stomach got testy. That whole bit about the parental regret conversation with your mom made me teary. I had a similar conversation with my mom a few years back ... floodgates, yeah. It's really a complete perspective shift to see your parents through parent's eyes, not child's eyes. Anyway, that touched a chord. Glad the day went as well as it did.
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