When I put it to Facebook to find out what my faithful fans wanted to hear about I received some interesting responses. One was what is the difference between hair and fur (I'm looking at you Adam Crammond). That one was simple. They are indistinguishable chemically, the difference comes in language. Fur is used for non-humans. Hoorah. Tune in next time... Just kidding. There were actually quite a few ideas that I really liked, but the first one that struck me was asking about how I came to be a pastor. This is a story that pastors really get used to telling this because it becomes a typical question at interviews, on visits, just about everywhere. I figure since origin stories seem to be all the rage right now (Wonder Woman, Guardians of the Galaxy, Wolverine (Logan), Deadpool, Superman, Iron Man, etc) that I would share my very own origin story. Cue the dramatic music. Close-up on a young Robyn... My mom and dad had me baptized when I was a baby. That was the start at least, when God claimed me in the waters of baptism. But then my wandering began, much like the Israelites I made my way into the desert and tried to see what else life would bring me. My parents weren't big church-goers so it didn't come up a lot in my house. A dear friend of mine was a very devoted Christian. He regularly attended worship and was always trying to get me to go with him. Through thick and thin he was there to support and care for me. But then, he got sick. Really, really sick. At 12 years old it all got so bad that he killed himself. I was lost and devastated. There really was nothing for me to wrap my mind around, nothing to anchor my grief in. This is what started my search for an answer, for meaning, for a reason. I started exploring churches. There are so many different churches out there. A lot of different ways to seek a higher power. The first church I sought informed me that suicide is a sin and basically that my friend was in hell. So... not helpful would be the most generous way to describe that response. I struggle to this day with how anyone could tell an impressionable 12 year old something that lacked any and all grace. For a while I couldn't bring myself to even look at any other churches. I thought that I was done. It just took my heart out and I felt bereft. As I slowly recovered from that fail I began to search again. There was a small ELCA Lutheran church just up the road from my house. Faith Lutheran Church. I decided I would check it out and since churches were always open (at least in movies) I went up one Wednesday evening. It just so happened that it was during Lent which made it actually true that the church was open and having mid-week worship. I peeked in and immediately the women who saw me brought me over with them, shared where they were in the service and helped me follow along. They showed me love and compassion from the moment I walked in the door. Following service the pastor of that congregation, Pastor Schluep, sat and talked with me all about my struggles, my doubts, my loss, my grief... He was absolutely amazing and I will never forget what he told me at the very end of that conversation: "God was never as close as when your friend was in his last moments. In your friends deepest pain God was with him through to the end." Those were exactly the words that I needed to hear. I do not think I will ever be able to adequately voice my gratitude for what Pastor Schluep did for me. My mom also started to attend mid-week services at Faith Lutheran and we went through their new member class. I absolutely adored that class, I couldn't get enough of what he was sharing with the class. Since there were no other youth going through any kind of confirmation program he decided to let me join the church and become an adult member because of my participation in the class. From that point on I wanted to be involved at the church. I began playing clarinet in the Saturday evening praise service. Since there was no youth group my mom helped me start one. I dragged any of my friends I could to go with me. I was the first one to volunteer to acolyte for all three hours of the Good Friday midday service (I LOVE GOOD FRIDAY). If the doors to the church were open, I was there. This is not to say I didn't struggle with faith. I very much did, it was hard to align the values of high school with the values of faith. I did not always live up to that challenge. Pastor Schluep mentored me through this all. He invited me to consider attending the national youth gathering that was going to happen in St. Louis that summer. Since no one else from our church was going he connected me with the bigger Lutheran church nearby since they had a large group going. I am grateful for that group, especially Krystl and Sarah. They were the ones that took me in and became my friends through the gathering. ELCA National Youth Gathering, 2000, theme: "Dancing at the Crossroads", 30,000 youth from across the country gathered to worship, serve and learn about faith. It was absolutely amazing. There were service project, giant inflatables, games, concerts, and speakers. One evening the speaker was Bishop Desmond Tutu. I remember being awestruck, especially since he had just been in the hospital (was still wearing the wristband). Unfortunately, I cannot tell you exactly what he said... but as I was listening to him I felt as though everything stilled and I felt the Holy Spirit rest on me. The whisper in my ear told me to become a pastor. I couldn't believe it... It didn't seem right. After all, I didn't have all the church-y experiences that kids have - Sunday school, VBS, camp (thank goodness), and I didn't know all the details of the Bible. I didn't think there was any way at all God could be calling someone like me to be in ministry. I decided to call God's bluff and when I got home from the Gathering I went to see Pastor Schluep. I told him that I thought God was calling me to be a pastor and he said "I thought that might happen." Which just shocked me to no end, he was the one that was supposed to tell me that I was mistaken and that I should look elsewhere. He also shared with me at this time that he was going to be retiring. (By the way, how great is the show "New Girl"? I watch this show when I'm relaxing.) Anyway, I had a bit of a breakdown. Pure panic set in because I was not sure I could handle my mentor, the one who brought me into the church, no longer being there. He thought it would be a good thing for my faith formation heading on the path to ordination if I went to a church with a steady pastoral presence and so I transferred over to Messiah Lutheran (which was the church which let me attend the youth gathering with their youth). They helped me in so many ways as I continued on my faith journey. During the summer after my senior year of high school I attended a three week program called "Summer Seminary Sampler" at Trinity Lutheran Seminary which let me get an idea of ways ministry happens in the world. It was an incredible experience and I couldn't wait to attend Trinity after I finished college. My college of choice was Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio. I majored in English literature and minored in Sociology. Met my best friends in the world. And believed that at some point God was going to show me how wrong I was in pursuing ministry and the right way would make itself clear. Well... That didn't happen. So, towards the end of college I went to meet with my synod's candidacy committee for my entrance interview absolutely positive there was no way they were going to tell me yes. I was absolutely terrified because it scared me to death to think about what would happen if they said yes and also what would happen if they said no. I'm guessing I don't need to say that they did, in fact, give me the green light to attend seminary. That is where I met my husband, had God continue to call my bluff, and eventually led me to ordination in the ELCA. That, though, is a whole other blog post.
Here ends my origin story... or maybe it is the beginning of another story...
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Adoption is a huge journey. There is no way I could ever cover it in one single blog post. So, as I'm able, I'll be sharing posts and reflections about the places our path has taken us. I figure I have to start in the place where our journey started. And that for us was when the diagnoses were attached to me and I became what was wrong with me. We had tried for over a year to conceive. We had already known that it could be difficult for us to conceive. Just not how difficult. We got into see a highly recommended fertility doctor in Louisville and she was great. Got us in right away. Honestly, that was one of the least fun times I've ever had. That's when I learned about my additional diagnosis of PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome). If you'd like to read more about what it is I'd recommend this site: www.pcosaa.org/symptoms Those treatments were filled with mixed emotions. The top one was hope. Each cycle there were hopes and visions of what could be forming. But there was also shame. I felt like less of a woman because I had to have help with something that other women were able to do without thinking about it. There was shame because privacy becomes non-existent in this process, I mean it... super non-existent. You don't need all the details only that if you are seeking to maintain some semblance of mystery and dignity, fertility treatments are not for you. We sought IUI treatments. If you really want to know more about what that means check out this site: americanpregnancy.org/infertility/intrauterine-insemination/ Now, important to note here, infertility treatments are not covered by most insurances. Like at all. And on top of that, insurance is then like: So, we were paying out of pocket every time we went in for any part of these many... many visits to go through this. That was depressing enough. Then there were the delightful shots that I had to give myself. That was a lovely experience. Overall, it all made me the shame fall heavier on me because I felt that if I wasn't so "broken" that we wouldn't have to be going through this. And yes, "broken" is exactly the word that bounced around my brain over and over and over until it was all I could hear when we were in the doctor's office, at home, at work... it just stripped away all my self-esteem. When treatments didn't seem to be working and the most recent ultrasound showed that there were new cysts forming, the recommendation became that I should undergo surgery to remove the cysts and basically serve as an exploratory procedure. I ended up having to do this surgery twice, though, because the first surgeon looked around and literally didn't do anything. Our specialist and the next surgeon called it a "peek and freak." He didn't have any clue what to do and got out. So, the next surgeon actually did something. They used a machine called the DaVinci Robot to remove the cysts. In this procedure they also found new growths of endometriosis, more places where there were adhesion's from my surgery when I was 17, and significant damage in general. We were told that the surgeon did his absolute best to try and fix some of the adhesion's but that there was an increased risk if we were to conceive via my right ovary because of an increased chance of it being an ecotopic pregnancy. In other words, I walked away from that surgery in a lot of pain (as the doctor said "Myself and two doctors and a robot took you in an alley and beat you up) and even less hope than when we went into it. There were SO many fake smiles during this process. I really hate to say that but there really were. Some I saved for David because I felt so guilty for being the reason we had to go through all of this. (David was dedicated and loving and supportive through all of this - repeatedly affirming that he loves me and did not consider me "broken" or a problem.) Now, we didn't share the information widely that we were undergoing fertility treatments, but there were a few people that we did share with, and as well as they meant, it's not an easy thing to try and formulate a response to that is supportive and non-judgmental and non-hurtful. (Tiny target for people to hit). One of the responses that I still remember vividly that was so meaningful for me and yet absolutely heart wrenching was when one of the people I had confided in, after a particularly promising treatment, laid her hands over my womb and prayed for me, David, and what might be... As you know the treatment was not successful. And it was after that failed treatment that we made the decision to stop seeking treatment with the intention to eventually pursue adoption. We felt as though we could no longer justify the costs of infertility treatments when that money could be going towards an adoption, especially since IVF would be the next step and the concern of a difficult pregnancy if we did succeed. When that decision was made there was a lot of grief. This was it, this was what "giving up" felt like. This was saying goodbye to those photo albums in my head of what it would be like to be pregnant and give birth. This was closing the door to knowing what it would be like to feel a life growing in me, to feel the kicks, to get the ultrasound pictures. This was saying goodbye to the pregnancy that would never exist. This was grieving the child that had been carried in my mind. There were tears, there was anger, there was frustration. In my grief I struggled with my relationship with God. I felt as though I was being a poor example of faithfulness because I was giving up. I was angry because there are so many examples of women in Scripture who were infertile but conceived because they had been faithful. (i.e. Sarai/Sarah; Rachel; Hannah; Michal; Elizabeth). I screamed "have I not been faithful, Lord?" I felt betrayed by God. I felt betrayed by the body God had given me. Why was this not meant to be for me? Wouldn't I be a good mother? Wouldn't David be an amazing father? What had I done so wrong to deserve this...? It hurt. It took months of prayer and anger and sorrow to get to a healthier place. Here's the thing, though, a healthier place doesn't mean that the grief is gone. Friends, the grief is still here. One of the most overwhelming and frustrating parts of infertility is the difficulty people have understanding the grief that I had and still carry. It is almost an impossible task to explain what it is like to grieve something that never existed. I spent a lot of time, energy, tears and words trying to share with people exactly what I was feeling. How do you help people grasp the concept of mourning over something that didn't ever physically exist. This kind of grief is so painful because it is really hard to get closure on this kind of loss. It's the loss of everything the could have been. In that grief I mourned for the child that I would never have the chance to watch grow in my uterus. It was grief for losing the part of my identity that I had tied up with my ability to conceive and carry a child. The tears were for the fact that I won't have the chance to look down at a child and see David's eyes, my nose, and see what a little us would look like. It was sorrow for the photo album I had in my brain of the future and it became a future I would never have. The other part of this grief was tied up in embarrassment and feelings of being a terrible person. Whenever I would see a baby announcement on Facebook, or a friend would call with pregnancy news, or when new baby pictures were passed around, when I would baptize a baby, I would smile and in my heart, there was happiness for them, but at the same time I was angry and heartbroken. It tore the scab off of the wound that was still on my heart every time. I struggled mightily with this because I felt like an absolutely awful person for being jealous and angry because of someone else's good news. Particularly difficult for me were my friends who had been in touch with us because they knew we were working on the adoption process and wanted advice for how to begin because they'd been having difficulty conceiving, and then it seemed like weeks later they were sending me the news that they had conceived. I was beyond hurt but it is not something that is socially acceptable to express in that moment. Six and a half years ago we officially made the decision to no longer seek to conceive. Our beautiful boy Lucas came into our life four years ago. Two and a half years ago I was switched to 3 month birth control. I lost it when that change happened because it felt even more permanent and final. And it still causes an ache under my joy when loved ones share their pregnancy news. This grief is where our adoption journey truly started. By saying goodbye to what never was and what would never be. It's also where our journey continues because this grief comes on like waves. Sometimes it is low tide and it barely laps at my toes and it almost feels like letting go. Other times I feel as though I might not be able to catch a full breath because I am sinking under these waves that crash over my head repeatedly, my lungs hurt from holding my breath, and the tears stream down my face, and I just hold on as best I can until the water resides. My grief for what never was and never will be takes nothing away from my love for my son. To try and deny it would be more harmful. Therefore, I swim, I tread, I hold my breath, and I watch as the tide goes out again, knowing that there is grief but by the grace of God I have a much larger capacity for grace and love.
This is the image that my evening women's Bible study/fellowship group has adopted as the cover image for their Facebook group. You see, in the wild, when a mommy elephant is ready to give birth, all of the other female elephants in the herd gather around her in formation. In essence they close ranks so that they can protect the delivering mommy. They close in so tight that she cannot even be seen in the middle. The stomp and kick up dirt and soil to through attackers off the scent and act like defending superheroes. They give protection to the mommy and baby and present an unified front against any kind of predators. These tough females send the message that if they want to attack their friend when she is vulnerable, they'll have to get through about 40 tons of tough females first. When the bundle of joy arrives the sister elephants proceed to do two things. They kick sand or dirt over the newborn to protect it's skin from the sun and then they all start trumpeting to celebrate this new life. Scientists say that elephants only take this formation in two cases 1) when they are under attack by predators like lions, or 2) during the birth of a new elephant. How can you not love this act of love and sisterhood shown in natures? It truly is the perfect image to represent this group of women that I have the pleasure to meet with twice a month. They are some of the most fiercely loyal, devoted, loving women I have ever had the pleasure to know and love. They are my village... my tribe... my devoted sisters who surround one another in our times of sorrow and need. I have never seen a group of women who so quickly come together when any one in the group comes forward expressing a need, a heartache, a fear, or sharing our tears. In moments there are multiple sisters in Christ surrounding this woman in her pain and ready to scare off anyone who would dare hurt their dear sister in her time of vulnerability. These are some of the most badass women you will ever meet. Why is this topic for my blog? Well, if you know anything about a Myers-Briggs personality type, I am an INFJ. That stands for (introverted, intuition, feeling and judging.) Introversion, unlike most misconceptions, is not someone who is necessarily super shy or unable to speak in public. An introvert can be social, speak publicly, interact with others. What being an introvert really means is that our energy comes from spending time by ourselves. That's how we rejuvenate our souls. I am very strongly introverted to the point where there are times that I need to even be away from David in order to get my energy back. It's why after a long day of multiple social interactions I often need a long period of solitude in order to get my energy back. The general description of an INFJ is one who: "seeks meaning and connection in ideas, relationships, and material possessions. Wants to understand what motivates people and are insightful about others. Conscientious and committed to their firm values. Develops a clear vision about how best to serve the common good. Organized and decisive in implementing their visions. (This explains my binder obsession)." Also, INFJ's tend to make only a few, close friendships and small talk is pretty difficult. To really understand an introvert I recommend this website: https://www.quietrev.com/6-illustrations-that-show-what-its-like-in-an-introverts-head/ (It's a good representation of introversion, it uses pictures, so double win!) I've learned that it is a lot more difficult to make friends as an adult than it ever was as a kid. Especially when you work in a job with non-traditional hours. It makes weekend travel basically null, so going to see far-off friends is not often an option. There's also the fact that on Saturday nights we tend to turn into pumpkins by 9:30/10 pm. So, our social circle has narrowed significantly as adults. It gets even harder when my depression is acting up. You see, my depression and my introversion like to mess with my head in fun and creative, yet confusing, ways. Such as: Robyn's brain: "Wow... do you feel that? You are so lonely." Me: "Yeah... I am lonely... I should really go out and try to make more friends." Robyn's brain on introversion: "Sure... you could do that... but you've had a day with 3 meetings, 2 visits, and a Lucas in a pear tree... Doesn't that couch look darn good? Oh, even better, there's a book and a glass of wine there, too." Me: "Wow... That makes even more sense! I can be lonely tomorrow..." Robyn's brain on anxiety: "But... if you don't make friends, Lucas is going to have that weird mom who has no mom friends, and he won't know how to make friends, and you've ruined his whole life by not going out tonight to try and make friends." Me: "Ahhh! Lucas' entire future mental health is riding on me going out tonight!!!! David! Let's go!" Robyn's brain on depression: "Ok. Settle down everyone. Here's the deal. We're tired. This whole lonely / ruining our sons' future is just exhausting. We can't do anything. We don't have anywhere near the kind of energy this outing would require and you've gone and used up even more energy just arguing with yourself about whether to go out. So get your big blanket out, put on those jammies, pick up that book, and drink that wine. You're staying in." Me: "Yeah... That sounds about right." So, when my depression, anxiety, and introversion all team up, it makes for a crowded mind that eventually leads to an evening in, feeling guilty about having an evening in. Which all complicates the task of making friends and makes it exponentially more difficult. I mean, I'm not even entirely sure how I made friends in school. I really believe the above graphic is completely fitting - that many of my friends just kind of "adopted" me because I can be quite likable. As an adult, though, for an extrovert to find me would mean I would need to be out in public and most days I'm so excited to get home, going back out into public just sounds like a lot more work than I'm ready to use. So, then, where does friendship happen? I have dear friends from college who don't give up on me. Even though I'm terrible about calling them (phone conversations are not my strong point), they don't give up on calling me. Other friends know our difficulty in traveling and will come and visit us. Still others just tell me that we are going to take a vacation together. It is a blessing to have such dear and loving friends. But it still makes me lonely at times here. I recommend it as a read, it's quite interesting even if you don't agree with everything she writes, she drives you to deeper examine your faith. Talking about fierce, it is a great descriptor of these women. They wrestle with their faith diligently, dig into what challenges come to us through our study, and respectfully discuss and even disagree at times. Beyond this, they are friends and confidantes. This time together often leads to a time of opening up and sharing about things that are happening in our lives. These women then begin to share their advice and experiences to help and lift one another up. There is a confidence in one another that we will hold all of our conversations in confidentiality and it is a beautiful and holy ground. The other day I had a crisis of mommyhood. I came home on my lunch and cried and stressed and worried... and I just need prayers for guidance and support. So, I sent a message to this group asking for their prayers. Within minutes, this amazing group of women were responding with prayers, offers of support, advice, and love. I could feel their prayers surrounding me, slowing my tears, and easing the anxiety on my heart. These women are my village... they are my tribe. I trust these women to gather in together to protect each other in the times of pain, sorrow, or fear. So, I reiterate, find your tribe and love them hard. When you feel lost in a great big world, don't be afraid to let your weird light shine so that others can see it. It will draw your weird tribe mates to you and you will know you've found the right tribe when they surround you in your weakest and celebrate out loud your joys. They will stick by you when life drags you down and doesn't let you out to see them. They will love you when you put off radio silence to protect your state of mind. And they will rejoice when you overcome your struggles to be with them.
Find them... Love them... Celebrate them... And know that they do the same for you. Can you tell the difference in which Robyn is which by the pictures above? In one it is what I call "fog Robyn" and then other is "Mostly Me Robyn." Give up? The one on the left is "Most Me Robyn" and the one on the right is "Fog Robyn." Where am I going with this? Well, just a few days ago I felt the most like who I think I am as I have in months, maybe a year. It wasn't until I was in the middle of the day that I realized it. (I attribute that I noticed at all to the "Surprise Me" challenge going on at my church - I highly recommend the book Surprise Me: A 40 day faith experiement) So, on this day that I felt like mostly me, I laughed more than I have in a very long time. I physically felt better - the last remnants of my illnesses were gone. I was only a regular amount of tired, and mentally I was clearer than I have been, it was like a fog lifting and leaving only a fine mist. My feelings of depression, anxiety and low energy were minimal. It truly was the best day I've had in a long while. I'm really glad it happened on my day off with David. Sometimes when I get mired down in my depression I feel like I miss David - even if I see him every day - it's like I can't hold onto the time of being with him. It makes me feel very lonely at times. So, yeah, it was a phenomenal day. Which is why the next day was so hard. The fog seemed to settle right back in again and it hit so much harder because I had that glimpse of what is so near to my true self. The fog isn't as thick as previously, so for that I'm thankful. All in all though, I can appreciate that this was a day where I felt "mostly me." I used to absolutely loathe "mostly me." She came around much less frequently and so "mostly me" was, at least in my head, a slacker. Those were the days I had a hard time doing much. My energy level on the days "Mostly me" made her appearance would drop low, I would have trouble waking up, and I just felt like I was in a funk. In my head I was telling myself that if I could just get off my butt and get to work, it would get better. "Mostly me" signified me at my worst. This view of "Mostly me" began to shift as this fog settles in more regularly. Lately, I have been able to have an appreciation of "Mostly me." Instead of "Mostly me" feeling like I'm slacking or not living up to what I think I should be, "Mostly me" has started to feel like a welcome friend who is helping me get closer to the ideal me. Or, as David states it: "It's like a 60* day. When it comes at the end of winter and signifies the coming of Spring it feels warm and amazing and let's you anticipate the coming warmth. But a 60* day at the end of summer as the Fall is coming it feels colder and leaves you missing the warmth." This all helps me put things into perspective and improve my relationship with "Mostly me." When I would spend so much time at war with myself trying to not be "Mostly me" I would exhaust what little energy I had in trying to force myself into acting the role of who I thought I should be. To be perfectly transparent, I have found living with depression to create in me a severe lack of energy. The best analogy I can think of is "The Spoon Theory' written by Christine Miserandino. The full description can be found at: butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/ A summary is that you wake up with only so many spoons which represent how much energy you have total for the day and even the most basic activities use up the spoons you have available. It leaves you making the hard decisions as to what you do during the day in order to make the best use of your spoons, or figure out what you can minimally accomplish in a day. Overall, when looking at my spoons available from where I used to be mentally/physically/emotionally, I get beyond frustrated with myself. It leaves me believing that if I would just put my mind to it, I should be able to make myself better. (Refer back to an earlier blog post where I discuss the unhelpful things that people say to people with mental illness). The lack of spoons available from that mindset would make me fiercely angry with "Mostly me." I blamed her for the lack and what I saw as the places where I was failing to measure up. Now that I have become more aware and at peace with my depression and anxiety, I have a different view of my spoons and "Mostly me." I understand better why I struggle to have my energy where I'd like it to be and it let's me see that "Mostly me" is a sign that I had a really good spoon day. "Mostly me' no longer represents the indefinable thing that is wrong with me and instead represents the part of me that are working well with the energy I do have. Confused yet? Me too. It's the first time I've really tried to put any of this into words. The best I can do to summarize is this: "Mostly me" used to be like a cloud coming over my bright days. Now, she's the sun breaking through the fog and letting me see more clearly and breathe freely for a time. Here's to hoping that your days are filled with more sun than clouds.
Don't worry dear ones, I am not venturing into another post about depression and/or mental illness. Instead, I've been thinking a lot about grief lately. Grief is such a hard concept to pin down. Partially because everyone experiences it differently but also because, as a society, we have worked really hard to sanitize and privatize grief. From early on warning to not "air dirty laundry" and "put on a brave face" and to "stop being so... dramatic... emotional... such a snowflake..." we have cleaned up, cleared away and generally made guidelines for what grief is not allowed to look like. Rules for Grieving: 1) Monitor how often you cry in front of others. Appropriate times vary by extent of loss. 2) Make sure that if you have to be loud in how you grieve that you do it out of the public eye. 3) Don't make others uncomfortable in how you choose to grieve. 4) Don't inform others when they've said or done something damaging, surely they just mean well. 5) Let the burden of need fall on you. Be ok with people telling you to reach out when you have a need. Do not in any way think someone may bring care for you without you initiating the contact. And then, whatever you do, do not further others discomfort by actually taking them up on their offer. And so on and so forth until you grieve only in private, or refuse to grieve, or believe that grieving is somehow selfish, and eventually decide it is healthier to just internalize everything so as not to put anyone else out. Or, get completely stressed out trying to obey the societal dictates that you will undoubtedly break and then completely blow up. Well, honestly, none of that sounds particularly healthy or helpful. Now, I know I'm only about eight and a half years into ministry, but I've been to many funerals. Most as the presiding minister and some as a mourner/supporter. The most beautiful moment I remember of someone embracing their grief and receiving support in communal grieving was when the widow of the deceased went to the side of the casket and laid her hand on his and declared: "I miss you. Life is lonelier and harder without you. But I'm so angry that you're gone and I've lost my best friend." And then she stood there sobbing, legitimately, soul-crushing sobs. I saw the funeral director trying to decide how best to get her some privacy when her young granddaughter came up and said: "I'm mad I'll never get to play putt-putt with grandpa again," and she, too, began to sob loudly. I watched as the daughter of the deceased stopped the funeral director from stepping in with a gentle hand on his and she went to stand beside her mother and daughter and with an arm around each, she began to cry. One by one family and friends came forward, made contact in some way with each other and grieved - openly, some loudly, some not, and all without any self-consciousness in their grief. The group dispersed as naturally as it had gathered but there was an air of catharsis in the room and it was like the first breath of fresh air after being inside for too long. You could feel the relief and the new sense of connection that had entered the gathered mourners. It was truly spectacular to witness. That moment very clearly revealed to me the desperate need in our society for openness to communal grieving. Dating back to at least ancient Egypt there have existed professional mourners. At that time, two non-related mourners would attend funerals as representatives of goddesses Isis and Nephthys. Their role was to pull out their hair to bestow the energy needed for the deceased to reach the afterlife. Professional mourners are also known as "moirologists" (fun fact - see, my blog can even be educational). There are incidences of professional mourners throughout the world and throughout cultures. It is a truly fascinating topic and I encourage you to read more on it. But from my point of view, I turn back to Scripture to the examples that are offered there of hired mourners. There are two references that stand out in my mind. The first is at the death of Jairus' daughter. It reads "When Jesus came to the leader's house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, he said 'Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.' And they laughed at him." (Matthew 9:23-24; NRSV) The other is from Jesus' raising of Lazarus from John 11:31: "When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there." (John 11:31; NRSV). So, neither text directly says these were hired mourners, but the implication is there, especially in the Matthew text where we hear about flute players and a crowd making a commotion. In two examples we see the importance of the community surrounding the mourners with support and love and providing space for the bereaved to mourn in the way they need. I hate that this practice seems to have been lost to our community today. There is enough going on in the life of someone who is grieving that I am saddened at this need to be aware enough of emotions so as to not make a societal faux pas. Now, I understand that not everyone needs to grieve loudly, or with great, gulping sobs. Yet, I think that everyone could benefit from knowing there are others who are willing just to sit with us in our grieving. To let us be sad, and to share stories, or angers, or regrets, without conversation. Sometimes we just need a place to voice these thoughts. Every once in a while we might just need to voice emotions and frustrations without needing someone to offer a solution. I know for some people, this would frustrate them to no end because they are natural fixers. But, I promise, sometimes people just need to voice thoughts without needing a plethora of solutions. Especially at a time of grief.
Lately, I've been around a lot of people grieving. Some are grieving the loss of a loved one, some are grieving the loss of circumstances or a relationship, while still others are grieving an impending loss. All of these are heavy griefs to bear and when we try to carry them alone, the weight presses down until we feel as though we are stuck in one place. It can be a suffocating feeling for people. Yet, what I have also seen is others coming alongside those who are grieving and helping to bear that grief. To go and listen to someone who is hurting, to let them know you are there and to give them genuine care and compassion, does not take away the grief, but it shares it. When the load is shared between more than one person, it starts to become lighter. After one particularly emotional visit for me, I realized that I had left this person's home with more grief than I had gone in, but I had seen in this person's face a relief, a lightening of the heaviness of the burden they carry. The grief was not too much for me to help shoulder and it is truly a place that I consider incredibly holy. To be allowed into someone else's grief and space of mourning is to be welcomed into an innermost sanctuary and I am always aware of the honor that I have received to be there. When I carry the grief of others with me I recognize that it is not just mine to bear, either. I return the grief, the pain, the loss, the gratitude for the opportunity, to God. I recognize that it all belongs to God in the end and that if I try to bear the collective griefs of a community it will burn me out. They are not mine to keep, they are mine to hold for a time. So, I ask you friends, be aware of the grief of others. Save space for grief to take form as it will, for others and for yourself. Be gentle with yourself in your own grieving with the recognition that your process may not look like anyone else's and that is completely ok. Recognize that your tears and your cries are not something that needs to be hidden for the comfort of others. Your grief and your healing are yours. And, as in all things, may the peace of God be with you. Based on my Facebook poll, this is the topic that won the day, so here you go - the Great Indoorswoman. Many of those near and dear to me know that I am not what some might call "an outdoorsy person." I am quite content to spend my time inside. It is a pleasure to be able to watch the joys of the outdoors from the comfort of my couch under my favorite blankie. But... what I have discovered about my friends who adore the outdoors is that when I mention that I do not like being outside you would think I had just personally insulted them, their dog, their ancestors, and their ancestor's dog. Seriously, though. It's a slightly odd thing, honestly. I mean, it's not like they have spent significant amount of time personally cultivating the outdoors. Even, if by some odd chance they have been, I am not trying to say that I think that what they have been cultivating is terrible, just that I don't want to be out in it. I don't like bugs... I don't like snakes or things like that... I don't particularly care for extreme temperatures. I have seasonal allergies. Overall, the outdoors is kind of designed to take me out in one fell swoop should it so choose, which would be unfortunate if you ask me. You may think that is a picture from Little Shop of Horrors but it is actually a picture of me when my allergies are particularly bad. True story. But what is it about the outdoors that drives people to such intense levels of devotion? You may think that I just haven't given it a try, but that's just not true. I've given the outdoors multiple tries. When I was little my parents sent me to Girl Scout camp. That was a whole lot of nope. I actually left early because I was so completely done with sleeping in a cabin, hiking around, and generally spending time in the sun. Then, my best friend, Erika, took me camping with her boyfriend and her. Yeah, that was as cozy and fun as it sounds. Turns out it was also the night that God decided to re-enact the great flood. We had very little to start a fire with so we started to dig out whatever we could burn from our cars which at one point led to the phrase "I need more box!" So, after a failed fire, we climbed into the tent, and delightfully it was leaking. But, mainly it was leaking where I was supposed to be sleeping. There was a lovely puddle on my sleeping bag. And so that is also the night that I slept in the backseat of Erika's car. So, again, not a beautiful example of the great outdoors. One of the few outdoorsy places that I do love is in West Virginia just outside of Petersburg. This (pictured above) is Dolly Sods and I swear that being up on Dolly Sods is one of the places I've felt the closest to infinite in my life. The wind blows so hard and only in one direction that the trees only grow branches on one side. It is just this phenomenally beautiful area that, when you approach the edge of the plateau, you feel as though you've reached the end of the world. Dolly Sods is the highest plateau east of the Mississippi River. Yet, even as beautiful as this place is, I only ever wanted to spend limited amounts of time there and I never once broke out with burning desire to try hiking one of the many trails. You see, as beautiful as it is, it is also an area known for rattlesnakes and bears. Yep. So, the first bit of advice I received my first trip up Dolly Sods was that I should have a stick to tap the rocks I was about to step on because there could be a rattlesnake underneath. The second was that I should be aware of bears. I'm not sure what exactly I was supposed to do once I became aware of a bear. I mean, besides get in my car (a Kia Rio at that point, so there is every possibility the bear may have been bigger than my car), and floor it out of there, I don't know what I would have done had I come face to face with a furry creature. Oh yeah, let's not forget, that Dolly Sods was also used for WWII training with landmines and bombs. Some of which are still active. So, these signs are posted all around. Knowing my luck, if I had headed off onto any of the hiking paths I would have come across a rattlesnake riding a bear who was holding a live landmine its mouth. Instead of taking that unnecessary risk, I always thought it safest to remain near to my car and just look at the pretty area right in the vicinity. What all of this leads to is that I am an avid indoorswoman. I am a master of this particular sport. Granted, my balance is no where near good enough for me to get in that chair, much less stay in it, but I love the idea of it. You see, my ancestors, and your ancestors, have been developing the indoors for centuries. We are constantly trying to perfect the inside of our homes. Why in the world would we be spending so much time and energy doing this if not for the express purpose of taking the time to actually enjoy the indoors. The way I see it is that I am disrespecting all of the efforts of my predecessors if I were to shun all the fruits that their labors have wrought. Because, even as much of an indoorswoman as I am, I have the just right amount of skill to actually have just gotten a bug bite... yesterday (March 7)... while in my house... on my face... That right there is the sign of someone who truly has nature out to get her. So why in the world should I risk it by going out into the outdoors. I mean, people tell me: "Go outside and plant flowers..." Well, dear ones, I'll let you in on a secret. I don't have a brown thumb... My thumb actually dons a little Grim Reaper outfit the moment it gets near any kind of living plant that relies on me for survival. It is truly just cruel to a plant to give it to me. On the other hand, if you have a plant that you are hoping will die or that needs some hospice care, I am the girl for you. Well, fine, but what about playing outside with Lucas. Sure. I do enjoy seeing my little one have fun. Especially since we moved to this house with a play set in the backyard, Lucas does have a renewed desire to spend time outside. Since I love him so dearly, I do go out with him so that he can play. But I try to aim for those partly cloudy, 70 degree days. Or even rainy days. Sun is also not my friend. My eyes are quite photosensitive and any relatively bright day makes my eyes hurt and gives me a headache. (Which, for some of you, explains why I wear my sunglasses even when it doesn't see all that sunny to you). In addition to that fun fact, ever since I started taking my birth control and anti-depressants I have gotten extremely photo sensitive and I get sunburned SUPER easily. I hear you - "Wear sunscreen - tada!" Unfortunately, they do not seem to make a version of sunscreen for people who actually are so white they reflect the suns rays better than water, and even the poor top of my head gets burned, usually in 30 minutes or less. I'm like the pizza delivery of sunburns. What about swimming? Bahahahahaha. You are too funny. We'll get to my body issues at some point in my blogging career, I am sure, but suffice it to say, there are very few people who exist in this world that I am comfortable letting them see me in a bathing suit. Due to this aversion to being seen, the most swimming I do is with Lucas in his kiddie pool in our backyard. And even then, I wear shorts and a t-shirt. Also, refer back to the previous paragraph describing the sun's death threats against me, and multiply it by 100 when I get in the water.
We've covered the bugs, the snakes, the bears, the sun, the bombs, the allergies, and the body shame... So, that would just about do it, you'd think, but oh no, wait, there's this and so much more! Don't fret, I hear you saying: "Well, if you don't like the sun, and you don't like the hot, what about winter time, seems like the perfect season - fewer bugs, no snakes, bears are hibernating, no sun to set you ablaze... Winter must be the perfect season, right?" Wrong. Again, I am the person who brings you face bug bites in early March, remember? I am just so delicious bugs tend to find me regardless of the season. In other ways, though, winter can be one of the more tolerable outdoor seasons... As long as it's not snowing. Or super windy when it's cold. Back to my medications, not only do they make me super susceptible to sun burn, I found out this last winter that I am also very easily windburned... Nope, not kidding and not exaggerating. Went outside on a cold, windy day. 15 minutes later I was windburned on my face for three days. I know you are thinking that I am just exaggerating, but nature seriously has it out for me. How many other people do you know have had goats and camels come to their patio and pose as though they are either the new, tough gang in town or about the drop the hottest goat album ever? The camel even tried to smush David when he went out to get a better look. (Note: Camels run faster than you would really expect). "Lucas" you cry out, "If nothing else, do it for Lucas so that he can learn to appreciate the outdoors." Well, dear readers, I mentioned that I do, indeed, head outside on a needs be basis to allow Lucas the "joys" of the outdoors. But, I hope you remember when I said humans have been perfecting the indoors for hundreds of years. There is precious little that Lucas can do outside that we have not been able to replicate for him in the comfort of our own air conditioned/heated home. As you can see above we have done bicycle riding, snow play, and bounce houses inside. It is possible, don't let anyone try and tell you differently. The great indoors provide a nice, comfortable place to partake in just as many fun activities as the outdoors while still enjoying the small luxuries like running water, a fridge, couches, and windows along with the delightful aspect that there are fewer bugs. Being the great indoorswoman that I am, I have dedicated a lot of time and effort into investigating what makes for the most exciting yet reasonably comfortable adventure one can have from home. It has all led me to the conclusion that the indoors are vastly preferable to the outdoors. We can blow bubbles, build pillow forts, and all of those good things while inside. Just in case you worry that my son is lacking in vitamin D and the opportunity to be outside and getting dirty... Below I provide photographic evidence that he does have outdoor opportunities (and even this great indoorswoman ventures to the outdoors if need be). When all is said and done, though, there is no place better than being with my family. Whether that be in the great indoors we work so hard to perfect or whether it be in the primordial outdoors, as long as they are with me, my heart is happy.
(But, in all honesty, what beats out being able to wear fuzzy slippers and kick back in the recliner with the sweetest little boy?) This recently has become one of my son's favorite books to read at bedtime. We read this and The Napping House. As we were reading it tonight, I began to see this story from the mommy's perspective. So, without further ado, here is my interpretation (the left will be a summary of the story by Nancy Tafuri, the right will be what goes through my head)
There is nothing like those nights, reading to my little one and hoping deep in my heart that these words remain in his memory long after he's gotten too big and too cool for mommy to snuggle him and read to him. Because he will always be my little one and I will love him, forever and ever and always.
Let me start with a "whoops" and an apology. Like anything else, blogging has a learning curve. Mine just happens to include the fact that I need to double-check when I have pre-set a post to go live and if I think I reset that time, I should really make sure I did. My previous post went live before I finished writing it... so I figured I would just do a part 2 instead of continuing on the last post. So, here you go, crazy beautiful depression... Part 2. (Who knew I'd have sequels this early in my blogging career?) I left off my last post talking about how the promising strides forward in talking about and aiming to fix our broken mental healthcare program gets slowed down by politics. So, as media falls away and the Snapchat filters cycle out, the general public reverts to a state of complacency. When someone reaches out to share their burden or their need the reaction becomes on of distancing or a desire to "not get too involved" and even "I have my own things to worry about." This cycle is so predictable that I cringe whenever it begins. I cringe because the media tramples the celebrity and their family with over-simplified explanations. I cringe because according to the AFSP (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention) suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US. https://afsp.org I cringe because 44,965 Americans die by suicide annually. Because for every suicide there are 25 attempts. And because in light of these staggering numbers it's usually not a a small town neighbor's finished battle with mental illness that starts conversation, it's one big name person. But, here are some staggering numbers: To see more really good information on mental illness see: www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-By-the-Numbers But the truth is that mental illness and suicide are more than just numbers. It is people who you love with stories and histories that are often invisible. Mental illness is not just someone who "looks crazy."
In my mind, there was a giant "C" carved into the middle of my forehead to label me as "crazy." It was honestly terrifying. Which, of course, did nothing to alleviate my anxiety. What also did not help was the portrayal of people with mental illness in television and movies. I was counting down the minutes until I had a breakdown and ended up in the pretty white jacket locked off somewhere. And at that time, people were not talking about mental illness. It was super taboo. You know, I was young, so I'd just grow out of it, I was just going through a phase. Again, all the unhelpful soundbites that make the speaker feel better but don't do a whole lot for the hearer. There are still times that it is hard to live in peace with my depression and anxiety. Many times they want to take center stage and try to convince me that I have no right to feel the way I do. My life is good. I have a loving husband and a beautiful son that I love dearly. My calling as pastor is fulfilling and meaningful. What in the world do I have to be depressed about? And speaking of being a pastor, shouldn't I just be able to "pray it away." (I am NOT going to get started about that particular phrase here, but it will come, promise.) For what I consider to be a quality way to speak about depression I recommend going and reading "Hyperbole and a Half: Adventures in Depression" (hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html ) This is a part of my reality and there are things I can do that help and that let me be more in control, but there's no magic cure. But I do realize that I am particularly blessed to both have very good health insurance and a job that pays enough to let me have access to solid mental health care.
That's why I am grateful whenever the public conversation starts in the public eye again, because I am aware of how many people are out there without access to quality care for their mental illness and do not have any way to work through these thoughts and the weight this places on their shoulders. The other thing that being in the public eye does is help cut back on the stigma... Well, one would hope anyway. Many times I see the concepts of mental illness being minimized and simplified to the point where it is very hard to have a meaningful conversation about something that has been reduced to a soundbite. I guess what I really wanted people to know is that: if you feel there is something wrong with you and you are all alone, you are not. If you can't find a safe space to share your questions, concerns, and fears, you have a safe space in me. And if you are not struggling with mental illness, I urge you, be an advocate. Research, study, and work toward taking away the stigma and the easy label and strive to find a way for quality mental healthcare to be available to all people regardless of income. Remember the stats I shared earlier from NAMI. It is entirely possible that while you might not struggle in a battle with mental illness that someone you know and love is fighting a battle that feels larger than life. Be kind. Be gentle. Love one another. This is me eleven years ago. I was on my internship in Petersburg, WV. It was one of the times in my life my depression was pretty active. I hadn't yet come to befriend my metal illness as I have now and it always felt pretty heavy. Mental illness. Here is when I start with the obligatory note that says I am frustrated with the stigma still attached to mental illness. How much this sense that it should be "hidden" or "kept quiet" bothers me. Of course, the ever helpful sentiments of "have you just..." or "have you just tried not being depressed?" Or, my personal favorite: "Have you tried going outside more? Getting some more vitamin D?" (I am sure that at some point I will have a whole blog post dedicated to the very basic truth that I am most certainly not an "outdoorsy" person.) While usually well-meaning sentiments can do so much to further alienate those who are genuinely struggling with an illness. The popular comparison is that wouldn't tell someone with cancer to "just not have cancer." For what it's worth, I think all of the above has been said, and better said, by others and so I won't rehash those topics. Instead, part of what I want to do is put a face on mental illness because the more faces that are seen the more I hope the stereotypes and generalizations diminish. So, here's the details of my relationship with my mental illness. I have lived with depression and anxiety for 18 years. Wow. So, I'm pretty sure that is the first time I have put a number on the years like that. It's a little humbling to realize my mental illness is old enough to graduate high school this year... Anyway. Depression and anxiety have been my companions since I was a senior in high school. I was diagnosed with rupturing ovarian cysts (again, more on this in a later post, I'm sure). Eventually I had to have surgery to remove the cysts. The incision that was made was the same used for c-sections along with the six week recovery window. When you're in high school and a senior six weeks seems like an eternity. Especially when you are a chronically over-achieving student with what is near a phobia of failing and in a math class that was already challenging. Needless to say, I fell behind - in school work, in social happenings, and it felt like my world had just... stopped. I couldn't find a way to make it start up again in a way that felt like I was "in control" (another topic - shocking, right?) In addition to this, I struggled in high school with an intense desire to fit in and be liked. This need was not being fed when I was stuck at home for six weeks. My grade in math took a free-fall and I started the fantastic journey into the cycle of panic and depression. I am grateful my parents noticed and were willing to seek out help for me. Who knows what my relationship with my companions would be like today if my parents had denied or stigmatized my illness. After counseling and then the addition of a psychiatrist to monitor my medications, I finally started to learn how to navigate my "new normal." I was learning how to live with my depression and anxiety instead of struggling against them. From that time on I have been on and off meds as was appropriate and in and out of counseling as was needed, and this works for me. So, now that you know a little more of my story and I have given one more face to mental illness, let's talk about some of the other pitfalls of mental illness and society. Too often mental illness and suicide become the hot topic of the day and it becomes "the current thing" to be a warrior for mental illness. This usually comes around after the death of a celebrity. Some examples: Robin Williams and Chester Bennington (lead singer of Linkin' Park). All of a sudden, Facebook statuses are changed for an hour in honor of "mental illness" or "suicide." Pictures are changed to have this current filter that lets the world know you support people struggling with mental illness. For a brief shining moment, we catch a glimpse of the kingdom in which mental illness is not taboo. In that glorious moment people actually begin asking some of the important questions: how can we reform healthcare to better care for and support people with mental illness; and what can we do to offer care and support to those with mental illness. Usually about this time politics comes busting into the conversation like the Kool-Aid man. When that happens any meaningful conversation gets lost in the noise of people who are convinced they are the only ones who know the way forward... Or the money being waved at them from counter-companies catches their eye and closes their mouths.
This is a question I often ask myself. It's a pretty layered question and it's one that surfaces a lot for me when we are working on adoption paperwork. There's a lot of questions on adoption paperwork that call for introspection. What are your hobbies, interests, who are your influences, etc. All of this boiled down is supposed to equate to answering the question "who am I?" We are supposed to share pictures of us that show us as "whole people." So, we dig through our pictures to fulfill requirements of what we think we need to have in order to be a person of interest. A conversation that has actually happened between me and my dear husband, David, goes a little like this: David: Hey! Look at this picture. Me: What category does it fill? David: I think it checks off both "has friends" and "looks like a fun person." Do we look fun yet? If you had asked me 15 years ago if I ever thought I would need to find pictures to prove that I both have friends and have fun, I would have laughed. Now I just kind of sigh as I try to figure out if I do indeed have friends and simultaneously have fun. I'm slightly embarrassed that this is a little harder than it seems like it should be. It always cracks me up when I think about using pictures to help articulate who I am - especially in light of a social media world. Because here's how I think now: This is me at my preferred 45* angle from above. And this is head on, which also happens to be the angle that so many of my pictures tend to come from. If only everyone were taller than me so that they only ever saw me from my preferred angle. Therefore, I would appreciate it if, as you read my blog, you picture me sharing these thoughts with you in only the 45* angle way. Which all leads to one of my favorite topics to preach on: our identity in Christ. I love this topic because when I feel crazy and lost in trying to figure out who I am, that reminds me of all I definitely need to know and let's me have space to rest from trying to identify myself according to every other metric. You may be thinking: Well, this is all lovely, but it's not really answering the question that starts of this post, who are you? There's the basics. I'm a 35 year old woman. I'm a wife of almost 9 years. David and I have been together for 13 years. I see a long future of growing old together. I'm mommy. My son, Lucas, is four years old. Lucas is adopted. We were there when he was born. He is the joy of my life. Sometimes it's hard to remember that he is not the sole part of my identity, but an important part. This blends into the next part of who I am. I'm an adoptive mommy. The long, frustrating process became totally worth it when we saw him for the very first time. It grew our family in additional ways that I didn't even expect. We are still in regular contact with his birth-mom which is an incredible gift. I'm so glad that God gave us this surprise that let our family grow in this way. I'm also a daughter. Both my parents are still with us which I know is a gift and joy not everyone still has available to them. They live about two hours away and it's really nice to be close to them again after having been 6+ hours away for almost six years. Sister is another title I get to claim. I'm the youngest of seven children. There are a lot of complicated relationships there but that doesn't make it any less of a part of who I am. As I didn't get their permission to post a picture of them just use your imagination. We're really a cute family. Honestly, we look a lot alike. There's no way we can deny being related (which, most of the time, is cute). www.brandstoryonline.com/see-face-vase-image/ I live with depression and anxiety. I have for quite a lot of my life. We're actually pretty good friends now. And even though sometimes I don't like to admit it, I have come to recognize the place it holds in my life and the impact it has made on me. I'm a pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA). I've been in ministry for about nine years and I absolutely love what I do. I serve a fantastic, vibrant congregation that keeps me busy and keeps my heart full. I've been serving in ministry with them for almost three years now. Before this I served a two point parish in southern Indiana, the part of the world known as Kentuckiana. (Not even kidding). Those congregations were filled with spectacular people who took a chance on a first call pastor and helped me grow in faith, grace, and leadership. I am forever grateful to the members of those churches for all they taught me and the love they showed our family. And now, I'm trying my hand at blogging. I've always loved writing and seeing how I get up every week and preach, I obviously like sharing my thoughts. So, we'll see how this goes. I hope you'll join me for this journey. There's not just one theme that my blog will follow just the musings of my mind as they come to me.
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AuthorI've been Robyn for my whole life. I've been a wife for 10 years and a mom for 5 years. I've been a pastor for about 10 years. I'm still stumbling, but I'm still standing. Archives
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