I’ve listened with interest to some the campaign chatter this last week or so. And some of it made me think. Made me think of being a daughter, of the women who were my “mothers,” and of not being a biological mother.
When I was a little girl, a baby really my parents had the opportunity to travel some and so they did. Many times. I was fortunate in that my dad’s older sister was available to be my primary caregiver. And she was so much more. Never having married herself she was in many ways more of a mother to me than my own mom. And given that she was a schoolteacher she needed additional help to take care of me while she was working. From the time I was six months old I was used to being passed from auntie to neighbors to friends – some six or so women in all who on any given day would pick me up, care for me and pass me on as their family/work schedules dictated. What it taught me was that there were many mothers in my life, some of them filling in the gaps my own mother’s limitations left. I grew up secure in the knowledge that if I lifted my hand up a larger loving hand would reach down to grasp it.
Occasionally I get the question, Do you have any children?
For a brief time, I was a stepmother. The man I lived with for several years had two young sons. We had them during the summers and some holidays. I would say at best it was fraught and I learned to walk that fence rail between two parents who still harbored old wounds that they would sometimes inflict on their children. I think about the boys from time to time and pray that they are happy men.
While I was program director at VisArts we offered a popular summer session for children and youth. The youngest came for a late morning class and if they chose could stay through lunch (they brought a bag lunch) for an early afternoon class. Being 6- and 7-year-olds those who stayed through lunch mainly ran around and goofed and maybe drank some of their juice and ate their cookies. Half an hour into the afternoon class it was total melt down. Crying, frustration, bedlam. So, I took to rounding them up at noon and sitting down with them to eat lunch. Most of the conversation was from me: Have another spoonful of your yogurt, take a few more bites of your sandwich, try a carrot stick and do eat some of those apple and cheese slices. One little fella piped up and asked, “Whose Mommy are you?” My answer was: This week I am all y’all’s Mommy. It worked. Afternoon meltdowns averted.
I have on my bulletin board at church a quote the source of which I am not sure of but it goes something like this: it won’t matter how much money I made or how big my office was, what will matter is that I was important in the life of a child.
I take that to heart. I have been blessed to be part of so many children’s lives through the ministry of the church. My life has been enriched by their questions and laughter and occasionally tears. We’ve gone on mission adventures together, planted and tended a garden, learned some of our faith story, packed Food Pantry bags, and shared quiet moments of reflection. Some of these youngsters are grown now with children of their own. Can I be that old?
My hope and prayer is that if they’ve learned anything, if they’ve taken anything away from our time together that first and foremost they know deep in themselves that they are profoundly loved and cherished by a God and a community that sees them as perfect. And I hope that they know if they lift up their hand a loving hand will always reach to grasp it.
Occasionally I get the question, Do you have any children? I think I do.
I am often surprised by which of our Facebook posts receive the most – or the least – comment. Sometimes it is fairly predictable, but often not.
A recent example is when last week Suzanne took an early evening stroll through our northside children’s garden. For those of you who have never ventured out on the northside of the church it is a smallish strip of land bisected by a brick walkway. Over the years the children and I (with a bit of professional help) transformed what was pretty much a scrubby little patch with one neglected hydrangea hanging on in the summer heat to green space filled with redbud trees, lobelia, drift roses, my grandmother's peonies, my mother's double day lilies, my friend Barbara Dill's black-eyed susans, and other perennials. It isn’t House & Garden material, but it is a nice little oasis in the city.
For years a bunny family lived under the yucca plants. We had a deal that in return for Coffee Hour leftovers (ever wonder what happens to the uneaten half of the veggie tray…) said bunny family would regularly appear at least one night of Vacation Bible School and/or poke a nose out for St. Francis Fun & Learning Day.
But the last few years – no bunnies. Carrots left uneaten and no sign of our little furry friends.
This year – THEY’RE BACK!!!!! Bunnies galore! Parents and little guys all romping around the garden.
I commented on one of the posted photos that the empty space in the middle of the garden was where the black-eyed susans would be except that the bunnies had eaten them all. And I mean down to the ground eaten them all. Sigh.
And they are moving on to other plants. One morning walking around the building I came upon a little bunny mid chomp on a cone flower. Standing on his (her?) hind legs the little scamp bit the stem in two pieces and proceeded to eat each bright pink petal while staring me down as if to say Well, I am right under the Welcome banner after all…
And ya know that’s it. A Facebook comment nailed it –as one church member posted, that’s what happens when all are welcome at the table!
Yeah. And it is good. All are fed. Our abundance is shared without question or qualification. You have only to be hungry.
I agree with those who prefer the bunnies to the blooms – yes, I’ll miss the black eyed susans for a season but they will come back. The bunnies as we have experienced might not. But if they remember the tasty leaves and the juicy blossoms, the carrots and the broccoli florets maybe they will, maybe they will come to know we are a safe place to be and a place to be fed.
As a student of the Hebrew Scripture I am and have always been reminded of the power of naming. Naming was not just a happenstance - it was an intentional act and meant to prove lineage. It was also a means of conveying power. Power over.
I name you. I own you. You are mine.
So I often think of how we are named and how we name others.
For me - I was named for a great grandmother I would never know, her spelling and all. And it is ironic to me that in her day she led the then called "Sunday School" and her husband - George - well just get out on this one - was a "sweet" singer in the choir.
I was named. In love.
And along the way I learned other names. Some not so good, some I was forbidden to utter - you know what I mean.
So today I wonder at the a names we use for each other. Are we "naming" without knowing? Are we "naming" without understanding the depth and reach of what we call each other? Are we letting names get in our way?
I was talking with a friend and realized that in all that we have shared about our families - you know her kids and grandkids - that I did not know an important family name. She shared it with me and shared moreover that it had been one hard for her family to learn and that for a while they had "shorthanded it" to make it easier. The shorthand was not honoring and it did change.
I am practicing this new name hoping one day to meet its owner. To honor.
What we call each other is more than words What we call Israel and Palestine is more than words.
Our names for each other are predictive of our actions.
Let us do as best we can to make sure we know each other's names.
So this happened (Monday April 8). We were not in the line of total eclipse but we were promised a changing of our day - a changing of our normal at around 3pm on Monday.
And so it was. We went out on the porch not knowing exactly what to expect. It had gotten darker but not dark. And as it happens we were joined by neighbors and then by a few of those just walking by wanting to take a look at the eclipse. We joked that if we were all together on the sidewalk looking up at the sky we wouldn't look so odd - we wouldn't be taken for a bunch weirdos staring off into space.
We became for a few minutes a community. We shared our eclipse glasses and helped each other use them to take photos. We talked a bit about being and living around here. What we liked - what we had experienced and what we hoped for. And then we walked away - back to our own lives and homes.
We were changed though - even if just for a few minutes. And I hope when I next see these folks they will remember me and I will remember them - with or without our eclipse glasses.
I think of St. Mark's so much in this way. We join together as community on Sunday mornings - people who just like this afternoon on my sidewalk might have never encountered or talked with one another otherwise. We share ourselves in the community of worship and fellowship. And it is good.
We pray and laugh and eat together. And we part maybe knowing something has been changed. Maybe in us, maybe in the community. Maybe in the world.
A friend gave me this ornament last year. I told her then that it was perfect as I begin my nightly prayers praying for peace.
It is ever more perfect this year.
I am praying for peace in this war-torn and war-weary world.
I pray for the Ukraine - that the Russians pack up their missiles and bombs and drive their tanks home. I pray that healing can begin, that the things which can be rebuilt will be, and those forever lost - mourned. I pray that the Ukraine will once again bloom with sunflowers.
I pray for Israel and Gaza - that somehow they will be released from their generations-old cycle of vengeance and violence. I am not naive - I know this is a complex history and much harm has been done on both sides, by both sides. But I pray that somehow they can come to see what they share rather than what separates them. Abraham, father of all the monotheistic religions is patriarch to both Jews and Muslims, as well as Christians. Could we begin there? Could we imagine a Palestine and an Israel seeing each other as images of one another, of God, rather than as enemies to be brutalized and killed?
I pray and have hope that it will be Jewish and Muslim and Christian women, the mothers who will say enough.
Peace seems to me so much more challenging and difficult than war.
We have to work hard to create a different outcome, one that can look ahead not forgetting the violence, destruction, and devastation but one that recognizes that nothing changes until we change.
By now it is getting late. I have prayed for all of you, most by name.
And my prayer refrain is always to pray for the peace which passes all understanding, a kingdom peace that while only God can give, is ours to claim and manifest.
The kingdom is here and it is now. Peace is ours to build.
The Book of Common Prayer has a prayer for the aged.
Look with mercy, O God our Father, on all whose increasing years bring them weakness, distress, or isolation. Provide for them homes of dignity and peace; give them understanding helpers, and the willingness to accept help; and, as their strength diminishes, increase their faith and their assurance of your love. This we ask in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
A lovely prayer, but providing proper care for aging adults requires more than the power of prayer. It requires work.
It takes the kind of work being done by the staff and trained volunteers at Senior Connections: The Capital Area Agency on Aging, a non-profit organization whose mission is to empower older adults to live with dignity, to choose where they live, to receive proper medical care, to be fed nourishing meals, to spend time socializing with others.
Serving eight localities -- Richmond and seven surrounding counties -- the agency offers 20 unique services providing services for older adults and their caregivers in a variety of ways.
“For example, we provided more than 180,000 meals last year,” said Amy Strite, the agency’s executive director who oversees the day-to-day operation at its headquarters, 1300 Semmes Avenue in South Richmond.
Many services are tailored to help seniors remain in their homes. These services include:
Home-delivered meals.
Help with money-management and paying bills.
In-home personal care services.
Transportation to and from appointments.
Home visits for safety checks and socialization.
“Isolation is a huge problem, so opportunities to socialize is important,” said Amy. “We have Friendship Cafes in 25 neighborhoods, where seniors gather to stay connected.”
In a comment posted on the Richmond Memorial Health Foundation’s website, Amy wrote: “We are, at every age, inherently social and relational creatures. We need to see one another, talk with each other, hold hands, and laugh together. It is necessary for good health and a good life, whether we are six months old or 96 years old, and every age in between.”
This month the agency introduced a 4-year Area Plan listing programs and services to help people age successfully in the coming years, with special emphasis on older adults who have the greatest needs due to poverty, inadequate housing, or who have no family members able or willing to be caregivers.
“Aging is a justice issue,” Amy said. “How do we in our society see and treat older adults? How committed are we on a policy level to seeing that all people are able to age with dignity, to have their basic human needs met? What value do we afford those people in our society who are professional caregivers for older adults and people with disabilities? These are the questions we must ask ourselves and our communities. Too often older adults and those who care for them are forgotten and unseen. We need to change that by becoming informed advocates.”
She added: “Love God. Love neighbor, Love self. This is why I do the work I do, and why I believe it is important for all of us to advocate for a more just world.” – Steve Clark
