Reverenda Rosa

Sometimes Words Don't Work

I can't say that my life has been that different since my last post.  I grew more and more aware that I wasn't writing anything, but I couldn't really find words to wrap around the things that were happening.  Finally, today I realized that writing, even a silly little blog like this, is an act of hope.  There's been a suspension of hope for me these past few weeks.  I am dismayed beyond words by the things that are happening in the world.  I continue to make small contributions to Barack Obama's campaign because I am not ready to let go completely of the possibility that there could be a different way of making decisions in our country.  But the vacuous futility of so much of the public conversation leading up to the elections leaves me speechless.

There is a food crisis.  People in Haiti and the Philippines have been rioting over food.  The energy crisis, the housing crisis, the war, the number of people around me who have no medical insurance.  The truth that in order to save homeowners about $300/year in property taxes here in Florida, we've committed to a series of state budget cuts that leave even less of a safety net for vulnerable people like my daughter.  A couple of years ago, my older brother and I adopted a new "sign off" when we call each other--he in Holland, me in Florida.  I say this:  "H--I need to hang up now, I'm getting suicidal."  We laugh and hang up and I try to get busy fast to clear myself of the sense of despair.  I'm using that phrase a lot these days with othe rpeople as well.  It's just been easier to stay really busy than allow bleak words of fear to take shape. 

Today, someone told me they'd stumbled on this blog page and I got all self conscious.  So here I am again.  But I don't know that I have anything meaningful to say. I'm glad it's still Easter-tide, when the promises of resurrection console and carry me through most days.  Maybe sometimes, it is ok to let God be the bearer of hope...

The Generations

We've been to Panama.  There were plenty of sad, hard moments.  A few really funny moments.  And then, there was the absolute joy of being with Ligia after 15 years and since I became a mother.  One morning, Ligia, Maria and I went for a nice long walk.  We all three held hands and sang the childhood songs I learned with Ligia and have taught my daughter.  The moment to say goodbye came very fast.  But the time we had was enough.  It was more than enough.  We are blessed...

Identity

A few weeks ago, LoML began to ask if there's a scrapbook about her.  She is just starting to tiptoe into adolescence and I can tell that deep, almost impenetrable question of "who am I?" is starting to take shape--and shape her.  Funny she asked.  About 4 years ago, I started on one.  I even found scrapbook materials for adoptions and I, who am not particularly into cute, had a ball buying all kinds of really cute stuff for that book.  And then it sat on a shelf for the next 4 years, only the title page and first page completed.

Every day, LoML asked me, "Mami, did you work on my scrapbook"--and finally one day about 2 weeks ago, I got started.  Oh my God, retracing the steps of that journey has been a journey in itself.  Everything is so vivid:  the memories, the pictures, the emotions.  A few things stand out--Spouseman and I were surrounded by our community and his family during those 20 months it took to bring her home.  But there is no picture, no card, nothing that speaks of my family except this:  a few pictures where LoML is wearing the most exquisite dresses imaginable.  Dresses my mother gave her, reaching across brokeness and estrangement in the only way she knew how.  LoML's gotcha day, March 4, 2001, I could hardly wait to get her into one of my mama's dresses.  We were going to stay at the apartment of an acquaintance and we got there while M was out.  I literally changed my little girl into one of the dresses in the hallway.  Her first night home, she slept in a nightgown my mom had given her.  I am both incredibly glad that at least there are those traces, and deeply sad all over again that my mom, my dad, my brothers, my family of origin are so totally absent from that time in my life.

Along with celebrating LoML's gotcha day in a couple of weeks, she and I are leaving a week from Sunday to go to Panama.  My mom has taken another bad turn with the cancer--markers doubling and tripling in weeks instead of months, a lot more pain, a new large tumor on her spinal cord.  During our time with her and my dad, something quite extraordinary is also going to happen:  Ligia, my second mother, is going to be joining us in Panama for a few days.  My daughter will actually get to be in the same space with me and my two mothers, if only for a very brief time.  As soon as she saw me begin to make progress on the scrapbook, she informed me that we needed to take it to Panama.  She can't possibly understand what it does to my heart to think about Abuelita Ligia and Abuelita Nita, LoML, and I sitting together, retracing those steps, passing over from life to death and death to life, all at once. 

LoML on her first night home

Into the Desert

On Sunday morning all the comfortable, familiar ways of doing and being church stopped.  Instead, we gathered to face into the reality that we are in the midst of a serious crisis in our congregation.  The symptom is financial -- we are facing a very significant gap between our operating budget for the year and the results of our annual pledge campaign.  But that is only the symptom.  The really issue--the real question is about commitment.  We are losing the competition for the hearts of our community to soccer practice and regattas, to long mornings drinking Starbucks and reading the New York Times, to all the different choices that a Sunday morning presents for that particular demographic that once sat in the pews of churches like ours.

I am proud that we are facing into the truth and making the hard decisions that our situation is asking of us.  I was able to send out my weekly email to the Vineyard Eucharist families--a small new community I've seen myself helping to midwife into the world.  I talked about us being in the desert and how desert people have so much to teach us; that felt right.  This afternoon, I was the spokesperson for a small group of people who are bringing  the people who can make a difference with affordable dental health care to the Nehemiah Assembly of our new social justice network which we have so proudly named "BOLD Justice"--Broward Organized Leadership Doing Justice. Good outcomes.  I've even made the arrangements so we can sing along with a CD at the Vineyard Eucharist this Sunday since we will have no musician to support us.  All of that was good and important. 

Today, I also made the decision that we must terminate two faithful women who have staffed our nursery for over twelve years, good women who have loved and cared for the smallest among us.  My corporate experience taught me well about the necessity of making really tough decisions like this and the nuts and bolts of how to make it happen.  I worked out some of the details with our finance people and my husband who is rector of the parish.  Negotiated pay for both through the end of the month. Tomorrow I will go to their house and tell them the news. 

But I don't work in a corporation, I work in a church.  So after all that was done, it was safe to stop and simply sob for all that we are losing in order to have life.

Friendship

When your child has behavioral and cognitive limitations/challenges/disabilities--whatever cleaned up version of the language of difference gets used--there are a lot of things that you don't get to celebrate.  The first win at peewee soccer, watching your child master addition or subtraction.  There has to be a special kind of hope when you  start saving for a college fund. I still struggle trying to find just the right guardian for my child when Spouseman and I no longer are here to watch over her.

I have ached watching my child not quite read the cues that are needed to play childhood games.  It no longer hurts when children figure out there's something different about my child and avoid her because they don't know how to deal with the ways in which she is different from them.  But recently, all our hearts broke all over again, when a classmate led a couple of other boys to bully her mercilessly about her appearance--the hair on her arms, her skin color.  It got bad enough that I had to use legal terms to put her school on notice:  "Ms X, bully boy has crossed a line.  He is harassing my daughter and I will not stand for it."  The school was very responsive and for that I am thankful.

Then, I was given another gift.  Light of My Life is in a special ed class with only one other girl.  I'll call her Mountaintop.  That's what her name means in Spanish.  And sweet, strong, incredibly vulnerable Mountaintop has been standing up to the bullies to help my daughter.  How can you ever say thank you for such courage and kindness?  On President's day, the three of us went for pedicures.  It was delicious. I chose pink nailpolish.  Mountaintop silver.  LoML went for flaming, totally out there red.  Her little toenails are miniscule, but that girl has undeniably red toe nails these days. 

Today, LoML and I had a rocky time at the end of the day.  It's a long story how we got there, but close to dinnertime, we were at the supermarket, both of us hungry, tired, stressed.  The warning signs were all there for a major meltdown.  We didn't go there though.  She was able to pull back and keep a handle on her behavior though she was mad as hell.  We came home and had an uneventful dinner.  Then she said, "Mami, can I call Mountaintop?"  And I said yes.  Carefully I read the phone number to her.  Slowly, she punched in each number.  I held my breath while she asked to speak to her friend.  I did everything I could not to giggle when she sat on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other, then lowered her head so her hair formed a curtain over her face and phone.  And just like that, my child was having her first ever phone call with a gal pal.  Just like that.  They talked so long, I finally had to intervene.  "Mountaintop--my mom says wrap it up. I'll talk to you tomorrow."  I never thought I'd get to have this moment.  How did I ever deserve such goodness in my life?

Si Se Puede!

Why?

Early yesterday, on the spur of the moment, Spouseman and I decided that Light of My Life would travel with him to Selma.  Mamasita-in-law is moving into an assisted living facility.  Spouseman was driving to Crawfordville to pick up his son  so today, both of them could help move some of MIL's furniture into her new apartment.  It occurred to both of us that this was a lovely opportunity for LoML to spend time with her big brother and dad.She loves and needs those times of getting in a big pile with family. She would be a blessing to all the grownups. Somehow, it all made sense so in 15 minutes we had her packed and ready to climb into the truck and take off with her dad.

For the second time in less than a year, I find myself going solo for a few days.  Last night, I went out to a nice restaurant with my friend B.  Then I went by myself to see Juno.  I wept almost non-stop.  That stuff about fertility, adoption, motherhood, marriage, parenthood, all jumbled together with a lot of reverence and respect in this sweet little movie really got to me.  After the movie was over I walked out towards my car, passing by the restaurant Spouseman and I go to for special occasions.  People sit at tables by the windows of Canyons and they were there last night.  Strange to be coming out of a movie that is all about relationships and connectedness, walk by the place where that is celebrated and feel so self-contained.  This wasn't about isolation or loneliness--I'd had a warm, lovely meal with a good new friend just a couple of hours before.  But last night I was only responsible for myself and only able to take care of myself. At that moment, the only one watching out for me was me. I don't experience that often.

This morning, after reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee in bed--something I never do, I got back up to make a simple breakfast of yogurt, strawberries and raw oatmeal.  And decided I'd take it out and eat my meal on the deck.  The picture above is an approximation of what that was like. But it can't capture the special hue of the sunlight early in the morning as it stretches out  over the water at this time of the year.  This is so completely out of the ordinary for me these days, even though this is where I live!   Why?

Catching Up

Glad, sad, relieved, alive.  I did it.  I went back to FedEx and it was a lovely experience.  D, the first person I recruited and hired when I became manager of training for Latin America and the Caribbean had arranged for a conference call while I was visiting so I heard the voices of friends from Argentina, Brazil, Puerto Rico, Trinidad and Mexico.  I was fortunate during my tenure at FedEx to get to hire some really wonderful young people and what a gift to hear how their lives are unfolding--especially how many have gotten married, had babies, gotten college degrees, gotten promotions. 

We had some funny stories to remember.  I heard that the division, which had not yet turned a profit when I left, is now profitable. I was amazed that a lot of people are still there and intrigued by who has left.  One woman who was a particularly sharp, capable member of the management team has left to become a life coach and I would love to hear how she came to that decision--back when I was there, everyone had said  that K was VP material in the finance department. 

I was able to name some of the hardship and pain that was woven into my time with the HR organization.  It was such a relief to say out loud that I left aware that there ways in which I didn't do a particularly good job while I was there.  I was able to apologize for having simply walked away and cut myself off from people who probably didn't understand why I was doing that.  I am humbled by the generosity and gladness with which so many welcomed me back.  And along with being glad to reconnect like I did, I am glad that I am where I am.  The day I cleaned out my desk and left 701 Waterford Way in 2002, I drove away without looking back once. I just couldn't; it was too painful.  Today, I paid attention as I was leaving:  heard the lovely sound of the fountains at the entrance of the building and noticed the sun on the lush tropical landscaping that makes this lovely space in a corporate kind of way.  And this time, I did look back --with gratitude.

Just as I am

I've been fighting with myself for days about a commitment I made earlier in the month.  I left my job at FedEx almost 6 years ago because my family  was spinning way out of control and because the writing was on the wall:  I'd come to Florida with one management team and when a new VP came in and my original boss left, the "fit" was no longer there.  I'd come to the end of the line, at least with FedEx. There was no real closure--I simply walked away and concentrated on cutting my losses, getting on with "reinventing myself" one more time. 

A few weeks ago, someone who was first my colleague and then became my boss right before I left, contacted me and on the spur of the moment, I decided I'd go back to the FedEx offices to see him and the folks I left behind.  I'd been having a lot of dreams about FedEx and I had the sense that I really did need to go back and face into all that reality at least one more time.  But I played some games with myself about what I would look like--slim, I'd wear my bright red high heels, the picture of calm, cool and collected priest.

Well, I'm not as slim as I had hoped.  I'm probably going to wear my crocks.  I have had to resist one impulse after another to cancel or postpone or do something to not follow through.  But here's the thing.  Part of the reason I left with such ambivalence is that most of the 5 years I spent working for FedEx here in Florida, I was afraid, always uneasy, always somehow waiting for the other shoe to drop which was highly irrational since in fact, no shoe had dropped in the first place.  The truth was that I had never truly fit in a corporate management job.  I'd had my moments, for sure.  But it was not who I was called to be.  That's why I always felt so uneasy and unsure.

I'm not going to see my old friends and colleagues tomorrow as the fully perfected person I sometimes fantazise I can become.  But I'm going to see them as who I really am.  Before my lunch with them, I will be making a presentation at our diocesan offices because I've applied for a grant that will help fund the expansion of our Centro ministries.  Although things have not been completely well in my soul these past few weeks, I have still been carried along by grace.  Both the Centro and our new Vineyard Eucharist on Sunday mornings have been unfolding and developing holy, wonderful ways.  I now know that I am a new congregation planter through and through.  If there are tense moments of unknowing and chaos, there is a sureness to the steps I take these days that I've never known before.  I am not afraid.  I am sad tonight that I've gained some of the weight I worked so hard to lose--and it would have been glorious to sail in all svelte and stuff.  But it is much, much more important to simply go back as who I am today to face some monsters that maybe aren't, to thank some folks for the ways in which they walked with me in those years, and then get back to my life.  Surely, all that is more important than what I might've, could've, should've looked like...

 

The Hardest Work is the Simplest

I guess when you've struggled with food all your life, like I have, there are set backs to deal with.  Not over-dramatizing them is part of getting on with life.  I've been thinking about that since yesterday.  So much about change is the small steps to make things right again.  There are a couple of really important calls I need to make tomorrow.  I'm getting up early to write, pray, and plan my meals for the day.  I've been grateful today for less numbing out.  I forget what an amazingly good life I have.

Oh--and beauty.  It's there too.  On Friday morning, Spouseman, my friend N, and I went to the World Orchid Conference and Exposition.   I am still dazzled.  Here are a few pictures

Flamingos!

Real live
Flamingos!

At certain times of the year, the garden in our home in Colombia looked very much like this last picture.  Orchids were probably my mother's greatest source of joy in life--she was most truly herself tending to these amazing plants.  When I came to this display, I was heartbroken.  I'd heard a few days before that mom has several new large tumors, including a big one on her spinal chord; as she inches closer to death, she is in too much pain to tend to her beloved plants.  And oh, such a piercing joy to get a glimpse back to my childhood like this...