Yesterday

Amazing things that happened yesterday:

– I rang in the bell choir despite 3 stitches in the palm of my hand.  And I didn’t launch any bells over the balcony into the congregation. I’m going to call that a win.

– During my committee meeting (which lasted longer that I anticipated), Bea sat and chatted with the pastor’s daughter.  It was great to see her so engaged, and it alleviated my guilt about making her wait.

– By the time I finally finished my meeting, Bea had gone home with a friend (in and of itself, this is pretty cool), and Cal hadn’t broken anything or spilled anything in the sanctuary.

– I made it home in time to vacuum and change into my sweatpants before my friends started showing up with wine and pizza.

 

Yesterday was fantastic.  It was fantastic because it was sad… and then the sadness flowing through a group of people prompted us to finally get together and lean on each other and share the burden and then share some laughs and share some food and wine and then somehow, the sadness dissipated.  It still hung in the air, but it wasn’t weighing us down anymore.

Our pastor is leaving us. Yesterday was his last day.  It was hard.  So many emotions swirl around that; when you have a church family and you have come to rely on that family for love and support and guidance, losing a pastor is painful.  It’s not as painful as a death, but it hurts like a breakup.  Like a breakup with a friend and a parent and your guardian angel all at once.

There’s a group of us; four families from church, who get together on a semi-regular basis.  We’ve done bible studies and camping trips and birthday parties together.  The moms of this group have a text message thread where we talk nearly every day. But this past two weeks, our text conversations have been slow and a bit stilted.  We’ve used words like, ‘biopsy’ and ‘anxiety’ and ‘malaise.’  We were all struggling, in different ways.

And while we all knew we needed each other, we hadn’t been able to coordinate schedules and actually make it happen until this weekend.  So when the service was over, and we were all reeling a little and people started asking, “What’s everyone up to today?” it just all came together.  I hadn’t prepared for guests.  My bathroom wasn’t clean and our dogs smelled like whatever they rolled in yesterday and I was frantically trying to get all the fur off the sofa when the first people started to arrive.  And the timing was perfect.

When I was younger, I needed time to prepare for guests.  I wanted everything to be just right.  I needed to clean and shop and have enough of the right kind of glassware.  I wanted my house to look a certain way, and of course, I wanted it all to look effortless.

But as I grow into parenthood and deeper friendships, I realize that the need for connection is so much more important than any of that. I’ve hosted enough impromptu get togethers to realize that nobody is judging my dust and that people would rather drink wine out of plastic cups together in a room full of laughter than sit at home waiting for someone to go out and buy matching stemware.

I don’t have enough time to postpone the party in favor of the preparation.  Life is short and schedules are tight.  When we have an opportunity to be in communion with one another, I want to embrace that opportunity.  I want to love my people and lean on my people and laugh and cry together.  Yesterday, we did just that.  I’m so grateful for friends who can pray with us and cry with us and celebrate with us. We are so blessed to have people who will hold us up when our knees are weak and love our children like their own.

As an added bonus, one of my dearest friends was also able to join us and bring her kids over for pizza and football.  Her friendship has sustained me through my growing-up years, and her presence grounds me and reminds me that who I am is just the latest evolution between who I was and who I am becoming.  In my mind, we’re still ‘growing up’ together, and when she brought her kids to share pizza and cookies and laughs and a game of manhunt in the dark, I felt a sort of peaceful right-ness that slowed my breathing and made me smile.

Days like these sustain me. If I go too long without consciously connecting with the people I love, the tension builds between my shoulder blades and pours out of my mouth in the form of sharp words and impatient replies.  Instead of bringing my gifts into the world, I begin to send out stress and anger; giving the world the worst parts of me instead of the best ones.

For me, joy comes from the connections in my life.  It comes from my friends and my family; from my children and my husband and even my students.  But when I stop consciously seeking it; when I stop inviting it in, it fades into the background.  When I get caught up in my to-do list and the stresses and the worries of everyday life, it’s the equivalent of cleaning my house for company but never opening the door. Everything seems to be in order, but something is definitely missing.

So yesterday, I opened the door to my dirty house and received the blessing of communion.  Communion as community, fellowship, association; communion as intimate communication; communion as a group of people with shared faith.  This type of communion sustains me, and I am infinitely grateful for it.

At the end of the day, I climbed into bed, still wearing the sweatpants that my mom gave me for Christmas in 1999.  I said a grateful prayer and settled in with my head on my husband’s shoulder.  And the sadness I had felt earlier mixed with the joy and somehow turned into strength and peace. I had been fortified by friendship and communion, and sleep came quickly and easily.

I’m sure it had nothing to do with the wine…