Reverenda Rosa

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...

Disconnected

It starts out imperceptibly.  I might get over extended, fail to do something I should, or simply have a harder day than usual.  I draw in.  Then, because my own resources--whatever strength and stamina come purely from the will to survive--are limited and never truly life-sustaining on their own, I cross a line from abundance into scarcity.  And somehow, scarcity presents itself as dangerous famine and in an eye blink, I lose hope and turn to food.  Lots of it.  All the wrong kinds.

The most insidious part of this space I am too familiar with, is that I go on functioning, checking things off my to-do list, smiling and talking, celebrating Eucharist, attending planning  meetings and preparing presentations.  Now I even keep doing my Pilates workouts like everything is absolutely and totally a-OK.  But inside, I am in a free fall.  And if you look real close, this skirt is quite a lot tighter.  That pair of shorts that I used all the time before is now nowhere to be seen.   The carefully planned, prepared and measured meals, the meals that tend to my soul as well as my body, have been replaced with more and more frequent outings to restaurants, careless food choices and fear.  And they just feed the monster of despair, leaving me even more famished than before.

Last night, I had a dream that distorted an incident between me and my daughter from about 4 years ago.  It occurred at a particularly low moment after we adopted her and before we had found the right combination of meds and support to help her with her rage.  In the light of day, I can face into the depth of my failure that day, and also recognize that I was doing the best I could in extraordinarily challenging circumstances.  But in my dream last night, my own failure was magnified beyond all reason and grace.  I woke up in the middle of the night drowning in self loathing. 

At another point in my life, I would have allowed myself to believe that I am truly that awful and worthless and hopeless.  Today, I don't.  Today, what I am recognizing is it's time to find the energy to name my free fall, and keep working on knitting myself back into the fabric of my community, openly acknowledging that this is not a good time for me.  So that is what I am doing, while my family sleeps, and a cool breeze reminds me that in the winter, living in Florida is like a dream, a good dream.

Oh God of second chances and new beginnings, here I am again...

Advent Retrospective II: The Faith Once Received

Since I did not write a daily Advent entry as I had intended, I have been thinking a lot about what might get lost from those days that shouldn't.  There is really only one other memory of Advent that is infinitely precious to me.  If you have already watched the YouTube video you may be a little puzzled.  The picture is blurred and it is not possible to hear anything but the very end of the piece.  So here is what happened:

The Novena de Aguinaldos, the nine days of prayers and song that culminate on Christmas Eve, started to become a tradition in Colombia in the late 1700's.  Each evening a series of prayers are recited, along with reflections and responses based on the Gloria, the Hail Mary and the Our Father.  All of this is compiled in small booklets that get published each year.  I received a copy of the booklet last year and I have guarded and cared for it in preparation for the night when the Novena would be celebrated at our home this year.

We held our Novena on the Thursday before Christmas.  T and B were with us, Anglo friends who have been touchingly generous with the Centro and who also understand celebration in a very wonderful way.  Lots of the people who were coming for the Novena got here late, and then we started like we had last year.  P, who is the Novena diva and directress, began the prayers and soon we were all taking turns doing the readings and responses, stopping to sing along the way.  From the beginning, P sat on the floor with Light of My Life, and two other beautiful little girls who are part of our community.  And all of a sudden, when it was time for someone else to read a "gozo" (a "delight" or reflection), she handed the booklet to MF.  Gently encouraging and coaxing her along, P helped this 6 year old child to read out loud in front of a roomful of adults--and not just any words, prayers written several hundred years ago in very archaic and ornate Spanish.  Stumbling over some of the words, sounding most of them out, MF got to the end with visible relief.  We sang our response and P turned to Light of My Life and asked her if she would read.

Now, you need to know that LoML struggles enormously with reading.  She has never read in Spanish, let alone out loud in a setting like this.  But that courage of hers was there again and so she plunged ahead.  My palms were sweating.  My heart pounded.  And P--I will forever be grateful to P.  With utmost patience and tenderness, quietly so LoML could keep her dignity, P walked LoML through the reading.  Each time LoML was able to read a word by herself, I wanted to burst out crying.  LoML read almost inaudibly--she was mimicking not only P's words, but also the very quiet voice with which P helped her along.  And I was overwhelmed with joy and pride when LoML got to the end of the reading. Since LoML was a wee little girl, I have always known when she is particularly delighted because she crinkles her little nose and then grins.  Oh how I wish the video captured my child's delight and relief and joy.  Maybe you will get a little sense of that with the clip.

Obviously, for this mamasita, there was the satisfaction getting to witness her child's accomplishment.  What mattered more, what took my breath away, was watching how the faith once received was now passed on to a new generation.  It took a lovely young woman who herself learned the Novena this way, seeing in these two children the ability to step forward in discipleship.  And both girls had to be willing to take such a wild, foolish risk. I realized that struggling with those hard readings, overcoming fear and shyness, allowing themselves to be helped, two little girls have earned their place in the church in a way that I don't get to witness very often. The Novena is no longer something to watch others do--it has become theirs, forever.   

Advent Retrospective I: The Night Visitor

It was time to head out the door to the novena at M and A's small apartment.  For the nine days before Christmas, close friends gather nightly  for a time of prayer and singing.  People take turns opening their homes for the novenas and usually, everyone gathers around the "pesebre"--an elaborate version of the Christmas creche-- like the one pictured here.  For the members of the Centro, this tradition is at the heart of our Christmas celebrations so I was eager to get to M and A's house on time.

My cell phone rang and I decided to answer though my impulse was to ignore it and check voice mail later.  At the other end I heard my priest friend J from a cold northern sate.  Earlier in the day, he'd put his 80+ year old mom on a flight from Bean Town to Fort Lauderdale.  She was supposed to change flights here in SoFla and be home in Central America by evening.  But something went terribly awry and now, this woman who speaks no English and can barely read and write was lost in the FLL airport.  Maybe the airline would get her on a flight out the next day, but if that didn't work, her next opportunity to travel would be five days later, 2 days before Christmas.

I went to the Novena for a few minutes then on to the airport. J had told me that his mom was still at the gate that her missed flight had left from, so my first job was finding someone to go through security and get her out.  A very nice counter person helped me do that but came back and said he'd paged C. (the mamasita) and no one in the secured area had responded.  So another call to J to get a description.  As we were talking I looked around and there, huddled in a seat was a tiny old lady, with a cap pulled low around her face, a baby blanket wrapped around herself and a look of misery mixed with fear and wrapped in loneliness.  Long story short, I brought her home with me to spend the night.

The next morning I hauled her with me to work.  But on the way, I decided I'd show her the grand sights of Fort Lauderdale.  She was much more interested in telling her story.  The day before, she had arrived in FLL and decided she wanted a cup of coffee and a roll.  She took a few dollars out of her purse and left it and her other carry-on bag where she was sitting and headed off.  She never realized that she walked out of the security area.  So when she tried to get back in, with only a cup of coffee in hand, all hell broke loose.  A long interview with INS later, she was released but by then, her flight had left.

C traveled to this country to attend her son's ordination as an Episcopal priest and wept quietly at the utter improbability that one day such a thing could happen in her life.  She told me that four years ago she decided that she should go to school because 80 years ago, her family was too poor to send any girl to school; only the boys got that privilege.  After four years of sitting by the radio, following along and doing her lessons, she had just finished second grade.  I realized there was nothing I could show her that matched the inner landscape of a life lived well. 

C had a Spanish Book of Common Prayer and she read Psalms out loud all morning long while I did my work.  At noon we headed to the airport and stood in line for almost 3 hours--the Christmas travel rush was on full blast.  By God's grace, and a lily white lie on my part, the airline figured out a way to get her on the plane home.  They also gave me a special pass so I could escort her to her departure gate and ensure that she got on the plane. I will call her today to wish her a Happy New Year but more than likely, our paths will not cross again. 

When I got J's first call, I felt a familiar mixture of impatience and guilt.  Earlier in my marriage, I chafed at the "boundary incursions" I felt my priest spouse consented to with inappropriate frequency.  I let him know it too often.  Now the shoe's on the other foot and it is he who struggles with the ways in which our life gets disrupted by the needs of the Centro community.  But he was gracious and gentle with C and late that night, we talked about the fact that the radical hospitality of the Hebrew Scriptures was born of need--a need that we still have though we deny that truth most of the time. 

She had come and gone in an eye-blink, and then life went on.