Julie’s News from Maryland

I can hardly believe it has been two months since I’ve posted.  I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without writing.  The last few months have been full of transition and chaos.  Things have been very hard and I haven’t had much extra energy.  And, I think I’ve just been too sad to say much of anything that didn’t sound like whining and complaining.  While things are still hard, life is beginning to feel stable again and I think I might be ready to come back.  

I don’t really know how to catch all of you up on what has been happening.  Maybe I’ll just share with you a portion of the letter that I sent to the parishioners of my church yesterday:

Dear St. Martin’s Parishioner,

It is with a sad and heavy heart that I share with you that my husband, Rick, and I have separated.  The journey to this decision was a long and difficult one.  It is not the outcome that either of us had hoped for nor expected, but through much discernment I feel it is the right course for us at this time.  We continue to be in regular conversation and to work towards a healthy future for our family, whatever that might be.  And, of course, he and I remain very committed to raising our children with the utmost love, care, and faithfulness. 

Please keep all of us, Rick, Nicholas, Ella, and I, in your prayers during this difficult time of transition.  We are so incredibly blessed to be part of the St. Martin’s community.  You have welcomed us with such gracious hospitality and we are so grateful that God has called us into your midst.  

The letter also included some information about Nicholas and his disabilities.  There were some people in the parish who were unaware of his special needs and were beginning to give the rector feedback about his perceived misbehavior.  Since most of you are already familiar with that saga, I’ve spared you that part of the letter.

It was hard to write the letter.  It has been hard to say it aloud and to be in conversation with people about it.  The people that have walked this journey with me closely have been wonderfully loving and supportive.  I suppose it is time now to stand in the reality of what is happening and make it known to a wider audience.  So, here we go…

Nicholas has completed his first full week of school at Kennedy Krieger.  He goes back and forth between loving it and hating it, but he seems to consistently like his teacher and is building a strong bond with her.  He also seems to like the other staff members and is overall positive about the experience.

He is, however, pretty annoyed that he has to go there at all. On our way home from school the first day he told me that he wants to be a regular kid and go to a regular school.  He and I had a good conversation about that and I think I helped him feel better about himself.  But it breaks my heart  every time I hear him say it.  More than once this week he has asked me why he has to have anger issues.  He knows that this isn’t the most common experience for kids and he doesn’t want his life to be this way.  I don’t want his life to be this way either.  And it totally sucks that I’m completely powerless to change it.

I know that we are getting the best care for him that we can.  For pete’s sake we are at one of the most advanced research centers for this sort of thing - he couldn’t be getting better treatment.  I’m working hard to learn about him and what he needs and how to make his life better.  But it doesn’t change the fact that it just sucks to have to do it this way.  

I love that little boy so much.  I have so much confidence that God loves him too.  I know deep down that it will be ok - whatever that ends up being.  But I think we’re all doing a little grieving right now.

The bus is now picking Nicholas up and taking him to school every morning; at 6:45am.  We were originally told that the bus would arrive at 6:30, so the first few days we were dressed and waiting outside by 6:30.  When the bus consistently arrived at 6:45, I checked with the bus driver and he confirmed that 6:45 would be the regular time.

On those first few days as we were waiting, I was very aware of each bus that traveled past and near our house.  I counted 7 other buses between 6:30 and 6:45.  As I watched this elaborate system of buses, each traveling the same route at pretty much exactly the same time each day, I was just amazed by it.  It occurred to me how so incredibly lucky we are to live here in this place in this time.  We live in a country where the state and the federal government employ people to get out of bed ridiculously early, to drive safe and well maintained buses, to pick up children wherever they are, to take them to school where they get to learn for free.  How unbelievable is that?

How many kids around the world don’t go to school simply because they live too far away to get to the nearest school?  How many kids around the world get on a bus that only comes sporadically because the driver is a volunteer and can’t always be there?  How many buses are poorly maintained and are dangerous, but kids are willing to take the risk just so that they have some shot at an education?  And what about the places where kids don’t go to school because they are too preoccupied with finding food and water to survive each day? 

Maybe I’m being overdramatic.  Maybe it’s not that bad.  But, I have a feeling that it is that bad.  And as I watched these buses faithfully on their journeys each morning this week I was deeply grateful for the life that my kids get to have here.

One of my parishioners told me that she was recently driving along when her preschool aged daughter from her car seat in the back said aloud:

“Christ has died. Christ is ribbon.  Christ will come again.”

They’re listening. They might not have any clue what we are actually saying, but they are listening.

Today we took Nicholas to Kennedy Krieger for a tour of the elementary school.  It is quite an impressive facility.  All of the “special” classrooms (music, art, computers, etc) have state-of-the-art equipment.  They have a special “calm” room that kids can use whenever they need a little break and want to relax - it has a bean bag, a column full of water and bubbles that has a light to change colors, a sound system if they want to listen to some calming music.  Nicholas was very excited about that and is hoping to spend some time there. 

They have a huge staff.  They have “crisis intervention” rooms where the crisis management team can take kids who are having a tough time and need help getting calm.  They have tons of social workers and psychologists and behavior specialists and nurses.  They even have a psychiatrist and the principal mentioned that the psychiatrist on staff at the school could be the primary doctor for Nicholas, dispensing his meds and helping to determine what might work best for him.  That would consolidate his care in one place, which would be great.  I’m hoping to meet with the psychiatrist on Friday.

Speaking of Friday, Nicholas will be spending the day in a classroom on Friday.  If the class seems like a good fit, then we will get a start date.  I’m hoping that will be soon.  Nicholas is quite lonely and missing being with other kids.

Walking through the school today was very hard.  Some of the kids there are very visibly disabled - not physically so much as emotionally and intellectually.  Some of them face huge challenges that I can’t even imagine.  I thought about their families and how hard it must be for each of them.  And I thought about my sweet, sweet little boy.  He is so charming and so funny and so wonderful.  I’m so sad that he is suffering so much and having such a hard time.  I just want him to be able to go to school like every other kid and just have friends.  I’m sad that he has to go to such a special school because he has such a hard time.  It is hard to stand in the reality that my child really does need that much help.

I’m so grateful that we are here in Maryland.  I’m so grateful for this team of people that will be helping him.  The principal and the other team members that we met today were thoughtful and helpful and listened so carefully to Nicholas and to us.  After they finished interviewing Nicholas and he had left the room, the principal and the other team members remarked about how charming and funny he is and how polite and well mannered he is as well.  Then the principal said, “It must have been really hard for you to see him suffer so much.”  It was so amazing to hear that - to have someone acknowledge right away how hard it is for us to witness Nicholas’ disabilities.

So, onward we go.  One day at a time.  It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Yesterday, I was wandering through the parish hall and found the 2nd graders with the gym teacher.  They room was divided down the middle with cones and there were all sorts of things scattered around - kitchen carts, portable soccer goals, the giant kitchen play equipment on wheels.  The kids were on either sides of the cones, throwing small foam balls at each other - an indoor snowball fight!

Turns out, it is tradition at our day school to have an indoor snow ball fight on the first day that we have snow flurries.   The P.E. teacher said, “I’ll take this side if you’ll take that side,” and just like that, I was in the snowball fight.  I had great fun throwing “snowballs” at the kids and trying to dodge what they were throwing at me.  I realized that I had a huge grin on my face and noted that it’s been a while since I’ve just played and had fun like that.

Today was Parish Cleanup Day.  I arrived with a crowd of workers at 8am and we raked and shoveled and trimmed and clipped.  The crowd grew larger over time and it got to be a really large crew.  It was actually more fun that I had imagined it would be - I loved seeing all the kids jumping in the huge piles of leaves we had created.  And I had several great conversations with folks while we were working.  We finished in a few short hours, which was good, since my toes were frozen by then.

Every day I encounter new and fun things that are part of this job that I never really imagined or considered.

Today is the little girl’s 6th birthday. She wore her new Hello Kitty all pink outfit that her Grammie and Grandpa sent to her and she brought pink cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles to school. She’s a big girl now:

Friday we met with the team from Nicholas’ school to review and approve his IEP.  This team worked very hard and, I think, did an incredible job capturing Nicholas’ needs.  Most of the goals in the IEP center around Nicholas’ behavioral response to his emotions. Also, the IEP includes several important helps - such as extra time to complete assignments as well as having a scribe - that I thought were very appropriate. In fact, I thought that all of what they put together was very appropriate and incredibly thoughtful.

The school district has determined that there are no public schools within the county that meet Nicholas’ needs, so they are recommending that he be placed in the elementary school at the Kennedy Krieger Institute. This is very good news! The public school system will be paying for Nicholas to attend one of the premier schools for children with emotional disabilities. Not only will the staff (psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers, and teachers) at this school be equipped to manage Nicholas during his episodes, but they will be able to help him learn how to manage them. I can’t even believe that we have been blessed in this way.

It will still be several weeks before Nicholas begins school there. The district is sending Nicholas’ packet of information to Kennedy Krieger and after they review it they will schedule an interview with us and Nicholas. Consequently, they will then decide which of their programs is most appropriate for Nicholas. This really is the best possible outcome.

So how come I feel so horrible?  This is the best thing that could have happened, so I expected to feel relief and joy, but I just feel anger and sadness.  I think that for the past few months I’ve set aside my emotions - just put up a big ol’ wall to hold them back.  I haven’t cried much.  I haven’t allowed myself to be angry.  I’ve just stayed focused on the crisis and the tasks at hand - completing forms, making phone calls, finding specialists, attending meetings, staying engaged with the school system, etc.  But, now that it is resolved, now that we are no longer in the midst of the crisis, my emotions have all broken through the wall.

I’m so angry that this is happening to my sweet little boy.  It’s not fair that this beautiful, smart, funny, loving boy has to suffer like this.  It makes me so sad that things are so hard for him, that he can’t just go to a regular school like other regular kids.  I’m so worried that his whole life is going to be this hard.  I’m grieving.  I’m yelling at God.  I’m letting myself feel all that I’ve stifled for these past few months - and probably last few years, really.

I’m so afraid that my current temper tantrum might make me seem ungrateful, and so I’m reluctant to even share it.  There aren’t even words to express how grateful I am to the team from the school district.   I’ve been incredibly blessed by my congregation, all of whom have been so loving and kind and supportive during all of this.  My friends have been so amazing and great. But, I suppose that gratitude and grief are not mutually exclusive, I suppose that I can be experiencing both at the same time.

A couple of weeks ago I posted about my crazy week - the middle school kid and the shooting - and all that had happened just on the first day of that week.  As the week moved forward, things didn’t get much easier.  We met that week with the specialists from the school district to learn about all of their evaluations.  I was so incredibly impressed with the time, effort, and resources that they spent working with my son to learn as much as they can about him.  The reports they presented were very reflective of my son.  Still, it is not easy to hear that your child is being officially classified in the school system as “emotionally disturbed.”  The week continued forward full of work deadlines and important events, and a sermon that needed to be written.  And what a sermon it was.

Sunday, Nov. 2, we were celebrating All Saints Day which included 4 baptisms.  It was also the very last Sunday of stewardship season at my parish.  So the sermon needed to touch on All Saints, baptism, and stewardship - with the gospel text being the beatitudes.  Oy.  I’d been mulling this sermon around in my head for at least a month and really not knowing how I on earth I was going to tie all of that together in any sort of coherent way. 

And then that week hit.  And it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I’d already been pretty anxious and feeling like life was chaotic, but that week just about did me in.  And then there was this sermon to write.  How was I going to write a sermon about God’s abundant blessings and our response to that, in the midst of this incredible chaos and fear that I was feeling?  I knew that I couldn’t possibly preach that in a genuine way. 

I sat down on Thursday to do some research and started reading.  In my reading I came across Phillip Yancy’s book, “The Jesus I Never Knew” which includes an entire chapter on the beatitudes.  I began reading and suddenly found myself just crying.  I had found what I needed.  I needed to be reminded that I was relying too much on myself and not enough on God.  I needed to be reminded that the beatitudes are the instructions for how we learn to rely on God - that the world will tell us to rely on money and power and on our own resolve, but that really all of that is a lie.  The only way we are going to get through any of this is if we rely on God.   All of a sudden it all came together.  Over the next couple of days the sermon just grew.  I practiced it on Saturday, as always, and felt good about what it had become.  Little did I know just how powerful it would be.

Sunday morning came and I started to preach at the 7:45am service.  It is a small service, usually about 25 or 30 people, all of whom are incredibly faithful and amazing folks.  It is such an intimate time and as I began to preach about all that had happened to me that week, I started to cry.  I didn’t expect that to happen at all, but there it was. Tears running down my face.   The 9:00 service is a much larger crowd, and it is much more work to preach to a room full of people - I have to be louder and a bit more gregarious to keep the attention of folks who have so many other things in the room competing for their attention.  I was sure that my intentional focus on the form of preaching would prevent me from breaking down and crying again, but not so much.  As I got further into the sermon, I began to see others in the room crying - and there I went.  I didn’t escape the tears at the 11:15 service either. 

It’s not like I’ve never cried giving a sermon before - it has happened in the past and I’m sure will happen again.  But there was something different about this event.  First, I really feel like I connected with the people in my congregation in a new way.  I’m not really sure what that way is, but there is something there.  But, more importantly for me, I left that sermon in such a different place than I was in when I started it.  I have been carrying around so much fear and anxiety, fighting so hard against the chaos and the uncertainty that surrounds everything I do at the moment.  I have been trying to push the river upstream and it has just been sapping me of all of my energy.  But in that sermon I just let it all go.  I stopped fighting and pushing and worrying and really did remember that I need to radically rely upon God. 

The sermon hasn’t been posted on the church web site yet, so I’m including it here so you can read it:

Matthew 5:1-12

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Today we are baptizing 5 little people – a few babies and a few a bit older than that.  5 people are being welcomed into the house of God this morning.

You know babies are so totally and utterly… useless.  Have you ever noticed that about babies?  They’re just useless.  They can’t do anything for themselves.  They just lay there and do nothing.  I mean, sure, they’re cute and sometimes they are smiley.  But, really, in all seriousness, they are totally helpless.

When a human baby is born it is completely incapable of doing anything for itself.  They can’t find food.  They can’t move around.  They can’t even regulate their own body temperature.  They can’t see very well or very far away.  Human babies are completely helpless.

Human babies have no choice but to be completely and radically dependent upon those around them.  They have no choice but to allow others to do everything for them.  Complete and utter and total and radical dependence on someone else for every last bit.

But you know what’s so great about babies? Babies don’t care what they are wearing.  Babies don’t care if they live in the biggest house on the block. Babies don’t care whether they are the first kid in the mom’s group to sit up, roll over, or crawl.  All a baby wants is what a they need.  They want food and warmth and love. But to get it, they have to be radically dependent upon the nearest human being.

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In our gospel reading today we heard a portion of the Sermon on the Mount.  We heard the beatitudes.  Let me read them again for you (READ THEM)

You know whenever I hear these I think that Jesus must not have any idea what kind of world that I live in.  I don’t know about you, but those qualities that Jesus says are blessed are not qualities that we value in our world.  Our world does not make room for the poor and the meek.  We don’t have time for people who hunger and thirst for righteousness.  We think that people who are merciful are pushovers and must be weak. 

The beatitudes of our world go something like this:

Blessed are the rich for they will have whatever they want.
Blessed are the strong for they shall be winners.
Blessed are the self-reliant, for they shall never need anyone else.
Blessed are the powerful, for they will be in control.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent a fair portion of my life working towards the goals of the world.  Working towards being rich.  But you know, I was never rich enough. I never actually had everything I wanted, I just always wanted more.  I tried hard to be strong and tough so that I could win, but no matter how often I won, there was always that one guy I could never beat.  I did everything I could to be self-reliant and independent so that I didn’t need anyone else, and I ended up all alone.  I didn’t need anyone else and so there I was – all alone. I tried to be powerful and in control.  But the more control I thought I had, the more I realized there were so many things that I’d never be able to control.

And so I have to wonder if Jesus was on to something.  I wonder if Jesus knew a little something about the kingdom of God that we don’t know.

I think Jesus knows what we know but have such a hard time admitting.  All those things that we revere, that we try so hard to get: money, strength, independence, power – those things will never satisfy us.  They will always leave us wanting more.

Jesus knows what will satisfy us.  Jesus knows that an authentic relationship with God will satisfy us. And Jesus knows that the beatitudes are the steps we take towards that relationship.  We aren’t going to do all of these things at once. We won’t wake up tomorrow being poor in spirit, merciful, mourning, and pure in heart.  But the each one of the beatitudes is like a rung on a ladder that brings us closer to God.  We must begin at poor in spirit.

You know when Jesus talks about being “poor in spirit” Jesus isn’t talking about being monetarily poor, though I think there is something about being monetarily poor that teaches us about being poor in spirit.  People who are monetarily poor know a few things about radical dependence upon God:
-    they know that they must rely on God because they have no other choice
-    the poor are easily able to distinguish between luxury and necessity
-    the poor are rarely competitive, and almost always cooperative – they know that they need one another to survive
-    people who are poor know that they are not the center of everything

Being poor in spirit means recognizing that God is at the center of everything.  It means putting aside our belief that we can and should do everything.  It is relying on God to provide for us.  It means recognizing that God provides the food and the warmth and the love that will satisfy us.

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Today we celebrate all Saint’s Day.   We remember all of those that have gone before us who have loved and served God in remarkable and profound ways, as well as in small and quiet ways.  As I was thinking this week of the many saints I’ve heard about and read about over the years, I was thinking about how different their lives were.  Some came from rich families, some came from poor families.  Some lived in cities, some lived alone in the desert.  Some came from big families, some were orphans.  They lived all over the world.  But you know, no matter how different their lives were it is clear to me that they all have one thing in common: they knew that the source of their life was God.  The saints knew that the world was a messy, confusing, and difficult place and they knew that God was the source of the food and warmth and love that would satisfy them.

I have been steeped in the messiness and brokenness of the world this week.  I spent most of the early part of this week talking to 5 middle school boys about respecting the dignity of all people.  I came home on Monday night and learned that my downstairs neighbor had been shot in the head in her entryway.  I spent most of Wed morning with a group of specialists from the school district who explained to me what it means that my son is now officially classified as “emotionally disturbed”.   I watched the stock market continue to fall.  I heard of more people’s homes being foreclosed. And I watched an HBO documentary about Section 60 in Arlington National Cemetery where families go to grieve those that have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.

In the midst of the messiness and brokenness of the world this week one thing is clear to me:  no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of strength and independence is going to heal my heartache or this broken world.  It is clear to me that I need God. That I need the food and warmth and love that only God can provide.  And that to get it I need to be radically dependent upon God.

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(Pick up pledge card).  This is a pledge card.  You should have received one of these in the mail this week. If you didn’t there are some in the back.  And if you really need one, I’d be happy to drop one off at your house.

This is the last Sunday of our stewardship season here at St. Martin’s.  Next Sunday we ask that you bring your completed pledge card to church so that we can celebrate together our faithfulness to God and to this community.

I know that as I look at my pledge card this year I do so with a great deal of uncertainty.  There is so much messiness in the world right now and I have no idea what is going to happen next. But I know that I need God.  I know that I need to radically rely on God in every aspect of my life, including my finances.

So when I fill out that pledge card this year it will reflect my desire to come before God poor in spirit. It will reflect my attempt to reject the beatitudes of the world and to embrace the beatitudes that Jesus has given us.  It will reflect my decision to radically depend on God.   It is my hope that you will prayerfully consider doing the same.

I took the kids to vote today. I always take the kids with me when I vote so that it becomes a part of the rhythm of their life. I want them to have this as a habit, as something that is just always done so that they will always do it when they are old enough. I wondered today if there was a way to explain to them the historical significance of this vote: an African-American man as a presidential candidate and a woman as the vice presidential candidate. I couldn’t find a way to say something that I thought would make sense to them, so I didn’t try. I know they’ve been talking a lot about it at school and hearing us at home, so they have some sense that this is a pretty big deal.

As I sat in front of the voting machine and pressed Obama’s name, I started to cry. I didn’t expect to feel so emotional there, but with my kids next to me and getting to vote for an African American candidate for president, I was a little overwhelmed.

I heard someone on TV talking about taking a photo of themselves voting for Obama so that they could show their kids and grandkids someday that they had been part of this. I decided to take a photo of my kids so that when they are old enough to know what this day means, they can see that they were there.