For good, for ill, for in between

Yesterday was National Siblings Day.  Facebook was filled with wonderful pictures of beaming brothers & sisters, along with tender funny loving comments.  Made me smile.  And, just under the wire, I got to add my own words of thanks, appreciation.

Appreciation.  Great word.  Am lucky to be able to appreciate all that my brothers & sister brought into my life.  

It was soul satisfying to discover that Laurie Kramer, professor of applied family studies, supports my long-held belief that siblings can have even more influence over an individual's development than parents.  

Sheez, can I relate to that!  

Mom was a dim star in my universe, compared to my older sister's dazzling sun.  If a message from Mom countered one from Mim (8 years older & utterly completely totally adored), Mom's was trashed & Mim's was treasured.  

One of the greatest things I've learned over the years is that there are as many images of family as there are people within it.  If you were to put my family - two parents, three brothers, two sisters - in separate rooms with a lap top & instructions to write out a description of our family, there would be seven sometimes wildly different accounts of who we are & how we interact.  

But the reality of massive diversity tends to be ignored, much to the detriment of all.  In my family, it seems to me there are two things my sister & two surviving brothers absolutely postively agree on - they all think that John is the brother they deserve & none of them like me.  That's my take.  Is it true?  Does it matter?

What we perceive - particularly with family - is what drives us.  For decades, I felt that the only value I brought to my family was what I could do for them in any given moment.  If felt like if they needed me, I was part of the family;  if they didn't...  But for years, I've also felt that none of them feel particularly connected to each other, so why should they be any different with me?  If that's even the way they are.  

My siblings are, unlike me, very private people.  My sister & my oldest brother seem to find life difficult, a far greater challenge than I can imagine.  On the other hand, I was born a Little Suzie Sunshine.  From my earliest days, my expectation was that life was good, we are born to be happy & we are meant to be supportive of others as well as ourselves.  It's no wonder they seem to have problems relating to me, while I continue to think they're the cat's whiskers.  

Unfortunately for my parents, the messages I received from my sister & oldest brother - particularly my sister - were far more powerful than anything they had to offer.  Luckily, the very thing that made their messages all the more powerful - the range of age between Peter & Mim and me (14 & 8 years older, respectively) - is what also provided the natural distance that helped me experience family life in a somewhat detached manner.  I was soaking in messages (sent or not) and observing, at the same time.  That would ultimately be my salvation.

Frankly, after Ian died, I was a mess. He was accidentally killed on Easter Monday, playing at a friend's house.  If it happened today, the family would have gone into the counseling, even his classmates would have been considered potentially affected by the sudden, shocking loss.  But this was 1959 - such responses were unimaginable. We were all left to process it in our own ways.  

That still shocks me.  Being raised with both feet firmly in the Therapeutic Age, it is incomprehensible that only one person - a minister - seemed to have the slightest clue that maybe, just maybe my brother's death might rip apart our sense of family, might damage our individual sense of self.  But no alarms were raised, the damage was just quietly done.  

In many ways, I seem the luckiest of the Lockharts.  For whatever reason, from whatever source, I've always been driven to scope out challenges, analyze personal dynamics, talk out problems.  For many years, this was far from a blessing, as it was the absolute opposite of my sibs & parents. Doesn't make them wrong, doesn't make me wrong, just makes us different.  And at odds.  Sadly, I didn't see that, not for decades & decades.  I saw them as the right way to be & myself as the wrong, the abysmally wrong way.  

How glorious to be older, with the perspective of decades to look back over family trials & travails to see the humanity of the players.  At 62, I can appreciate the influence my older sibs - particularly my sister & oldest brother - had on my personal development.  

And that's about as far as I can go.  

Everything I know about family, about our family, is true for me & me alone.  Instead of bashing my head against the wall in frustration over family issues, I'm free to take the many blessings that have come my way thanks to being their sib & let the rest be what it is - subjective & possibly utterly out of whack with anything that actually happened.

For good, for ill, for in between - serve as the most awesome petri dish for human dynamics.  What we take away from our parents, our siblings, our aunts & uncles & cousins can illuminate & deepen everything in our life.  It's not all about them, not all about us;  it's all about living & learning & growing.  

That's what I'll share with Dr. Kramer, if she ever comes knocking to ask my opinion.  We have the families we have so can apply what they've taught & shown ~ always always always remembering it cuts both ways.  May I have been a blessing in my siblings lives, as they have been & continue to be in mine.

I'm watching....

Roald Dahl advised, "Above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."

What fun to notice all the unlikely places that heap great helpings of magic into my life.

Who would have thought that the most traditional, the most "high church" of all our local church services would feed my inner Perle Mesta?  Yet, it does!  FACT:  it's even better than throwing mega parties at Squirrel Haven (events that ended once the cats commandeered the house)!

Eons ago, when I was a young adult, people were still throwing cocktail parties after church & before Sunday dinners.  Years ago, they went the way of the dodo bird.  Then, not long ago, someone (bless him or her!) got the brilliant idea of having sips & nibbles in the Choir Hall after the service. Now, every holiday, I get to flex my party wizard muscles as I put on the "let's social" spread after the adult service.  Beyond satisfying ~ no how, no way I could fit so many people into Squirrel Haven!     

It's a joy to put on the spread before a holiday, which I nab as often as I can.  This week - Palm Sunday - is all about Easter, with lemon cookies & little bitty chocolate cupcakes with birdie nest frosting, Mom's chocolate-enrobed buttercream eggs & my hand-crafted home-baked crackers, olives & cream cheese log & veggie egg salad spread mounded into a half-egg shape, dill dip with wafered carrots & celery sticks.  Oh, and a lovely refreshing punch!

No idea what we will do on Easter.  It's a tough day to put on a special dinner here - it begs for family around a table - and super expense to go out.  We could have gone to The Water Wheel for their brunch - we did that a couple years back;  alas, the stars of the groaning sideboard are rounds of roast beef & a glorious ham & salmon with horseradish dill sauce (aka a waste of  $ for vegetarians).  

Whatever we do - thanks to magic in an unexpected place - will be wonderful.  I will have gotten to feed my beloved masses, John will have gloried in prep tastings & all the left overs!  All's right with our world!!!

Most unlikely

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.”   ~  Roald Dahl

Yes, yes & YES!  Once upon a time, I would say, "Great things happen when you live without a net."  Maybe what I meant was that great things happen when we believe.  When we believe in absurd & in people (even when they seem to let us down, or vice versa) & that the perfect end to a day is found in a sigh and sense of satisfaction.  

Magic happens, never doubt.  And you can't find it - it finds you.

We do family!

Some months back - probably in the fall - a mirror at A Mano Gallery/Lambertville hove itself into my line of sight.  It was bordered with numerous quotes, one of which caught my eye & my heart - "We do family."  Those three words stuck me with on the drive home, on the days that followed.  They changed my life.

By the time we crossed over the bridge, back into Pennsylvania, it had hit me right between the eyes - for far too many years, I'd let my siblings influence my experience of family.  And it was time to STOP!  It matters not what anyone else does or doesn't do, this gal DOES family. 

Except you become as little children...

Yesterday, for the second time in a few months, my pastor took my breath away.  A few months ago, he stunned me during after-church announcements with his conditioned praise of Nelson Mandela on the great leader’s death, noting some people found him a controversial.  Seriously?!  Yesterday, it was his scoffing reference to someone’s belief in the importance of meditation.

Amazing.  Feels to me that he puts all of our faith’s understanding in one basket, with all focus on written revelation & none on personal spiritual practices like meditation & yoga.  Not unexpected, since understanding through learning is innately masculine, while understanding through perception is innately feminine – which is why for wisdom we need to combine the two. 

A minister to whom I shared some of my thoughts noted that The Writings do talk about the importance of reflection.  He was spot on – they do.  But HOW are we called to reflect?  WHAT is the end?

Personally, I believe reflection is the great essential of faith, whatever your religion.  Personally, I believe that was what Jesus referred to when he told his disciples, “Except you become as one as these little ones, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.”   It is a question I write to every new bishop, asking – what do you understand this passage is saying?  Have yet to receive an answer.

The way I was taught that passage was either that we needed to be like little children, willing to be led by wise teachers, or that we needed to regenerate so we can be reformed.  My own understanding of the passage is that we are to become as we ideally were as children, curious with a fresh view.  Developing what Buddhists refer to as Beginner’s Mind.  And two key steps to doing that are found in yoga & meditation, both of which I believe should be part of a General Church education, from Kindergarten through old age.

At one time, I was fond of saying my birth faith was a “wink wink” religion.  The Writings talk about a lifelong practice of personally examining our beliefs to ensure what we think we believe is what we really do, not outgrown but still hanging around as if it fits.  The church talks about the need for reflection & self-examination, but it seems to be said with a wink of the eye, with an assumption that of course we will still believe everything we were taught at home, at school, at church.  Wink wink. 

My dear old mother claimed that most people who were – like herself – born & raised in the General Church didn’t have a clue just how radical a faith ours is.  Am not totally sure what she meant, but I’ve always thought the emphasis on question question question was – and is – exceptional.  As in “not the norm.” 

At the gathering after my confirmation (we’re confirmed as adults, not children), the officiating minister noted that he typically advised young people to wait a few years before being confirmed, rather than doing it as soon as they were eligible.  He talked about the importance of questioning their faith before embracing it as theirs.  He floored me by saying that he felt I had done so sufficiently to leave him free to say yes & confirm me at eighteen. 

Bishop Pendleton’s words resounded in me at the time, as they still do.  I was raised in the time of ministers who stressed, over & over, the crucial critical key importance of not simply self-reflection but self doubt.  Do you believe such & so from yourself or because it was taught to you by someone else?

Years ago, driving to work down Davisville Road between Byberry & Terwood, I heard Meryl Streep (or was it Glenn Close?) being interviewed on NPR.  She was talking about when SHE turned 18, as she was about to enter college.  She made the decision to question EVERYTHING she believed to that point, realizing that most of it was actually what other people held dear, what others had instilled in her.  It doesn’t matter which actress said it;  what matters  is how clearly it rang true for me.  It just clicked, clicked so strongly I can still picture where I was on hearing it. 

We – all of us – absorb “mental models” from everything around us, from friends & family, from teachers & society, from t.v. & social media.  What we rarely do is make the opportunity to distance ourselves from what we’ve been taught to what we really believe.  Enter, meditation.

Yes, it stunned me that my pastor scoffed at Eben Alexander’s apparent belief that mediation is an essential to true understanding.  One reason why I continue to resist resist resist developing my own daily meditation practice is knowing how profoundly it will change my life for the clearer.  There is something comforting in not seeing, in not understanding which treasured beliefs are actually my own & which are actually mentally modeled on others’ beliefs & values, in not discovering which of my treasured comforting soothing beliefs have become outdated & no longer reflect my current values.

Weird  to grow up in a religion where some ministers & teachers seem to believe that faith is static, that what we learn as children & young adults  & much much older remains precisely as it was when we first learned it.  How grateful I am for Willard Pendleton, Ormond deCharms Odhner, Cairns Henderson and all the other ministers who emphasized the importance on being able to identify your own beliefs, separate from everything else, even separate from what you once held dear & no longer do. 

Haven’t a clue what any of them would have thought about meditation as a way to greater understanding.  Back when I was a young woman, anything intuitive tended to be painted as “from the hells.”  Not much of an encouragement.  But I wonder…

I thank my pastor for his scoffing comment about meditation.  At the time, I was interested in hearing more about what he thinks about meditation.  Now – nah.  But I am grateful to him for getting me thinking about the power of meditation – and yoga – in developing a sense of… whatever.  And for helping kick my butt into finally going beyond talking about it to actually making it part of my spiritual practice.  For that, he has my most profound appreciation.

Under the Squirrel Haven Sun

This exchange from Under the Tuscan Sun (film, not book) resounds with me:

Martini: I think you got your wish. 

Frances: My wish? 

Martini: On that day we looked for your snake, you said to me that you wanted there to be a wedding here. And then you said you wanted there to be a family here. 

Frances: You're right... I got my wish. I got everything I asked for. 

Like Frances, I got my wish.  I got everything I asked for.  Like Frances, it didn't come in ways or forms i could have expected.  It never does.  

We can prepare the soil, but grace blossoms in its own way, at its own time - when it blooms at all

Glorious Gatherings - THANKSGIVING

Where my little hometown, beloved community, still excels at bringing everyone together in glorious connection is Thanksgiving, the 19th of June, and the 4th of July.  Ain't nothin' like 'em!

Mind you, I spent most of my late teens & twenties going to Thanksgiving service two states away, in Maryland.  All because of an electric organ.

Once our local Thanksgiving celebrations were shifted from the cathedral to the high school's  cavernous Field House, the Lockharts stopped going.  Instead, bright & early every 4th Thursday in November, my Dad drove us down to a church group between Baltimore & Washington, D.C., the present-day incarnation of the society where my Mom grew up.  For many years after his passing - way too young, at almost 62 - Mim, Mom & I continued the Thanksgiving trek.

We sang the same songs we'd be singing back home, heard sermons of thanksgiving from ministers we knew, exchanged greetings with many people we went to school with or considered friends.  Much like we would have at home, without the electric organ that was the supposed reason for the trek in the first place.

The whole thing never made sense to me.  First off, church music down there was played on a reedy electric organ, just like up here - except they didn't have a grand pipe organ right across the pike, silent for the morning.  I guess that was what rankled my parents, what we could have been hearing, if only...

Neither of them even seemed to think trading off one day of admittedly sub-par organ music was worth having a gathering of ALL our community under one roof at one time.  The reasoning by the powers-that-be was that it didn't have to be in the church, because Thanksgiving was a national holiday decreed by President Lincoln & every president thereafter.  But the most important reason was that Thanksgiving, of all holidays, should be celebrated en masse.  

With this, I heartily concur.  Just writing about the service gives me a thrill.  Mind you, I don't take John, but slip out of bed, letting him sleep on while I dress, gather up my offering of thanksgiving (bunches of green & red grapes, being sure to leave him - my greatest blessing from God - a couple bunchlettes), and head down the street & up the road.  

The deep sense of joy & connection as I sit in the bleachers (can sense Dad wincing), arriving early to watch the great swell of people arrive.  Old people I've known since a baby, babies I knew before they were born who are now grandparents, newly weds & brand new parents, and all the younger ones, the ones I'm just getting to recognize or know.  My heart grows 10 sizes each Thanksgiving.  

And, yes - the organ is comparatively dismal.  But then, the organ in the church is now (blessedly, temporarily) electronic rather than pipe.  Who cares?  Who's there for the organ music?  The singing - that's a different matter.  What impossible-to-express feelings sweep over me hearing my friends & acquaintances & "I'd like to get to know" thems ring the rafters with their uplifted voices.  It never ceases to thrill, sending shivers of every blessed emotion I hold most dear up & down my spine. 

That is why I choose to not nudge & cajole a slumbering John into coming.  He didn't grow up in my small hometown, doesn't know the songs by heart, knows some people by sight & just a special few by name.  At this holiday of the most profound connection, he'd be un.  This one day a year gives me the perfect opportunity to let him know I'm just fine with him being who he is, where he is, doing whatever he is rather than feeling compelled to be by my side. 

For a gal who basks in the wonder & delirious joy of connection - to loved ones, to friends, to community, to God - Thanksgiving in my hometown is one of the greatest moments of my year.  I might look like I'm all by myself, tucked up on the top row of the bleachers, surrounded by families with the stray individual, but I am not alone.  I am the most un-alone I'll be all year, watching each group or individual enter to my left, then take up their offering or find a place to sit, remembering all those who are no longer there, all the folks of my hometown who came to this place at this time on this day of thanksgiving & who made, in a wide range of ways, a difference in my life.  

And then it is over.  I take my time working my way down the bleachers, through the huge room, out the building, to my car, taking the time to beam big cheeky grins or toss off a wave, share a greeting or a hug, a high 5 or an elbow bump with very young friends, basking all of it.  For years, as I passed through the foyer, I'd rest my hand in love & longing on the trophy case my father loving crafted as a gift in memorium to his youngest son, who died at 11, too young to ever shoot a basket in the very room in which we'd worshipped;  the case has been moved on, now serving in a new place of honor at the school's performing arts center, but always & forever dedicated to the young life I love so well. 

Finally, I'm at my car, then slowly making my way out of the parking lot, inching along, the fire house to my left & the football field to my right.  I pause at the top, waiting for the break in traffic that will set my car heading north, to hearth & home & hubster.  

A glorious gathering, my Thanksgiving celebrations in that great cavernous room with its sub-par organ & bleacher seating remain in my heart throughout the year, rich layer upon rich layer.  And I am blessed - by church, by town, by friends & community.