Enough

I had left the phone at one of the hospice sites the other day and one of my favorite nurses grabbed it for me.  I felt somewhat liberated without the phone for 48 hours and then somewhat giddy when I got it back in one piece. Instant connection is something I have gotten used to, like too much caffeine.   We were busy getting to where we were going and getting ready to see who we needed to see, so seeing that the battery had gone down to 2% I left it alone until I got a break between seeing patient number three and an upcoming meeting.  With a few quiet moments to myself I checked what I had missed. It was 11:30   my time.

32 minutes prior a text was sent to me and to her Dad.  Lulu writes “You will hear this on the news I’m sure. School shooting going on at the high school in Aztec.Currently my class is in lock down and we are safe”.  

Then a few texts out to her from her Dad and a second text at 11:29 that she was ok.   I left a message on her phone and was able to talk to her a few hours later.  “The kids have all been evacuated, but we just went back into lockdown because there were more shots fired in the park down the road.”  She started to tell me what it was like for her and then “Mom, gotta go, they are evacuating us.”  There were reports going around that were later corrected, but in the moment, it was confusing and sacary for both of us.

My words to her, “Call me when you get home, I love you.”

6:09  my time she texted, “Home”. 

Lulu is a first grade teacher in one of the grade schools in Aztec. She has 20 little lambs to teach and to shepherd over.  The town of Aztec is pretty small, around 6500, so basically everybody knows everybody. In the top North East corner of New Mexico, it is close enough for her and a couple of other district teachers to commute to and from Durango. Aztec is as much her community as Durango and I am glad she has her carpool buddies. She will need them.

A couple of weeks ago there was a teacher’s meeting where the issue of having a plan for an active shooter came up.  There wasn’t a plan.  The principal of the school and the teachers put one in place.  She practiced it with her class on Monday.  MONDAY.   

She had just started her class and over the emergency system came the message that there was an active shooter.   She did was she was trained to do and locked the door, gathered the students, pushed the kids cubbies loaded with stuff against the door.  She flipped the tables and arranged them as a barricade in the corner away from the windows and kept the children quiet and calm for 2 and half hours while clutching a pair of scissors in her hand for just in case.

She knew the protocol to unlock the door for the principal when she got the signal and she got the children to the spot where they could be picked up. She said “Mom, I could see what was going on outside and hear all the cop cars and helicopters going by and I knew kids were killed over at the high school. I could see people outside the window and I knew what was going on, but I haven’t stopped shaking. ”  

Did the kids know? I asked.

“No, they knew it was a real and not a drill, but they didn’t know it was a shooting.  They can learn that from their parents” she replied.

We have spoken a few times over the past 48 hours.  She knew one of the victims Casey Marquez, not the other, but knew that his nickname was Paco.

24899959_1534190233339748_1809581909150437166_n

She also said that the shooter was the uncle of one of her students from last year.  That he had gone to the high school to kill some kids before he killed himself.  She knows a couple of teachers who were in the High School that day.  Undoubtably her students will return to school next week and she will be processing this whole thing for weeks to come.

Even though the shooting was at a different school, her students are effected, she is effected and I by proxy as her mother, am effected. She and another teaching buddy were out yesterday at a cafe and a stranger who had overheard them talking about the shooting came up to them, bought them lunch and thanked them for keeping the kids safe.    They had heard about the shooting on the news the day before and they were effected.   We should all be effected.

Here is the thing.  Lulu is a teacher,  not a trained combat soldier  She is a first grade teacher who, not knowing if the shooting was in her school or not, responded by making sure that the 20 little souls in her care were as safe as possible and she armed herself. Not only with a pair of scissors, but more importantly with the courage and conviction to keep the children safe and did so with the confidence from training for an event such as this,  just three days prior.  The kids knew what to do and 20 First Graders were in lockdown for over 2 hours without a meltdown.

I didn’t see the shooting on the news Thursday night.  I was able to get on-line and get bits from new releases, but I didn’t see a story.  It felt odd, then I was enraged that a school shooting didn’t make the national news, as if we have gotten so used to hearing about mass violence, that three dead is not considered national news.

The President didn’t make a comment about it, not one tweet.  Just let that sink in for a moment.  The President has tweeted about his support for this guy. imgres.jpg

And he twitted about fake news, but he didn’t say anything about the lives lost. Or the teachers that responded, or about a community that is hurting.  Nothing. Perhaps it is better that way.  What can he say at this point?

There has now been some national coverage, and some friends who had heard the story from me told me they have heard about it on the radio or saw a quick bit on the cable news.  New Mexico is seen as a strong Republican State and the NRA is popular in New Mexico, I wonder if there is a correlation between those two things and lack of media coverage?  Lulu said that at a candlelit vigil the night of the shooting there were people with vile signs that said “Arm the teachers”.   Is this the new response, ignore or incite?

I just can’t.  I had felt liberated by being disconnected for a short time and now reunited with my phone and thus connected to my child by text and calls, I feel better.  But I don’t feel better about where we are as a nation. I want to disconnect from all of the stuff that is going on, as if somehow by disconnecting the idiocy, it will go away.  Well is hasn’t and it won’t if I avoid it. I must continue to face it and by doing such be moved to action where I become part of the change, not a part of the problem.

Jonah and The Divine Deep Knowing

Penned by Tori Jamison

Many call to ministry stories begin with a deep knowing or a dramatic moment of realization, followed in quick succession with the knower running fleeing church life to pursue careers in business or as far from the church as possible, diving into family or art or literally anything else, until they can’t anymore – and then they show up at seminary. My story isn’t that at all.  I heard the voice, I felt the deep knowing and my community acknowledged that they also knew I had the knowing and so off I went, confident. I graduated seminary by the skin of my teeth and running as fast as I could get from the institutional church.

images.jpgAnd I’ve been thinking about a lot about Jonah, of “gets swallowed by a whale and is still a punk while sitting in digestive juices for three days and gets his own book in the Hebrew bible” fame. See, Jonah gets this call from God to do a thing (go preach repentance to Nineveh) and he runs. Lots of commentators make a big deal out of him running the opposite direction from where he was told to go, but what I find interesting about Jonah is his confident swagger. He runs but gets on a ship and when the sea gets rough, they draw lots and blame Jonah, who asserts with no nuance who he is and the name of his god, and that they are welcome to solve the problem by throwing him into the sea. The sailors oblige, and into the sea goes Jonah… only to get swallowed by a fish. He skulks and mutters for a while, covered in digestive juices in the dark, and then the text says that he petitions his god with a prayer that amounts to “God has to save me because I have work to do that God gave me to do so get on with it, God!”

I also ran with reasons aplenty from the institutional church but not ministry. I’ve taken all kinds of jobs and calls since graduating, and have met some incredible people, been a witness to the miraculous and the mundane. I’ve seen a baby born and held hands with the dying and everything in between, and yet, l

Like Jonah, I thought that shouting my call while going my own ways was enough.

It isn’t, and I’m worn down by running- the moving every few months to this or that pulls me farther and farther away from the divine deep knowing. What I’ve been doing is in the name of the good work and justice (mental health first responder! Care for the youngest! Communities of belonging and safety for everyone! Farm and feed the world!) but I am increasingly more disconnected from a call to contextualize sacred service in a community.

I haven’t been running from everything in life and I’ve certainly grown and learned.  I came out as queer last year as undramatically as I could conjure simply by putting on Facebook that I was in a relationship with a same gender partner.

Spoiler alert -if an ancient book can be spoiled –

Jonah gets out of the fish but his swagger continues. He preaches to Nineveh and then informs God that God should make good on God’s promise to smite them. God does not, and gives a shade tree to Jonah. When the tree dies, the last words of Jonah in his book are informing God that the tree ought to still be alive, and that Jonah himself is right to be angry, even to death.

I too had my very good reasons for running, but now that I am a distance away by time, geography and circumstance, perhaps now I can reconsider a retooled return. Like Jonah, I have never doubted the deep knowing, but unlike Jonah, I do not wish to end up under a tree angry that it is not enough.

Hope showed up

16142597_421040801560465_7118998267674492025_nI called my friend Desirée yesterday to ask a solid favor from her.   Perhaps.  That was the pretense really.  I called her because I feel a need to hold my breath as this giant wave of discontent approaches and I need to slide down deep under the current to let it pass over me.  I need to be able to hold my breath, to be ready to come back up and to swim strongly out of the rip current.    I am a strong swimmer, but these waves are dark and fast and are crashing down, threatening to take us onto the rocks.

I have been quiet these 6 months, resting and refocusing.  Making ready for what lies ahead. Des and I talked about transition and all that comes with it and what we need to find in it.  Community.  Community is what I left in Vermont.  I knew who I was in my community.  I knew who I was in my life, but all of that changed.  Des and I talked about the inauguration, the Women’s march and the new executive orders that have been signed.  We talked about the feelings and what we experienced on Saturday.

She was in Santa Fe, in her new home and I in Boston.  She spoke of the mass of people and the hope that they carried with them.  She spoke of the community that was all around her.   I spoke of Boston and how it was like Marathon Monday, with opening day at Fenway and the Red Sox playing the Yankees, but add to that a super bowl win. That was the 175 thousand that marched.  But without the bravado. Without the drunk and brawling, over the top, chuckle heads with smeared paint on their faces.  Without the winners and losers.  It was like the best of Boston, the best of the world showed up and said we are here. We haven’t left.  Justice and Equality showed up and with it babies in snugglies, kids holding signs, grandmothers and fathers, some using canes and some just wearing pink hats. The students and the doctors showed up  after their shifts and the police stood witness to democracy in action.  Hope showed up along with Everything is going to be alright.

Des told me that I needed to write this.  I said, I have no idea what I said, you write it.

Then this morning my muse came back.

We know that storms come and that the currents and waves can do damage.  The winds of war seem to be in the air as well.  So we make ready.   We store up our good will and our kindness and our ability to give to others our of our own stock when required.  We batten down the hatches and bring in the boats.  We hunker down and get grounded in our spaces and wait it out.     And with some storms, we go out in the middle of it.   We naturally seek to help others in times of need.  Some people get caught in the storm.  We go out to bring them in.

And with this political storm, we are all in this together.  Not me from my side and you from yours. But all of us, at the same time.  Make ready.  Plan ahead and most importantly don’t lose hope.  This too shall pass.  It might be nasty now, but it will pass and those that can and should venture out into the middle of the mess will.  Of that I am sure.

We are better than what the storm wants us to think.

 

Hey Amy, do you remember that day?

IMG_0475

Hey Amy,

I got the news the other day and I want to tell you how much I love you.

Do you remember this day?  We all were taking a break from writing papers and it was one of those days in Westport where you had to take a walk on the beach.  Your smile was as bright at the day.

I remember when we met on campus in Nimi’s ethics class. But I had heard about you before I ever started class, small is the world we live in. Connections are all around.  And after some sort of community day thing our first year,  we planted spring bulbs and walked down the hill to chat some more and  we shared our losses.  You talked to me of Michael and I talked about William and how God had called us both to move beyond our grief.  And I knew about Elephant Rock and the Nubble and I shared my memories of climbing it with my grandmother while caring one of my babies on my back.  You shared your memory of swimming out into the river to get the boat so that you and Michael could sail out past the point of rock one last time.  And we were grounded in memories of love.

We were sitting on your deck and talking about sheep and goats and your cat that was ancient, and I remember saying to you that we would go to Myanmar together.  You rallied but I couldn’t.  I was so proud to see you make that trip.  And the one to India too.  You slid that one in while nobody was looking.  You are stealth like that.

We compared notes about CPE and how long the nights were and how my site was too hot and your site too cold.  How just as you thought you had time to get that last verbatim written, you got a page to see a patient.  And you did it while working, and going to school and living life on life’s terms.  You drove that first generation hybrid into the ground and you emerged with that sporty little Kia.   You showed me how to pick yourself up, shake off the dust and move forward.

I showed you how to collect the small stones off the beach and transform them from fears and worries, by skipping them back into the sea to be polished into hopes and dreams.  You collected a few stones for me and painted them with words of encouragement. The one that says “health” I keep in my jewelry box.

 

And then there was that time I was freaking out in systematics and you hypnotized me and I smelled peony in every class after that.  That was the weirdest thing.  But I know now that when I smell the peony in the spring I will think of you.

And here is the thing.   I read your letter and I am again blow away by your love of others, the strength of your call, and your clarity as you transition from this life to life eternal.  I am gonna miss you. But this much I know is true,  life is as it should be and I will see you again on the flip side of the vale my friend.  I love you.