In My Lifetime

Virtual Church

A lot of my time these days is spent thinking about and "doing" Virtual Church.  Yes that's a confusing and diverse topic.  I recently spent a Sunday morning sermon at MCC Toronto and a workshop at the MCC Region 3 and 5 Conference trying to explain what I mean by that term.  It's complicated because everyone I meet seems to have their own idea of what it means.

Some people think it means podcasting sermons.  And it certainly can mean that.

Some people think it means webcasting church services. And it certainly can mean that.

Some people think it means multi-site congregations all seeing the same sermon broadcast from a single location.  And it certainly can mean that.

Some people think it means having a church service in Second Life, a virtual world based on gaming technology.  And it certainly can mean that.

Some people think it means archiving workshops or classes or lectures on various points of theology. And it certainly can mean that.

Or a Facebook page, or a Skype call, or a Twitter account or, or, or, or......

And in the end, the real question is .... How does Virtual Church move from technology to communion with God and our fellow human beings?  And what does it mean to be church anyway?

This post is just a beginning for beginning to post on the subject.  I'm very interested to hear what others think about the topic, "What is church?"  We know it's not a building, a denomination, a theological position, a charismatic leader.  But what is it?  Stay tuned and add your comments.  I'm looking forward to exploring the subject.

Thoughts on Forgiveness

I ran into a friend this week who asked me to talk with her about forgiveness.  What does it mean?  How do we do it?  Even if I can forgive someone else, I can't for give myself?  Yes, yes, we know God has forgiven us but how DO we go about forgiving ourselves for our shortcomings? 
Well first of all forgiveness is not something we do for other people, we do it for us. We do it so that we can move on from painful experiences.  We do it because we want to repair relationships. We do it because we instinctively know the spiritual axiom embedded in the concept that Jesus was trying to get across to us when he quoted the beginning words of the Shema.... "You shall love the lord your God with all your heart with all your soul with all your might..." and then he added, "and you shall love your neighbor as yourself." So there are three levels of who we're loving here... God, ourselves, others.  And what does this have to do with forgiveness you say? 

See I think the two are inextricably linked.  If you love me and I do something to hurt your feelings, you are quicker to forgive me.  We know this.  I get the benefit of the doubt.  That's why we're charged to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.  We can presume that our enemies have done us wrong, hurt us, attacked us.... so isn't it interesting that we're not told to forgive them... we're told to love them. 

But what about loving ourselves?  Well... I don't think we can love anyone more than we love ourselves.  If we think we're doing that, we're fooling ourselves.  On the other hand the way I learn to love AND forgive myself is because that's how I practice doing loving and forgiving so that one day I'll actually be able to look at myself and say, "I love you and I forgive you for being imperfect even on the days when you don't try your hardest."  For a long time I thought that forgiveness was tied to the person's motivation.  If I assessed them as being sincere or having tried to do their best... then I would give them this wonderful grace of my forgiveness when they screwed up.  But if I thought they were being less than honest or not trying their best... well that was another story.  This is where I realized that I can't give someone else more love or forgiveness or anything else than I can give myself. 

For years I was harder on myself than anyone else because, afterall, I knew I hadn't done my best, I knew I'd had questionable motives, I knew my ego was involved... in whatever it was that I was beating myself for.  In that mindset forgiveness was available only for those people and institutions that I deemed worthy.  But at some point I had to deal with the fact that God and other people were only too willing to forgive me when I screwed up... even though some of my friends and family and certainly God herself knew about my ego, my mixed motives, my lack of enthusiasm. 

My sponsor Betty used to say to me, "It's important to remember that most people are doing the best they can most of the time."  It was her way of saying to me that it's not my place to judge whether people are doing their best before I give my love and forgiveness.  Not because they need it, because I need to give it.

So here's where the rubber meets the road.... if I love you I'm usually willing to forgive pretty much anything no matter how badly you've screwed up.  When I see you in pain and remorse for what you've done struggling with your "demons," compassion wells up inside me and love pours out of me washing away the hurt and pain and anger.  That's forgiveness. 

But why is it vital that I learn to forgive myself?  Because that is the ONLY unconditional love we will ever truly feel.... love for ourselves.  And the evidence of that is whether we are willing to forgive ourselves or our warts, and misdeeds, and bad thoughts, and hateful actions.  Because I believe when Jesus added the "second great commandment" he was saying something much deeper than we often read it.  He is saying we must love our neighbor as ourselves.  But if we want to love our neighbor unconditionally, the way God loves us, then we have to learn to love ourselves in that way.   I have come to believe that what Jesus was saying was less about our neighbor and more about loving ourselves.... not loving our ego, our accomplishments, our bank account.... but really loving ourselves in our brokenness and pain.

I've learned how to love myself by thinking of myself as ".... my own best friend.  How would I treat my very best friend in this situation?"  One of the sickest people I ever knew taught me this spiritual axiom.  So when I find myself in a place where I'm just beating myself to a pulp I think "... how would I treat Karen, or Lillian, or Susan, or Mary..." or any other person I love if they screwed up in JUST the same way.  And I just hang on to that image of them in my mind and try to feel the love and compassion that pours out of me to them when they have screwed up.

I forgive those whom I love.  I learn to love by forgiving.  I feel God's grace in love and forgiveness of me when I give that to others or to myself.  Love your neighbor as your self.  Forgive your enemies, pray for those who do you wrong.... it's not about them, it's about me.

Active Waiting: A Queer View of Advent

The peace of Christ is coming into the world, once again.  Yesterday marked the beginning of Advent for Christians who follow a Lectionary calendar.  If you're keeping up it's Year B in the Revised Common Lectionary.  The readings for yesterday were grim and menacing.  An angry, name taking, bum kicking God that we can't seem to figure out if we want to come near or go away from. This angry image of God reminds me of how I felt as a child when my father was really angry with me.  I was terrified of him and yet I was so hurt that he withdrew his love from me in his anger I just wanted to run to him and wrap my arms around his waist and cry and beg him to love me again.  Needless to say, this is not a helpful image to me as a 52 year old lesbian struggling with health issues, time constraints, fears about the economy, not understanding why I have so many wonderful projects and jobs and calls to ministry in my life.

Last night I read the sermon of a close friend who spoke about the concept of hope enfolded in our duty to "actively" wait this advent.  I got such a clear image of the difference in standing around, shuffling feet, passing the time until my issue is addressed, my email is responded to, my phone call returned.  But it's a very different thing to live more fully into the Serenity Prayer and "actively" wait.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I canno change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.  So what if I've made the decision that there ARE some things I can do to change the injustice of bigotry and hatred toward people who are gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, and transgender (GLBT).  I live as an out lesbian, I stand up for civil rights for all people, I critique my own community's understanding of bisexual and transgender issues, I work for equal marriage rights for everyone even as I am outspoken about the pitfalls of reproducing the heterosexist dominant paradigm with all it's attendant power dynamics issues.  I call myself "queer" sometimes to shock people, sometimes to make the GLBTQI (yes there are more!) alphabet soup more palatable, and sometimes to refer to a theoretical space called "queer."  And in all those three cases I'm just strapping on the word and wearing it like a souvenier.

Queer is not GLBTQI, queer is not homosexuals having equal rights to marry, queer is not who I have sex with or how many or how often.  Queer is tearing down the power structures that trap people in oppressive systems that beat them down and stifle their creativity and spirituality.  Queer means walking through life doing power analysis on every structure, system, institution and relationship in my life.  Queer means working for justice at every turn.  And maybe most importantly, queer means using my privilege as a white, educated, middle classed woman to work for justice for those who are oppressed by MY privilege.  Yes I need to work for equal treatment and an end to homophobia.  But I actually am duty bound, I believe, as a Christian, to work HARDER for those who are oppressed by my privilege.    I can't just strap on the name queer when I want to or when it suits me.  I need to live queer, be queer, work for justice queer.

So I look at my life and I do what I can.  I do whatever I can on each day at each juncture.  And while I'm waiting, and I will surely have to wait for the results of my labour, I work for justice in another area.  Yesterday I wrote a response to what I percieved to be short sighted letter that I thought promoted hate toward people whose religion is Islam.  I wrote my response and that was what I could do yesterday. Last night I stood over the body of a man who had lived with his transgender partner for 40 years and said prayers for him, for her, for my friends who loved him, too.  Today I can write this blog and begin to articulate what I learned from my friend's sermon about active waiting and responsibility and what it really means to be queer.  Tomorrow and Wednesday and Thursday and on will provide more opportunities.

A week ago tonight I sat in hospital all night waiting for blood transfusions to be delivered into my body.  I watched the bag of blood, I called the nurse when the alarm went off, I kept awake to be mindful of the infusion line and be sure it was not kinked or clogged, I watched movies and did my best to busy myself and remain calm and not fight what needed to happen.  I spent a whole night awake, waiting, watching, listening and keeping my mind busy so I didn't become more of a burden on the nurses who were caring for me.

That was active waiting, much like the waiting of pregnancy.  Women who have been pregnant have a special understanding of active waiting.  Taking care of their bodies, preparing the home, just getting through the day when tiredness and physical pain slows her down. And the family prepares and buys and rearranges the house to make room for the new addition.  These are just a few examples of how actively we await a pregnancy.

So what if we make a decision this Advent to actively wait for justice by working for justice at every turn.... not just for our own issues, but by using our privilege to help others?  Waiting, watching, working, praying.  Let's have a very queer Advent that causes us to look at the power structures around us and evaluate anew what we can do... one day at a time. And then do it, do something.... one day at a time.

It's snowing and the wind is howling.  The US is in a recession.  Our neighbors are hungry and frightened.  Let's work together.

The peace of Christ is coming into the world again.  Thanks be to God.

The Heart of India

 I am closely following, as I'm sure you are following, the events in Mumbai, India as the crisis enters the third day of terror.  News of the Rabbi and his family's murder, news of the father and daughter visiting India as part of a meditation group from Virginia, news of a Jewish man from Vancouver who escaped, news of the young Indian boy whose entire family have been killed and no one has the heart to tell him about it, pictures of blood and bags and shoes left behind when the bodies of the dead were removed from the train station.
And now news that most of the terrorists were Pakistanis.  The blame game will begin in hours... India against Pakistan.

I can do nothing but pray.  There are likely bodies yet to be found.  There may be injured dying without help inside buildings still under seige. Other injured in pain and living each moment in terror. The security people and police are obviously in need of our prayers for their safety, for their comfort, for their sanity.  We certainly need to pray for the officials of the Indian, Pakistani, British, US and other countries government for clarity of thought and action.

My hope is that we pay attention and not look away or become desensitized to the horror.  We cannot allow this to become normal or acceptable.  We must continue to work for peace and justice, safety and security for everyone.... every single person in the world.

May the God who makes us all One touch our hearts to motivate us to work for justice and comfort us in our greif.

Counting Blessings

God has a real sense of humour.  This week has just been one little "noogie" after another.  So God, if you're reading my blog, you have my attention. 

This cycle actually started a couple of weeks ago when I met one of my s/heros at her home in the Boston area.  This is a woman who began to write courageous, and some said outrageous, work since the mid 1960's. She's an icon to many of my generation whether one likes her or her ideas or not. 

As I entered her home for a very short "audience" arranged by a mutual friend she greeted me warmly and sat across from me. Although her body seemed somewhat frail her spirit was decidedly "large and in charge."  When the time came for our first interaction she looked at me very squarely in the eye and said, "So, what's so great about you?" I was completely disarmed.  I laughed and said I wasn't at all sure there was anything at all so great about me.  After a few minutes of jockeying around and trading uneasy comments back and forth with our mutual friend and my host, she turned to me again looking me squarely in the eye and said again, "What IS so great about you?"  I realized this question was in no way rhetorical but demanded an answer before we could proceed.  I said, "Well, I work hard, I do my best to be honest, and I try to be a good friend." My host nodded and the conversation proceeded smoothly and pleasantly.

Fast forward to this past Sunday after two weeks travel, driving home from Boston on Friday, attending an all day meeting in Toronto on Saturday and returning to Toronto for services on Sunday morning and more meetings, I was to preach a sermon on Sunday evening exploring a multi-gendered image of God. That afternoon I got a call from a very close friend asking me to go and visit a close friend of hers in a palliative care facility.  I immediately rerouted my car and went to the hospital where I found a lovely woman gently caring for her husband of 40 years.  She was gracious to me, inviting me in immediately after I explained our mutual friend connection.  We sat together in the room with her mate as she described for me that events that had lead them to this day with her partner dying slowly.  When our mutual friends arrived she promptly "came out" to me as a transgender woman.  I sat for another hour or so listening to their reminesences of their early years together 40+ years ago.  I just shook my head when I left.  The sermon I had prepared was a good grounding for the REAL sermon I was to preach.  That sermon required me to relate the beauty of the love this woman has for her mate and call attention to her love as a mirror of God's love for us. Truly and unmistakably a transgender image of God.  What an incerdible experience.

On Monday morning I finally got around to fasting so that I could go in and have some blood work done that I had put off since May when I'd had my physical exam at my doctor.  I was going in to get my flu shot anyhow so I thought I'd finally get off my bum and get "caught up" with what I was supposed to do.  About 6pm that evening I got a nearly hysterical phone call from my Dr's office.  One of the doctors was phoning me telling me to "go to the hospital immediately."  My red blood count was critically low, dangerously so, and I would require blood transfusions immediately.  Frankly I was quite sure there was some mistake but the doctor convinced me to go to emerg.  I went thinking they would pull more blood, see there was an error and I'd be on my way home.  But that was not the case and instead I spent the night in the hospital getting blood transfusions. 

Tuesday was my 52nd birthday.  I walked out of the hosptial into heavy snow falling. I went to get a coffee, and yes a donut, and sat in my car until time for my previously scheduled appointment with an orthopedic specialist to discuss nearly constant and often severe pain in my knee that I've had for several weeks.  I'll be having scope surgery on the knee in the near future.

I saw my doctor yesterday and she literally put the fear of God into me regarding my health.  Her mantra was "you REALLY have to take this seriously."  I assured her I am taking it seriously.  But for effect she continued to try to find various ways to explain the situation to me. She said, "If you'd been 20 years older there would have been a line of a form that said, 'FOUND IN HOME.' " Ok, ok.... I get it.  I nearly killed myself and didn't realize I was sick.  I'm not paying attention.  I'm busy doing all the things I'm supposed to do going full speed ahead and not realizing I'm about to run out of gas, at night, in the middle of nowhere, and I'm going to lose a LOT of time trying to get the car back on the road.  I mean let's get real, I'd never treat my car like I've been treating my body.

It occurs to me that blessings are received by being present.  Translation.... I have to show up to get the blessings in my life. First I have to be alive, second I have to show up, and finally  I have to be aware enough to be present to what is happening.  I spoke last night about my need to show up for the blessings in my life and my need to be aware of the blessings that I'm receiving.

So this morning, after feeling a little sorry for myself that I'm lonely on Thanksgiving and sick to boot... after my little pity party.... I'm very aware that my friend Susan phoned. She called just at the moment I would have left my mother's house as she was dying 19 years ago today.   She didn't know I needed a distraction.  She just phoned me to chat and catch up.  She was my blessing this morning.  She was the vehicle God used to get my attention this morning. 
Ok so you have my attention.  I've lived through abusing my body and am on the mend.  I'm showing up to be in relationship with people I love, although I do have some repair work to do on this front.  And most of all I am acutely aware of God's presence and blessing in my life today. 
I hope all of you in the states are enjoying a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. And for those of you in other places it's still a good time to count blessings and remember to give thanks.
Happy Thanksgiving

This beautiful image is called Blessing Ritual and can be found at Designs by Willow

I hope you will visit her site and see her other beautiful work.

Fire Alarm @ 4am

There's nothing like a fire alarm at 4am to make one reorder one's priorities. I've just returned in from sitting in my car for nearly an hour only to find that my body is now coursing with adrenalin and has little hope of falling back to sleep.
What will I do with this "found time?" Some research.  Yes that will be good.  Some email to friends and a little catchup with people I love.  Yes that will be a good use of the time as well.
But I keep thinking about something I saw on TV this week where Billy Graham's two grandsons were talking about him on the occasion of his 90th birthday.  I believe they were referring to the Nixon inauguration... I can't remember.  But Billy Graham was there and they had not caught up with him.  So at about 11:00pm or so they decided to knock on his hotel room door not thinking he would be there because he could have been out with anyone he wanted to be with that night.  But they knocked and he answered in pajamas and invited them in. One of the grandson's commented that on his bed lay an open bible.  He had been sitting there reading and studying it by himself, with no one looking, no press, no TV, no one to impress.  And he was reading and meditating on a night and in a town where he could have been a dozen other places with glamorous and powerful people, no doubt having fun.  But his grandson's were struck by the fact that he was there, spending "alone time" with God.
It brought me up short.  I don't do enough of that.  I don't spend enough time with scripture or in prayer and meditation, getting to know God better.  I priest friend of mine once said that any relationship requires an investment of time and effort.  And our relationship with God is no different.
So I think I'll take a little time in this sweet "found" time to read and meditate with God.  That might do more for my productivity than anything else I could spend the time on.  At the very least, I know it won't be wasted time.

The Nature of Grief and Pain

I went to the doctor this week.  This is something I do only twice per year.  Once for a physical examination and the second for a flu shot.  This visit was for neither. I finally broke down and went after my knee pain had become so severe at night that I could no longer sleep.  My theory was that the doctor would just tell me I was too fat, lose some weight, and then my knee wouldn't hurt.

It didn't go that way.  She said, "Six weeks!  Why haven't you been here before?"  We discussed possible diagnoses, she sent me for x-rays to rule out arthritis and made an appointment with an orthopedic specialist.  She sent me home with strict orders to stay off my leg, keep it wrapped in a knee brace, take medication, ice it, use topical anti-inflammatories.... hardly what I expected.

I've noticed that when it's hurting, there's no space in my brain or my reality for anything except trying to figure out how to make it stop hurting.  I writhe and whine, I take meds, ice it, put the topical anti-inflammatory on it and I've noticed that when it's just so bad that I break down and cry.... somehow that helps. 

The pain in my knee is only part of what's going on with me at this particular time.  My friend Bonnie is still in critical condition in hospital in NC.  Beloved Paul has maybe 2 weeks left in his journey of death by brain tumor. I'm going to turn 52 in a couple of weeks and pass the 18th anniversary of my mother's death on the 22nd. And on and on.  There's a lot to cry about even in the midst of the joy of the Obama win and the first informational meeting for the church plant in Niagara coming up in the middle of all the rest.  

The mystery is why crying helps.  For years my partner has said, "Tears are holy."  I've scoffed and laughed.  Holy my a$$.  They give me a headache, stuff up my nose, make me feel like a fool and a baby.  Holy indeed.  But dealing with the grief I'm feeling these days and even the physical pain, sometimes I cry.  And you know, it helps.  I don't know how or why.  But it does.  It's soothing.  There's no one there to comfort me, I don't do it in front of anyone, not even Lillian.  But I rock and cry and bury my head in my hands.   And after a few minutes, I feel a little better.  It's like magic.

Maybe tears release some kind of chemicals in the body and the brain that relax and comfort emotional and physical pain. It's probably not the actual water that comes out of my eyes.  It's probably the psychic energy that is released when I give up, give in and just cry.  Maybe it's the memory of being a child and crying and feeling loving arms around me comforting me.

It seems a little wierd to learn to cry at 52.  But hey, better late than never I reckon.

Who do you say that I am?

Well I've learned a lot about myself this week.  I've been quizzed on all kinds of past addresses, telephone numbers, any tidbit of information that folks can come up with to establish my identity as the person I say I am.  I'm grateful for the diligence.  At this point the threat of identity theft is the greatest concern and it's completely valid given the breadth of ID and so forth that was stolen. 
But somethings far more important were stolen from me as well.  And these more important things gone have taught me the greatest lessons and given the most fuel for theological reflection.  It seems the experience becomes richer and richer by the day.  So I wanted just to record some of the thoughts about the week.
I've been thinking alot about the passage in Matthew 16: 15-16 where Jesus asks someone who knows him well... Peter, "who do you say I am?"  I ran across this great poster at the Mennonite Central Committee Store that talks about internalized racism and systematized racism.  I've felt just a touch of what it means to be "alien", "illegal", "other", "outsider" in a country.  I've spent the week knowing what it feels like to be outside the United States without proof of my  US citizenship, unable to freely travel across the border between the US and Canada.  Even in the extreme privilege I live in... even in my white, educated, middle classed package I've had to contend with the dilemma of building back an identity and proving who I am.
I've sat in Canadian government office for hours on end watching the endless parade of humanity that flows through the Ministry of Transportation, the Ministry of Health, the Passport office.  I've watched the families and admired the diversity of multicultural realities that have passed before me.  I've seen the children of immigrants and new citizens playing on the floors of the agencies as their parents wait their turn, numbers in hand, waiting for their number to appear on the signs showing which window to go to to solve their particular problem.  I've watched people of many languages and colors and cultures go to those windows and listened as Canadian government workers handle their issues with the utmost respect, affording them the dignity they deserve. I've seen the smiles as new landed immigrants leave with the documents they need to access healthcare or drive.  And I've seen smiling faces of all colors leaving the passport offices, new passport in hand, with the bubble of anticipation for going on a vacation or to visit friends or family in far, far away places all over the world.  I've nearly wept more than once as I listened to the government workers patiently talk with people who barely speak English.  I've nearly wept as they've patiently consoled me and assured me this will one day all be sorted.  Giving me reassuring smiles... just like they gave the Asian or Indian or African or Arab person who just preceded me in line.
All this has given me a new perspective on identity in general and my own identity particularly.  I have a new appreciation for the person who lives and works and falls in love and even has children in a country where they have no legal identity... where they have no proof of who they are.
I've also thought a lot about the concept of safety and what a fragile and illusive thing it is.  I've considered how I construct the idea of safety in my mind.  I've come to terms with the reality that it may be years before I feel truly safe again.  It was utter irony that in one of my 12 step meetings last Saturday as we were studying a book called Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions I read a sentence I had never noticed before even though I'd read it God only knows how many times.  It's in the chapter on the 4th tradition and it says, "We had discovered that there was perfect safety in the process of trail and error."  I had been beating myself for my stupidity... for not having copies, for leaving my wallet in the car, for having so many documents in one bag, some that could have VERY easily been left behind at home in case of some disaster JUST such as this. But there it was, plain as day.  Lighten up.  Easy Does It. Let Go and Let God. This too shall pass. So what if you made a mistake, you'll learn and do better and maybe even help others to avoid the same fate.  "Perfect safety in the process if trial and error."  What a lesson.
Perhaps the thing that's weighed most heavily on my mind is how important identity is to a person and how very, very important it is that we allow each person to define or construct their own identity.  I've considered how infinitely more complex my challenges would have been this week if I'd ever changed my name or my gender identity.  The full force of having to check "female" on countless forms, over and over and over.  The complete disconnect saying "yes" to "have you ever been married" on the US Passport forms knowing that the US doesn't recognize my marriage even though it is a perfectly legal marriage in Canada that ought to be respected under the Marriage Treaty.  I've considered the serenity I've felt when I've spent time in prayer with the knowledge that God knows exactly who I am and what I need without filling out a single form, without me even needing to ask.
"Who do you say that I am?"  I wonder what Jesus expected to hear when he asked that question.  I wonder if Peter's answer matched who he understood himself to be... or was he surprised?
I give thanks for all the incarnations of the Christ who have come to me this week.  I wonder if they know who they've been to me?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way Home from Dinner

   It's a funny feeling.... to move into a space that's familiar and "feel" that something's wrong.  Somthing's out of place, where is my GPS?  It must have fallen off the windshield onto the floor.  No.... why is that plug dangling?  And why is my bluetooth headset on the floor? Where IS that GPS? On no.... my backpack/briefcase is gone. My computer with all my records and data, my ipod, my .... good grief what all WAS in that bag?  What was on my computer?  Documents?  Pictures? Video? And my wallet, my passports ...  Call the police.  Get a report. Start the process of rebuilding my identity from the ground up.  My cell phone rings, it's the fraud alert system at my bank. They're already  trying to use my debit card and my credit cards.

It's a helpless feeling.  I'm in the states and going home tomorrow.  I don't have one single peice of identification to prove who I am.  Without those cards and passport books I'm nobody.  I could be anybody.  But there's no way to prove who I say I am.  It's an interesting philosophical and theological question really... who am I when I have no identity in the world?

I was Karen's friend.  She was with me.  We'd just had dinner.  Her calm presence was like the cool assurance of a rock to lean on as I phoned endless creditcards, consulates, consoled my spouse and partner.  Joan Martin, another friend, along with her partner and partner's brother had been dining at the same restaurant.  They came out, talked with us, went on to the shopping plaza across the street but later came back and checked on us before heading home.  They ended up walking the parking lot of the shopping plaza adjacent to the restaurant looking for my backpack hoping it had been discarded WITH my passports inside.  They stayed with us until we were finished with the police.  And before they left, Joan handed me $100 to get home on tomorrow.  Karen gave me another $100.  I cryed. Here I stand... in a parking lot in the dark now... with no papers to prove my identity, no objective data to show who I really am.  I'm Karen and Joan's friend.  I'm Lillian's spouse.  I'm Rachelle's partner.  I'm Jo and Brent and Jim and Nancy's clergy colleague.  I'm Lisa's student.  I'm Barry's sales rep.  I'm still on a deadline to get an article finished by the end of the month.  I'm still an alumnae of Episcopal Divinity School.  I'm still a child of God, fragile and precious, frightened and sad.

The gratitude I feel is overwhelming.  I was on my way home tomorrow for a couple of weeks... time to get everything in order and rebuild my identity and fiscal world.  Time to put in the insurance claim and begin to plan to buy a new computer and begin to rebuild my work life and get prepared for the fall. Time to relax and just breath and be grateful that we weren't personally attacked, that they didn't break the windows in my car, that they didn't steal my camera gear, or my Treo,  or the work equipment that was in the back of my car.

It will be an interesting couple of weeks. And it's funny how priorities change. It's amazing how all the stuff on my computer will be gone and I'll still find a way to function and go forward.  My passwords will never be the same.  I may never leave anything of value in my car again.  I can see me lugging a bag everywhere from now on.  Some things will change.  Some will stay the same. This too shall pass.

I'm going to bed and try to get some sleep.  Tomorrow I'll try to figure out who I am and how to get the world to believe it without any proof at all... Except the confidence of those who know me and love me.

Sometimes I Can't Sleep

Tonight is one of those miserable nights when I can't sleep.  I ought to be sleepy, I didn't sleep well last night, I played golf this morning, I spent some time in the sun this afternoon, went to a meeting tonight.... but I just don't feel sleepy.  So I sit up watching 24 hour news and cruising the internet.
Hostages freed in Columbia
Oil hits $144 per barrel
Stocks plunged again
Reproductive rights activist Morgentaler gets the Order of Canada (I love this country)
Rampaging construction vehicle kills Israel
Just a another day in paradise.

But my life is different. I heard stories of surviving the death grip of alcoholism today.  I listened to a friend talk about her 27 year old son who found her after she'd given him up for adoption at birth.  I was asked for help to work the steps by someone working on recovery.  I leave tomorrow to spend 3 days with someone I love deeply. I have more friends and more love in my life than most people can imagine.  I have a God of my understanding who never leaves me and listens to my pleas for help with parts of my life that need improvement.

Counting my blessings seems like a good way to pass the time.