The other day, as I was washing a glass pitcher in the kitchen, I suddenly flashed back to the memory of receiving the lovely gift. It was 2003 and we had recently moved into our home in Ashland; our first real home of our married life, after a series of rentals through the early days of marriage, graduate school, and 4 moves in 6 years. To mark the occasion of official home ownership, we invited friends and family to join us for a traditional house blessing. The assistant rector of our home church at the time (Trinity Episcopal in Fredericksburg) led our guests in a litany as we moved from room to room, acknowledging the blessing of shelter, recognizing the joy of community, and asking for peace, health, and security in the years to come. Then we celebrated in the most traditional way: with food, beverage, love, and laughter shared with good friends.
In the sacrament of baptism, we recognize a person's entrance into the church family. The congregation at large promises to support the recently baptized as they also confirm their own commitment to Christ. Similarly, the sacrament of marriage calls for the couple to confirm their commitment to each other but also calls on the witnessing congregation to "do all in [their] power to uphold these two persons in their marriage". Although it is not quite the major sacrament of baptism or marriage, a house blessing similarly acknowledges the role the community plays in support of individual members of the body of Christ.
As I thought of the blessing we received on that day, I pondered that concept of the word "blessing". Some might think of it as a protective shield; an impermeable surface that covers a person (or family) and keeps out any and all evil. As most of us know, though, bad things can (and often do) happen to good people. Does that mean God is not doing his job? Does that mean that we, as people of faith, have not done enough to secure the favor of an omniscient diety? A simple survey of a variety of faiths would tell you that there are many ideas on this topic. I am sure entire theology courses (and certainly countless weekly homilies) have addressed this very theme.
Personally, I don't ascribe to the idea that bad things happen to us because we do or do not believe or do certain things in a predetermined quantity or in a particular way. When our home was blessed in 2003, it didn't erase the possibility of tragedy from our lives. It wasn't an insurance policy. Rather, it allowed us to share our home and our faith with our community in a public way. Flash forward seven years to 2010 and we see how that same community (along with many more supporters and friends who had joined our Network along the way) held us up during one of our darkest times. The blessing was not there to shield us; it was there to catch our fall, like a soft pillow.
Charlotte's 10th birthday approaches this week. I have been a mother for over a decade. As I reflected on that concept, I looked back over my "musings" within this blog that fell around Charlotte's birthday. I was struck by how much a post from 2011 touched on thoughts of grief that remain valid and current for me today. In that post, I recounted Charlotte's birth story and said, "These memories stick with me, as they must with every mother. Before her illness, those memories filled me with joy. The joy remains, colored with sadness." Was Pixar reading my blog? Wasn't I just talking about this last week?
I also thought of Sheryl Sandberg's recent reflection on the death of her husband. After a month of grief, Sheryl said, "I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser." When I read that statement, I uttered a hearty, "Amen". Grief will age you in a way that nothing else will. It will change you physically and mentally. It alters your perspective, for better or worse.
I can't help but look at Charlotte's peers, celebrating their own decade of life, and wonder what would have been, had cancer not invaded her brain in 2009.
I'm still not sure what to do or say this time of year. It doesn't feel right (or necessary) to fall into a puddle on the floor but I can't ignore the heaviness that sits in my heart for about a month, starting in the middle of June. For now, I'll do my best to surf the waves, knowing the Network is always there to catch me, should I need a rescue mission.
Happy birthday, Monkey Butt. Thanks for making me a mama. I miss you every day.
Charlotte Jennie Reynolds
7/9/2005-1/6/2010
In the sacrament of baptism, we recognize a person's entrance into the church family. The congregation at large promises to support the recently baptized as they also confirm their own commitment to Christ. Similarly, the sacrament of marriage calls for the couple to confirm their commitment to each other but also calls on the witnessing congregation to "do all in [their] power to uphold these two persons in their marriage". Although it is not quite the major sacrament of baptism or marriage, a house blessing similarly acknowledges the role the community plays in support of individual members of the body of Christ.
As I thought of the blessing we received on that day, I pondered that concept of the word "blessing". Some might think of it as a protective shield; an impermeable surface that covers a person (or family) and keeps out any and all evil. As most of us know, though, bad things can (and often do) happen to good people. Does that mean God is not doing his job? Does that mean that we, as people of faith, have not done enough to secure the favor of an omniscient diety? A simple survey of a variety of faiths would tell you that there are many ideas on this topic. I am sure entire theology courses (and certainly countless weekly homilies) have addressed this very theme.
Personally, I don't ascribe to the idea that bad things happen to us because we do or do not believe or do certain things in a predetermined quantity or in a particular way. When our home was blessed in 2003, it didn't erase the possibility of tragedy from our lives. It wasn't an insurance policy. Rather, it allowed us to share our home and our faith with our community in a public way. Flash forward seven years to 2010 and we see how that same community (along with many more supporters and friends who had joined our Network along the way) held us up during one of our darkest times. The blessing was not there to shield us; it was there to catch our fall, like a soft pillow.
Charlotte's 10th birthday approaches this week. I have been a mother for over a decade. As I reflected on that concept, I looked back over my "musings" within this blog that fell around Charlotte's birthday. I was struck by how much a post from 2011 touched on thoughts of grief that remain valid and current for me today. In that post, I recounted Charlotte's birth story and said, "These memories stick with me, as they must with every mother. Before her illness, those memories filled me with joy. The joy remains, colored with sadness." Was Pixar reading my blog? Wasn't I just talking about this last week?
I also thought of Sheryl Sandberg's recent reflection on the death of her husband. After a month of grief, Sheryl said, "I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser." When I read that statement, I uttered a hearty, "Amen". Grief will age you in a way that nothing else will. It will change you physically and mentally. It alters your perspective, for better or worse.
I can't help but look at Charlotte's peers, celebrating their own decade of life, and wonder what would have been, had cancer not invaded her brain in 2009.
I'm still not sure what to do or say this time of year. It doesn't feel right (or necessary) to fall into a puddle on the floor but I can't ignore the heaviness that sits in my heart for about a month, starting in the middle of June. For now, I'll do my best to surf the waves, knowing the Network is always there to catch me, should I need a rescue mission.
Happy birthday, Monkey Butt. Thanks for making me a mama. I miss you every day.
Charlotte Jennie Reynolds
7/9/2005-1/6/2010
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