sisyphean

• parent-teacher conferences
• forms, endless, endless forms to fill out
• take kids to get blood/urine samples for their physicals (which happened over a month ago)
• bobby home sick two days
• stella half day tuesday
• both kids off thursday for veteran's day
• keeping up the household
• WORK: five classes. five billion ungraded written assignments. forgetting things, things slipping through my fingers. the threat of student evaluations. insane and slippery paperwork for four guest speakers' honoraria.
• a bunch of other stuff i probably forgot.
• oh, and grief slapping one upside the head, randomly. "part of the process"

ican'tdoit ican'tdoit ican'tdoit ican'tcan'tcan'tcan'tcan't

iwillnotfeelsorryformyself. no.

UGH. ARGH. AUGH. It will pass, I know it will....

from dad

Since I seem to be having trouble doing writing of my own here, I will continue to borrow the words of others. From an email this morning that brought some much-needed encouragement on a very Monday-ish Monday:
I must say that in view of the tough problems (not "issues," not merely "challenges") that you often face, your resilience and ability to manage the things in your life are quite remarkable. You should take a minute from time to time and just remind yourself of that, and draw some well-deserved confidence from the way you have overcome these difficulties. A truly exceptional young woman, as we have known for all these __ years.

church!

I've gone and done it. Saint Nobody is officially a member of Saint Bart's--a wonderful Episcopal church in midtown Manhattan. I'd been looking at the Episcopal church for a few years and found myself drawn to the Anglican tradition--the church of John Donne, George Herbert, and Auden, and C. S. Lewis--what's not to like?

I attended for the first time on New Year's Eve (with a little help from a friend), and have gone regularly since then. I got to know my way around a bit thanks to a four-week membership class taught by the Vicar, Buddy Stallings, and an orientation session given by the Rector, Bill Tully, and the Rev. Lynn Sanders, who is in charge of shepherding new members.

I brought the kids for the first time last Sunday, which was a challenge, but manageable thanks to the very caring people there. They had a special ceremony for new members during the 11 o'clock Choral Eucharist service. I feel very welcomed and am looking forward to finding out how I can contribute my time and energy to St. Bart's many good works.

church!

I've gone and done it. Saint Nobody is a member of Saint Bart's--a wonderful Episcopal church in midtown Manhattan. I'd been looking at the Episcopal church for a few years and found myself drawn to the Anglican tradition--the church of John Donne, George Herbert, and Auden, and C. S. Lewis--what's not to like?

I attended for the first time on New Year's Eve (with a little help from a friend), and have gone regularly since then. I got to know my way around a bit thanks to a four-week membership class taught by the Vicar, Buddy Stallings, and an orientation session given by the Rector, Bill Tully, and the Rev. Lynn Sanders, who is in charge of shepherding new members.

I brought the kids for the first time last Sunday, which was a challenge, but manageable thanks to the very caring people there. They had a special ceremony for new members during the 11 o'clock Choral Eucharist service. I feel very welcomed and am looking forward to finding out how I can contribute my time and energy to St. Bart's many good works.

abyss of love

I ask no one to pronounce, for I dare not pronounce myself, what are the possibilities of resistance in the human will to the loving will of God. There are times when they seem to me--thinking of myself more than of others--almost infinite. But I know that there is something which must be infinite. I am obliged to believe in an abyss of love which is deeper than the abyss of death: I dare not lose faith in that love. I sink into death, eternal death, if I do. I must feel that this love is compassing the universe. More about it I cannot know. I leave myself and all to him.

--Frederick Denison Maurice, from Theological Essays, rpt. in Glorious Companions: Five Centuries of Anglican Spirituality by Richard H. Schmidt.

beautiful

Just heard a lovely version of this on Pandora.com by Chris and Meredith Thompson. It seems apropos for a lot of situations right now.

There Is a Balm in Gilead
African American Spiritual

Sometimes I feel discouraged and think my work’s in vain,
But then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again.
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin sick soul.

If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul,
You can tell the love of Jesus and say, "He died for all."
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin sick soul.

Don’t ever feel discouraged, for Jesus is your friend;
And if you lack for knowledge, He’ll never refuse to lend.
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin sick soul.

over the river

Last Thanksgiving, in the wake of the news that my marriage was ending, I took the kids to visit with my brother David, his wife Jennifer, and their family in State College, PA. Not only was it great to talk with them, but we also had a wonderful dinner at Jennifer's parents' house in Williamsport. After dinner, David and I took Bobby and his cousin Davey on a walk to the Little League Hall of Fame, just a few blocks from the house.

On the drive home at the end of the weekend I popped in a CD that had come with an issue of Paste magazine Bob had picked up somewhere. It was a compilation of contemporary music that spanned the sort of alt-Americana-singer-songwriter-pop-rock genres I favor. I kept coming back to one song, "All in Good Time" by someone named Ron Sexsmith. I'd heard the name on WFUV but couldn't place him, and in fact always got him mixed up with another singer-songwriter with a similar name, Martin Sexton. As I played the winsome tune over and over, I let the lyrics sink in:
But in these hours of serious doubt
Through the coal black lonely night
Something told me, “it’ll work out”
Something deep inside
Was comforting me

All in good time
the bad times will be gone

I was far from believing that things would ever get better. I didn't see the point in hoping for a future where "it'll work out." I didn't believe "everything happens for a reason," "God has a plan," "something better is in store," or "when a door closes a window opens," or any of that. But still there was something about the combination of Ron's music and voice and optimistic message that stuck, and somehow buoyed me, just for a few minutes. It wasn't until later that I learned that he had gone through a divorce with children himself, and had grown up in a "broken home" after his father left the family. Something struck a chord and I felt the songwriter's voice "deep inside...comforting me" like an old and trusted friend.

This year, Thanksgiving will be different. Bobby is riding to State College with my friend Jeannie and her Boston terrier, Otis, to spend the holiday with his bestest cousin, Davey. Stella will be with Dad and his family, and I'm taking a bus to New Jersey for a peaceful dinner with my Uncle Phil and Aunt Cheryl. And I am thankful for family, for love, for my kids' thriving and having a good time, for quiet time, for the tentative optimism of a new political era in the face of economic woes. I'm thankful that I have been able to keep on, do my job (for the most part), take care of my family, not give up despite very strong urges to do so. Most of all, I'm thankful for the faith that has returned to me, for the people who have been praying for me to get back there, and for the someone who has pointed me back in that direction.

anniversaire

Halloween is not a happy time for me this year. There is no other way to say this. A year ago tonight Bob told me he wanted to separate. I had taken the kids out trick-or-treating by myself while he was working, and then when he came home, long after they were asleep, it happened. Life as I knew it started to creak and crack and crumble around me.

Today I am being gentle with myself. Although I acknowledge the feelings that come up, I am trying not to "dwell on it," as my mom used to say. I am focusing on getting some of my mountains of work done. I am focusing on having fun with the kids--this year we are teaming up with another family for trick-or-treat. I am going for a run. I am remembering to breathe. I am looking forward to tomorrow.

I am also reading Psalm 27. Yesterday I got a card from my Aunt Jan, my godmother, suggesting that I read the following verses:

1
The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?
The LORD is the refuge of my life; of whom then should I go in dread?

7
Hear, O LORD, when I call aloud; show me favour and answer me.

14
Wait for the LORD; be strong, take courage, and wait for the LORD.

Because I cannot for the life of me find the white leather-bound Revised Standard Version my grandparents gave me as a kid (probably around the age I would have been confirmed if my family had stayed with a church), I have been using The New English Bible (Oxford Study Edition) I bought for Tony York's "History of the English Bible" course in grad school. Anglophile that I am, it's the very thing, except that I often miss the familiar cadences I recall.

Yes, Dear Reader, Saint Nobody has just put Bible verses on her blog. No, she has not gone off the deep end. Well, maybe she has, but she is starting to believe that a Presence, a Power is there to rescue her from the depths and buoy her to the surface. She's bobbing in the waves, getting some air, just enough to keep going, and sometimes more.