Big Love

Even broken, my heart loves big.

I feel like it fills so full it overflows.

Today I am in love with the world. Is it that I can see God in you? Is it that you, too, are so full you are overflowing?

Let's sit together and overflow together.

Because even broken, my heart seems to work.

The new gig

This week I accepted a job as the Executive Director of CareNet, RI. CareNet is a pregnancy resource center that supports women facing unplanned pregnancies. I have been volunteering for them for about 3 years now, teaching childbirth classes. For a brief time in the fall, I also worked there as the volunteer coordinator.

I am excited to be doing this job. CareNet offers critically necessary support to women who are often in a crisis situation. Everything we do is free of charge for the clients, and our services range from free pregnancy testing, peer counciling, limited ultrasound, childbirbirth classes, and parenting support. We also offer post-abortion bible studies.

Please keep us in your prayers.

Every day

When I wake up, it is the first thought that enters my mind. My friend. My loss. My sadness.

And at night, as I am drifting off again, it is the last thought of the day.

Day in and day out.

During the day, if you bump into me at the grocery store, or see me in a drumming class, or chat with me by phone, you may not recognize that something has changed. It's not the brave face, exactly. More like the organic part of me that feels joy and love and is happy to be living in such a beautiful world. That part of me is alive and well and real.

But in the silence of the morning, or the darkness of my room at night, my thoughts turn to Mali. My mind drifts to a dusty red courtyard. I imagine I am there and we are talking. Laughing. Playing. I go over and over the conversations. The moments that I thought were just the beginning turned out to be the end, as well. I hear your rhythms in my head, play them in my heart.

I am having a hard time with this.

Grief, face to face

When my friend Mazé died, I spent a week crying. It was one of the saddest weeks of my life.

And I noticed some things.

People had a hard time dealing with my grief. My mom kept trying to rush me off the phone. Some of my friends didn't want to be near me when I was crying. Others seemed to be having a difficult time understanding why I was so upset since I had only known Mazé for a short time.

The pain came in waves. Sometimes I would be ok. And then, suddenly it would hit me that I was never going to see him again, never play the drum with him again, and I would lose it.

This went on for a full week.

I prayed a lot. Prayed to God for Mazé. Prayed for his children and his fiance. And then I started talking to Mazé. Sometimes in english... sometimes in french. Sometimes a crazy mix of the two.

Then one day I woke up with such joy in my heart. I felt joy for having known him. I felt like I had had great luck to have met him.... so soon before his unexpected and untimely death. I felt an almost manic elation at the realization that God had given me this enormous gift. I spent a week feeling grateful. I began to believe that Mazé himself was praying for me. I knew he wouldn't want me to grieve. And I knew he wouldn't want me to feel alone in my grief. I felt the warmth of his love pouring down on me.

And then it was back. Little by little, the joy began, once again, to recede and the grief crept back in. All this week I have had moments of it. Not the racking sobs of the first week, but the dull ache of loss. The stomach churning pain of it. The moments of remembrance, followed by a sense of such sadness it takes my breath away. I know that when I travel back to Mali, the loss will be even more acute. I can already imagine what it will be like to get off the plane, knowing that there is an empty place on the drumming bench.

I am three weeks in and while it is changing, shifting, elusive, the grief doesn't seem to be going anywhere. And maybe some of my friends and family think I should be over it by now. Moving on.

But I am not.

It isn't over.

I think it is just beginning.

Mazé Kouyaté

My dear friend and teacher, Mazé Kouyaté, died unexpectedly this week in Bamako. We suspect it was a cerebral hemmorhage.

Mazé was a very intuitive and powerful teacher. When I studied with him, he never said a word, or even used facial expressions, but would just demonstrate what he wanted me to do and wait until I got it. I will never forget what a thrill it was when it all finally clicked. I didn't know until afterwards that it was a thrill for him, too!

I came back from Mali with his drum, which was, for me, an extraordinary honor.

And while this is a profound personal loss, I also feel deeply grateful that I got a chance to study with and be friends with this gentle and wonderful man.

Tu me manques, mon cher. Toujours.

Bubbling over...

When I work at Nicole's, I often cook several dishes at once. I feel like a kitchen dervish, chopping here, tasting there, lifting lids on steaming pots and stirring stir fries while the smells of baking things emanate from the oven. I am a culinary mad scientist.

My life is kind of like that, too. Together, the many dishes can sometimes be overwhelming, but each is a labor of love. Each dish is carefully prepared, the ingredients are lovingly chopped, the recipe developed from years of experience, the main components are brought together into delicious and complex relationships which yield tasty results.

Does stuff get burned? Sure, sometimes.

But at the end of the day, my crazy kitchen of a life is a great joy.

Yum.

Surprise surprise

God surprises me.

I never know what to expect from Holy week. And each year it is different.

This year, I did all the same stuff, but the big surprise was that the moment... you know, THE moment, was during the Great Vigil tonight. It was when my priest was singing the beginning of the liturgy, in the darkness, in the candlelight. When suddenly I was overcome with gratitude and love and filled with such joy I could barely contain myself.

Some years, the resurrection sneaks up on me some time between Easter and Pentecost.

This year it came, a few moments early, at the very beginning of the Vigil.

Christ is risen, indeed.

Praise God.

Rokia Traoré - Bowmboï LIVE: Sara (Nonesuch 2004)

My hero.

And so it begins

Day 6 on my new food plan.

I tell you, cooking for my client has helped me a lot. She needs her food to be nutritionally excellent because it is fuel. Plus it has to taste great. So even before I went to the doctor, I was thinking about making some changes to my diet.

The first few days on Weight Watchers were TOUGH. Your body kind of goes into shock when you first start a program. I was cranky and light headed and miserable. But I have been there before, so I know it is temporary.

Since then, I have felt really great physically. Clear headed. More energy.

I must admit I have some fear around this. There have been a couple of times in the past when I lost a large amount of weight and then fell off the wagon and gained it back.

This time, though, there are some different dynamics. For one thing, the health issue has never been the main motivator before. I just want to feel better. I don't want my doctor mentioning "Gastric Bypass" EVER again. I want to be able to dance Dansa without feeling like I am going to pass out. And I want to be able to ride bikes and play my kids while they are still interested in hanging out with me.

Another big difference this time is that I have people praying for me. I know that my Tuesday bible study group and my priest are pulling for me. I know if you are the praying type, you're praying for me. I know I can pray at any moment of any day and God will be there, through thick and thin.

It's funny. I belonged to Overeaters Anonymous for years... and while we often prayed for ourselves, we never actually prayed for each other, at least not formally. I wonder if that would have helped?

In any case, having God in my corner has helped me feel less afraid of this process. I know I am the one who has to do the work... but God is giving me the strength, and more importantly, the courage, to do it.

Backwards body dismorphia

I know people who think they are fat, even when they are thin. They look in a mirror and the image looking back is big, but in reality, they are normal sized.

I am pretty much the exact opposite. My body size is much larger in reality than it is in my head. When I look in the mirror, I see round, yes, but mostly I see myself as a fabulous babe. :-)

It often comes as a shock when I see someone on television who is my size. To me, they look so much fatter than how I see myself. I have a hard time connecting the dots. And I wonder if this is one of the reasons it has been hard for me to maintain a healthier weight.

In any case, this week my doctor has stated, gently but firmly, that my weight is a health issue. He has suggested I should do something about it.

So today, I joined Weight Watchers and hope that I am able, for today at least, to eat a healthier (and smaller) diet.

And maybe it will be cool to have a body that actually reflects my self image.

Prayers answered, questions raised.

My friend's husband does not have pancreatic cancer. The tumor is benign. When I saw him last night I felt like I was seeing Lazarus back from the dead. This week has been hellish for them... the days between finding the tumor and the biopsy.

I have a confession. I did not handle this well.

I have way too much experience with pancreatic cancer for one lifetime. And I love my friends so much it was unbearable to think that they might have to go through it.

I am a woman of great faith, but truly I could not wrap my head or heart around this. Like Jesus at Lazarus' grave... I was weeping, even while there was a tiny part of me that knew I should be trusting God. But frankly, I couldn't see how God could make this right. I petitioned him even as I could taste the terror in my mouth.

Lord, I want to believe. Help thou my unbelief.

And even now, when the crisis has been averted, I wonder about all those whose tumors are NOT benign. My husbands brother suffered horribly... and left a couple of kids and a wife.

The Lenten sun is glaring. I cannot hide. I have found a place of fear that I didn't know I had. God, may your light heal me. I pray.

And thank you, Lord. Thank you.

Prayers

If you are reading this post, I want to ask a favor.

My friend Paul is having a biopsy on Thursday on his pancreas. Over the weekend they found a mass on it.

Please pray that the mass is benign. Pray for him, his beautiful wife and his children. Pray that they will have the strength to deal with whatever is coming.

The dent revisted

So, a friend read my blog post about the dent and called me.

"I want you to get your car fixed" she said. She explained that she felt there was enough abundance in God's world for giving AND car repairs. That it wasn't an either/or proposition.

I was stunned. But not really. I didn't want to accept her offer. But I did. I cried.

Nguyen said 'You know it's not necessary.'

And I said, yeah, I know. But it is a gift and I am really grateful.

So if you see me driving a big SUV today, it is a rental while my Mazda is in the shop getting a new door panel.

Thank you, my friend. And thank you, God, too.

You, yes, You...

The doctor with the yarmulke.

You, beautiful Muslim woman with the head scarf in the produce aisle. Or you,

Monk,

Walking down Westminster street, white rope tied around your waist

Brown hooded back

Black shoes

You

When I see you, I am reminded of how much I love God. And how much I love that you, too, love God.

And it makes me love you.

Yes, you.

Into the desert

Walk with me, will you?

Because we will feel alone, you and I. We will feel like we are standing at the base of Mount Sinai in the Judean hills, with nothing, not a living thing, for miles.

We will forget that Jesus is walking with us. When we feel exposed and naked in the glare of the desert light, when we cannot find a place to hide, we will feel utterly and completely alone.

But we won't be, will we? We will be struggling in the desert with Jesus by our side. We need not wrestle with demons alone.

Take your time. The angels will wait. They will be there when we are finished and welcome us back into the world, to our ministries.

Walk with me, will you?

We need not do this alone.

The most beautiful dent

A few weeks ago, a woman backed her car into the side of my minivan and left a huge dent.

For the first time in 20 years, I filed a claim with my insurance company. A couple of days later, an adjuster came out to the house, assessed the damage, determined that I was not at fault and wrote me a check.

I fully intended to get the car repaired.

I love my car. It is the closest I have ever come to owning a 'new' car. It only had 30,000 miles on it when I bought it 7 years ago. So, I checked out repair facilities and determined that I could get a rental while it was in the shop. I made plans to fix the dent.

Nguyen thought I should take the money and donate it to charity. 'People are hungry. Things are bad. That money could really help someone." he said. I hate it when he gets all charitable. Especially when it is at my expense. Especially when it sheds light on my own lack of generosity.

Yeah, I said, that's all well and good, but what about my car? Am I really going to drive around in a minivan with a big dent in the side? I plan on driving this car into the ground. I want it to look nice while I do.

"Suit yourself." he said. "It's your car."

I made up my mind. I was going to fix the car.

But for some reason, I didn't pick up the phone to make an appointment. I just kept driving with the dent.

And then, on Monday, I was running errands when God suddenly clocked me upside the head.

The money I got for the dent was something like a year's wages in Vietnam or Mali. This money could really do some good for someone. I decided right then and there that I would send some of the money to my father in law in Nha Trang, some of it to my new family in Mali and the rest of it, well, Nguyen and I have a 10 year old mattress that could use replacing....

God shows us the way to live a generous and compassionate life. Apparently I am a slow learner.

From now on, when I see the dent, I won't see ugly, twisted metal and flaked paint. I will see a steaming bowl of rice with peanut sauce. And it will be lovely in my eyes.

Sigh. I just hate it when my husband is right.

Within the liturgy

Today, during his homily, our Rector announced that he is retiring and will be leaving at the end of June.

He said it so matter of factly I almost didn't react at first. His homily was a prelude to our annual meeting, which took place following the service. By the time I really registered what he said, we were on to the Nicene Creed.

As we said the creed, it occurred to me that it was totally appropriate for him to sandwich his announcement in the middle of a service. It put the whole thing in context. Everything of importance in our lives finds context in our life of worship. Our births are celebrated, our baptisms, our funerals and weddings. We participate in a mass for all of it. In times of health crisis, we can be anointed, we bring communion to the housebound and the sick. We cycle through the church year, experiencing ups, downs and in-betweens. The church, the body of Christ, give us a vehicle for experiencing the rhythms of life, a context for understanding the natural ebbs and flows of our lives.

When I first was baptised, it was an experience, in my mind at least, that was wholly centered on me. My husband and mom were on the shore. The minister and I were in the water. We said our bit and then I was submerged. When I participated in my first Episcopal baptism, later that year, I remember feeling a little sorry for the man who was baptised because immediately afterwards, we moved on to the communion and he didn't really seem to have time to process any of what happened.

How foolish I was.

More and more, lately, I am coming to love the way the liturgy invites us to step out of the spotlight and allow ourselves to merge with something bigger, finer, more beautiful than we can imagine.

I think Bob understands this. I think that is one of the reasons he is such a remarkable priest.

I am going to miss him terribly.

Je pleure

Yesterday was the first day I was out and about. I went to the Vietnamese New Year party at my sister in laws.

A couple of people asked about my trip and I couldn't talk about it without crying. I am not sure why. At one point, I was actually suppressing sobs. I was talking to my brother's girlfriend and I could barely hold it together.

Today I had lunch with my drumming teacher. I called him yesterday and asked if we could meet because I wanted to talk to him about the trip. We sat in an Asian restaurant on Angel street, slurping noodles and going over our two weeks in Mali. I cried big silent tears the whole time. I realized that even though we were there together, our experiences were not the same.

I am not sure what the crying is about. It sort of feels like joy sometimes. Other times it is just a sense of being emotionally overwhelmed. I feel raw when I talk about Mali. Open and very very vulnerable.

Me... only different

You know how when you hear your voice recorded it sounds totally foreign and strange? When I catch the sound of my own voice on a recording, I am always mortified to realize that that is how I must sound to others.

But here's something funny:

As I have been listening to the recordings of the drumming in Mali, I have caught a few bits of my own voice speaking French and for some reason, it is far less dorky. And though the French is fairly horribly fractured, in the recordings I realize that I didn't sound that bad while speaking it.

Who knew?

Spectacle Ballet du District de Bamako

Spectacle Ballet du District de Bamako
Video sent by pazonote

Thanks to my friend Bubudi at Djembefola forum! Here's a video of some of my friends from Mali. The second group to perform is the District of Bamako Troupe. My dance teacher is the man in gold with the dreadlocks. My drumming teacher is the soloist.