to take a quote from the apostle paul totally out of context, reverse the intent, and paraphrase, i will simply say that it is a holy experience to fall into the hands of a living G-d.
three hours ago, i was in a nicu room baptizing a baby born at 24 weeks, four days. her name is hope rose. three years ago, her mother had attended church in my parish, and i had given her a ride home one afternoon, after church. after she delivered her daughter at home, around 7am, and was taken to the hospital, stabilized, seen to, etc., she told the chaplain to call us. i got the call RIGHT, and i mean RIGHT as i was exiting onto my street, to come home and pack for my trip to alabama. i was within spitting distance of taking my shoes off, washing my face, doing some yoga, and packing. i had ten thousand things on my mental to do list. i'd had a very productive day at work, but nothing nuts. this, oh boy, man...this was NUTS.
i won't go into detail about specifics, because they aren't really important, and they aren't mine to share. but i can tell you that this little girl and her mother have a long road in front of them, seperately and together.
i'd never seen any person that small, in my life. my nephew addison is growing inside my sister-in-law right this second, and he's a whole week older than this little girl. she weighs 650 grams. my hand looked so giant on her chest. not even my hand, just my finger, inside a blue surgical glove, dripping sterile water on her chest, trying not to shake and making every effor to touch her as lightly as i could, so her skin wouldn't tear. she looked so small. so fragile. i don't even know what the whole top of her face looks like. G-d does. and G-d knows all the things about her that are important and worth knowing. i know tonight, i got to be the one, on behalf all G-d's children, to invite her into a new kind of life. i know G-d had already invited her, and i was just the one saying the words. but it was an experience, a pause, an already-not-yet, and holy moment. i seriously get a little wobbly just thinking about it, now.
i know that she, like all of the rest of us, will live just as long as she is supposed to, and not one minute longer. i keep wishing for this perfect life for her...something out of a novel or a lifetime, television for women drama, because this is TOTALLY THEIR STORY LINE, DUDE. and i'm writing it in my head...no long term health problems, no developmental delays, obscenely high i.q., well adjusted, prom queen, ivy league, faboulous at whatever she decides to do with her life, wife, mother, vestry member, grandmother, tomato grower... mostly, i think, at the bottom of it, i hope she gets to grow up and have a satisfying life, to meet the people of G-d, to see the world around her, to smell the rain, and skin her knees, to make friends, to have koolaide mustaches, to eat an oreo, to learn how to sing "Jesus Loves Me", to do all the things i think little kids and grown up should learn to do. she rests in the mercy of G-d, who knew and her and made her and has a plan for her that is more than even i could ask or imagine.
in your quiet time, whether it's in prayer or yoga or traffic, please remember hope rose, and ask G-d to bless her. mil gras.
mil besos,
rmg
30 June 2010
21 June 2010
yeah, so...
writing about my dad feels like a lot of different things, some of them are good, some of them are bad, and some of them are really hard. one thing i don't want, from anyone, any time i write about him, is sympathy. i hate that. never feel sorry for us, for me, for him, for the family. everyone gets dealt a rough hand in life, at some juncture, and no one gets to choose what their rough hand is. you just play your cards with grace and dignity. but no pity, please.
i missed him yesterday. i missed him all day long. i can hear him so clearly, on most days. sometimes, i can smell him. sometimes, he is so close, i feel like if i turned around fast enough, i could catch a glimpse of him. there is a part of me, a little girl part of me, that is sure he lives in the moon, and can hear me when i talk out loud to him. i know that's bizarre and ritualistic, and i should know better, blah blah blah, but i do it anyway. he wasn't a perfecet father. but he was mine. i have this list of questions i would just love to have answers to, but, as with so many questions i have for my father, for G-d, for the universe, those are not for this life.
i am proud to be his child, every single day. i hope i make him proud. i could care less about the big questions, any more. i really just crave the comfort, the little piddly things like "goodnight" and "good morning" and " call us when you get there". it's silly, and it's so self-indulgent to weep over them. but it happens, nonetheless.
mil besos,
rmg
i missed him yesterday. i missed him all day long. i can hear him so clearly, on most days. sometimes, i can smell him. sometimes, he is so close, i feel like if i turned around fast enough, i could catch a glimpse of him. there is a part of me, a little girl part of me, that is sure he lives in the moon, and can hear me when i talk out loud to him. i know that's bizarre and ritualistic, and i should know better, blah blah blah, but i do it anyway. he wasn't a perfecet father. but he was mine. i have this list of questions i would just love to have answers to, but, as with so many questions i have for my father, for G-d, for the universe, those are not for this life.
i am proud to be his child, every single day. i hope i make him proud. i could care less about the big questions, any more. i really just crave the comfort, the little piddly things like "goodnight" and "good morning" and " call us when you get there". it's silly, and it's so self-indulgent to weep over them. but it happens, nonetheless.
mil besos,
rmg
17 June 2010
song for sarah nan
she was my great-grandmother's last child, and the only one of those eight children to have been born in a hospital. she died yesterday. her name was sarah nan, but when i was little, i thought it was "sarah and anne". of course, i misheard a lot of things when i was little, and was usually too shy to ask for clarification, so i didn't realize her middle name was actually "nan" until i was in my late teens, and looking through photos. i ran across one with "nan" writeen across the back, but it looked just like aunt sarah. i was so confused that i took the photo to my grandmother, who said it was, in fact, aunt sarah, but they'd just written "nan" on the back, since it was her middle name. suddenly, "sarah and anne" made a lot more sense to me. crazy, right?
i wasn't particularly close to my great-aunt sarah, but not especially distant, either. she was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, an aunt, a daughter, and a friend. she saw elvis presley and jerry lee lewis in a louisiana hayride show at cherry springs dance hall, one night. when she was a teenager, she would ride my uncle's horse, old girl, between the house and the garage at breakneck speeds that apparently would scare the pants off my great-grandmother. by the time i knew her, my aunt sarah was much tamer. in fact, when i first heard that story, about five years ago, i remember looking at my aunt sue (her older sister), and saying "aunt sarah?? sarah sessom did that?" aunt sue got a kick of how suprised i was. time tamed sarah nan in several ways, and none of them were particularly kind, i don't think.
she married the boy that took her to see elvis and jerry lee. and he died in a car wreck not too long after that. she almost died in the same wreck. they didn't have any children. some years later, she married my uncle clayton, who was from a little town, too. they lived in texarkana for all of my life, and raised two girls. we saw them a couple of times a year, mostly at holidays. aunt sarah's birthday was july 4th, and that was one of the holidays we'd usually see them.
when i look at her through my child's eyes, i remember her laughing, or telling stories. i remember that she always had the most fantastically puffy hair. i didn't realize until i was much older that the puffy hair served to cover up scars from the carwreck. i remember the way her eyes would twinkle when she would tease, or tell a joke that was a little bit naughty. i remember the way she would make smoking a cigarette look like the most glamourous and fun thing you could ever do. i remember her hands, and the way that she favored the small, slim watches that my grandmother wore, too. she looked so much like my great-grandmother the last time i saw her. i can't remember a single conversation that we ever had just between the two of us, and i can't tell you what i thought we would have talked about, ever. but she was part of the fabric of my family, and her face is indeliblely marked on the history of who we all are, together.
when i look at sarah through my adult eyes, i see so many things that i wish could have been different for her, for all of us, really. but none of that matters, now. because yesterday, everything became different. sarah now knows as she is fully known, and the fears and percieved failures, the pain and the unanswerable questions were all lifted in a moment of grace that for her, will stretch out into eternity. and one day, we will all be together again, perfected and known and whole in houses made just for us by God and Jesus. that's amazing to me, and such a comfort to know. God bless Sarah Nan. God bless us all.
mil besos,
rmg
i wasn't particularly close to my great-aunt sarah, but not especially distant, either. she was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, an aunt, a daughter, and a friend. she saw elvis presley and jerry lee lewis in a louisiana hayride show at cherry springs dance hall, one night. when she was a teenager, she would ride my uncle's horse, old girl, between the house and the garage at breakneck speeds that apparently would scare the pants off my great-grandmother. by the time i knew her, my aunt sarah was much tamer. in fact, when i first heard that story, about five years ago, i remember looking at my aunt sue (her older sister), and saying "aunt sarah?? sarah sessom did that?" aunt sue got a kick of how suprised i was. time tamed sarah nan in several ways, and none of them were particularly kind, i don't think.
she married the boy that took her to see elvis and jerry lee. and he died in a car wreck not too long after that. she almost died in the same wreck. they didn't have any children. some years later, she married my uncle clayton, who was from a little town, too. they lived in texarkana for all of my life, and raised two girls. we saw them a couple of times a year, mostly at holidays. aunt sarah's birthday was july 4th, and that was one of the holidays we'd usually see them.
when i look at her through my child's eyes, i remember her laughing, or telling stories. i remember that she always had the most fantastically puffy hair. i didn't realize until i was much older that the puffy hair served to cover up scars from the carwreck. i remember the way her eyes would twinkle when she would tease, or tell a joke that was a little bit naughty. i remember the way she would make smoking a cigarette look like the most glamourous and fun thing you could ever do. i remember her hands, and the way that she favored the small, slim watches that my grandmother wore, too. she looked so much like my great-grandmother the last time i saw her. i can't remember a single conversation that we ever had just between the two of us, and i can't tell you what i thought we would have talked about, ever. but she was part of the fabric of my family, and her face is indeliblely marked on the history of who we all are, together.
when i look at sarah through my adult eyes, i see so many things that i wish could have been different for her, for all of us, really. but none of that matters, now. because yesterday, everything became different. sarah now knows as she is fully known, and the fears and percieved failures, the pain and the unanswerable questions were all lifted in a moment of grace that for her, will stretch out into eternity. and one day, we will all be together again, perfected and known and whole in houses made just for us by God and Jesus. that's amazing to me, and such a comfort to know. God bless Sarah Nan. God bless us all.
mil besos,
rmg
02 June 2010
perspective
this time last year, i was pretty strung out. i would wake up crying, i would go to sleep crying. dreams were all cobwebby and surreal, and i felt so trapped in my life, and so very alone. this june feels so very starkly different. i wake up ready for the day. i go to sleep tired, but fulfilled. my dreams...well, they seem to be variations on a theme, but they don't scare me, and usually don't make me cry. i feel like this life is something to be celebrated and fully lived, even on days when i don't quite know what that means. and while i am alone much of the time, the weight of the aloneness feels substantive, but not weighty.
i was doing yoga the other day, with my eyes closed, being aware of my breath, focusing my intentions, being present, and in my mind's eye, i could just see Jesus on a yoga mat, right across from me, in full lotus, with a wide grin on His face, telling me that this was the absolute right thing for me at that moment. last week, one of my little old ladies told me "honey, you are in your prime." i woke up in north carolina on monday morning, to the six-toothed grin of a gorgeous eight month old, with her arms held out to me, and in the picture that her momma snapped of us, i saw the woman i want to be, and am in the process of becoming. yes, i'll admit that i loved seeing a picture of myself with a baby in my arms. but in that shot, i looked just how i felt in that moment...enough, maybe even beautiful, happy and contented. it's a strange thing to wake up to the person you are, to stretch out into that, and feel where the corners and edges are, and to feel like it's a wonderful, familiar, and new place to be. i had no idea this is what this would feel like, and i want it to last. so i'm trying to approach it with open hands, and not hold it so tight i squeeze the life out of it. and at the bottom of all of this, i have this intense feeling of gratitude. "thank you" seems like it's too small to express my emotion. and so, i find myself praying at the oddest of times, just letting G-d know how this feels, how happy i am, how aware i've become, and that i am willing to do and go and be and see whatever is next, because that's what it's about.
to realize the unconditionality of love, and of Love is huge. it's so big that sometimes, i just have to weep. to lay down any and all hope, and to walk away from hope, and just love is huge. love without expectation or reservation or reciprocity, but love because you can't help but feel it, from head to toe, inside and outside, that's where i am, that's where i live. to create real and lasting relationships, to continue to carve family out of friends, and to make friends with my family, to open my arms and eyes and heart to the full expression of G-d's love and intent for me and the universe is no small thing. it's sometimes a little scary, but so are rollercoasters, and they almost always are thrilling and wonderful, and on this ride, i'm never worried about the operator falling asleep at the switch. it doesn't have to make sense to me, because it was never about me, anyway. i think that's pretty great.
mil besos,
rmg
i was doing yoga the other day, with my eyes closed, being aware of my breath, focusing my intentions, being present, and in my mind's eye, i could just see Jesus on a yoga mat, right across from me, in full lotus, with a wide grin on His face, telling me that this was the absolute right thing for me at that moment. last week, one of my little old ladies told me "honey, you are in your prime." i woke up in north carolina on monday morning, to the six-toothed grin of a gorgeous eight month old, with her arms held out to me, and in the picture that her momma snapped of us, i saw the woman i want to be, and am in the process of becoming. yes, i'll admit that i loved seeing a picture of myself with a baby in my arms. but in that shot, i looked just how i felt in that moment...enough, maybe even beautiful, happy and contented. it's a strange thing to wake up to the person you are, to stretch out into that, and feel where the corners and edges are, and to feel like it's a wonderful, familiar, and new place to be. i had no idea this is what this would feel like, and i want it to last. so i'm trying to approach it with open hands, and not hold it so tight i squeeze the life out of it. and at the bottom of all of this, i have this intense feeling of gratitude. "thank you" seems like it's too small to express my emotion. and so, i find myself praying at the oddest of times, just letting G-d know how this feels, how happy i am, how aware i've become, and that i am willing to do and go and be and see whatever is next, because that's what it's about.
to realize the unconditionality of love, and of Love is huge. it's so big that sometimes, i just have to weep. to lay down any and all hope, and to walk away from hope, and just love is huge. love without expectation or reservation or reciprocity, but love because you can't help but feel it, from head to toe, inside and outside, that's where i am, that's where i live. to create real and lasting relationships, to continue to carve family out of friends, and to make friends with my family, to open my arms and eyes and heart to the full expression of G-d's love and intent for me and the universe is no small thing. it's sometimes a little scary, but so are rollercoasters, and they almost always are thrilling and wonderful, and on this ride, i'm never worried about the operator falling asleep at the switch. it doesn't have to make sense to me, because it was never about me, anyway. i think that's pretty great.
mil besos,
rmg
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