by Matt Markell
As I'm writing this, I'm grabbing a brief moment of respite in an otherwise lucid frame of mind. Exhausted as I am, I can't begin to describe what it's like to hear the sounds of my own child's cries and coos echoing throughout my home for the first time. We chose her name well. Annika means "grace" and Margarette means "pearl." I like to think of Annika as a pearl of grace. I think that's how I'm likely to treat her throughout her life. From day one, we've decided that Annika is now our greatest teacher in life, even as it is our job to mold and guide her through hers.
It's been interesting to absorb people's reactions to different events as my wife Kara has progressed throughout her pregnancy. The most visceral reaction both of us got from many people was in response to the news that she had decided to approach childbirth naturally and without pain medications. Some responses I got were surprisingly hostile, as though those who had chosen a different route were all of a sudden feeling indicted. The most common response I got was, "She says that now, but wait till she's gets in the throes of it..." Even though this is our first child, I began growing indignant to this response. I didn't want to write off what the message from experience might be, but I was beginning to realize that it was causing me to second guess my feelings about my wife approaching birth this way. It was my job to believe in my wife and stand by her decision. It was my job to KNOW that she could do this.
I began to realize that a lot of us (myself included) feel obliged to share our most interesting "horror stories" about experiences we've been through in the past in the name of wisdom. All of a sudden we feel as though we have license to share these experiences with the "unexpecting" first-timer. I think we believe that we're actually helping out. What I began to grow irritated with was not the fact that people who had been through this before wanted to offer advice, but that the "advice" was more of a disguise for one-upmanship. "I grew up with 15 siblings in a brown paper sack" "Oh yeah? Well I grew with 20 siblings at the bottom of a lake!"
It's interesting to me how we latch on to this technique as a way to "share wisdom". The deeper wisdom I've learned after watching my wife successfully endure the most painful experience of her life, is that I need to listen and support others expectations about what their role is going to be in the choices they make, even if it's not the way I would do it. I'm not talking about sugar-coating reality for others. My wife went into birth with a lot of help. We had a midwife and a doula to help her work through the pain, and we had prepared well in advance to help my wife know what she wanted to focus on during contractions. It's not like either of us had a romantic view of what was about to take place.
I think we often disguise lowered expectations for what we can and cannot do as "reality." After watching my wife go through what she went through, and to feel Annika's wrinkly head in my hands, I'm convinced that she is a "pearl of great price." My wife endured some intense pain which resulted in one of the most beautiful things we have received in life or are ever likely to receive. My wife needed to believe that she could pull off what some would suggest is the impossible.
This is the first lesson that the advent of Annika's arriving into the world has taught me. I hope to be less skeptical of other's dreams and decisions for their lives. Not at the expense of the tough realities that surround our choices, but at the heart and passion of those who choose to pursue such seemingly impossible tasks. I want my daughter to feel as though she is free to pursue her own dreams. It's my job to make sure she believes in herself enough to find the tools to do so. Annika has begun to teach me to honor my unspoken realities as well. I hope that more of us are apt to share stories of hope and wisdom with each other, rather than trying to best each other with the most horrible disaster stories we can think of.
I'm feeling so many things today, but most of all gratefulness to my wife for knowing and choosing her path, despite the warnings of those who decided that it was their job to share with us the "not likely's." Anyone who reads this has my permission to point out to me when I choose to respond to them this way as well. We should all be bells of mindfulness to each other. We should all be gifts of wisdom to each other.
We also had many wonderful people who were supportive of both of us. Their energy, and prayers were with us in the birthing room. We felt their presence with us. There is no more powerful experience!
Matt Markell is a candidate for confirmation at St. Paul's. He was baptized on January 13, 2008. His daughter, Annika Margarette, was born on January 20th, 2008.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Seasons
by Ellen Hill
Seasons
I heard a little voice last Sunday.
It belonged to one of our many new toddlers. It was strong, clear, and confident. A comment made about something she found interesting.
Some Sundays, I sit amazed at this influx of little bodies, with strong sturdy legs investigating new spaces. A small face pressed against the glass to experience its rainbow qualities. The tiny hands reverently touching St. Francis. I am sure they are experiencing St. Paul’s in an organic, hands-on way that I am quite envious of.
I remember this journey with my own children, trying to find a path between exploration and adoration. Three little bodies squirming, reading, talking, but still trying to understand what was happening around them. Eventually they did. They followed the service, participated on the altar, read lessons, and served on committees. They grew up in a community where it was safe to be yourself. A community nurturing their spiritual education and growth. A place where difficult questions could be asked, and questions that have no answers could be discussed.
So, at this time in the life of our parish, children are present. We welcome their voices. We look forward with excitement at this new explosion of life. Like spring it holds the promise of unknown beauty.
And sometimes, it takes us back to our own childhood. Sunday in the pew between my own father and mother. My father, young and strong; my mother, unable to stay awake through any sermon no matter how short or long. We were always in our Sunday best complete with hat and gloves. The best part was just the feeling of happiness as we sat shoulder to shoulder. Oh, and of course the trip to the donut shop on the way home.
With all the lessons of Sunday service, perhaps this is the most lasting legacy -- that we can carry these moments of happiness throughout our lives as both the child and the parent.
I remember the beauty of a small hand in mine, tiny and warm, so infinitely beautiful.
Some Sundays it rests in my hand again. Now it rests fingertip to fingertip, palm to palm, all grown up yet still so infinitely beautiful.
Seasons
I heard a little voice last Sunday.
It belonged to one of our many new toddlers. It was strong, clear, and confident. A comment made about something she found interesting.
Some Sundays, I sit amazed at this influx of little bodies, with strong sturdy legs investigating new spaces. A small face pressed against the glass to experience its rainbow qualities. The tiny hands reverently touching St. Francis. I am sure they are experiencing St. Paul’s in an organic, hands-on way that I am quite envious of.
I remember this journey with my own children, trying to find a path between exploration and adoration. Three little bodies squirming, reading, talking, but still trying to understand what was happening around them. Eventually they did. They followed the service, participated on the altar, read lessons, and served on committees. They grew up in a community where it was safe to be yourself. A community nurturing their spiritual education and growth. A place where difficult questions could be asked, and questions that have no answers could be discussed.
So, at this time in the life of our parish, children are present. We welcome their voices. We look forward with excitement at this new explosion of life. Like spring it holds the promise of unknown beauty.
And sometimes, it takes us back to our own childhood. Sunday in the pew between my own father and mother. My father, young and strong; my mother, unable to stay awake through any sermon no matter how short or long. We were always in our Sunday best complete with hat and gloves. The best part was just the feeling of happiness as we sat shoulder to shoulder. Oh, and of course the trip to the donut shop on the way home.
With all the lessons of Sunday service, perhaps this is the most lasting legacy -- that we can carry these moments of happiness throughout our lives as both the child and the parent.
I remember the beauty of a small hand in mine, tiny and warm, so infinitely beautiful.
Some Sundays it rests in my hand again. Now it rests fingertip to fingertip, palm to palm, all grown up yet still so infinitely beautiful.
Ellen Hill is a longtime member of St. Paul's.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Burden of Forgiveness
by John Gordon Hill
The Burden of Forgiveness
When the call came that he had been arrested, time stood still. The charges were indeed heinous, and utterly inconsistent with the man I thought I knew. So much so, that I was indignant on his behalf, and searched for alternate explanations. But the news that unspooled in the ensuing days was all bad. An undisclosed criminal history. Damning evidence. Slippery explanations instead of protestations of innocence.
It seemed clear that he had inflicted great psychological damage on his victims. But he had also inflicted grievous damage on himself. His life, as he knew it, was over. He lost his job and the custody of his daughter. He lost all respect and standing in the community. He may well lose his freedom. What could I say to a man I counted as a friend, but whose apparent actions represented such a massive betrayal of his family, his friends, his co-workers, and yes, of me?
As this was unfolding, the Federal Public Defender asked the production class I teach to make a video presenting mitigating evidence at the sentencing hearing of a crack dealer. The crack dealer was a gentle giant, beloved by his family and friends, but who had an enormous rap sheet stretching back 25 years. He was the product of every hyperbolic dysfunctional cliché you could imagine, but he refused to blame his background or community for his crimes. He clung to a few facts. He had steered his siblings and children away from drugs. He had not been violent. He had cooperated with the police.
The judge noted that while the drug dealer didn’t blame the terrible environment he came from for his actions, his drug selling contributed to that terrible environment every day. The defendant acknowledged that was true. Then he systematically took responsibility for his actions and all the people he had hurt. Admittedly, he was talking to a judge who held his fate in his hands, but there was a true contrition and humility in his demeanor. He seemed genuinely moved by the friends and family who had spoken from the heart on his behalf in the video.
I think about the difference between “inexcusable” and“unforgivable”. Actions may be inexcusable, but no one is beyond God’s forgiveness, no matter how difficult or unpalatable it may be for us mere humans. In the case of my friend, it will take me some time. And if forgiveness is hard to give, it is hard to receive. Being forgiven takes a radical repentance, true contrition, a sincere desire to make restitution, and acknowledgment of the burden of the sin.
The crack dealer seemed to exhibit all these. The judge showed mercy. He sentenced him to “only” ten years.
Stumbling toward Lent, I ponder the burden of forgiveness.
The heft of it.
Its cost.
Pray we find the grace to bestow it.
John Gordon Hill is a longtime member of St. Paul's. He is a director/cinematographer and currently teaches at Seattle Central Community College.
The Burden of Forgiveness
When the call came that he had been arrested, time stood still. The charges were indeed heinous, and utterly inconsistent with the man I thought I knew. So much so, that I was indignant on his behalf, and searched for alternate explanations. But the news that unspooled in the ensuing days was all bad. An undisclosed criminal history. Damning evidence. Slippery explanations instead of protestations of innocence.
It seemed clear that he had inflicted great psychological damage on his victims. But he had also inflicted grievous damage on himself. His life, as he knew it, was over. He lost his job and the custody of his daughter. He lost all respect and standing in the community. He may well lose his freedom. What could I say to a man I counted as a friend, but whose apparent actions represented such a massive betrayal of his family, his friends, his co-workers, and yes, of me?
As this was unfolding, the Federal Public Defender asked the production class I teach to make a video presenting mitigating evidence at the sentencing hearing of a crack dealer. The crack dealer was a gentle giant, beloved by his family and friends, but who had an enormous rap sheet stretching back 25 years. He was the product of every hyperbolic dysfunctional cliché you could imagine, but he refused to blame his background or community for his crimes. He clung to a few facts. He had steered his siblings and children away from drugs. He had not been violent. He had cooperated with the police.
The judge noted that while the drug dealer didn’t blame the terrible environment he came from for his actions, his drug selling contributed to that terrible environment every day. The defendant acknowledged that was true. Then he systematically took responsibility for his actions and all the people he had hurt. Admittedly, he was talking to a judge who held his fate in his hands, but there was a true contrition and humility in his demeanor. He seemed genuinely moved by the friends and family who had spoken from the heart on his behalf in the video.
I think about the difference between “inexcusable” and“unforgivable”. Actions may be inexcusable, but no one is beyond God’s forgiveness, no matter how difficult or unpalatable it may be for us mere humans. In the case of my friend, it will take me some time. And if forgiveness is hard to give, it is hard to receive. Being forgiven takes a radical repentance, true contrition, a sincere desire to make restitution, and acknowledgment of the burden of the sin.
The crack dealer seemed to exhibit all these. The judge showed mercy. He sentenced him to “only” ten years.
Stumbling toward Lent, I ponder the burden of forgiveness.
The heft of it.
Its cost.
Pray we find the grace to bestow it.
John Gordon Hill is a longtime member of St. Paul's. He is a director/cinematographer and currently teaches at Seattle Central Community College.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
THE TRAVELLERS
by Sharon Cumberland
THE TRAVELLERS
They appeared on the brink of Judea, like the pluck
of a tuning string: Gatháspa, Melchias, Pudizar,
their shared language astronomy (unscrolling their charts,
gesticulating at the sky). It wasn't luck
that brought them together in the desert,
but the quality of their separate magic.
Truth to tell, the ushering star
was combined with the old constellations,
and when wind whipped clouds through the chilly night,
they couldn't see anything very well.
Until they found each other they had begun to doubt
they would find anyone, much less a monarch
nobody knew about.
But now they were three: a Babylonian mage,
a Persian seer, and from the land of Ind
a wizard who could derive gold from the ores of Malabar.
Now they had their triple art to take them
toward the thing they sought: a Hebrew king
in the nest of Rome.
Then imagine their alarm
when they found the king a newborn
in a lean-to of date fronds and olive branches.
How quickly they erected an incense altar
to ward off the seven evil demons!
How they sang incantations, wove spells against Pazuzu
who brings contagion, and Lamashtu
who poisons breast milk. They tried to explain,
through clouds of myrrh and cinnamon,
which rites the baffled parents should perform.
But the girl and her old spouse seemed as innocent of danger
as the infant son, or the sheep and mules
they sat among. Gatháspa pressed an amulet of gold
into the father's fist: Keep it no matter what
he insisted in his tongue so that Namtaru
will not take him to the underworld!
They left the parents plenty of resins, oils,
and frankincense to burn, though doubted
they'd comply with instructions.
Each magus thought sadly, turning back to the East:
This poor little king will die. May the gods hide his name from the evil ones.
Sharon Cumberland is a member of St. Paul's and an Associate Professor of English at Seattle University.
THE TRAVELLERS
They appeared on the brink of Judea, like the pluck
of a tuning string: Gatháspa, Melchias, Pudizar,
their shared language astronomy (unscrolling their charts,
gesticulating at the sky). It wasn't luck
that brought them together in the desert,
but the quality of their separate magic.
Truth to tell, the ushering star
was combined with the old constellations,
and when wind whipped clouds through the chilly night,
they couldn't see anything very well.
Until they found each other they had begun to doubt
they would find anyone, much less a monarch
nobody knew about.
But now they were three: a Babylonian mage,
a Persian seer, and from the land of Ind
a wizard who could derive gold from the ores of Malabar.
Now they had their triple art to take them
toward the thing they sought: a Hebrew king
in the nest of Rome.
Then imagine their alarm
when they found the king a newborn
in a lean-to of date fronds and olive branches.
How quickly they erected an incense altar
to ward off the seven evil demons!
How they sang incantations, wove spells against Pazuzu
who brings contagion, and Lamashtu
who poisons breast milk. They tried to explain,
through clouds of myrrh and cinnamon,
which rites the baffled parents should perform.
But the girl and her old spouse seemed as innocent of danger
as the infant son, or the sheep and mules
they sat among. Gatháspa pressed an amulet of gold
into the father's fist: Keep it no matter what
he insisted in his tongue so that Namtaru
will not take him to the underworld!
They left the parents plenty of resins, oils,
and frankincense to burn, though doubted
they'd comply with instructions.
Each magus thought sadly, turning back to the East:
This poor little king will die. May the gods hide his name from the evil ones.
Sharon Cumberland is a member of St. Paul's and an Associate Professor of English at Seattle University.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Resolutions of an Insomniac:
by Barb Levy
Resolutions* of an Insomniac
Blessed are we who can laugh at ourselves, for we shall never cease to be amused.
Mind and Body:
Life’s too mysterious, don’t take it serious.
*resolution, from Latin resolvere, to loosen, release.
Barb Levy has been at St. Paul’s since about 1991, where she serves as thurifer and webmaster.
Resolutions* of an Insomniac
Blessed are we who can laugh at ourselves, for we shall never cease to be amused.
Mind and Body:
- Finish reading books about procrastination.
- Get bifocals.
- Get hearing tested.
- Get in bed by 10:00.
- Lose 10 lbs for good.
- Eat more vegetables.
- Ride my bike more than I drive.
- Obsess less, mute the inner critic, try not to should on myself so often.
Seek more moments of pure non-analytical awareness.
Spirit:
- Attend Thursday Eucharist 1x/mo.
- Walk the labyrinth.
- Light candles at home.
- Wear a cross in public.
- Keep a Holy Lent.
- Finish legal paperwork; plan funeral.
Take and receive O Lord, my entire liberty,
my memory, my understanding my will.
All that I am and have you have given to me.
and I give it all back to you to be disposed of according to your will.
Give me only support of your presence and the joy of your love;
with these I shall be more than rich,
and desire nothing more.
Relationships:
- Get in touch with old friends.
- Get to know my neighbors, then ask them to keep their dog from barking.
- Feed the poor, visit the sick, seek shelter from the wicked.
- Get the kid to face his issues.
- Turn the other cheek until head spins
- Detach from the insanity around me.
- Buy noise cancelling headphones.
Tell the truth but tell it slant.
Environment: Personal and Political:
- Organize clutter.
- Frame artwork.
- Transfer cassettes to MP3.
- Sort stuff in closets and cabinets.
- Work on sewing projects.
- Clean garage.
- Get out into nature.
- Coordinate improved workplace recycling.
- Attend peace vigils
- Help elect Obama.
When all else fails, laugh and lower my standards.
Life’s too mysterious, don’t take it serious.
*resolution, from Latin resolvere, to loosen, release.
Barb Levy has been at St. Paul’s since about 1991, where she serves as thurifer and webmaster.
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