Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts

Monday, December 12, 2011

Movie Monday-Sort of. . .

Hi everyone!

I thought I would share what I was doing exactly a year ago today.
Eleonore was overdue and I decided I should try to "dance her out".
I started doing this on December 10th, 2011 since her official due date was the 9th.

Since I don't normally post on Sundays I am revisiting two of the videos!

More to come in the week ahead.


peace to you,
meredith


Thursday, December 8, 2011

"before we turn to stone"

Well, I feel exhausted.


I did a video last night with my cat Madeleine L'Engle.
I have a mild allergy to Madeleine L'Engle (the cat).
When I hold her next to my face while singing a song, I apparently end up looking like this:




In my Benadryl induced haze, I am having a little trouble thinking theologically, so please bear with me.


Last night we had an amazing Bible Study/Prayer Service.
Generally the focus in the first week of Advent is Hope and the second week it is Peace. It is in this perspective we came to our Gospel lesson, Mark 1:1-8.


 1 The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah,[a]the Son of God,[b] 2 as it is written in Isaiah the prophet:
   “I will send my messenger ahead of you,
   who will prepare your way”[c]
3 “a voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
   make straight paths for him.’”[d]
 4 And so John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5 The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River. 6 John wore clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey.7 And this was his message: “After me comes the one more powerful than I, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. 8 I baptize you with[e] water, but he will baptize you with[f] the Holy Spirit.”



We were struck that the whole Judean countryside came because they heard his message of repentance and therefore came to confess. We started talking about repentance and how that is a part of waiting actively in anticipation.

This has resonated with me so deeply in this season of Advent and the times of transition I find myself in. It would seem that the Gospel on a whole, and Mark in part, makes it clear that repentance, the willingness to say "I was wrong, I'm sorry" is essential for a life of peace. 

I see this over and over again in my life. If I am unwilling to  humble myself and ask for forgiveness for the wrongs I have done, it is impossible for me to have peace. Completely impossible. It happens quickly. When I have done something that has caused offense to someone the immediate reaction more often than not is to find a way to defend myself and my decisions. And if I don't get myself in check, it becomes defending myself at all costs, causing further offense and hurt. But that isn't even the beginning. 

It begins to eat at your insides. Eat them and at the same time disable them. It makes them hard so that the next time you hurt someone, and don't humble yourself and ask for forgiveness, you don't feel it as much. It becomes duller, so it can happen more and more and more.

I've found (by trial and error) that most of the "instructions" in the Bible aren't just for the heck of it.
Not just for kicks, because God "can".


It really is in our best interest for ourselves and our relationships to freely give and seek forgiveness. It's the only way we can truly have peace.

It's hard to humble yourself. It's like dying to yourself. A little death that comes before a whole lot of life. There is so much freedom when you humble yourself and ask for forgiveness. A huge weight is lifted off of you and you can feel again. I'm not going to try and fool you, that it doesn't open you up again and again to the possibility to be hurt again and again. But that is the danger with truly living isn't it? The danger when we choose to fully participate in humanity.


In my short experience on this earth, the peace that can be experienced is far greater than the turmoil.  The possibility of deepening relationship, of showing true love, it can be amazing.


I couldn't get this song out of my head with the Gospel lesson from yesterday.








To me it speaks beautifully about looking beyond ourselves at the world around us, and the importance of taking responsibility for our actions "and not waiting for someone else's hand". The specific line that keeps speaking to my soul is:


"but brother how we must atone, before we turn to stone"


It is a simple truth.


If we aren't vulnerable to one another, and are incapable of humbling ourselves, we will turn to stone.


The further we separate ourselves from humanity the less human we become.


Let us all take this Advent season as an opportunity to seek forgiveness where it is needed and to freely give forgiveness as it is asked of us. Not many better ways I can think of to honor the coming of Christ who came to us in a humble vulnerable human form so that he could grant us ultimate forgiveness and redemption.


peace to you,
meredith












Thursday, November 17, 2011

Wedding Week Day 4-The Wedding (Continued)

Our wedding ceremony was probably my favorite part of the whole wedding.
We were so blessed by the community that came together to make it happen and to support us in our commitment to God and one another.

One of my favorite parts of the wedding was the "soundtrack".

First we had a full praise service-
1.) Come Thou Fount
2.) Great is Your Name
3.) Be Thou My Vision
4.) Though I may speak

5.) Memorial Candles were lit/Grandparents were seated to Motion Picture Soundtrack by Radiohead played by a string quartet.
6.) Mothers were seated to Sheep May Safely Graze by Bach.
7.) Bridesmaids/My processional to Only Hope by Switchfoot

8.) Nate sings an original song I hadn't heard yet!
9.) We recess to what started as The Bridal March but morphed into "Good Love"

It was so randomly and perfectly us. 


I look back at the words of "Though I may speak":


Though I may speak with bravest fire
And have the gift to all inspire
And have not love, my words are vain --
As sounding brass -- and hopeless gain.

Though I may give all I possess
And, striving so, my love profess
But not be giv'n by love within,
The profit soon turns strangely thin.

Come, Spirit, come; our hearts control.
Our spirits long to be made whole.
Let inward love guide ev'ry deed;
By this we worship and are freed.


it is a hymn I haven't sung since our wedding day six years ago, and I find myself struck by what little that 21 year old girl/woman (still feel like a girl/woman, but that is for another post, at another time!) knew of what true, real, hard, life, love looked like and would look like. And yet I/she knew enough that there was truth to these words, that something resonated with what this marriage thing was supposed to look like. What a gift. what joy, what bliss, this deep true friendship and community I have been given in my husband is!
I am so aware of how "lucky" I am. So grateful.


And often times when I laugh so hard that I fart in bed, because of the hilarious things he says, I half expect a parent to come in and tell us to be quiet, that it's time to go to sleep, because I don't know how I got to have a sleepover with my best friend every night, I feel like I must be doing something wrong to have so much fun and get to spend every waking moment with my best friend.


Bet you didn't expect me to talk about farting, but that's how I roll. 
Or better yet, how WE roll!




peace to you,
meredith










Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Wedding Week-Day 3 The Wedding

We got done with Bible Study and it is late so I am posting pictures now, and more on the wedding tomorrow!

My favorite individual pic of my love. 
He still rocks a newsboy cap like nobody's business.

My favorite individual pic of myself.
Tres dramatique, no?

Right after the ceremony, so excited!

Leaving the church! 

Our First Dance to "The Luckiest".


More to come tomorrow!


peace to you,
meredith




Monday, November 14, 2011

Wedding Week Day 1-How we met

This Saturday (November 19th) will mark the 6th year Nate and I have been married.

WHOA!

To try to grasp how long this is, it would be like making it in the same relationship for all of Junior High and High School. . .

I realize that this isn't the point, but it does give you a tangible way to grasp the length of time.

I have dubbed this wedding week, where I will take time to highlight different aspects of our relationship so far!

Monday-How we met
Tuesday-The Proposal
Wednesday-The Wedding (worked out well alliteration wise eh?)
Thursday-Where we have been
Friday-Where we are going


It was the Summer of 2003. I had come home from my freshman year at Millikin University and had already made plans to transfer to Illinois State University, switching from Music to Theatre. It had been a wonderful year of finding myself thanks to so many wonderful people, and an asset was that many of those wonderful people introduced me to wonderful music. I needed a job, and had slacked off in those efforts. My wonderful friend (and future Maid of Honor) Michelle, suggested that I should work at East Bay Camp on Lake Bloomington. I had been to EBC many times as a child and adolescent, but something about being stuck at camp for weeks at a time seemed suffocating, and I was hesitant. I wasn't working hard at finding anything else, so EBC it was. Miles Price (an amazing friend and future reader at our wedding) hired me to be in charge of implementing a new daily day camp.

So I begrudgingly took my dyed black hair, blunt cut banged, industrial ear pierced, vintage track jacket wearing, Norma Jean/Flaming Lips listening self to the first day of orientation and training.

It was June 6, 2003

All the counselors had assembled, except for one.

In came this tornado with a sideways cap, hoop earrings, thick black glasses, tattoos and a soul patch. He didn't seem phased by being late, and just jumped right into the conversation.

I just thought COCKY,COCKY,COCKY, cute, but, COCKY, COCKY, COCKY.

Well, thinking the cute boy was cocky wore off pretty quick.

We flirted (a lot).

We prayed together (a lot).

We read the Bible together (a lot).

And by the end of the Summer, we were already talking about marriage.

This was overwhelming for me in so many ways. I had a list of I never's that I have talked about before. This was when I knocked the first two out of the park. Nate was the first guy I had ever dated that was shorter than me, and he had experienced a call to pastoral ministry.

1.) I will never marry a guy who is shorter than me
2.) I will never marry a minister
3.) I will never live in Bloomington-Normal permanently after school

2 out of 3. . .for a time.

I had never been serious enough about a guy to have the "meeting of the family".
I was terrified. A twin brother who was the president of his Christian Fraternity who was engaged to a beautiful petite art major, and a Mother who was a music teacher, but also a ridiculous composer and musician.

The first time I met Jake and Kenz was in Peoria at Ruby Tuesday's. I think I cried most of the way there begging Nate to take me back because I was so petrified.

When I met them, they were great and so nice. But I did notice they looked at me a little odd when we first walked in. I was already PLENTY self conscious about our height difference. I am 6ft. he is 5'8, and figured they just thought we looked funny together. Later that evening we went to meet his Mom and stay the weekend. She too gave me an odd look.

What I found out years later is that Nate said this to his family right after we met.

"Mom, Jake, I think God wants me to marry a big girl."

So why the odd looks? They weren't expecting someone tall, they were expecting someone overweight. They thought I was a new girl, and they were obviously perplexed since he had talked about marrying the "big girl".

He hasn't ever lived that one down, probably never will.

I'm glad God wanted him to marry this "Big Girl". Very glad.

peace to you,
meredith



Can you spot the two love birds? 
A staff picture our first summer together.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011



Tonight we had our Wednesday night Bible Study. 


It was a wonderful time of fellowship, study & food. 


Some of our community is still around and it is 12:22 AM. What an inexplicable joy. 


So my post will just be a quote by my favorite author "on community".

 A community, to be truly community, must have a quality of unselfconsciousness about it.-Madeleine L'Engle


You will be hearing much more about her in days to come. She is utterly lovely.


peace to you,
meredith

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

A photo shoot sneak peek!

You have already had a sneak peak of one of our photo shoots with Eliza Morris of Eliza & Liz Photography


I thought I would share the highlights from our last ridiculously fun shoot. 


We are so blessed to have found such a talented photographer to capture Eleonore as she grows so quickly!





I am smitten, and done in for all of eternity, 
I get to have these two in my life EVERYDAY!



The little details are something that you don't want to forget, 
and they pass by, just as quickly as everyone says!



We are a motley crew, but wherever we go, 
and whatever we do, we're gonna go through it together!




Every photo shoot we have had so far, 
I make sure to get pictures of her in this red hat, 
with a white onesie on, and her Deer Ugly Dolly.
It will be so fun to see all the changes but in the same "get-up".



I seriously can't gush enough about Eliza and her work. The capturing of my family, and my memories and these fleeting moments in time are so valuable, and I will be forever thankful.
I am a blessed woman, I know it, and I am completely unworthy of it.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” 
- Thornton Wilder

peace to you,
meredith




Sunday, November 6, 2011

a bosom friend.

Tonight we had the distinct pleasure of having dinner with my lovely friend Liesl and her mother Susan who was in from out of town. 

Liesl is one of my oldest and dearest friends (since the summer before 7th grade, when I first saw her in her Chuck Taylors, and Bogie's Diner Jersey), and she was one of the reasons (other than God of course. . .DUH) that moving back to Bloomington even seemed slightly tangible to me. 

There is such enormous beauty in friendship. In tried and true friendship. It's the stuff that Jane Austen writes of, and what Lucy Maud Montgomery describes as having  a "bosom friend". 

You might as well just see a picture of Liesl when you look for the definition of the term, because she is mine. 

Look up "Bosom Friend" in the dictionary,
and this is what you'll see!


She has been with me through so much. And has become a great friend to Nate and a wonderful Auntie to Eleonore. 

Sometimes it is a bit overwhelming to see all the beauty she puts into the world, to see how big her heart is, and how free her spirit.

Overwhelming, and at the same time utterly inspiring. 

During Liesl's time in Belgium working for Young Life I had the AMAZING opportunity to travel there to assist her with moving back. We attempted to chronicle the adventure with this blog. I think we could easily get paid for traveling together and writing about it. Or maybe I just think we are funny and no one else does. . .nope, we're pretty funny.
Liesl and I enjoying a good "brew" on our German Day Trip!

Life has lots of ups and downs, but there is so much joy to be had in friendship and fellowship. 

It is truly one of God's gifts to us.

I hope you all have a Liesl in your life. I can't imagine how empty mine would be without her. 

peace to you,
meredith

Friday, November 4, 2011

What on earth am I(we) doing here?-Part 2

Soon after moving to Bloomington, we were confirmed in the Anglican Mission. It was a wonderful day, and it happened immediately prior to our friend Fr. Greg Lynn's ordination to the priesthood.

We have a wonderful long-distance community in Peoria's AMiA plant, Epiphany. Chris and Elisa Marchand, dear friends from the Chicago area are co-planting a missional community there with Greg and his wife Alicia.

What a wonderful gift to have kindred spirits embarking upon the same journey so close!

Chris, Elisa, Father Greg, Alicia, Nate & Me
at our confirmation/Greg's ordination!


Nate and I with a lot of prayer have wanted to take a VERY slow approach to this whole church planting-thing. We want to be able to give the community what they need and what can bring them closer to Christ, not impose our idea of what the church plant will look like on a community that we have been detached from for five years. This is a problem I think the Christian church gets stuck in a lot. Telling a community what they need before hearing what that community has to say/where they are.

(Before I get bombarded by Christians telling me the community needs Christ, let's have that just be a given. We all do, or Nate and I wouldn't be giving our life to this calling).

So right now what this looks like is a foundational group of people meeting twice a month, (soon to move to every week) at our apartment, discussing the word, our relationships with Christ, uplifting each other, and brainstorming on how we can bring Christ to this community and be Christ to this community. Very soon we will be embarking upon community outreach and eventually we will start meeting at a space, (as we are growing out of our dining room quite quickly. Intimacy is great within a missional community, but I don't want anybody to be able to tell that I wasn't able to shower that day, as being a Mommy doesn't always warrant a shower! :o) ) and having a full service as well as a weekly community group/bible study.

Exciting, scary, and an impossible environment to not be completely dependent upon Christ.

One thing we are praying for is that God would put on someone's heart to come alongside us in ministry here in Bloomington-Normal, in a co-leadership role. It is exciting to be patiently waiting for that, not knowing who that person will be or what specific gifts they will offer. But as God has proven so clearly over and over again, He will be faithful.

This church thing if you have never been a part of it (or if you have), is intended to be this beautiful, messy group of people, growing together, leaning on each other and loving each other so much that they can't let each other stay where they are at, they must propel each other further on in betterment, in hope and beauty and love, to become what we were created to be.

In propelling each other it should catch onto someone else, and someone else, and someone else.

And then our world theoretically shouldn't look the way it does.

But there is something in me that won't allow me to stop looking at what this world can be if we allow the Hope of the Risen Christ to permeate itself through us and to others.

I think the Church (which I claim to be a part of, I still believe in the Christian Church despite it's faults and it's NUMEROUS injustices, I apologize for these, and for the part I may play in them, but I still identify myself with it) forgets about this leaning, and dependence on one another, that we were created to be in community, to need one another, to change the world together.

Scoff if you must, but I adore So You Think You Can Dance (this is not as much of a change of subject as you might think, stick with me). This dance to Coldplay's Fix You really hits home for me, especially where I am at in my Faith journey right now.

*I am not about to get into what the words to that song mean, I have my thoughts, but that isn't really what this is about.

I think this is how we are supposed to look in the church relationally.

We move in sync at certain times, and at others we show our individual gifts for the community.

And sometimes we are utterly unable to move, unless we are lifted by one another.

I am quite fond of the 45 second mark where the "jumping" begins.

Sometimes it feels like in the church or in our relationship with Christ that we are doing such futile things in a season of waiting, that we might as well just be jumping up and down.

But that jumping up and down is leading to something amazing, and may we all jump with such vigor and intensity. . .

watch and see what I mean.

peace to you,
meredith

Thursday, November 3, 2011

What on earth am I (we) doing here?-Part 1




I thought it might be a good idea to share with everyone what we are doing "Back in Bloomington".

In simple terms, we are "planting a church".

There are different ways I like to describe it.

I prefer "starting a Missional Community".

But I do like the imagery of planting. Of nurturing something, of sustaining something, of having responsibility for it. But normally you don't see the planter burrow down into the soil with the seed, and get their fingernails dirty, almost drown when there is too much water, and feel the seed break from its casing to take root, becoming entangled in them, becoming one.

So perhaps we should go with "Planting a Missional Community".

We knew from the beginning of our relationship that there would come a time in our lives when God would call us to be a part of a new church start/plant/missional community. We were just waiting for the when and where.

It finally became clear to us this Spring that we were to plant a church with the Anglican Mission in America (AMiA). Nate had done an internship at an AMiA church his last semester of sminary, and that is where our connection was first fostered.

Through a series of events God made it clear that we were to plant a church in Bloomington, Illinois.

This was not what I or Nate had expected.

In fact it was on my list of "I will never's".

When you realize that your three main "I will never's" were:

1.) Never marry a pastor (Being a pastor's daughter and grandaughter, I wasn't interested in "the family business".

2.) Never marry anyone shorter than me ( I am 6 feet tall)

We know how those two turned out, as I have been married to a 5'8 (he says 5'9) pastor for 6 years on the 19th of this month!

3.) Never move back to Bloomington-Normal

I wasn't doing to well with my "I will never's", but I was still being stubborn enough to claim that last one.

Have I learned to "never say never"?
In some capacity. . .not completely though :o).

So we packed up, and moved from a three bedroom house to a one bedroom apartment,

and we were officially "Back in Bloomington".

And what happened next?

Find out tomorrow!

peace to you,
meredith

P.S.
Our amazing photographer Eliza Morris of Eliza & Liz Photography took some new pictures of Eleonore and some family pics for some church planting stuff and we got a few back today!
Here is a peak at one of the pics!

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Back in Bloomington #7-Hopping Halloween History!



In my quest to do a post a day, I have to apologize, that this one isn't especially wordy or introspective, but hopefully enjoyable nonetheless!

Halloween is one of my favorite Holidays. It's dramatic, it's fun, it can be educational, mostly it's fun.

Nate and I first committed to Halloween as a couple his first year of Seminary at Trinity. We had met an amazing hip and funny couple, The Blairs, and somehow we all decided to get dressed up and go out to dinner. It was History in the making. Since that first year we haven't missed one Halloween until last year when it was our first year apart from the Blairs (they live in the Portland area now, they are THAT cool and hip). It seemed like an appropriate mourning period. But with Eleonore being here we figured it was time to "get back in the saddle".

The following pictures show our History with the Blairs as well as our first Halloween with Eleonore!
Enjoy, I know we did!
Halloween 2006-Sonny & Cher
Halloween 2006-Lucy & Ricky with Sonny & Cher

Halloween 2007-The Flinstones!
Halloween 2007-Barney & Betty


Halloween 2008-Linus, Luci, Charlie Brown & Sally
Halloween 2009-The Wizard of Oz


Halloween 2010-In Mourning 




















Halloween 2011-Olive Oyl



Our Sweet Pea!




Popeye, Olive Oyl & Sweet Pea!



The beginning of a beautiful tradition with the Kocourek family!

And many more to come!

peace to you,
meredith




Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Back in Bloomington #5-Albert

I wrote this over a month ago and wasn't able to finish till now. 


There has been a lot weighing on my mind lately. I think any parent is in a constant state of looking at the world around them with a newfound lens of "What does this mean for my child?".

It can be overwhelming if you take that too far. It can consume you.

But there is a fine line and a grey area where for brief moments you can see with the hopefulness and the heartache of a child. Which I have come to see as life in its purest form.

My husband as his "Day Job", works as a residential counselor at a Boys Home for addiction and behavior rehabilitation. His "Night Job" is church planting, which is why we moved back to Bloomington.

This past week one of the boys from the home were on an extended home visit. He was also two weeks from completing the program/graduating High School. A young man who knew what he wanted to do with his life, who all the other boys looked up to.

While at home, his mother caught him drinking, told him she was taking him back to the Home, where inevitably the leaders would be told, and he would have to start the program over again. In his compliant nature, he packed up his things, went to the car, then told his mother if he was going to be there for a longer time, he would like to have his slippers. He ran upstairs to his room, took out a shotgun, and killed himself.

As a parent the questions seem endless. For a while I thought my crying would be endless.

That boy was someone's Eleonore.
That little boy. . .

And then my view broadens, and my questions as a Christian become endless.

This decision was made in a split second.

In that split second, where was the Hope that is central to the Christian Faith?

And then I begin to judge.

I begin to judge the church, I begin to judge those who call themselves Christians. I begin to judge myself.

How often am I guilty of not exasperating myself in my need to share the Hope that is Christ Risen?

It is of course much, much more complicated than judging and asking those questions.




I was on pinterest the same week. Oh man, I love this website! So fun and inspirational.

One of my "boards" is a place to put all of the lovely quotes that are fashioned into art on said site. The one that hit home in light of this boy's death was this:


Practical and straightforward in it's nature, this Albert Einstein quote struck through to the base of the problem.

If you tell someone that they aren't good enough, will never be good enough for the love of Christ, and you judge them by this, and don't share what is CENTRAL to the message of Christ, they will never be able to experience the Hope and Love of Christ. If you don't name them for what they are. This idea of naming comes from my favorite author Madeleine L'Engle, and it consistently and persistently rings true with my theology and world outlook.

I see it as an epidemic in our society. We are not naming the children, who are becoming unnamed adults, and we ourselves are not claiming our names.

I have a friend who recently started a sports team. She shared with me about her confusion of community within this sports team.

"I feel more a sense of community on my team, than I have in a church in a long time."

And I can't do anything but nod my head in agreement and apologize for the Christian Church and what it has become (which is a full time job when it comes down to it).

If we Christians cannot hold one another up in the knowledge and hope of the risen Christ, then how DARE we look upon the world in judgement.

I struggle with this on a daily basis. The house that sits across from ours is not the "loveliest". A seven unit victorian mansion that has seen better days, and holds so much sorrow and heartache.

I often don't recognize the strung out that enter and exit this place. Some of the men who are tenants work on the house to pay their rent. I noticed that they had been staring at me quite a bit (I do say "Hi" when I see them and make eye contact, as they are neighbors) but this was getting uncomfortable (seeing them in the reflection of the window staring etc.) I feel completely safe, more than anything I don't want other women being treated this way.

Nate went over to talk to them about it.

The landlord proceeds to say:

 "She's a pretty woman in a poor neighborhood, she needs to get used to it."

No words are fit to respond to this.
I become enraged.

It's a perfect example of a cyclical cycle that if we aren't careful we can all find ourselves trapped in.

Because no one named the Landlord, no one cared and nurtured him and taught him the value of humanity, he cannot name anyone. In fact he allows people to live under his roof and continue in processes that not only don't "name" but actually "un-name" them, consistently de-humanizing themselves. And in the process he is de-humanizing himself. Thus a woman doesn't have humanity, she is thought of as an object to look at, un-naming her (me), and when I am "un-named" if I'm not careful, it takes away my ability to name, and so I begin to only see those men with eyes of disgust and hatred, rather than seeing them for what they are, un-named, un-nurtured, children of God (there is nothing wrong with being wise and safe, but it is still important to see them as human).

When I do this, and enter into this cycle, am I any better than the influence and judgment that brought this young boy to a place of ultimate hopelessness and desperation, where he thought his choices were gone?

No, I'm not.

Where does it stop/start?

With YOU and with ME.

Making a decision, to exasperate ourselves in sharing the Hope of the risen Christ, and letting that define how we care for EVERYONE we encounter.

This decision becomes even more vital when I see my child, and I see that my influence will directly decide how she values humanity and values creation. It's a scary and yet ultimately hopeful privilege.

 Einstein hits the American Christian Church on the head once again with this one:

If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed. 
-Albert Einstein


Let us make a decision to start filling the beautiful creation of God with the Hope we have been given, let us not be "a sorry lot".


It might be crazy what we see.

peace to you,
meredtih

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Back in Bloomington #2

The past few days I have had the opportunity to see some extended family on the Owens side of things!
Being back in Bloomington means being blessed to be near my parents in Pontiac, IL.

Grandma Sue Ella
My Grandma Sue Ella Owens is having an extended stay in Pontiac due to falling at my Fathers Church in May and breaking both ankles. She normally resides in Montana.

Due to this, we have been able to see her, she has been able to see Eleonore, and extended family have come to visit her!

The first treat was my Great Aunt Rae her sister who lives in Michigan. I have always viewed my Aunt Rae as absolutely lovely. Just a lovely older woman. I also had a special affinity for her husband, my Great Uncle Ron before he passed away. And then just yesterday we were able to see my Aunt Cindy and Uncle Joe from Oklahoma. Aunt Cindy is my Grandma's eldest of five children, and at sixty-two, I can only pray to look as good as she does, I think her skin is smoother than mine! She has become a Southern Belle from her humble roots in Rantoul, IL, and is another lovely woman in my life.
Great Aunt Ra

All this has my mind whirling a bit. With family extended all over the country, the meetings are more infrequent than everyone would like. And, oddly enough, as I continue to get older, so does everyone else.

I wonder with my Aunt Rae if I will see her again in my lifetime here on earth. I wonder this with my Grandma Owens at each visit from Montana.

Is this morbid?

Perhaps.

And I have to admit, it does make it hard to focus on the present, and the person, in the short time that you get with them.

So, all I can do is try to focus more, try to listen more, try to experience more in these brief moments, and be thankful for the blessing that they are.

With seeing some of the Owens family, I was trying to remember the last time EVERYONE (all five siblings) were all together, and I think it was my Grandpa Albert Owens funeral.

For my Father's birthday a few years ago, and for personal recollection, I wrote a recount of that experience.


How my fashion philosophy has been formed (to some extent)

My love of fashion started at an early age and I believe can be coincided with my obsession of JC Penney catalogs. At about age 5 I would take the JC Penney catalog into my room and look at all the pages and make up stories in my head about everything.

I would choose outfits I would wear for specific occasions and to this day I can still recall some of them. (I think I suffer from “selective” photographic memory. Useless information to minute detail I can retain for years, but anything I need to remember like the fact that Seattle is indeed not in Oregon will continue to evade me).

In particular there was a black dress. This lovely slender woman with long blonde hair, long legs and a toothpaste smile wearing a large brimmed black hat was leaning against the side of a building, one leg slightly bent peeking out from under her hat with a look that signaled to me anything could happen and she was ready for it all. In my five year old mind this was due to the fact that she was wearing a classic black sheath dress with cap sleeves. In a dress like that everyone must look like that and be ready for the unexpected. But I had to delve deeper. In my imaginary story, I was wearing the dress and with semi realistic expectations had grown up to have long dark not blonde hair. But I had everything else, the legs, the smile the hat. Little did I know then that I would always have baby teeth and that thanks to my mother and father both, calf definition would be something that would always evade me. But as a five year old noone could tell me what I would look like. The only event that I could think of to correlate with a black dress was a funeral. And the only person in my life at the time that I didn’t think I would care if they died was my Grandpa Owens. I had trouble understanding why he didn’t play with me like Grandpa Molloy and why he just sat in his chair watching T.V. during my visits when there was so much to be explored in his old Victorian house (I would learn later that he had had brain surgery, as well as very traumatic experiences during WWII).

So I made up a story that I was off to Grandpa’s funeral as a young woman and perhaps I might meet a man there to help me with my sorrow, but I would tell him I wasn’t really sad that I was just acting because Grandpa was never nice to me. This was all well and fine and my story kept me entertained for a while. Then bedtime came and I was racked with guilt for having Grandpa Owens die in my story just so I could wear a black sheath dress and meet a nice man. One disappointing thing that wasn't worth the guilt was that the men in my stories never had faces because the men in the JC Penney catalog were extremely unattractive in my opinion, especially the underwear models, which didn’t help when I was doing my imaginary wedding night stories (but don’t worry, those didn’t come until I was 6 and a half).

I couldn’t fall asleep, and for about three days I was positive that I was going to kill Grandpa Owens with my imaginary stories and so I would compulsively ask how he was everyday.

The reason it only lasted for three days is because on the fourth day a new catalog came. And my imaginary house needed a new bedroom set, so Grandpa’s death was lost somewhere between maroon satin comforters and country blue duck quilts. I think I chose the maroon for that particular bedroom.

When my Grandpa did die I was a sophomore in high school.

When we got to the hospital he was already pretty much out of it but this would last for three days.

When we got to the hospital there were already others there.
It might be wrong to say that I had never really had a relationship with my Grandfather, but I didn’t. There was a hug when I came in and a hug when I left and as I got older I would simply situate myself in the kitchen in front of that TV or on the porch swing to read the newest book I had gotten my hands on.

I would sit paralyzed when he came in to the kitchen from the living room and saw me there, thinking he was going to hit me or something. And my mind would go a flutter with my retaliations from scolding him to throwing Grandmas strawberry shaped cookie jar at the wall, to say to him, look buddy I got the Owens temper too so you better know who you’re dealing with.

Of course my Grandfather never laid a finger on me. My imagination took that route because he had spanked my father and Aunts and Uncles with a belt and growing up I figured he could do it to me as well. Only one time did I start actually moving toward the cookie jar when he came in. Because he got very close to me and then turned the TV down and said it was too loud, even though I knew everything that was going on with the plot line of 
Murder She Wrote blaring in the living room. He said “it’s too loud” again in exactly the same monotone cigar scratched voice as he ad the first time, and went back in the living room.

I was sitting in his hospital room scared that someone was going to find me out. They would realize I was an imposter and perhaps my Aunt Dana would jump up, point and yell, “you never really loved your Grandpa, get out of that uncomfortable orange vinyl seat, you don’t deserve to sit there.” That never happened though. Instead, during a lull in the conversation, my mother said, “do you want to hold Grandpa’s hand?”

I thought perhaps I could communicate NO to her with my eyes. That for once the mother daughter bond could allow me to telepathically connect with her but good old Mom insisted and I realized that if I didn’t perform this task they would immediately find me out. And what worried me most about that was perhaps not getting to eat at the hospital cafeteria. With family histories of horrible health and a mother who was a nurse for a while, plus a father who was a minister and would make numerous hospital visits, (although I only got to go into the hospital on rare occasions. The majority of the time I got stuck in the Omni with my older brother Brian and I was left to his what I considered evil torture, but I would get rewarded for good behavior with a Nehi soda. Even then I could convince myself that cheaper things, close to generic sodas, could be just as spectacular if I just willed them to be. I can still do that with Payless shoes if I try with all my might). I developed an appetite for overly processed overly priced things. I especially appreciated the dinnerware that was disposable yet had no insignias, only little abstract swiggles. This unified a lot of the cafeterias as if it was their own logo, the sign of economy bulk bought paper goods.

So I held my Grandpas hand and something happened.
I started bawling like a baby.
Staring at this close to catatonic man who had smoked Dutch Masters and worn zip up boot loafers and turned the kitchen tv down. In that one moment he did have his eyes open. And whatever overcame me was a combination of this.
Of growing up in an instant for being so near to death.
Realizing that this man gave my father life.
That this man was my Daddy’s Daddy, and that he really had loved me regardless of what my imagination or myself had led me to believe.

I leaned over him crying and said
“I love you Grandpa.”

I think one of my Aunts or maybe even my mother saying “well of course you do”.
As if it might have been silly to say that then, like Grandpa knows plus he probably can’t hear you. But I think he did. Because right after I said it he squeezed my hand. And in his eyes I knew that he was saying it too.

His was the first of many funerals I would sing at.
I didn’t get to wear a black sheath dress.
I wore a polyester black top and a paisley print skirt bought from the Famous Barr that had just come to our local mall.
I didn’t meet any nice men, I didn’t get to wear a hat.
But I got to watch my father do the funeral of his father.
And I got to be a skinny white girl in the back of the funeral home singing “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”, something much more fit for Ella Fitzgerald, or if we need something more modern to attach it to, Jennifer Hudson .
Nonetheless, I sang it, because it was my Grandfathers favorite song and I cried while I did. It was one time I would perform, not do so perfectly, and be ok with it.


Because having told my Grandpa I loved him, and knowing he loved me was much more happiness and contentment than a $39.99 JC Penney sheath dress ever could have given me.

Besides, now at 23, I would rather have a Chanel one anyways.

(originally posted/published May 29, 2007)

*I would also accept many vintage black dresses, just in case anyone is needing to know!

peace to you,
meredith
Eleonore Bay with her
Great Grandma Sue Ella
Eleonore Bay with her
Great Great Aunt Ra