Revelation

There is a whole world of religious podcasts that I never knew existed - on iTunes! This is huge for me - what a breakthrough!

I can listen to whole services from the comfort of my commute. It doesn't remove me from my family on the weekends. Yet I can still explore the world of religion, safely sample different religious traditions. I've downloaded a raft of Pagan, Unitarian, Episcopal, Jewish and Quaker podcasts, and I hope to be discussing them here.

Today, I listened to the "Alone in the Wilderness" service from St. Augustine's Episcopal Chapel at Vanderbilt University, with a sermon by my new virtual minister, Becca Stevens. It was lovely, with heart-stirring music performed on the acoustic guitar. I wonder if those hippies who wrote "Time to Every Season" and "Come Together" ever imagined their songs would be used in church.

Stevens' sermon about the need for journeying into the wilderness was inspiring, thought-provoking and accessible.  She describes how each person has their own personal vision of wilderness. Mine looks like this:

Transitions

This report is long overdue.  Several weeks ago, I was able to take Baby E to St. Paul's for the first time.  Papa D had work commitments, and I was wanted to go to church.  It was a very different experience.

First of all, I felt much less self-conscious.  My attention was primarily focused on my toddler, making sure that he was happy and behaving well.  Boy, did that feel a lot more comfortable than sitting there alone.  While I know that my general discomfort stems mostly from my race, I didn't feel that I was more comfortable because of E's race.  As is usual, I didn't get a feeling that people were noticing E's brownness. Seriously, do I have terrible radar for this sort of thing?  Am I clueless?  Or is it really not happening?  (Maybe I could do an experiment and walk around with E and an friend who is of color, and see if my friends notices any vibes.) I mean, E is ambiguously brown, but he is brown.  Papa D thinks that E really "reads" as Latino, so maybe the congregation members didn't identify with E.

Second, it was just overall a lovely experience.  The pastor called E and I up to the front of the church (what do you call that area with the little banister and cushions for kneeling?) for the Blessing on the Children.  The congregation does this blessing every week, whether there are children present or not.  After the pastor said a blessing over E, then another member of the congregation said a prayer for children everywhere. I came very close to almost speaking, because I felt the Spirit inside me as I realized that it was Orphan Sunday. I was in the middle of a month-long campaign to honor National Adoption Month by educating people about the plight of orphans.  It crossed my mind that a prayer said, in this Christian church, for orphans could have a greater resonance...but I didn't have the courage to speak, and the Spirit wasn't urgent.  I think I knew that our prayers were enough already.

I did feel as if people were even warmer than usual to me.  I had an adorable baby with me, so that just made everything so much more pleasant. My overwhelming memory of the morning was sitting in the pew, nursing E, with the sun streaming through the windows.  I felt like I was bathed in a halo of light.  It was magical.  (And far outweighs the later experience of rushing him out, jiggling him, playing with him in the foyer, taking him outside because he wouldn't hush up during the Word.)

It's interesting to think now that may have been my last day at St. Paul's, a capstone to my six-month journey with them.

I'm now thinking that I'm going to step back from my quest for a spiritual community for a while.  The main reason I am going to stop making church a high-priority for my weekend schedule is that it puts a wedge between my husband and I.  Because it's not something we do together, it pulls me away from him and our marriage.

This seems like the right time, because the pastor announced that she is leaving the congregation due to medical issues.  The transition allows me a graceful exit.

I feel comfortable with this decision because I do feel I have gotten some of what I was searching for:

• A renewed feeling of connection to the divine, 
• A way of getting through the tough times of my former job and layoff, 
• A deepened understanding of African-American culture, 
• Some initial ties into the African-American community in my town, and 
• The experience of being in the minority.   

I feel that I still have St. Paul's as a resource, if I or Baby E need it, but that it's not the right focus for my time and energy right now.

I don't know yet whether this means I will reduce - even further - the postings on this blog.  I am interested in occasionally attending the UU church, when particular topics seem to be of interest to our family, and in exploring other churches in the area.  Perhaps I can journal about those experiences.  Or perhaps I will continue to have thoughts about mothering, race, adoption, and spirituality that I want to record for posterity.

Bearing a load

This morning, our whole family - Papa D, Baby E, and me - went to church together!  It was just like I dream of.  We all got dressed up and walked the half-block to the Unitarian Universalist church.  We were warmly greeted and have acquaintances among the congregation.

The service was a "Celebration of Death and Life," led by a mother/artist (who is a certified leader of Dances of Universal Peace).  The chairs were in a circle around an altar swathed in gold fabric and covered with fall leaves.

The most striking thing about the experience was how comfortable I felt.  The people were are liberal-types like us, the language was all "inclusive."  I don't mind doing "movements" while we sing, or walking up to the altar to add my leaf to the basket in memory of a loss.  It was like being let out of a cage.

On the other hand, the service - while it had a bunch of nice elements - had no power.  It was like going through the motions, so dry.  This is the usual criticism of  UU, and sadly it was the case yesterday.

But it must have been working below the service - I mean it was a service about death, and my mother's loss still smarts, and I've been to three memorial services in the last six months - because by the end, I was moved.  I cried during the final verse of "Lean On Me:"

If there is a load you have to bear

That you can't carry

I'm right up the road

I'll share your load

Kindred spirits

Heather at Production, Not Reproduction blogs about open adoption and multiracial families, and I really appreciate her perspective.  She also hosts the Open Adoption Roundtable, which is an amazing resource.  (Recently she's also been posting vegetarian recipes, so it's like a trifecta!) Imagine my pleasant suprise when she posted about her family attending the local AME Zion church.  It's interesting to me to think about the differences of visiting as a whole family, with her child of color, compared to me, who goes alone as a white woman. Nonetheless, we are walking similar paths, or different paths in the same direction.

Unmerited favor

Even though I only make it there about once a month, I am continuing to feel it is a meaningful experience for me. It keeps me thinking about the African-American experience – historically and in the present-day – and makes me feel more “legitimate” as the mother of a child with African heritage.

I am continually touched by the warm welcome that the members of the congregation give me. It is yet another instance of acceptance that I have recently experienced in my life. I previously wrote about the profound experience of E’s perfect love, but I’ve realized that I didn’t delve deeply enough into the transformative effects of the adoption experience on my self-esteem.

It has been over a year and half since were chosen by E’s birthmother, and I still marvel at it. What did she see in us that would make her think we deserved such a profound gift? I feel so flawed and unworthy. I can’t say enough how amazing she is to us. On Mother’s Day, she wrote to us thanking us for being “the best” parents.

Both her loving treatment of us and E’s perfect love seriously challenge my lack of self-worth. It is giving me the inkling of the possibility that I am not so unworthy after all.

You hear the word bandied about, but I think this might be the meaning of the word GRACE. Wikipedia says that “In Christianity, grace is ‘unmerited favor’ from God (Ephesians 2:8-9).” And that exactly how I feel – as if B’s and E’s favor is unmerited by me.

When you add to this the touching generosity of the members of St. Paul’s AME Zion, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed with grace these days.

Walk of shame

Yesterday, we had to walk past church, just as it was letting out. It was Papa D and his parents with me. I haven't been to church in weeks, so it was all the more embarrassing. I have to get back...this weekend.

Warm season

Wowie-zowie, the new pastor is good! She's not as forceful throughout the service, and she doesn't have as good a singing voice as the last pastor, but her sermon - about Blind Faith - was awesome. And it was followed by a really amazing and powerful blessings - everyone (except me) goes up to the front of the church and the pastor lays hands on and prays for each person.

You could really feel Spirit moving. I've only experienced that in church a few times before. In this particular instance, I was observing but wasn't a part of it.

However, I did feel more a part of the community in general. I was warmly welcomed by several of the members. And my friend invited me to sit with her, so I was surrounded by "Amens" and "Mm-hmms" during the sermon.

The new pastor also took the time to talk to me after the service, and she enthusiastically invited me to bring Baby E. I'd like to bring him at some point - partly to give Papa D a Sunday morning break and partly to show off my precious boy. But I find myself a bit reticent right now.

In the beginning, there was a part of me that wanted to bring Baby E to give myself some legitimacy for being at a black church. Even though I don't think it would have worked that way. I don't think most of the congregation members would really understand why I want to participate in my son's cultural heritage (heck, my highly-educated husband doesn't really understand). But now, I feel I am being accepted for myself, and I don't want to be written off, my motives questioned.

For now, I just want to enjoy the embrace of the community, the bounty of summer, and my newfound freedom in my career/life.

Sorry!

I started this post two weeks ago, but then got busy preparing for vacation. We were gone all last week visiting my family, and now I'm in the midst of a busy week at work (more on that later!).

Here's the news from church:

The Pastor's last Sunday was upbeat and fast-paced. A number of visitors came to see him off and speak their thanks to him. There's a fair amount of variation in attendees from week to week, I have noticed. In the four weeks I have attended, it seems approximately half of the faces are new. And, interesting to me, there is a church member who keeps attendance in a log. I'm not sure I've ever seen that at a church before. Is this common?

The big news is that the new pastor is a woman! I'm very interested to see how this affects the dynamic of the service. I had been kind of grooving on the male pastor, but hadn't yet formulated any real thoughts on the matter. I wondered how a male pastor and a "male" god were going to affect my sense of spirituality. The outgoing pastor really fulfilled my stereotype of a "black preacher," so I'm very curious to see what the woman is like.

In career news, it is a banner week. I've started a consulting contract that means I can start my own business and be my own boss. (I've also got another client, and more prospective gigs that I am cultivating.) I'll be working from home, which will give me much more time for my family and my hobbies.

I feel like I'm living my dream - I'm so energized about my career again. Everything is exciting, from the commute to the new gig to buying paperclips. I'm especially enjoying planning my home office, which we've decided to locate in the "four-seasons" room just off our kitchen. It gets lots of sun, but most importantly has a separate heating system to keep bills lower in winter.

Saying goodbye

On Saturday, we attended a funeral service for a friend of ours. She was 51-years-old and died suddenly last Wednesday. She just collapsed, and the autopsy didn't find any discernible cause. She had just moved back into a new house after a year away. On Thursday, we helped her family by transferring the contents of her moving van into a storage facility. How depressing ... to see someone's life all packed up like that.

The service was held at the St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church, which I've been interested in checking out. When I walk by on my way to St. Paul's, the Catholic church seems packed with people. I like the idea of a dynamic congregation like that. Holding me back are two factors: first, one of the main reasons I would want to go is because the congregation has a large Latino component, but they attend a separate service in Spanish. Second, they congregation is raising money to leave their beautiful, old church a half-block from my house to move to a new building outside of town.

It was pouring rain on the walk to the funeral, very apropos. And the church was packed, I don't think I've ever attended such a large funeral. It's reflective of how warm and charismatic a woman she was. The service was neither inspiring nor comforting, it seemed as if the priest didn't really know or understand her. The most touching part was when her 14-year-old daughter read a poem about what her mother meant to her. Of course, I had been thinking of losing my mom the whole week, but this moment just brought back all the grief. And put the point on all the empathy I have for these young daughters who have to grow up motherless.

At the end of the service, there was finally something that people could relate to. The universally recognized spiritual, Amazing Grace:

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

When we've been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun.

Some people in our community - including two close friends - are taking this much harder than I am. I don't know whether they knew her better or haven't experienced death as closely as I have. I simply feel like death is a part of life, and it happens, and there is no way to predict or make sense out of it. But it's made me wonder if I'm in a bit of a low-level depression, perhaps I should be feeling more.

Since the service, I have been remembering our friend. She was so vivacious. Her smile keeps coming back to me. In the last year, especially, she had seemed to blossom. A new haircut and new clothes and jewelry made her seem happier. I also remember how she welcomed us to the community when we moved here. I think she made sure we met everyone and attended the key events. She was just so excited about life.

Farewell, my friend.

Language barrier

One of the greatest challenges for me in attending St. Paul's is overcoming the language they use to talk about religion and the Divine. It's not just the use of God and Jesus Christ, but they talk of Satan and evil too.

I wasn't raised Christian, so I don't have an easy familiarity with all the Christian linguistic mannerisms. For the last 13 years, I've been a practicing Witch, so I'm used to a whole different theological language.

I think I must be sitting in the service furrowing my brow the whole time as I try to translate the prayers, hymns, and sermons into language that makes sense to me. Then I struggle again with language as I write this journal.

If I use "God," it sometimes feels false. I fear it gives people an impression of me as a traditionally religious person, as if I'm in the closet.

In real life, I have tried to stop using "God," and I use "Google" instead. So you'll hear me say "Thank Google for that!" or "Where on Google Earth did that come from?"

I'd feel more comfortable if my readers knew that, when I use "God," I use it as a "nickname" for the Goddess, the Great Mother, creator/animator/destructor of all things, an infinite being with uncountable manifestations across history and continents.

"God" is a shortcut for me. You'll never hear me use the word "Lord" unless it's in reference to something like "The Lord's Prayer." Even the word "pray" is fraught for me - doesn't it conjure an image of a child kneeling by her bed with her hands clasped together?

I should remind myself of other images of prayer - the upraised hands of the Hindu kirtan or the prostrate posture of the Muslim. These words can call up many meanings, just as there are many faces of the Goddess and God.

Saying Yes

Sunday was another bright, warm morning, and I was able to start grounding on my walk to the church. I realized that last week I was so nervous, I couldn't do anything of the sort. It was so nice to walk up the steps and open the door, knowing some idea of what to expect.

It was a very different service, however. The pastor was in attendance, having been reassigned to the church for another year, and he brought a great deal of energy, along with a sense of majesty, to the proceedings. He spoke about being BACK, how as recently as Friday he was considering tendering his resignation, how there were going to be changes, how the gossip and the negativity were going to end. All very fascinating - how can there be this much drama with only 15 people in the church?

While I am curious about the political issues, I didn't let them distract me from my real goal: finding a connection with the divine again. I listened to the songs and readings, but what spoke to me most was the sermon. Titled "Are We Ready?" it focused on how we get in the way between ourselves and God. The pastor focused his remarks on this passage:

Isaiah 51

¹Hearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the LORD: look unto the rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are digged.

²Look unto Abraham your father, and unto Sarah that bare you: for I called him alone, and blessed him, and increased him.

³For the LORD shall comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places; and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the LORD; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody.

⁴Hearken unto me, my people; and give ear unto me, O my nation: for a law shall proceed from me, and I will make my judgment to rest for a light of the people.

⁵My righteousness is near; my salvation is gone forth, and mine arms shall judge the people; the isles shall wait upon me, and on mine arm shall they trust.

⁶Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look upon the earth beneath: for the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment, and they that dwell therein shall die in like manner: but my salvation shall be for ever, and my righteousness shall not be abolished.

I particularly like the reference to Abraham and Sarah, who I have been thinking about in the last week. They are often cited in theological considerations of infertility, having waited for decades for children. They are often described as barren, like the desert in this passage.

I felt there was a lesson for me in my current situation of waiting. For a decade, my worklife has slowly become a desert - losing its meaning and rewards along the way. The promise is of fruitfulness, joy, and thanksgiving in exactly this place.

The pastor asked "Are you ready?" Yesterday, I wanted to say yes but hesitated. Today, if the question is whether I am ready for a change, ready to find that trickle of water bubbling up in this wasteland of work, ready to look forward to a Monday morning - the answer is Yes, I Am Ready!

Will or won't

It was an interesting day to visit the church, because the pastors were gone at the annual conference. So it was an informal service, led by the singer.

It turns out that the congregation was waiting to hear if they would have the same or a new pastor for the coming year. The main prayer was focused on this issue, and the prayer leader exhorted us to trust that whatever happened would be God's will. Whether there was change or not, it would all be in God's plan.

At the time, I was taking this at face value. It all sounded fine, but I didn't see any relevance to me. Then, the next day, it clicked for me.

For the last six months, I have been very attached to the need for a change in my life. Even with all the blessings that I listed before, I have a job that I can't stand and an hour-long commute each way. Since December, I've been combing the (meager) job ads, considering how far I would be willing to commute, agonizing over what kind of a career choice I should be pursuing, and generally working myself into a tizzy. I've had that familiar feeling of being at the center of a confusing vortex with no ground to stand on.

The dissatisfaction with my daily work - and more importantly, the lack of foreseeable prospect for a resolution - has started to weigh heavily on me. It was harder to feel appreciative of all the good things in my life. At dinner, my husband would ask what was wrong, and after months of answering nothing, I finally just tried to explain that there is nothing wrong except having a job that sucks.

On Monday, as soon as I realized that I needed to be able to trust God, whether there is a change in my life or not, I felt relief. It is so comforting to feel as if I don't have the burden of making all the decisions, figuring out all of the plans.

Of course, it raises other questions: How will I know what is God's will and what is my will? How active should I be in manifesting God's purpose for me?

Blessings and disguise

During the service, I was reminded of how blessed I am. The congregation was invited to give testimony, and they spoke of illness and trauma. It was not hard to see myself as having so many advantages in life. These were people who appeared to be old and poor.

I can call to mind my blessings easily: a devoted husband, a precious child entrusted to me by an amazing woman, first-class education, a large house, financial security, relative health, a successful career. This is one of the key lessons from the difficult adoption process. When things were bleakest, I learned to count my blessings, to appreciate what I have in life.

Even before that, speaking with expectant mothers considering adoption sparked deep thoughts about the advantages I had in life. They were struggling with so little to get through so much. Simple things that I took for granted - like a telephone - were challenges for them. They had multiple young children, mental illnesses, drug addictions, prison sentences. And on top of it all, the unplanned pregnancies.

Before I met any of them, I had thought that women chose adoption because one thing in their lives wasn't conducive to parenting. Like the man wasn't involved or they were still in college. I began to understand that these women were considering adoption because they had not one thing in their lives that they could count on. Their families were abusive or absent. They had no jobs, no health insurance, and no funds. They had no partner and no friends to rely on. They had no car or telephone.

I tried to see my husband and I, and our life, through their eyes. We must have appeared so rich, so fortunate, so advantaged. And this is with domestic adoption! One of the reasons we chose it was to minimize the differences between us and the birthfamily. When I tried to compare our situation to that of a third-world woman, it seemed as if a mountain separated us, with us at the pinnacle of wealth and she in the valley of poverty.

I had entered the church feeling nervous about being welcomed, a white woman entering a black church. Unfamiliar territory - would I be viewed as an interloper? I expected to stand out, marked as different.

While it was slightly awkward to be in a new church, it was really no different than many a cocktail party or networking group where I didn't know anyone. There were three other white people already there when I arrived, which was about one-third of the congregation in attendance on Sunday.

But as I sat there, I needed to accept that I have another advantage in life: being white. While the members of the congregation didn't speak about it, I could imagine that their struggles included being of color in a racist society.

Seen through this lens, I have to face other questions:

How much of the challenges faced by the expectant mothers with whom I spoke were because they were Latina and black?

Is my becoming a mother, one of the greatest blessings of my life, built upon the foundation of racism (that gave me the staggering amounts of money needed to adopt and robbed her of the opportunities to parent her children)?

The first step

On Sunday, I attended AME Zion church. During the service, I was so focused on observing and participating and narrating in my mind that I wasn't feeling it. I forgot to ground-and-center before the services started, and I'm out of practice. But I have been feeling the effects.

First, it was just a lovely way to start a Sunday. I proceeded to have a nice, relaxing day with my family. I felt rejuvenated.

The next day, when I recalled the hymn we sang, it somehow sunk in...how the messages of the main prayer were so relevant to me. And I have been resonating since.

We've come this far by faith
Leaning on the Lord
Trusting in His Holy word
He never failed me yet
Oh' Can't Turn Around
We've come this far by faith

(Repeat)

Verse
Just the other day, I heard a man say
He did not believe in God's word
But I can truly say, the Lord has made a way
He's never failed me yet

Chorus
Oh' Can't Turn Around
We've come this far by faith