Tag: Judaism

What I Think We Mean When We Talk About Faith

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

Based on the discussions and questions on Reddit, here are the top 10 questions people have about faith, reflecting a diverse range of backgrounds and perspectives:

  1. What is faith, and why is it important?
    • The goal of all religious teaching is self-improvement. How it has been twisted has been done across the board. You cannot find a religion without both ends of the spectrum in radicals. For instance, in media there’s Joel Osteen and Rob Bell. They are not the same. There’s Creflo Dollar and Franklin Graham, but there’s also Martin Luther King, Jr., Raphael Warnock, Jimmy Carter, Nadia Bolz-Weber (“The Confessional” podcast and pastor emeritus of House for All Sinners and Saints, or HFASS (pronounced EXACTLY LIKE IT SOUNDS) Unconditional love is quiet, but there’s more of it.
  2. How do you explain the problem of evil?
    • It is old language for a universal thing- doing something in private that you wouldn’t do in public exactly because you know it’s wrong. Intent means everything.
  3. Have you ever had a crisis of faith?
    • Yes and no. My brain absolutely scrambled trying to reconcile my faith and my sexual orientation. I lost the faith in terms of belief in a grandfather in the sky, but true belief in the power of the energy that runs between us. It is amazing what happens when you get your ego out of the way…. you stop focusing on yourself and focusing on the community. Perspective. You cannot be so isolated that you think you’re the only one in the world with problems, because it leads you to emotionally vampire your friends whether you realize it or not. If they can’t get a word in edgewise, you’re taking up too much room.
  4. Why do you believe in God, and what made you choose your religion?
    • When I began to replace the idea of “God” with a friend or a family member who’d act as devil’s advocate in my head, having a relationship with God became much easier. It makes sense to me that there is one great big giant ball of energy that we tap into when we all hold hands, and not grabbing on is an unsustainable view of the world because it’s so myopic….. like people who are so patriotic they tried to steal an election.
    • (Speaking about Republicans)
      • Jed: Theirs is the party of inclusion.
      • Charlie: That’s what they tell me.
    • When Moses was, I don’t know, 19 or 20 he was exiled from Egypt because he killed a soldier who beat a Jew to death in front of him. Because he was a prince of Egypt and his identity was hidden, everyone was confused and outraged because they didn’t know that for Moses, it was like watching a Nazi. I’m not saying that what he did was right. Rage consumed him in the moment. What I am saying is that the Evangelicals’ God is too small if they think God has never seen a human make a mistake and they have to uphold impossible standards for an itinerant, homeless preacher who never asked for it. I am sure that 30 looked different back then, but at the same time, if you are a pastor, what did you feel like on the inside for the first three years? It makes me sad he was killed at only level three pastor. Think of the many more lessons that could have been imparted had the Romans and the Sanhedrin not been dicks. Rome is the weirdest transformation in history. I feel like the real tragedy in Jesus’s death is his age.
  5. What does death mean to you?
    • Energy can never be destroyed. People do not die, they absorb. “On Christmas Eve, the membrane between heaven and earth becomes so thin we can touch it.” Every year, there’s new life to be brought into the world. Advent, which is the period leading up to Christmas, is not a penitential season, but a reflective one. What creation are you birthing this year? As I have said before, I take the Bible seriously, not literally. I also preach/write from the Bible because it’s what I know off the top of my head, as well as the Pentateuch because it’s in the Old Testament. I have done very little research on Islam and Eastern religions, but an amazing amount of respect and love to learn in ecumenical settings. I have always wanted to meet the imam from “Little Mosque on the Prairie,” but first he’s Canadian so hard to travel and second, and check me on this, I believe he is not real. In short, I believe that all of you goes into what makes up the energy of God, and tapping into the ball of energy is listening to every story that’s ever been told.
  6. How often do you think of God?
    • More than the general public because I was raised as a preacher’s kid in Texas. It’s just part of my programming. The rabid social justice liberal Christian came later, but I’ve never been a fundamentalist. The United Methodist Church is mainline at best. I have very liberal beliefs now, but it wasn’t a hard leap.
  7. When do you feel closest to God?
    • The stillest, deepest part of my soul just whispered “writing about Supergrover.” The heart doesn’t forget even when the brain knows the answer.
    • When I’m the most frustrated, the most angry, the most full of rage it’s when I’m alone, because God is the punching bag that can take it. I am very much the “Jed Bartlett railing at God in Latin and smoking in National Cathedral” angry when I am angry at God, but then I walk out of the garden, crucify whatever problem it is I’m having, and seeing what resurrection comes in its place. To everything, turn, turn, turn, etc.
  8. How do you feel when praying?
    • Quiet and contemplative, trying to turn rumination into forward motion. Trying to create neurodivergent inertia. Trying to forgive myself for “what I have done, and what I have left undone.” Feeling the relief that I’m only half of any problem in any relationship and trying to be aware of over-apologizing out of fear of abandonment. The face I call God helps me find that balance. What is a healthy amount of dependence, and what creates interdependence vs. codependence in early-stage relationships so you can watch for the land mines and communicate toward them. But those answers are so personalized that even when you’re thinking about other relationships, you’re working it out in your own head as to how much of conflict is bad behavior on your side and what is not yours to own. If you don’t have clarity about it before you collaborate with someone, you will not be able to comprehend this phrase in terms of marriage…. “I can’t walk in their shoes, but I can tell where they pinch.” You have to acknowledge when you’ve caused other people pain. Globally, Christian fanatics aren’t right, but they’re certain. Generally the problem in personal relationships as well, but it’s not usually the same person being right and open-minded every time. Relationships tumble and roll. Just because I get mad at God doesn’t mean I’m right.
  9. How would you describe God in three words?
    • Humanity IS Divinity
  10. Do you feel that being a believer has any purpose?
    • You need to believe in a higher power so you don’t think you’re it.

Now That I Have Your Attention

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The title comes from a conversation I had on Threads yesterday. Starbucks was talking about their hot tea. I replied, “as good as the hot tea is, the green iced tea is insane. Good on you.” I got a like from Starbucks and said, “now that I’ve got your attention, could I sweet talk you into offering a Moroccan mint iced tea as well?” They did not reply to that, so I am guessing the answer is “no.” I tried, people. I tried for all of us.

I think I’m just going to talk about funny conversations that have happened with me recently, because I don’t have a writing prompt to jog old memories.

The first is that I go to bed earlier than Zac, and he always says goodnight to me when he’s going to bed, so I wake up with messages and cute memes. This morning, it was this gem:

“Dr Pepper is BBQ Sprite.”

It reminds me of grilling out in the backyard with Dana, because the first time we grilled for my dad, I made a Dr Pepper BBQ sauce.

My friend Tiina posts these really funny memes about Finland and as I told her, “every time I see a fact about Finland, I learn that I don’t have much Finnish blood (according to Lindsay’s DNA results, 3%), but I do have a Finnish personality. This week, it has been learning that it’s “comma fucker” in Suomi and not “grammar Nazi.”

I was walking around Trader Joe’s looking for some lunch and realized I needed some coffee. I walk up to this cute black guy who was probably in his early 20s. He has a thick African accent (not sure which country), and I ask him what the best coffee is. He picks the Ethiopian and I say, “is that because you’re from Ethiopia?,” laughing. He looked sheepish even though I was only teasing him, so I said that my grandfather’s favorite was Ethiopian and I already knew I liked it.

My grandfather’s favorite coffee was Kenya AA. I didn’t lie to the kid. I remembered that when I was writing down the story. I feel bad that I told an Ethiopian kid my grandfather’s favorite coffee was Ethiopian when it just came from Africa somewhere…. 🙄 My brain just got scrambled in trying to keep this kid’s feelings from being really hurt…. that a genuine lighthearted teasing moment wouldn’t become a dart of some kind. I bought exactly what the kid recommended and now I have coffee I don’t really like that much and it’s not the kid’s fault at all. It’s because I forgot that Ethiopian is a mid-dark roast.

It’s more like a heavy black tea than coffee to me, and of course is LOADED with caffeine because dark roasts have less (caffeine leeches out of the beans the longer you roast them). So, I will put up with it for a pound and then go get some French Roast. However, I think my dad is coming next weekend (or something like that, I haven’t received flight info- he travels spur of the moment with all his FF miles). He prefers dark roast, too (Komodo Dragon from Starbucks), but the Ethiopian coffee is so delicate that I want him to try it as well.

“Delicate” is the word I use for coffee that’s not strong enough to stand up to creamer in terms of flavor profile. Like, when you put milk in it, all you can taste is milk because it covers up anything the coffee is bringing. I drink medium roasts with a little simple syrup, no creamer. Medium roast is also sweet and smooth enough not to need sugar….. but not all medium roasts are created equally. Maxwell House is also a medium roast. Two schools of thought there. You can either load it up with milk and sugar so that it doesn’t taste like Maxwell House, or leave it black in hopes of finding some actual coffee flavor somewhere.

Why am I picking on Maxwell House?

None of those coffees are bad. We just bag on them because they’re not GREAT. They’re not supposed to be GREAT. They’re supposed to be affordable. The one truly great coffee that’s better, to me, than any expensive coffee in the world is Cafe Bustelo. It’s a Cuban roast and it’s cheap as shit. Yet, you go to a Cuban restaurant and it’s all they serve because it’s actually from Cuba, or the original roast is. I am guessing that they moved some of their plants to Florida or something because I do not believe that we have a coffee sold nationally in the US that was actually grown in Cuba.

Cigars are the same way. You can’t get Cuban cigars in America unless they’re old as SHIT because they’ve been sitting around since before the embargo. I think I got a Cuban cigar in town town Portland for like, three dollars because it was pre=embargo. It was okay.

Then, I went to Ottawa.

I went to Ottawa on a road trip with Kathleen, my then-wife. We were living in DC and Ottawa was not that far a leap. While we were there, I realized that I could buy Cuban cigars. I counted up my money. I only had enough money for one of them. I bought it for my dad. The trouble was how we were going to get it to him.

I hid it in the springs under the driver’s seat in my car.

Not as hard as advertised, but this was in 2001. I figured that even if I did get caught, it wouldn’t be that big a deal because it was one cigar, not hundreds. I also know that Canadian jails are nicer than ours. It was worth the risk.

I asked my dad to help me decorate my office, and he had me take pictures of the space so he could get an idea of what needed to be done before he got here. He asked me what I wanted my office to look like, and anyone who’s seen my dad’s office knows why I would say “I want it to look just like yours.” Thankfully, his next words were “well, that’s pretty easy to do, actually.”

In terms of trinkets and knickknacks, I know I want to display all my books from Team Mendez, Traci Walder, and Henri Nouwen. I am now laughing about what it looks like when your special interests are intelligence and theology. 😉 I am the holy and the moly all by myself.

It’s amazing how they feed each other, though. So many Biblical stories are well-illustrated with stories about spies. This is because in Jesus’ time, there was no Christianity. They were rebel Jews. They HAD to use tradecraft, and use it well.

The ichthus, or sign of the fish, is one such intelligence operation.

Because it was an intelligence operation, it’s the only Christian tattoo I have. It is important to me as an intelligence operation now, but back then I decided that I wanted to mark myself as a Christian, but I never wanted to wear or promote the cross ever again. Ever in my lifetime. That’s because it will be a cold day in hell before his death instrument means more to me than the way he lived.

If you didn’t grow up in the church, you’re probably wondering what this “intelligence operation” actually is…. or maybe you grew up in a church where they didn’t tell you this story, and you’re going to call up your childhood pastor and say, “why didn’t I know this?” 😉

In the days directly following Jesus’ death, the disciples were rightfully scared they’d be executed as zealots, too. Christianity went into the wind, and everyone developed this piece of tradecraft. You would drag your sandal in an arc. If the other person was a Christian, they would make an arc with their sandal in the other direction, completing the ichthus. We survived underground with oral tradition for a very, very long time. And in fact, most of the Gospels being written down was people being able to write them down….. A LOT of history was oral vs. written back then. Christians are not unique.

However, because it was so long between the oral tradition and written, there are no eyewitness accounts to things like The Sermon on the Mount. It is possible that Jesus could be a fictional person, not that he never lived, but that he lived in many, many people. The INFJ personality is a thousand years old when it is born, yet I am not the only person who has it. It is not impossible that Jesus could be an amalgamation of the personality type, and not one single man.

However, if you believe the story the way it happened, that is okay, too, because I am just spitballing as to what makes the most sense in the modern day and age. I could be, and often am, wrong. Something an atheist said has stuck with me so profoundly that I cannot help but wonder if my assessment is accurate…. that Jesus was not the only person claiming to be the Messiah at the time…….. his was just the story that stuck.

Now I want to carve “the story that stuck” into the topiary hedges in front of my house. God, that’s such a good line. Again, I am FURIOUS I didn’t think of it first.

I am going to the place of Jesus being many people because the historical Jesus is known as an INFJ. If the kind of pastoral care that he exhibits is an actual personality type (most of us end up as pastors, professors, grade school teachers, social workers, etc.), then Jesus is not limited to one body.

But then again, Jesus never was.

He was always designed to be an idea, not a person. Even if Jesus is just one person and you tell the story exactly the way it traditionally goes, God designed Jesus to be an idea and not a person. When he ascended, he began to live in all of us.

When we struck him down, he became more powerful than we could possibly imagine.

I don’t think Jesus ever thought there would be divided camps over his messaging, though. That Evangelicals would twist his message so violently (see: prosperity gospel) that it would take another underground intelligence operation to save the church from itself. And it’s not even that it’s an underground intelligence operation. It’s that Evangelicals are so loud they’re trying to drown out the voices of the disinherited.

They’re trading Martin Luther King, Jr. for Joel Osteen.

They’re treating Christian presidents like Joe Biden and Jimmy Carter like trash and glorifying Donald Trump.

It’s sickening, and it’s why I hope my words are adding to the discussion about what it means to be Christian in America. Evangelicals are so toxic, the most powerful out of malice and the rest out of idiocy.

Christianity is better than that, but if the Evangelicals continue, the church will die. People will get too tired of the hypocrisy and leave in droves. It is already happening, and I am saying that the tide will keep turning. I have met too many people who say that they’re emotionally recovering from what their churches did to them not to believe this is the case. The world is changing too fast for them to course correct.

There is a new intelligence game afoot. The traditional church is dying, so the rest of us are trying to find a new shape in which to drag our sandals.

Risky Business

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Today’s prompt, which I cannot officially answer again, is about “a risk I took that paid off.” I don’t remember what I wrote about, I just know I have the tags for it…. So it must be in here, somewhere. I am not a risk taker by nature unless I am writing. Because of my ADHD, I lack impulse control- so I get out of my comfort zone until my autism says, “dude. It’s late. You’re done here.” This is my eternal battle. Sometimes, autism and ADHD have the same symptoms, and others are diametrically opposed. I think that’s why my sister is able to keep track of a million gazillion details and I can’t.

Lindsay and I are both neurodivergent, and she is the one that started me on the path toward healing. This is because when she was diagnosed with ADHD and her therapist said it was genetic, I started looking closer into the issue. I do not have hyperactivity, therefore I was not the Lanagan sister who had a sweatshirt with the word “HYPERWOMAN!” airbrushed on it when I was a kid. I was, though, the kid who rarely had any idea what was going on at any time.

The first time I was ever truly embarrassed by this was when I was walking the halls wearing a t-shirt with Jesus on the front in some sort of configuration. On the back, in cursive, it said “I once was lost.” One of my teachers thought he was funny when he said I should change it to, “I’m always lost.” Of course it’s funny when you’re the adult looking at the kid, but when the kid already feels like absolute shit about themselves because they’re expected to be perfect by so goddamn many people………….. I wasn’t thinking about the joke then. I get it, but it’s only funny 25 or 30 years later.

For all of you who may think he was making fun of me because I’m a Christian, no he wasn’t. He was Jewish and we both have a great sense of humor about religion. I was just already anxious and overloaded, so his comment sent me into shutdown.

I completely dissociated and didn’t hear anything anyone said for the rest of the day. That’s what’s so frustrating about autism. When your body decides “no,” you can’t override it easily. There are all kinds of tips and tricks, but I wasn’t even diagnosed with ADHD at that point, much less a combo meal (Autism + ADHD= AuDHD, or “gold star ADHD”).

Mostly, the combination means “I say ‘it is what it is’ a lot for someone who has no idea what it is.” The flip side of the coin is that I am an expert on the things other people don’t notice. I am not often sure what is east or west, north or south. But Jesus has me covered….. “In Christ there is no east or west, in him no south or north.”

Your move, Witkov.

Where I excel is honestly on a whole different plane, and I absolutely mean it. An INFJ is not built to live in this world, and that has been true of all of us since time began. We are built to live in the next one, because the world we live in is created by our own minds, the utopia ideal of how the world should work. What’s really insane is that we seem to be in agreement. I agree with Jesus, Martin Luther King, and all of the other historical INFJs out there. It’s all about tapping into energy. Whether you call it prayer or meditation, the object is to get your ego out of the way. That’s why it’s easy to be an atheist in AA- they don’t care what your god is, as long as it makes you realize you are a part of something bigger than yourself. That the energy is already running.

I can’t remember what year it was, but an audience member asked Oprah Winfrey what advice she would give to a young black boy who was just starting college. She said something to the effect of “the crown is already there. The only thing he needs to do is reach out and put it on.” It was about standing on the shoulders of giants, getting him to think of all the enslaved people that had paid the price to get him to where he needs to be today. All he needed to do was tap into that feeling of emotional unity with his current family and friends, as well as all of his ancestors. All of that good energy is coming toward you, so use it.

And if I know Oprah the way I think I know her after watching her every weekday from the time I was nine until I was 34, her response would be “that’s what I said? It sure sounds good.” Roll the tape, Oprah. Roll. The. Tape. That’s because I can’t remember shit except good lines that stick in my head for years and years. However, as time goes by, I will remember the essence of what they said and can paraphrase. Because I’m a writer, sometimes the paraphrase comes out as good or better as what they said originally. The other thing is that reading back over my blog entries reinforces my memory, because I absorb everything I read like a sponge. If I don’t wait to record a memory, then there’s no way for another memory to overwrite it or squish in with it so that two memories that are completely contradictory don’t come out as the same story.

A lot of the time, people think I’m waffling, and don’t seem to realize that feelings are allowed to change over time. I don’t waffle. I evolve. My biggest problems center around people thinking that if I write something negative, it means our relationship is bad. As a general rule, how many of you are completely 100% happy in every relationship all the time?

Show of hands.

You fight. You make up. Or you don’t. Life is a series of conflict resolutions, and if you don’t like conflict resolution, your relationship won’t be as fulfilling because you won’t have the emotional accomplishment of working through something with someone you love.  Those peaks and valleys are what make you valuable to each other. The more you overcome, the less you want to separate, because the feeling of “you and me against the world” feels better than “I have to do everything all by myself and no one cares that I’m struggling.” Meanwhile, the problem is that no one will notice if you do not say anything. There is no prize- not a Cadillac El Dorado, not a set of steak knives, not even lunch- for taking up the least room in hopes of being acknowledged for being so saint–like. You will never win anyone’s approval so that you can stop resolving conflict. Life doesn’t work like that. Either you’re out with your frustrations, or you’re internalizing a storm of enormous proportions. But you’re bringing the storm on yourself every day because you won’t talk about it.

If you don’t say anything, you are part of the problem.

I bring things up because I would like to discuss them. If someone is conflict avoidant, one of two things will happen. The first is that they’ll change the subject, the second is that they’ll say you’re attacking them. It’s a method of manipulation that doesn’t feel like manipulation because that person is not trying to control you. They’re trying to put concrete walls around themselves so that you can’t get in. That’s because they see a threat, and therefore unable to participate in a meaningful way because they’re overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Fewer people are narcissists and more people have trauma responses than anyone thinks. It’s more fashionable to reject people than it is to see that they’re broken and need help. It is easy for your anger/defensiveness to override your compassion. Rarely is a problem all one person’s fault, and a narcissist’s method is to prove you’re wrong at every turn. I come off that way easily in writing, because I am not thinking about the other person at all when I write. I am laying out my thoughts and waiting for a response instead of trying to get into someone else’s head and assume that I know their story. I assume that you know your story better than I do. However, I can’t get to know people and be able to keep conflict from coming up in advance. Knowing someone well is the best way to do that, because you’ve been told what makes them angry, what makes them sad, etc. and you do your best not to irritate their hot buttons. If you expect people to respect your opinion, you have to respect theirs.

When I don’t understand something, I need people to stick with me until I do. People generally get frustrated with me and give up before I get it. It’s not that I don’t understand and am anxious about it, it’s that I’m trying to prove I’m right and I dislike them. I do not have a god complex. I’m just precise with language and when other people aren’t, I get lost.

But.

“In Christ there is no east or west, in him no south or north.”

If I know Jesus the way I think I do after studying him since before I was born, it’s that some version of Mr. Witkov told him his head was in the clouds, too.

Fear While Changing Trains

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.

First of all, :::checks notes::: WordPress, it’s “describe a phase in life in which it was difficult to say goodbye.” Just like it’s not “where’s the library at?” It’s “where’s the library at, asshole?” Never end a sentence with a preposition.

I do it a little bit.

Humor before I start diving deep this morning, because there have been many, many times in which it was Boyz II Men hard to say goodbye.

The first time it was a really hard transition was moving from Galveston to Naples the summer after first grade. I loved the beach (my sister did not- she used to run away from the waves saying “don’t. Don’t! Don’t!). I mean, she got over it…… she did get married in Galveston. The cultural difference between living on the island and living in small town Texas wasn’t hard because I didn’t like it. It was just a transition. I was especially close to my friends Asbury and Beulah Lennox, who kind of took over being my grandparents when my own grandparents were so far away. The bonus was moving about 12-15 miles from my biological grandparents, a complete change as well.

I do not do well with change, and I’m glad we moved in the summer so I could ease into it. Incidentally, since The War Daniel was not a member of our church, I didn’t meet him until September. I can’t remember when it was second or third grade when we made it official. 😉 I will say that it wasn’t until I met The War Daniel that I felt truly comfortable, the INFJ/INTJ people we have always been. We were the book nerds, the music nerds, and the ones who didn’t give a fuck if people thought we were weird. We both have this historical Jesus personality, we just come at it from different directions. He’s a thinker. I’m a feeler.

Editor’s Note:

Two things. The first is that “The War Daniel” is a play on words, because of John Hurt in Doctor Who- “The War Doctor.” Daniel was a Doc in the Navy, embedded with a team of Marines.

The second is that if I say that I or anyone else has a “Jesus” personality, or that “it’s as hard to be me as it was to be Jesus,” I’m talking about his day to day life, not that I or anyone else has a Savior complex. Jesus cannot be much different than any current pastor (especially those in clerical collars willing to be arrested at protests), because he was a rabbi, though they didn’t have that term back then.

Incidentally, there is also no evidence one way or the other that Jesus wasn’t married, and it’s been a debate for centuries; think Catholic vs. Protestant- Catholic priests are told they have to bear the burden of ministry alone, because they can’t love everyone if they love only one person that deeply…. takes away objectivity or something. The Protestants, like The Avatar, discovered that pastors could not do it without a support system. His partner could have been anyone from John, the Disciple marked as “whom Jesus loved,” and I have not looked at the original Greek or Hebrew to see if there’s more context, like philia or agape. But right now, I’m willing to say that there is no evidence Jesus was gay one way or the other, either, because there is also a debate on Mary Magdalene.

Supergrover actually sent me several novels about this, and it’s basically that Jesus and Mary were married and were writing their own Gospel, the Book of Love. It does make sense. After Jesus died, the story is that Joseph of Arimathia (rich merchant) helped Mary and the children escape to France. It is, of course, fiction….. but based on the little evidence we do know. It’s just been too long, there’s too many questions that will always be unanswered. So, Jesus is who you need him to be, not the other way around…… as long as you realize that Jesus did not come here only to comfort the distressed. He came here to also distress you out of your comfort. No power over. Power with. It’s why he was peaceful about it, but probably hated the Sanhedrin because they were the most vociferous Jews regarding law and very little around compassion, which has no bearing on the church today.………….

I think what The War Daniel misread as anger was actually fear. We should have video called more before he went to rehab, but we’re *both* writers, and lapsed into that personality way too easily…. which took away too much of our compassion. I also know that being in a relationship your first year out of rehab is absolutely not advisable, so when we got engaged, I kept dating Zac because it really didn’t bother him. Because Zac is poly, Daniel knew he was no threat. That if Zac and I are building a life together, it consists of exactly what is happening now. I have so much love for him because he’s a solid dude as a friend and as a boyfriend. How our relationship is supposed to go is unknown. I just know that we probably won’t get closer than we are now. Neither of us has the time.

It wasn’t that we were rushing into anything, we were just each other’s end game. Daniel didn’t offer to marry me because of anything but I needed it for the health care and benefits as a military dependent. And it was his idea not because I wanted it, but because he saw I needed it.

So, the hardest transitions I have to talk about today are the summer before I met Daniel, and the months after he left.

The reason I chose to write about this instead of the transition after my mother died is that I just can’t go there today. So, I will tell you what I was feeling in the moment, instead. It is so raw and real that if you are also in grief, it might help you as well.

The ones who have helped me through all these transitions just being kind enough to sit with me and listen.

Oh, Lord… Here We Go

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?

I have alternated between the quietest and the loudest person in the room for many years. This is because as a preacher’s kid, you have the personality you use with parishioners and the one you use at home, when you’re with your normal family…. the one that already knows you’re weird. I started doing things with music/music theater when I was three. And in fact, if I remember correctly, the first time I was in a choir performance I waited until it was over and then decided what the people really needed was a solo.

A few things that I’ve said have stuck with me, though.

At Bridgeport, I told the congregation that they were my Thanksgiving, and I meant it. Preaching in person is a whole different vibe, and I’m glad I know how to do it, and sometimes be incredible, even if I didn’t choose to go after it as a profession. It is enough to know that I could have, I just didn’t want to in the end. All I wanted to do was speak, and that’s not what pastors do. I’d be horrible at pastoral care and I know this about myself. It’s not that I wouldn’t listen. I would, intently, and then I would spend more time trying to figure out their problems than my own….. just like I do now, but I am only taking care of my family. They’re all over the world and right at home.

I wish I’d gotten to preach with Zac in the congregation at least once. I would have played so far against type that I doubt he would recognize me….. until I started preaching. Because yes, Zac, I have quoted Snoop Dogg in a sermon. It’s also just fun because he’s an atheist and also very, very smart. Therefore, we can have great discussions without ripping each other’s heads off. Religion is desperately, intimately ontological. God only exists as much as you believe God does.

I preach from the standpoint of resolution and resurrection, my faith absolutely secure in the mysteries of our faith, because the things that have been attributed to God are not God. I’m not even talking about The Crusades. I mean that people like Abraham didn’t write down God’s experiences, they wrote a record of their own.

It’s why I’m so glad this blog exists, because it is very much the Bible I am writing. Both in looking out over my experiences and processing them for better understanding (to me it’s a form of prayer), and because no one in the Bible is more important than me. The only reason my book of the Bible doesn’t count is that I was born a little later than the council of Nicea. I honestly treat my relationship with Jesus the way I treat my relationship with Zac when he’s not here. Jesus and I are kind of the same person, so I tease him all the time… and that’s a plural. I tease Jesus and he’s got some sick burns on me, too….. but those are just what I think he would say, and I like the comedic version of Jesus best.

If I had to pick a favorite Jesus representation, it’s the one from South Park. He manages to be relevant and yet the same calming presence he was back then. In the words of G.K. Chesterton, and I’m paraphrasing, “if you can’t laugh at your own religion, you haven’t picked a very good one.” I tease Jesus in his WTF? moments because I know I couldn’t have done any better. For me now, it’s thinking about me being so much older than he was. Having to go through that much, that young.

My whole take is that the best part of the resurrection was not having to do pastoral care. “Screw you guys, I’m goin’ home.” The truth is that Jesus was one of many people who thought he was the Messiah at the time, because the Jews were genuinely looking. If there is a Messiah, I choose to believe he’s it. That’s because none of the self-help he taught has changed for thousands of years. Brené Brown is an Episcopalian. Steven Colbert, Jimmy Kimmel, and Jim Gaffigan are Catholic. Trevor Noah isn’t a Christian, but he was raised in the church. Sarah Silverman is Jewish. Even under the Abramic tradition, we find our way in the world doing great things. For Sarah and me, it’s comedy (Sarah believes she’s one of God’s chosen people, and I believe Jesus is magic.) I don’t believe that it is the one true way.

I believe everything comes from us. We are not connecting to an Abramic or Hindu or Egyptian god, we are connected to The Source, the idea in which religion was created. We did not create The Source, we are all subtractions from it. You are a tiny piece of something great, but you block yourself from receiving it with ego.

But I didn’t come up with that idea. Jesus did. The check is in the mail.

Explaining Myself To………. Myself #shatnerellipsis

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

If I hadn’t been trauma bonded to Supergrover and not to Dana, none of the last 10 years would have happened. I am not “goading and provoking.” I am talking about the things I understand to the best of my knowledge, knowing that my memory can’t always be correct and if I want a relationship now, being able to forgive and forget extraordinarily quickly because I’m using the power of my writing to lift me out of depression when I go back and read it.

This makes me self-sustaining to an enormous degree. This epistolary chapter is a “lecture” on how a relationship is affected by deep secrets that aren’t bad in any way at all. I am accepting the reality of the situation. I am acknowledging my humanness- being responsible and letting go of guilt, being mindful and carrying no shame. I believe the good news of the Gospels, that we are loved unconditionally by God. This is part of the creed from the UCC church I attended in Portland, written by my abuser’s partner. That’s how good I’ve become at letting go through my faith. I hope you’ll let go of yours by the end. This is because my relationship with God is not cute. Everything in these entries is me arguing with God like an old grumpy writer with the personality of an Evangelical Orthodox nut job who is an emotional dumpster fire a lot of the time.

I’m also neurodivergent, so I spiral out when everything is in writing and therefore hits harder because I’m making up their tones of voice and no way to correct things when a joke doesn’t land. No matter what starts a conflict, my anxiety rises to the level of The War Doctor, where I am the bomb and you are The Moment……… because that’s my definition of what God is and will always be. The moment you are abused, your reality breaks and you need a third party. That’s why being an addict and bipolar present the same. It’s how trauma affects you your whole life once it happens. I know that now because I met my emotional abuser when I was 12 years old. It didn’t get physical because it didn’t have to. We trauma dumped and handfasted because I intrigued her mentally whether it was intentional or not. I had to forgive her and move on, but I swear to God her world will fucking end if she trauma dumps with someone else that age. No one will kill her, but she might not hate it as a viable option. That’s because Dante’s Inferno is every bit as real in terms of the lens through which I see everything and so do you if you’ve had anything similar happen to you. That’s why I trauma bonded with Daniel and agreed to marry him so fucking fast. I didn’t go insane. I’m emotionally equipped to deal with a Doctor Who is a very bad patient (a turn of phrase from voice dictation on my iPhone in a letter to the absolute love of my life. She just doesn’t accept it because she thinks that her trauma is so much worse than mine and treats herself like shit because of it. If she only knew what kind of person I think she is and started to believe what I’m telling her the first time, she’d see a person who has no problems with worshipping the water she walks on while also being able to tell her that I think we’re headed for a train wreck.

She escalates because she doesn’t want to open up and so do I.

We could have had a love that lasted for all time in these pages, because our secrets married us the moment we said them. Words made it real. Real fast. I agreed to all of it. It was Oppenhemer, and Fallout 3 is entirely responsible for the allegory I saw in playing that game because it was Biblical. When I destroyed Zax with logical fallacy, that he was omnipotent because he was programmed to be omipotent, seeing the loop in the code for the first time, I saw my inner Vault-Tec for what it was and accepted that I was a Lone Wanderer- not only because I wanted it desperately. I also couldn’t get out of it, and that’s why both Supergrover and I think that no matter what, we have a past, a present, and a future.

I am not asking for her to be mine, I am asking her what our future looks like and my problem with her is now twofold. The first is that she only understands me to the level she understands her. I am not guilting her. There isn’t a human who doesn’t do this. I am saying that we cannot interact in the future if she can’t acknowledge her humanness as well. I don’t want the stakes to be so high in our relationship. I wanted to normalize everything, and it was up to her whether that was virtual or physical, but never in a way that she thought was inappropriate for reasons that span from she’s straight to us both acknowledging that if we did it, there’s more chance that we’d destroy each other afterwards than accepting a different reality and being happy in the long term. That if we fuck this up, it’s over for both of us. Just mutually assured destruction and I’m serious as a heart attack. I didn’t give her my whole heart because I wanted her inappropriately. It’s because our emotions made us Siamese twins.

It’s why I devour everything about intelligence. I crave it. I don’t know anyone at CIA and I don’t have to. The reason I love it is because they can blow shit up when things are actually wrong and I can’t. I’ve been emotionally laden like a pack horse since I was 12, a deep cover operation in which I got lost and forgot my real identity. That’s why I need David Webb to become Director of CiA by the end of the story. When he wins, so do I. That’s why I love the conflict in Black Panther. I am both T’Challa and Erik. When love wins, they have a Tolkien CIA agent. Now you know I’m actively trying to make Zac laugh. He is giving me what served me in relationships I’ve had previously, without taking on the baggage of what didn’t. That way, I can love him with my whole heart while also not being bothered to care about absolutely anything he wants to do when we aren’t being the most obnoxious couple you’ve ever met in your life. Really. Talk to us together and you’ll throw up in your mouth a little bit. I’m not bothered about finding someone else because I am not desperately seeking attention and validation……… as people who are sick from trauma do when they don’t get well. Boldly keeping all your emotions hidden in order to be what other people want will kill you, and I mean that literally.

The best sermon I’ve ever heard came from one of the people I’ve been emotionally intimate in an extremely healthy way right up until it wasn’t because we reverted to who we are- neurodivergent and unaccepting of each other’s humanness while both being ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. It’s why I think things could be perfect between my beautiful girl if she’d let it happen. Our professions are compatible and we chose them for a reason, which makes us literally perfect for each other when we aren’t complete assholes.

The first line was “the day my father died, my brother was in jail.” She gave an unpacking of what it’s like for a church to hold on to that level of trauma and I’m a fucking PK. You have no idea what kind of trauma I was dealing with and not because of their inner demons trying to hurt me. I was bleeding out in empathy because I didn’t have any clinical separation. That’s how my trauma bond presents, and it is as ironclad as a marriage in the Holy Roman church………….. and you have two wolves inside you. You decide which one you feed. I express that by talking to a God in which I can stand up and say “I AM BAPTIZED.”

That’s a whole story in and of itself. When you’re a PK, if you pee on the person doing your baptism, you’ve just peed on your dad’s boss. Given how the UMC treated my father, I have embraced their inner Aziraphale and Crowley. The bishop who baptized me served a predominantly gay church after he baptized me, so clearly I was baptizing him as well. I love the idea that he made me a queer person loved unconditionally by God, and he is the YouTube video of Supergrover waking up Superqueer after an organ transplant with me. When I resolve trauma, I get funnier. That’s because Jesus is hilarious to me when he’s not struggling with his own demons. But what I’ve never done is go straight to Golgotha and looked away. I am Emmit Till’s mother. I want you to see what that man went through and how I view his story as a trauma survivor. He didn’t need to be bodily resurrected for me to believe that because his religious leaders gave him hell. He went straight to Golgotha without looking away and while he was on the cross he emotionally blessed and released everything by forgiving the people who murdered him. Doesn’t mean he didn’t want to murder them with words. But in order to forgive everyone on the cross, he had to walk through his own valleys of vulnerability. He had to get as mad at God as he possibly could in order to go to the mountaintop. To me, the importance of the crucifixion is a negative amount, because the resurrection didn’t happen on the cross.

He resurrected himself when he was ready to leave the garden and face death. if I could translate the scriptures written to account for his time there into line cook, it would look a lot like “fuck you. How could you do this to me?” He raged until the Red Sea parted in his mind, and if I know him as well as I think I do, he made that connection while he was still alive…………

because he was a rabbi, and I was born to upper management.

Throwing it Together

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

My kitchen manager could not have been more supportive of me. When I walked in last evening, he said, “I know your work ethic. What happened?” I said, “I would have stayed until everything was put away, but I got kicked out of the kitchen because it was so late.” He said, “I knew it must have been something like that, because it never would have happened under your watch.” And then he hugged me. I’m paraphrasing because I don’t exactly remember the words, but that’s the gist. So, everything worked out despite my stomach being in knots and practically tearing up all the way to work. There was just one slight problem.

I couldn’t explain it in Spanish. So, the person who had to come in at 9:00 AM and see all my mistakes couldn’t possibly fathom why I’d “fucked everything up.” I was completely speechless because I was all up in my head trying to pick a phrase I actually knew that would help. I had nothin,’ and no one to translate for me. My kitchen manager speaks better Spanish than me, but not enough to express everything I wanted to say. So he made up for it by letting her off early. I hope it was enough.

I would have been home pretty early last night if the dishwasher hadn’t decided to dump water all over the floor. Though technically, it wasn’t my fault, I am still taking one for the team on this one. I emptied all the traps as I’d been shown, but what I didn’t know is that you had to use a shop vac to get out all the water, too. That part of the training had been left out, through no fault of anyone’s, just an oversight. So, the kitchen manager and I stayed a little later with dry (at first) mops and got up everything we could, then turned on big fans. By now, it’s dry… or here’s hoping, anyway. 😛

By the time I left the kitchen last night, my mood had lifted, because I got fired up listening to Eminem and got it handled, as if Olivia Pope (Scandal) worked in a brewpub. My shift drink was a Mexican-style cola, one of the few things I attribute as a gift from God directly. Beer is one thing. Sugar, cinnamon, ginger, and a heavy syrup to soda water ratio that brings one right back to the drug store (that reference ages me) is quite another. As I have said before, it is on my “chef’s game” last meal list.

This morning, because it was after Eid, I made real Irish imported steel-cut oatmeal for my roommate, Abdel, and me… along with homemade coffee. And by this, I do not mean that I brewed it myself. I mean that one of my friends buys green beans and roasts them herself. It is insane.

I asked Abdel about something I’d always wanted to know. During Ramadan, do children fast? He said that unofficially, fasting begins at seven, but officially, it begins after puberty…. but that most of the time, children compete to fast so they can be just like Mommy and Daddy.

It reminded me so much of both Christianity and Judaism. In the Catholic church, seven is “the age of reason,” when you are accountable to God for your sins and start confession. In Judaism, puberty is also the sign that you are an adult. Dear God, we have so much in common, all children of Abraham. I just wish more people could see it.

Don’t get me started on Israel and Palestine, and the unwavering USG support of Israel. It just makes my blood boil, especially with one word- settlements. Never mind that Israel has a fully-functioning army (possibly a nuclear weapon, definitely chemical assault capability) AND a world-famous intelligence agency, Mossad…. Palestine has homemade bombs and rocks. They can barely sit up to Israel, much less stand. I realize that atrocities have been committed on both sides. I am not immune to the news. But the whole thing is ridiculous. Not our circus, not our monkeys…. mostly because the United States is such a young country that we legitimately have no concept of tribal wars that have been going on for centuries, and yet, we have unilaterally decided that Israel can do no wrong. And yes, I realize that the state of Israel is young, but the concept of an Israeli is not, and neither is the concept of a Palestinian.

I told you not to get me started.

All I can say now is “thank God for Ireland,” because without them, I would not have had the good breakfast I need to be happy enough to let go of this and move on to something else.

Lindsay is coming to town tonight, and this is my Friday, so we’ll have two evenings together before she goes back to Houston. I got her an amazing birthday present- I hope it scores big. Lindsay’s birthday is on June 17th, which often lines up with Father’s Day… so she still gets him a present, even though she is the ultimate gift.

I got my dad Eric Ripert’s autobiography, 32 Yolks: From My Mother’s Table to Working the Line, and a multi-tool he’d forgotten he’d put on his Amazon Wish List. I was going to get him Anthony Bourdain’s cookbook for home cooks, Appetite, but unsurprisingly, it is out of stock…. or at least it was before Father’s Day. Thanks, Obama.

The Kindle version was available, but a Kindle cookbook seems somewhat useless. I mean, what is a cookbook without notes in the margins and stains that make some of the pages stick together? How ELSE would you make a ground beef trifle (that reference ages me)? It might have been okay, I guess. A few Christmases ago I got my dad a cutting board that has a slot for a tablet in case you’re cooking with a YouTube video. Still, though, not as good.

I am not a fan of cookbooks, because I won’t use them. First of all, I have no place to store them except my Kindle, and secondly, I trust my own palate and can throw together pretty much anything. The only time I ever need a recipe is when I’m baking, because cooking is an art and baking is a science; it’s a totally different skill set.

In cooking, though, I know innately what something needs to make it pop, and how to correct mistakes (acid balances salt, etc.). I remember fondly the days when Dana would make soup, taste it, then look at me and say, “fix this.” It is not that either of us is a better cook than the other, we just have different strengths. For her, it’s technique (unsurprisingly- Cordon Bleu trained). For me, it’s palate. One is not more important than the other.

For instance, I could beat the pants off Karen’s potato salad.

The Yahrtzeit

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Don’t call me. I know you’ll all want to when you hear what I have to say. I am leaving tomorrow to go to Houston for the first time since my mother’s death. But stop yourselves from reaching out to give Lindsay and me room to grieve on our own. If we end up getting together with friends at any point, I’ll make sure you’re included. But we haven’t gotten that far. We’ve only planned what we’re going to do on the actual anniversary of my mother’s death on the second, besides attending my cousin Hunter’s wedding the day before.

Because I thought I’d be in DC during the wedding, I did not RSVP, so I hope they can haul ass to the kitchen, rearrange the food, and squish in a place setting to welcome a “Haiti-an. It actually is important to me to go to this wedding. It’s my mother’s brother’s second child, so I will get to see everyone on that side of the family at a time when we really need each other. Of course it is Hunter’s day, but seeing each other is an excellent added bonus. Plus, the wedding is in Tyler, Texas… the perfect amount of road trip. I haven’t done a real road trip in ages, so even that in and of itself is perfection.

When we get back, we’ve planned to go to the cemetery and just sit with Mom. We enjoy it because the cemetery we chose is so tranquil and peaceful it is an escape from the rest of the city. It’s also been a year since I’ve seen “Fred,” the infant-sized tree planted last year that will one day surround my mother’s grave in its majesty. I’m only sort of glad I waited this long, because I don’t think I would notice as much of a difference in “him” if I’d seen him every week.

Lindsay has said that she’s not crazy about the name “Fred.” I can’t wait to see what name she’s come up for “him.” For me, “Fred” was an easy choice because every plant I’ve ever had has been named “Fred….” and this Fred has people to take care of “him” that actually know what they’re doing. I don’t have to worry that I’m accidentally going to poison “him.” Plus, this time of year the weather should be pretty good… no pictures of the headstones with a “light dusting of snow.” We’ll eat and drink it what is hopefully sunshine and not threatening grey weather. But rest assured that I would carry six golf umbrellas before I missed going to see my mother’s grave.

It is such a bittersweet experience, because logically I know that I am just talking to her shell. Emotionally, she feels very real and present…. not in a viscerally physical way, just that her spirit is near.

It was that spirit which brought me to my knees. I didn’t want to spend that day alone, either, because I didn’t want to spend it with anyone but Lindsay and she’d already come and gone for this week.

She and my father both worked on this idea to let us have our time to laugh and cry, and the fact that they thought it was important enough to spend their hard-earned money and/or frequent flier miles to make sure it happened is exactly the kind of thing my mother would have wanted.

Sometimes it’s hard to know what it is she actually would have wanted, and yet I know this one hits the nail on the head. Now if Forbes, my stepdad, needs to get his internet fixed or his cable is down, that would just be the icing on the cake. My mother assumed my entire adult life that because I work in Information Technology, if it plugged into the wall, I could fix it. She once actually flew me to Houston just to fix her computer because it was exactly the same price as taking it to Best Buy,â„¢ and she knew that I would be nicer to her than they would because I wouldn’t try to upsell her on anything. 🙂

As it turned out, I couldn’t fix the computer after all, because it was a hardware problem and not software… but I still earned my keep. I told her that for the same price as getting her old computer fixed (emphasis on old), she could buy a cheap throwdown that would do everything she wanted it to do and I could transfer all of her files for her, or just install her old hard drive as a secondary drive in the new one. I ended up just transferring her files because I didn’t know whether the hard drive was about to blow, and thanks to her excellent grasp of “the Mommy Save,” it was ridiculously easy. The term “Mommy Save” is an old IT Help Desk joke that refers to people who have no idea how directory structures work, so everything they’ve ever worked on is an icon on the desktop. Mind you, not folders created on the desktop. Individual files that cover every possible millimeter of desktop real estate so it doesn’t even matter what the wallpaper is… you can’t see it, anyway.

And, of course, my mother also had no idea how installing peripherals worked, so of course things that were simple to me, like installing the printer/scanner/copier driver, seemed like magic to her. She really thought it was magic when I discovered that her PSC had wireless and set up every computer in the house to print to it, and enabled file sharing so that she didn’t have to e-mail Forbes everything she wanted him to see.

I also locked down her router so that no one in her neighborhood could steal bandwidth from her using the router’s default username and password, the one that had been on it for, like, two years. I think I gave it the SSID “Baker’s Dozen,” because Baker was her married name…. but I TOLD her it was “Carolyn’s Tattoo Parlor and BBQ Pit.” Because she’d known me my whole life, she knew I was just kidding… and I knew exactly what she was thinking…. my God… you are way too much like your father. I don’t think I am….. he’s WAY more funny than me. Just more practice at it, I guess…. or at least, that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. Perhaps one day his little grasshopper will reach satori, but I am not holding my breath.

Although this story may come close.

I love temporary tattoos, because there are lots of tattoos I like, but won’t commit to them forever. I was out shopping and found some really cool ones- tribal representations of animals, armbands, etc. My mother, however, did not like tattoos AT ALL. So, I wake up before she does and put this GIANT tiger temp tattoo on my neck. Not even an Oxford button-down will cover it. She comes into the kitchen a little while later and I can see the wheels in her head turning, trying not to explode as she thinks through all the jobs I’ve just lost. She tries so hard….. when did you get your tiger tattoo? If it’s on your neck, it must’ve really hurt. Do you think your job will care? How did you manage to hide it? I didn’t even see it last night…….. Your mom is going blind in her old age……. I let her twist in the wind for a few more minutes before I took some cotton balls and a small bottle of baby oil out of my pocket and rubbed it off. It was nice to see some blood come back into her face, and she laughed- not necessarily because she thought it was funny, but because she knew she’d been had and it was exactly the type joke her firstborn would play on her…. but not before trying to convince me that she’d known it was fake all along, that she was just trying to keep it going, etc. I didn’t buy it for a second, but it was hilarious to watch her backpedal nonetheless.

My mom was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, but because her brain worked on a very high, creative plane most of the time, jokes often went over her head. She had bigger things to think about than whether her daughter was pranking her or not, which made her an easy target, especially since she was so willing to laugh at herself.

One of the times she absolutely lost it laughing at herself was when my dad took my mom, sister, and me to our friend Hardy Roper’s vacation house in Galveston. It had a dock on the bay side of the island, and Lindsay and I were doing a half-hearted job of fishing, using cheese as bait (or as my sister said, “WE’RE GONNA CATCH FISH WITH CHEESE!!!!!). I was wearing my favorite loafers, which happened to be pretty expensive, and my mom just knew I was going to drop them in the water while my feet were dangling over the side. She rushed over to me and said, hand me your shoes. If you lose them, we won’t be able to replace them. So, I hand them to her, and for whatever reason, at exactly that moment she was thrown of balance and promptly dropped both of my precious loafers into the bay. We laughed until we cried…. which is exactly what I want to do at the cemetery.

Of course I miss my mother, and it is incredibly sad, but it is a good thing that part of grief is the uncontrollable laughter of reminiscence.

If there’s anything I hope for during this trip, it’s that nearly every sentence begins with do you remember the time when Mom……………… It is the best opening line for me since once upon a time………….. because once upon a time, I could not laugh like this. 2017-09-30 00_53_56-Mourner's Kaddish _ ReformJudaism.orgI was too engrossed in survivor’s grief, not allowing myself joy because it did not seem appropriate to have fun. I felt that the only thing I deserved was to look down in sadness, tear my clothes, and even though I’m not Jewish, say the Kaddish (also known as The Mourner’s Kaddish) in her honor. If you’ve never heard it, the graphic to the right is the prayer in Hebrew. What follows is the English:

Exalted and hallowed be God’s great name
in the world which God created, according to plan.

May God’s majesty be revealed in the days of our lifetime
and the life of all Israel — speedily, imminently, to which we say Amen.

Blessed be God’s great name to all eternity.

Blessed, praised, honored, exalted, extolled, glorified, adored, and lauded
be the name of the Holy Blessed One, beyond all earthly words and songs of blessing,
praise, and comfort. To which we say Amen.

May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and all Israel,
to which we say Amen.

May the One who creates harmony on high, bring peace to us and to all Israel.
To which we say Amen.

I ask all of your blessings as two Christians try to make their own theme & variation on a yahrtzeit that weaves my mother’s personality throughout. The concept of the yahrtzeit is extremely meaningful to me, because it is not the first anniversary of a loved one’s death, but all of them. I tend to steal borrow from all faith traditions as I try and navigate the largest unknown I’ve ever faced. Making things better probably won’t come out of one book, but many. I mean, not everybody can be Doug Forcett.

I would appreciate each and every one of you holding space for Lindsay and me as we survey dark wilderness…. because maybe next year, having some contour lines will help.

In the meantime, I am praying not only on the words, but the spaces in between. Often, the wisdom is in the pause.

#prayingonthespaces