Last Week

It's been a while. Last week. Whew. Let me tell ya. Whew!

Sunday morning (the 7th of March), Kevin and I found out that one of our most beloved teachers and spiritual role models died, late the night before, suddenly, of a usually benign virus. He was 60, and he'd been sick only for a few weeks. Dr. Plaster, though a staunch conservative, was one of the most humble, compassionate, loving, thoughtful men I've ever known. He counseled me when I was in seminary. I approached him limping, disfigured, diseased with guilt, and desperate to be taught how to forgive, love, and honor the woman who had invaded my body, poisoned my mind, and shattered my heart. He didn't condemn me. He assured me that I was okay, that I wasn't doing anything wrong, that my anger was a holy anger, and that I was loved just as I was. No one had ever told me those things before, told me that I'm not categorically fucked up. I haven't yet internalized his words to me during that time, but I mark those words as the beginning of my healing journey. I will miss him.

We spent that afternoon in the presence three dear friends, over cake and tea. It was a balm to my aching heart.

Monday, I had a nightmare. I was in my mother's bedroom where we lived in Philadelphia when I was a young teenager. She was screaming, throwing things, threatening. I stood up, shoved her down, and shouted "Why can't you be normal? Why can't you just stop doing this and be normal? Don't you know I'm an adult now, a married woman? Why won't you just be normal?" She didn't answer; she just sat on the bed, babbling and ignoring me. She looked so old. It wasn't frightening, but it was disturbing to me. I didn't eat or sleep much for the rest of the week, and I still haven't stopped thinking about that nightmare.

Thursday was a dark day. I don't want to go into details about it, but it was just not a good day, internally. I won't say it was just pms, because that's not it. I don't believe in "just pms." That dark day every month is an opportunity, a glance at realms of my heart that usually remain hidden. I get to see what's there, what's hurting me without my knowledge, and I'm given a chance to seek help that will bring healing to those realms. I usually can't bring myself to do it. But you know what? This time, I unearthed the courage and self-love to cry out for that help. And it came (willingly!), and some healing with it. Words simply cannot hold the surprising sweetness of that dark day.

Friday was Dr. Plaster's memorial service. It was heavy, as those things are. But I wasn't alone.

Saturday morning, we met the Yutzys. The Yutzys are a kind Amish family who live 45 minutes north of us in Napanee. We signed a contract to "lease part of the herd" that the Yutzys own so we can have raw organic milk, a gallon delivered to us every week. Their (seven!) kids were sooooo cute! The wife, Susan, took us for a ride in the family's buggy (!!!) and talked to us about the church culture of her community. They spent two and a half hours with us, showing us their farm, asking and answering our questions, and just being generally beautiful people. It made me want to be their friends. And maybe to be Amish. If it weren't for those darn bonnets.

Saturday night, we had a lovely dinner at a lovely restaurant with some very lovely friends to celebrate—what else?—love: theirs for each other and ours for them. We had so much fun wining and dining together, three and a half hours of course after course and great conversation. Few things in life make me happier than great food and people I love. Sharing great food with people I love? Stellar. As far as I'm concerned, it was a perfect evening.

Sunday, we went to the same friends' progressive Mennonite church in Goshen. I'm feeling quite private about my church experience and spiritual life right now, but I will say this: it was nourishing, moving, delightful, uplifting, and very, very hard. We sang a hymn that I haven't heard since my ccd class in the Catholic church I attended with my mom when I was 14. We sang it fairly frequently, and it played in my mind after many a confrontation with her, God's tender whisper, anointing my wounds. I was breathless, hearing it again, the whisper, choking as I sang with it, too quietly to be heard. Here are the words:

I will come to you in the silence,
I will lift you from all your fear.
You will hear my voice,
I claim you as my choice,
Be still and know I am here.

I am hope for all who are hopeless,
I am eyes for all who long to see.
In the shadows of the night,
I will be your light,
Come and rest in me.

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me,
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

I am strength for all the despairing,
Healing for the ones who dwell in shame.
All the blind will see,
The lame will run free,
And all will know my name.

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me,
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

I am the Word that leads all to freedom,
I am the peace the world cannot give.
I will call your name,
Embracing all your pain,
Stand up now, walk, and live!

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me,
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

And last night, I slept more soundly than I have in a long time. Did I ever need it. What a week.