Mom's house

it doesn't matter
which house it is.

the corner house across from the park with the outdoor swimming pool,
two blocks from Rickard Elementary
or
three blocks to Jr. High (and lunches of french fries at Service Drug)
or
a block and half to High School (to which we drove, back and forth, because, duh, who WALKS to school in High School?)

or this garden-town home
on the opposite side of the state...
not a STEP to worry about in this wide open,
lovely open-concep two bedroom, two bath, complete with a garage the size of the first floor of my own house in Boston....
HEATED garage, people.

it's Mom's house.  (and my step-dad's,  yes, of course....)

always flowers at mom's house

and the first day I visit,
it's always the same.
I check things out.
I look for the familiar library desk...filled with notes.
Her bedroom furniture, brand new and beautiful
(can I have this when you go, Mom?)
still holds her essence.
I snoop in her jewelry to look for the cross I gave her the first time I went to Israel,
and I look for her favorite photo of my twin and I
(one squalling bald baby, and one terrified moppy haired baby staring at her crying sister)
and I seek the picture of my grandfather that my uncle captured,
many years ago,
Grandpa Lee is looking over the lake, not focused on the camera, but probably thinking about fishing.

my twin and me

Oh, there are so many more photos...
of my nephews, and me and my sisters' baby pictures hung in a cluster in her bedroom,
and the antique photos
of female ancestors
that hung in the basement near my room
that creeped me out
when I would come home late in high school,
because I SWORE their eyes followed me...
only to continue to haunt me
in the guest bedroom where I sleep, today
watching over me like serious angels.
Do they know my heart?

(kinda scary, right?)

it's Mom's house.

I make sure she has all the familiar stuff in the fridge, and cupboards
yogurt, cheese,
eggs,
lots of condiments (some probably expired, but you just don't throw this stuff away, you know?)
bread, Life cereal, and a LOT of tupperware (how did this happen?  I tossed out so much three summers ago when I helped her and my step-dad move.  I guess having tupperware is security, or what makes a kitchen functional. )

The little things that have been gifted to her over the years--
the blue and white pottery my sister in california gave her,
the little plaques and decorative pictures,
whether they match or not, they are around,
because that is how a mother rolls, right?
what is more precious than a watercolor painted by a 7th grader?
or a letter from a preschool grandson?

it's Mom's house.
and so, so much more.

vast and rolling

I am in the window seat of the small plane
that is in descent
to the eastern part of the state
I still call  home.
As I peer through the
smudgy clouded scratched glass,
I marvel
at how my body
tunes in
with the
vastness
of this place.

so much room
to breathe.
so much land
measured in quartered fields
and tiny rivers
forming oxbows
and straight roads
that roll out forever...
a patchwork from the sky.

I know this rolling blue sky.
I know this green grass and yellow-bright fields of canola
resting next to green fields of potatoes or sugar beets or
some kind of grain, it doesn't matter.
I know this wind, hot and dryly humid.

But the best thing is,
this vast and rolling place
knows me.
We connect....
and
my ancient childhood
is renewed in good and solid ways.
Home.

Carnival! Week 2

At RevGalBlogPals, Teri asks us:

What's the most surprising connection you've made through RevGalBlogPals? Or the most surprising or helpful thing you've learned/experienced through this galship of friends?

I didn't get around to playing last week, but, so this post is a mishmash of...what galship is to me, and the surprise of RGBP. 

I was probably about a month or so into a new call.   My love and I had moved from North Carolina to Boston.  I left a position in a newish church start, which I loved...I LOVED...the people, my colleague, everything...to travel to the awesome state of Massachusetts, which was liberal, gay-friendly, and completely foreign to both of us.   My beloved fell right into her new position in higher ed, at the place most perfect for her. An amazing fit.  

For me, I was lost.   So lost.   After the first couple of months, I started doing temporary work (which was a total joke, because I didn't even know how to run a copy machine) and I bluffed my way through MIT, FAS-Harvard, Radcliffe, and finally landing at Harvard Divinity School, being a temporary faculty assistant.   In December of 2006, I landed my first church pastoral interview, at the only opening in my association, for an associate position.   By February, I was offered the position, on the same day I was offered a position in the Women's Studies in Religion at HDS, to be the coordinator of the program.   In spite of being enticed to take the position at HDS (which in hindsight....well, o.k. maybe, maybe not) I answered the pastoral call.  At heart, I am a pastor.  I wasn't exactly sure about the associate part, because I really wanted to be a lead pastor.   But pastor vs. coordinator, it seemed clear. 

And yes, it was the right path. 

But I was lonely.  

I had virtually no colleagues in ministry. 

But I had a blog.  Earthensoul.  It was mostly about connections between being a potter and pastor, but so much more. 

Somehow, I stumbled upon RevGals.   Grace of God, really, because I don't remember how I found this sisterhood. 

I think I might have played a Friday Five, first.  I remember it was something about "what are you having for lunch"  and "what are you wearing to work if you do on Friday......"   And then, people responded to my post.  My spinach salad with gorgonzola and pears was a hit.   I was so touched that people took time to read my post, let alone comment.  

So, I asked to be a member. And was accepted! 

I had people.  I had sisters.  I had galship,  I had colleagues.  Instantly.  Let me tell you, being a new pastor in Boston isn't the easiest, after only serving in southern churches. Everything is different.  My colleague's wife was supportive, but she was technically my boss's wife.  The other women I knew were a crusty ready to retire kind of grumpy clergy association colleague, and a practicing nun in the same association.  I was starved. 

So, reading Songbird, and Terrapin Station, Wills Mama, and St. Casserole, and Vicar and Authentic Voice and so many other blogs was a balm to my desert soul.  I found community, I found church, a galship....

I missed BE1.   I went to BE2 with fear and trepidation.  It was in Arizona.  But I knew that Songbird, Terrapin, St. Casserole, Vicar, and Authentic Voice would be there.  They were my virtual friends, and I was hopeful they would be my life friends.  

And that is the surprise.  That the interwebs don't lie, when you are faithfully trying to be authentically you.  I was so welcomed.  I was known.  I was beloved by sisters in faith, in spite of non-physical introductions.  

I am sad that there are some that feel there are cliques in RGBP, or feel dismissed because they are older....but my experience as an almost 50 something lesbian clergy woman has never been negative.  I have ALWAYS had supportive women colleagues....but I have had to search for them and trust.  

With RGBPs,  I have tried to be as openly welcoming as I was welcomed.  

And I am grateful.  

The most amazing surprise?  

Two of the RGBP wanted, TRUSTED me to their pastor for their wedding.    Crazy. 

Of course we planned it together, but they trusted me with the liturgy to make their public vows of  commitment (in spite of one bride Having A Very Famous Cousin Who Could Have Totally Been The Officiant).  

And I am blessed with their courage.  So, so, so many obstacles.  So, so, so many ways they came out to their congregations.  Their risks blow out my mind.  

Since BE2, I have gone on others.  ON CRUISES, people.  CRUISES.  Where you can eat whenever you need,  your bed is made, chocolates on the pillows....and beautiful friends.  

I can't go this year.  OH!   I  am bereft.  But I am in transition, and if someone drops out at last minute, and I am in a new congo, I am first on the waiting list.  

But it doesn't matter. Because GalShip thrives, whether on a cruise, in AZ, in the blogsphere, or facebook....

I know you are there. 

Written, with so much love in my heart. 


   

the end of an era....

Callie, 16 plus years, Jewelry Queen

Daisy, 15 1/2 years, Drama Dog

So, what a sad day at our house....

We had made an appointment with our vet to have her come and humanely euthanize Callie cat, as she was experiencing neurological stuff, plus doing circles all the time, and basically not eating.   She had shrunk to less than 5 pounds, and wore a perpetual knitted brow as if in pain.   

Daisy dog, although still eating and doing all those things, was also in decline, and the past few days more so than ever, culminating in last night and this morning, just wandering and staring into the distance, not settling down and whining.  A lot.  

Callie went quickly, and died in Beloved's arms.   

Then we exchanged looks.  Talked to the vet.  She looked at Daisy, and said "I agree."  

So I held Daisy in my arms, and let her go.  

These two were quite the divas in our household.   

Callie, the last Kentucky cat.  Ferocious hunter.   Brought home the Easter Bunny two years in a row, dead.  She was incredibly curious, and we had to make sure we knew where she was before any workpersons left our house who had an open van out front of the house.   She loved to play in the jewelry box.   She gave one last pop on the head to our youngest cat, Sophie, this morning, whom she felt she needed to discipline.  

And Daisy was my baby.   I got her my first year in seminary, and I would have NEVER made it through Hebrew with out her, and Yeong Mee, the tutor.   She loved peanut butter, hated being left alone.  Right from the start, she snuggled up to me in bed.   Other people loved her too, and often my friends would "borrow" her for the day.   Always serious, she was incredibly easy to tease.  Up to the last day, in fact.   She was just all that.  

She went home with me on breaks--to North Dakota and Florida.  She was welcomed along with me to my first call in North Carolina.   She hated the snow if it got caked up in her paw pads.  She had a best buddy, Tikky, in seminary, who later came to live with us when Yeong Mee moved back to Korea.  

She was smart.   Silly.  Earnest.   Dear.  

What a great friend you were, dear Daisy Dog.   

Thank you for the gift of your life, and for sharing the journey with me. 

Friday Five: DOG OR CATS?

Over at REVGALS, Jan writes:
In my experience in the United States, people are either "Dog People" or "Cat People." As the graph above illustrates, not everyone is limited to those types of animals. So I am wondering about pets and experiences with them.

1. Are you a DOG or a CAT person? Or OTHER?
I love them all. 
2. Who were the pets of your childhood and what were they like?
I had a dog named Benji who was a border collie.  We got him when I was in sixth grade, and he lived until after I graduated from college. 

3. What pets do you have now?
The current tally in the household is 3 dogs, 7 cats.  One of our cats died a couple of weeks ago.  However, we have had as many as 5 dogs and 9 cats.   It's quite the zoo. 
4. Have you ever had any unusual pets in your household or visit your home?
We have a lot of fosters that pass through our doors. 

5. What have you learned from your pets? Give one recent example, if possible.
Resilience.  Animals are so amazingly resilient.  
BONUS: Pictures or anything else related to animals you love.

Well, you asked for this:

Cooper and Fenway, two of our three dogs

Feeding Time.

Venus, best dog ever. She died a few years ago. 

Little Tikky.  She died two years ago.  She lost an eye to glaucoma, but it didn't slow her down. 

Wherever we go, the animals find us.   This was a bunch of baby chickens on the beach in Kauai.

Sweet, feral Sadie.  She died two weeks ago. 

Some of the animals make it onto my pottery!

Foster mama and her babies.  We ended up keeping  mama, and her name is Sophie. 

Literally, I picked this dog up on my way to church one Sunday.  He was running along the street as happy as he could be.  He just had a collar, and an outdated rabies tag.  So, I took him to church with me, and he hung out in my office during worship.   After worship, we did a little sleuthing work, and found his family.  Then, two days later, he got loose again! Silly bird.  My neighbor found him.  So, I took him back to his house AGAIN.  I think they fixed the fence then.  ;-)

Cat painting on the iPad.  It's the best app ever...a little mouse runs across the screen, and the cat tried to pounce it.  What a lovely painting, by Lucy. 

Scout, a very brief foster boy. He was a handful. NO manners.  But he got a great home. 

Titan, a long foster.  He was such a goofball.  His head was HUGE. Anyway, I loved him so much and we almost kept him, but then he ended up in the lap of luxury, adopted by a lawyer and a doctor. 

Lucky guy, he goes kayaking and swimming all of the time. 

Hennessy. Big smile, huh?  One of my unsuccessful fosters.  He was such a sweet boy with me, but he bit one of my dogs out of the blue.  He then ended up in a bad foster situation (no Alpha in the house) After a couple of bad biting experiences, he had to be put to sleep.  There are no bad dogs, just people who don't care for them properly. 

Rest in peace, dear one. 

Daisy.  Our oldest dog.  She is now 15.5, blind, deaf, and wears a diaper for incontinence. But it doesn't stop her one bit.  She prances around,shrieks for treats, and is a ball of spunk. 

This is Charley, our Hawaiian cat.  He lives in the condo complex we stay at when we go to the Big Island.  He shows up at every sunset in the quad area, because he knows people will feed him.  Sometimes he comes up to our condo and visits for awhile.  Especially if we have turkey to share. 

This is Callie.   She is 16 plus years.  She has kitty dementia, and walks in circles alot, meaowing. 

She is our princess, and we love her so, so much. 

There are more photos of the the others, but I have to get going!  Thanks for the play, Jan!

writing my way through

So,
in being gentle with myself,
I can err on the side of being lazy and non-reflective.
Well, maybe lazy, but the non-reflective isn't true.  I reflect, I muddle, I persiverate, I lose myself inside my unformed thoughts and forget to be present to my spouse, the moment, in my body...
you get it, right?

I am a big giant F on the Meyers Briggs (if you buy into that. I know that it has been debunked, kicked to the curb in some academic circles.)  The F seems to be pretty accurate for me, because I know that I simply feel, feel, feel before any words come to explain whatever the feeling is.

And in transition, I am a big giant F.  Feelings, no words.

It seems like a good idea to try to write a little, every day, even if I don't say anything.  Because, the feelings make me float.  The words, even if they don't make sense, ground me.  

I need the balance.

---

Honestly, I no idea in heaven or earth how I am being called.   I've been a pastor for the last 13 years, and a pretty good one.   I put my heart and soul into ministry, internally it feels right and good; and the external feedback is overwhelmingly positive.  

However...finding a call here has been confusing, to say the least.   It's sort of like a Goldilocks thing--I am too experienced, not enough experience, too old, too young, too gay, too creative...I don't know.
Enough about that--a rabbit hole I don't need to follow.

----
I need the balance.
Help me find Balance.  and Grace.
Amen.

Losing the Love

So,
I think I can process a little of my transition here, now, as I can tell my own story.

My congregation has been in transition the past two years--our SP resigned then.   In the scrambling of embracing the news, many people said, "Can't Karla just be our pastor?".   As flattering and affirming as that was,  I felt that it was important for me to support having an interim come in, as the SP had been with the congregation for 17 years.   I believe in intentional transition....although, in congregational polity, the congregation COULD do whatever it wanted.   Several congregations in my area have simply made the AP the SP, without the process, and the transitions have been fine.   However, for me, personally, I just felt that I needed to respect the work and possibility that emerges from interim ministry.  Especially the process of building a church profile.

There are myriad ways in which a search committee can choose to interview, when it is ready, an AP.  In some cases, it can use the Connecticut Conference model, which interviews the AP first, without receiving profiles of other candidates.  If the AP is not called, then, well, that person has already agreed to resign within six months (or before a new SP is called)--whatever is agreed upon.  This makes sense to me--it wouldn't be healthy to have an AP continue in an AP position when that person had been NOT selected to be SP.  Talk about possible opportunities for triangulation! undermining!--for ALL involved.

Another way to proceed is to open the search, and throw in the AP profiles in with all of the others.   This is what my congregation's search committee decided to do.   I wrestled a long time before I submitted my profile, because I had questions as to whether I could be a pastor and a candidate at the same time.  But, at the same time, I felt a call to this congregation.   So, with a bit of trepidation, I submitted my profile for consideration.   That was the first of October, 2012.  

I learned at the beginning of March, I was one of final three candidates.   On Wednesday, in Holy Week, I learned I was not the candidate of choice, and that the candidating weekend for the chosen candidate was the last weekend of April.   A month away--and yet the congregation wouldn't be notified until after Easter of the candidate.  So, three weeks.  

Immediately, with consult from colleagues, I crafted an exit plan, and wrote a letter of resignation.  Once I was a candidate for SP did I ever think I would stay as an AP, because of what I said earlier.  I wanted to make a way for the congregation to celebrate the new candidate.

So...it hasn't been easy, these past three weeks.  Some folk have expressed distress at my leaving, some have been surprised that I was NOT the SP candidate of choice, some folk truly bewildered that I would resign after learning that I wasn't the SP candidate.  Working out the details of leaving have been a little stressful, and disappointing.  I have moving with my own grief and sadness, along with wondering what the heck is next in ministry for me.  

It's been six years with this congregation.   I have loved them deeply.  We have done really great ministry.   I think what I am going to miss the most is the Love we have shared and built.   I know I won't lose love, but in a way, there is loss in leaving.   So it feels like it.

And so, I am sad.
I covet your prayers for this time of leaving.
Thank you.