Snow Thoughts

I sat alone a few minutes before I was supposed to go into rehearse for the Ash Wednesday service last week, watching from the inside as the snow covered the windshield of my car and thinking that a year from now, I’ll have one of these things and not the other. 

Tuesday morning, I woke up to a pretty snowfall coating roofs and tree branches and the already frozen ground and as I walked to my window watching the swirls of snowflakes in the air, I thought that I’ll never quite get over my innate excitement when it snows. I imagine they don’t have snow days with breaks from school and runs on the grocery stores in Scotland, but I don’t think I’ll mind it so much; I’ll have proper winter boots and a warm winter coat and gloves and scarves and anyway, ice is the worst part of a North Carolina winter. 

I know that I talk out of my- sorry, I know that I frequently speak with authority on subjects about which I have no actual knowledge. I also know everyone else does that too. So when I say that snow is still going to be magical for me, I need you to put your internal ragemonsters away because yes, I know that it’s a pain going to work in the snow (I’ve done it several times); yes, I know that making up school is a burden on families, communities, teachers, and schools (my program makes its money from visits scheduled at schools during the school day); and yes, I know that after months of snow, I will probably never want to see it again. But in my heart, I want to maintain that tiny seed of joy that was planted the minute I was born in a southern state where snow is an event and not a perpetuality. 

And that’s my problem. For all the faults and failures of my life, I still want to keep it as is. Well, maybe not “as is,” maybe that’s a step too far in the direction of preservation, but I think, for the most part, I’ve become who I was going to be. I’m excited about where I’m going and I’m content about where I’ve come from and I feel like that kind of acceptance of my own personal status quo is a lie my subconscious is telling me. I can’t really be okay with who I am, can I? What am I missing? 

In a thousand quotidian ways, I know I can improve. I can yell less and be confident more. I can listen to my body and actively listen to other people. I can give away more of my possessions and money and time, because I have an abundance. I could care more. I could create more. But finally, finally, finally, I think I have a solid foundation upon which to build. I think I know who I am. That doesn’t help me with my place in the universe and it doesn’t help pay my bills, but it’s nice. It’s nice to know I’m not some bunch of chemicals walking around in a skin sack confused. I’m some bunch of chemicals walking around in a skin sack with a deeper understanding of my mental, emotional, and spiritual state, which, I believe, is an improvement all its own. 

Yesterday, I was sitting in my car getting myself together as I waited for the snow to start falling again and I had a tearful realization which may or may not have been accompanied by sobs, quiet screams, and prolonged pounding on my steering wheel. I was thinking about a lecture I had just been to and how two darling little old ladies had said that the speaker, a full-time professor with a doctorate, was “such a sweet young lady” who “talked so quickly” and “must be so smart to keep all those facts in her brain.” And I was thinking about how sometimes when I talk, it’s like the sound waves dissipated in the air before they ever reached anyone’s ears and how I waste time asking questions that show my insight just so I can be taken seriously at the table and how I let myself be goofy and inept and clueless in front of my friends as a price paid for acceptance and how I can’t take any of that back and how I do not know how to earn value in this world, the kind of value that is paid out in attention and respect, which is really what I want more than anything. I don’t know what hoops to jump through, what tasks to complete, what words to say, how to dress, how to do my hair, how to smile, what I need to do in order to earn that value from anyone. 

And then I stopped, because the roller coaster had reached its peak and in that breath-taking moment, when the real world had hushed because the clouds were fixing to open and the world inside my head was already silent because a Word had fallen, in that moment I remembered that I already had all the value I needed. I was allotted that baseline worth before I took my first breath and no one can take it from me, though I may feel like that has been true in the past. No one can take away my value. They can only add to it. The amount they add may grow over time or it may diminish, and I might get used to what they added and miss it when it’s gone, but they can only add. They can only add. They can only add. 

It felt like a mantra best whispered at night when ghosts made of misspoken regrets swirl around, but maybe that’s what mantras are for, for saving you from yourself. And maybe my current emotional state is something along the lines of “sitting in the roller coaster train waiting for the drop”, but at least I talked myself onto the ride in the first place. And if I can knock out all those fears and doubts, then there’s nothing left but to enjoy the ride. Sitting at the top, you can see the whole track laid out in front of you, heart-pounding excitement that will throw you around and bring you back with windswept hair. 

That’s exciting. 

And it snowed last night. 

Once Upon A

Why did no one warn me about that spotlight?

Once.

Seriously, I can’t see a thing.

Once upon a time,

Is that Ryan?

there was a castle in a city on a hill. 

It’s so sweet that he came again tonight.

A river ran through the city, 

You know, as a friend. 

past the castle, where children and workers and friends would swim and sail boats and float. All around

Use your hands.

the city with the castle in it were mountains. These mountains kept the city safe. 

The people in the city were very happy. 

Smile.

They had a kind King and a just Queen with many daughters and sons of varying talents, each lovely in their own way. The kingdom was prosperous. All was well.

Remember what Nell said. Don’t give it away again.

No one knew the second daughter was cursed.

In the city with the castle, by the river with the boats, there lived a Young Man of stout heart and good conscience. 

Did Ryan just move up a row? 

Each day, as he watched the guards entering and leaving the castle, he grew closer to realizing

I swear, that’s not where he was sitting before.

how much he would like to join them.

I think he’s smiling at me.

Up, up, up in the mountains around the city with the castle lived a kind Old Woman. She lived with her animals and any weary travelers who needed a place to lay their heads for a night or seven. Each Thursday, she brought a basket of flowers or berries or nuts or tired bits of trees to the market in the city. She would also bring tales told to her by the travelers, stories of monsters and heroes, loves lost and won, families broken and saved. When the woman came town, all the people listened. They shared their stories in turn and the woman carried those stories up the mountain along with the goods she gained from her wares. 

All was well

Oh, for the love of God, did your voice just break? 

Get it together.

until the day that the Old Woman came to the city with the castle with news of that most vicious and hulking of monsters- war. Travelers, fleeing from villages that had been razed to the ground by shadow beasts that none could describe nor defeat, had shown up at her door. Panicked and destitute, they had come across the mountains to seek the shelter of the castle, but unless a force went to meet them and throw them back, the horrible shadow creatures could not be far behind.

The good King and Queen called their councils to order, weighing the woman’s tale. The entire kingdom waited in anticipation, none more than the good people of the city with the castle in it.  The next day, the King called all who would listen to the city square and announced that the kingdom would send out soldiers to fight in this war against the shadows. The Bravest Princess and Prince would go out to fight with them, as a symbol of the King’s commitment to preserving the kingdom’s lands. 

I’ll give it to you, Nell. This is a good moment. 

The gathered crowd gasped

Make them see it.

and cried out and the city square shook with their disappointment and fear, for the Bravest Prince and Princess were well loved by the people. When they rode out of the city with the castle surrounded by the mountains, the roads and the river were covered with white flowers, placed by the people with the promise of remembrance. 

Did that old man seriously cough just now? Way to ruin the atmosphere, Grandpa. 

With so many fighters gone,

How much of a stink eye is professional to give to a cougher?

the Young Man who lived by the river got his chance. 

Seriously, can I get you a lozenge? 

He joined the castle guard

Can anyone get him a lozenge?

and spent his days protecting the Second Princess. He stayed by her side as the war dragged on and the shadow army approached and were thrown back time and again. They followed the progress of the battles together and watched the world change around them, growing less secure and more frightening. He held her tightly on the day they received the news that her brother had been killed in battle.

Eyes anywhere except Ryan.

They fell in love. 

The Queen didn’t approve and the King had hoped for royalty, but together they understood the value of a celebration at a time like this. The ceremony would be small, to reflect the war efforts, but it would be a reason to rejoice nonetheless. The Second Princess and the Young Man from the river were greeted by crowds gathered in the gardens of the castle minutes after they were married and they waved at the people from the shortest balcony on the south wall of the castle, radiant in their happiness.

Oh, Nell, why didn’t you end the play here?

Seasons passed and the Old Woman returned to the city with the castle with the best of news.

Hey, where did…

The war was ending. 

Did he leave?

The monsters, defeated, retreating, had left the villages on the other side of the mountains unmolested for months, thanks to the King’s brave forces. There was a kingdom-wide festival of light and food and color and togetherness, for they had all come through this dark time side by side, hand in hand. Joy was everywhere

Pause. Breathe.

except in the castle. 

The Second Princess’ curse had finally come to life. 

As the kingdom around her returned to normal and bards composed songs of the tales brought back from war, the princess was racked from head to toe with unspeakable pain. The King and Queen had her moved to the top of the highest tower to give her quiet and help her heal and still her screams echoed through the castle, bouncing off the grey stone of the walls. 

The royal family worked day and night to find a cure for the curse. After all, they had just won a war, the Bravest Princess reasoned. Surely this was but another battle to fight. 

The bravadic idiot.

But the neither the Bravest Princess’ sword nor her siblings’ wisdom or charity or tenacity or patience could defeat the curse. None could find a way to rid the Second Princess of her pain. The years wore on and the royal family gave up all hope. 

I still can’t believe Ryan left. 

All except the Young Man from the river. 

There’s like two minutes left.

He would come to his wife’s side each evening when her throat was too raw to do anything other than moan, just before the healers put her to sleep. He would hold her tightly, as he had held her in her loss, and say over and over again, “I love you, I love you, I-

love you.” 

RYAN?! What the... you can't just...

Annabelle, you're a professional. Be cool. Be cool.

Because her husband was so devoted, he was the first to see her on the morning that

they found the cure for the curse.

Are we really doing this? 

Nell really isn't going to stop…? 

All right.

The second princess couldn’t believe it. After years of immense pain, it seemed like hope was at last in sight. 

The cure required a quest, a long journey to search for the ingredients. The Young Man volunteered right away,

leaving his wife,

in order to save her. 

I NEVER NEEDED YOU TO SAVE ME.

The journey took two years, four months, one week, and one day, but the Young Man from the river returned with every ingredient in the amount needed, completely safe and sound.

Unfortunately, during that time, the Second Princess had

forgotten who her husband was. 

Because she died. She dies, Ryan. She DIES. Saving her cheapens the story, wraps everything up in a bow, misses the point of this play, the play that I am doing night after night as a favor to my friend, a favor TO MY FRIEND, and you have missed the point that just because you win one war does not mean that you win them all. SHE. DIES.

But he remembered. 

He remembered her hair and her face and her laugh and her smile. He remembered how they’d fight over the most useless things, 

Ryan…

but how they’d come back together

Ryan, step back.

with a kiss. 

A kiss can’t save every story.                                                                    A kiss can’t save every story. 

He could only hope that it would save this one. 

...

...

The Young Man came back on a Thursday. 

Take my hand. 

That night, as the Old Woman travelled back to her home in the mountains, she carried home a story different from the one she had expected to tell. Instead of the deep purple cloths of mourning, she carried the bright yellows that announced a new festival. The story she carried, 

it was a story of rescue,

a story of chances, 

chances that wouldn’t be wasted. 

Twice. 

I can't believe you. Honestly, I can't. 

Now bow with me, you glorious mistake. 

God, that light is bright. 

Stories and Nets

(The sermon series we're doing right now is following the lectionary through the Gospel of Mark and this is inspired in part by the passage from this morning: Mark 1: 16-20. The sermon may have made this exact point, but I wasn't listening as much as I should have because I was too busy being distracted by my overly dramatic, slightly tortured inner monologue. Sorry about that.) 

There are stories that we tell over and over because we love them. A hero fights a monster and saves the day. A lost soul in search of love finds it through mishap and adventure. Against all odds, the most unexpected person triumphs. These are our fairy tales, our fables, our novels, our movies, our bedtime stories. We come back to them time and again. 

There’s a story that we love to tell in the church. It’s a call story. It’s when the hero of your tale hears God’s plan for their life clear and true and willingly follows. It’s the story of Abraham, Moses, Samuel, of the fishermen who became disciples and the Christians who followed after. Sure, everyone has bumps along the way, but everyone picks up and follows the Lord when he calls. That’s what we’re meant to emulate; we’re meant to be faithful and obedient on a life-altering scale for the good of the people around us and those who will come after.

But we all know that the stories we tell don’t always reflect the realities we live. Some souls don’t find love and spend their whole lives wondering what was so wrong with them, when the fault really lies with the people who assume love is water and not wine. Some heroes fail to slay the dragon and the townspeople have to find a way to rebuild away from the charred remains of the only home they ever knew. Some giants win. And sometimes, when Jesus calls, we stay behind to tend the boat.

I have a lifetime of practicality behind me, the kind of practicality that worries about that worship leader’s microphone cord wrapping around her ankles as she spins in the Spirit on stage, the kind of practicality that thinks about how much it must cost to build those houses we’re sending our mission team to build. I look at the numbers, I think about the logistics, and I ponder what would happen if we all dropped our nets to follow Jesus because in all practicality, we can’t do that. Someone’s got to pay for the upkeep of this building. Someone’s got to bankroll your ministry. And if we had success beyond our wildest dreams and gathered every human together on this earth in a faithful crowd, someone would still need to leave the communion table to bake the bread and crush the grapes. We need people to do the jobs that need doing. Mary could take that break to listen at the feet of Jesus because Martha was working. 

That’s why so many of the stories I’ve been told during my life worm into my heart and rankle me. How did Papa Zebedee’s fishing business fair when James and John left the boat? If we let the dead bury the dead, how many carrion birds will burst from overeating? And in these hero’s quests, when someone goes out to find themselves or whatever their goal is, who takes care of the tasks they had been entrusted with before they decided to leave their town? When you go off on a journey, you make more work for other people who can’t go because you just left. It’s a simple task to spin these tales as stories of selfishness, perpetrated by dreamers who never really understood the value of the work they did in the first place. 

I know it’s an easily solved complaint. We all have different gifts and some are meant to follow while others stay behind. Everyone can’t change the world- we’d cancel each other out. The best faith, I think, balances the practical with the knowledge that some moments pull us out of the necessary into a glorious impracticality. It’s good to have a faith that looks out for that. And I guess I’m not really mad at those who leave the boat for putting the rest of us in a difficult position; I’m mad because I want to be one of them. 

Every time I hear or see or sing one of those call stories, my heart pounds. I want to leave everything and go somewhere new, to follow a leader, a cause, a dream, anything that takes me away with a purpose. I want to throw my life at something and hope that it sticks. Theoretically, I know there’s another person who can do everything I do and that this life I’ve been leading, it’ll be fine when I go. I’m not leaving my net abandoned in the water. The practicality is satisfied and I can go off on my well-earned adventure. I know that, I know that, I know that and yet I still chase my fears around in circles until we’re both exhausted, collapsing in a pile, looking up at that shiny thing that is a call and a purpose and wondering why there isn’t one there for me. 

But not everyone’s story is a call story and not every call story is the same. We play with our narratives, bend them into an arc that follows our lives just a little more accurately. I know that I’m still a work in progress, that this is not the time to sit back and reflect on the journey thus far because there’s not much journey to see yet. But there will be.

And one day, I’ll tell that story.