Letting go of 2018

I had stopped for groceries for the first time in two weeks, after recognizing the inside of my refrigerator looked eerily like the inside of a friend's refrigerator, who is also widowed, who from time to time neglects self-care, or cares little about what or whether she eats. Leaving Safeway, the clerk asked me if I had plans for the rest of the day. I shrugged my reply.

I had an answer to a question he did not ask, which would be to say, at least I have not broken any resolutions for the New Year yet, simply because I haven't made any.  I began to think what I would resolve to do or resolve to refrain from doing in 2019. 

The process began subconsciously early this morning, journaling about the way I celebrated New Years' Eve; welcoming this year with a concert at St. James Cathedral, hearing the bells toll midnight,  singing Auld Lang Sine accompanied by a bagpiper, and wishing Happy New Year to four dear women colleague/friends. The words of Mary’s Magnificat (in Latin) ringing in my ears:

“The almighty casts the mighty from their thrones and raises the lowly — fills the starving with good things, sends the rich away empty.”

Praying, may it be so.

May there be peace and justice in this world, in my soul.

May I love enough to love myself.

May I claim and value the gifts I have been given.

As usual, I had a brief conversation with my cat as I came through the door.

“Is anyone else here?”

“Looks like we are alone again.”

“Guess it will always be this way.”

“It’s okay to be alone.”

There may be a few epithets in the cat’s silence between those statements, though she often answers me with plaintive meows.

I have this dialogue to convince myself, to gain the courage I need to make it through. The pleasant hours I was in the congenial presence of friends had reminded me of my desire for community, to be seen and heard. Thus, I write. I post pictures of the best of my adventures on social media. I want to be known, to be seen.

Through my writing, shared in different venues, I have accepted  affirmative and appreciative comments. I recognize that I have connected to others’ experiences of loss and grief. I hear that I have inspired or given comfort. I have been told over and over that I am “strong.” 

It doesn’t feel that way. Or at least, it doesn’t ring true to me on those days I am cursing my cat for being the only one home. Or, when I drive away from a friend’s house with tears coursing down my cheeks. Or, when I anesthetize myself with endless computer games. Or, when I recognize I have sleep walked through an entire day or week. 

I speak my truth, sometimes with a rosy tint, to convince my audience how all right I am, how brave I am, how strong. I am writing to convince myself.

My Christmas letter (yes, a tradition I continue, though no longer bragging about amazing children and perfect grandchildren, or painting pretty pictures of the challenges of ministry) reviewed 2018 in a breathless way. I kept busy, though sleepwalking. I accepted the invitation to part time ministry to help me wake up, to reclaim and explore what I left, (and shook the dust from my feet)  in January of 2015. 

My second resolution for the new year is to take my writing as seriously as I take the responsibility of sermon preparation. To have something to say and say it well. To give it value. Yes, to accept grace, enough to love myself.

Again.

(For those not on my Christmas card list —)

2018 comes to a close. Where have I been? What have I been doing? 

• Walking around Capitol Lake
• Working out with a personal trainer
• Going to Movies and attending the Theatre

(I would see Hamilton and Come From Away again and again if I could) 

• Retreating to Ocean Shores alone on Valentines Day
• Helping with Merry’s Girl Scout Troop
• Sitting in the Dentist’s chair for two crowns plus a new bridge
• Writing my blog (revdrbcw@blogspot.com)
• Quilting
• Learning to throw pots
• Spending time in Spokane and Dayton, WA with best friends
• Sharing grief with colleagues and their loved ones, acknowledging lives ended too soon
• TIp-toeing through muddy tulip fields in Skagit County
• Cruising to Canada with “sister” Flora and the Renton UMC contingency
• Hanging out with Tristan, my chauffeur to the airport, meal companion, card playing 19 year-old grandson
• Attending North Texas Annual Conference and sponsoring my niece, the Rev. Erin Sloan Jackson, ordained Deacon in the United Methodist Church (including a five day visit with Sister Sue.)
• Attending PNW Annual Conference Memorial Service with Larry’s name being read
• Demonstrating in protest with “March for our Lives” and again for the reunification of families seeking safety and asylum 
• Holding a Garage Sale
• Visiting Jeff and Mary Ann in Pasadena; taking a trip to Balboa Island, Newport Beach; attending Hollywood UMC
• Welcoming daughter-in-law Lenissa and grandson William in canoe on the Paddle to Puyallup
• Celebrating my 70th Birthday (with Samantha, Abigail, and Meredith in matching dresses, as when they were young)
• Returning to Bead Lake with my sister in August, including Art on the Green in Couer d’Alene and Sandpoint Arts Fair (my favorites)
• Catching up on 52 years over brunch in Spokane with High School classmates
• Receiving hand therapy for Carpal Tunnel Syndrome
• Quilting, eating, talking, and walking on retreat in Pomeroy with “sister” Linda
• Harvesting lavender from my front garden, lettuce, spinach, beans, peas, and basil from the back
• Looking at houses for sale on the North East side of Olympia
• Cruising to the Greek Isles and sightseeing in Italy for two weeks with Sister Sue
• Playing Bridge and winning at Bingo and taking writing classes at the Senior Center
• Sharing monthly dinners with family. It’s always somebody’s birthday when there are fifteen of us.

And, if that is not enough, I have returned to pastoral ministry on a part-time interim basis (until June, 2019), accompanying a small faith community of 35 folk while they determine the viability of their continued existence. I consider it “remedial” for me, as I recover some sense of who I was, who I am now, and who I might be in the years ahead. 

Let there be no mistake, it was a good, hard, healing, busy, satisfying year, surrounded and supported by loved ones, finding my way through hard memories to create new ones. 

“To live in this world 

 you must be able 

to do three things: 

 Love what is mortal; 

to hold it 

against your bones knowing 

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

from “In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver