[Magdalen] Too good not to share

Mon Apr 10 15:13:02 UTC 2017

Anne Lamott <https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott/?fref=nf>
<https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott/?fref=nf>
April 8 at 10:26am
<https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott/posts/1136345283161780> ·
<https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.l.clifton/posts/10211814786543369?from_close_friend=1&notif_t=close_friend_activity&notif_id=1491754686057351#>

FEARS AND TEARS

It's my dad's birthday today. He would have been 94. He died in 1979, at
the age of 54, of brain cancer. It was the end of the world. My brother
John was 27, Stevo was 20, I was 25. I'm not positive we ever got over it,
in the way that the world assured us we would, and hoped we would, although
with these badly broken psychic legs, we learned to dance again, to hike
again, with limps and weird orthopedic shoes.

This is what the people in every city on my current book tour are living
with: catastrophic losses. They are going through divorce, or they know
they are about to; they have teenagers and young adults who are scaring
them to death, with alcoholism, addiction, mental illness; or they have
those things themselves, as do I, as do all of my closest friends. Some of
them, on top of this, hate their bodies, and in some cases are joined in
that hate by their spouses, and the culture.

All of this is being felt with the backdrop of a (let's say) worrisome new
administration. These are easily the most stricken, worried, sad, stunned
audiences I've ever spoken to.

The people in my audiences would like to know how to keep the faith,
spirits up, and how to keep their children alive.

Easy!

Just kidding: hard. Hard hard hard. All I can offer is what works for me.
Here's what I share with my Sunday School kids and youth, the lessons and
reminders that can lift and reassure us for a few hours at a time. Which,
some days, is all we can hope for, and a miracle.

1) We do Fears and Tears, and Precious Community. We write down our fears
and we hand them to God and we say, sometimes bitterly, "Here. Fine. It's
all yours." The teenagers say, "What ever," or "What ev," which is the
fourth great prayer. Sometimes we cry. A boy cried five days after the
election because his family might be separated in these new times, and this
gave a girl the courage to tear up too, because her cat was about to die.
We did not hand the kids bumper stickers, or abuse them with silver-lining
talks, or pummel them with the insane belief that God never gives you more
than you can bear--what a crock!--because we are these kids' precious
community, and wanted to let them feel and be wherever they are. We, six
people all told, did comfort them, with truth, and hugs. Then--the most
spiritual thing we can do together--we overate. And it was good.

2) We do Loved and Chosen. The world is not telling them that they are
loved, exactly as is. Some are brown, why, or overweight. A woman told me
recently that when she was naughty as a child in a fundamentalist
household, she asked her mother if she still loved her, and her mother
said, "Not when you're bad." So we do the opposite. I ask, "Is anyone here
wearing one green and one orange shoelace?" and a very tell and shy girl
will raise her hand, and I will say, "Honey Bear? You are loved and chosen.
As is, here and now and always. This is a come as you are system." The girl
(who had just gotten arrested for drunk and disorderly) smiled, blushed,
and dipped her head like a swan.

3) We commit to giving street people bottles of water and granola bars,
picking up garbage, and flirting with old people, all week, 'til we meet
again. (My son gives homeless guys at intersections a bottle of water and a
cigarette.) (I love this so much.) We give away money to the homeless, even
if we wish they would not spend it on drugs or alcohol. It's none of our
business. Our business is to serve the poor, to give and give, to live from
our merciful hearts. Jesus did not ask blind guy, after healing him, what
he planned on looking at that day.

4) We promise each other to stick together, no matter what. I tell them
that they must not keep any bad secrets, that they must tell a safe
grown-up--a parent, pastor, teacher or me. This will be the beginning of
healing. You can't heal it if you don't reveal it. Tell it! And then if we
stick together, we will be okay, or at least medium-okay, which is a small
miracle if you have been freaked out since (say, hypothetically) November:
The whole system of being a human works because we are not all crazy on the
same day. Ask around, tell your truth: Someone will nod gently, and say,
"Me too. I was there Tuesday--just mad as a HATTER. These are the things I
did, that helped me hit the reset button....Let me go get a nice cup of
tea."

5) We go and join our grown-ups after the service is over, and we overeat
again, this time with the adults, which is fine, especially during these
times, as long as you are not mean to yourself about it. (Harshing yourself
for being human is the only sin, along with killing another. As long as we
are on this topic, it is a good idea on your worst days to write a note to
yourself from Jesus that says, "Try not to kill anyone today," and tape it
to the phone.)

Oh, maybe I also tell the people in my book tour audiences my plans for the
Resistance, or whom I am currently crowd sourcing, or websites where
brilliant political people help me understand how we might proceed, and
help me laugh again, because laughter is IS IS carbonated holiness; I tell
them is their kids are scaring them to death, check out Al-Anon. But with
my kids, I say what my pastor always says: I love you; please please please
tie your shoe, just for my tired old Nana peace of mind; and God bless you
GOOD.

And today, if I was home with them, we would all sing Happy Birthday to my
father.
=
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I love you all.

James W. Oppenheimer-Crawford
*“A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved,
except in memory. LLAP**”  -- *Leonard Nimoy