St. Brigid, Wedding, and Ordination Anniversary

One month ago today, I got married, y'all!  I've waited my whole life to be married, and now I am.  And so far, so good.  People asked me before the big day whether I was nervous, and I didn't really understand the question.  We waited until we were ready - nearly ten years!  I was simply excited, and the whole event was unbelievably joyful.  Honestly, the whole thing was perfect.  Although we had not originally planned such a small service and a Zoom reception, for two introverts who are still not at full energy post-Covid, the smaller ceremony and virtual party were just what we needed. None of it was overwhelming or stressful. (Okay, there was one day when I thought only Jan and I were going to be able to be present for the ceremony, and I had a little meltdown, but that dissipated quickly.)  We are so grateful for everyone who helped make it happen. I can't say it was just like I imagined it would be because I never would have imagined getting married in a pandemic.  But I can say it was one of the three most joyful days of my life, and I can't imagine it being more perfect.  If you'd like to see the service and haven't yet, here you go:

Today is also the anniversary of one of the other two most joyful days of my life - my ordination as a deacon thirteen years ago at Bruton Parish.  It was an overcast day on which the rain held off until after the service, and then a storm raged while we were all eating lunch.  That afternoon - rainbows.  As joyful as my priestly ordination was, there was something about that first ordination that I can't describe.  Family and friends gathered, Bishop Sean Rowe preached, Bishop Buchanan called the Holy Spirit upon us, and six of us became deacons.  All on the feast day of St. Brigid.  

St. Brigid might be my patron saint.  I first visited her well in County Kildare, Ireland on a trip in 1996. My dad's great, great grandmother lived in County Kildare, and we visited the site of her home.  I've also encountered St. Brigid in healing prayer on a silent retreat.  Her Irish heritage and being known for her fiery spirit and compassion as a healer have always drawn me to St. Brigid, and so it was a particular honor to be ordained on her feast day.  Last year on this day, our new bishop was also consecrated.  Seems an especially appropriate day for females to be ordained, since St. Brigid may have also been a bishop.  

As I looked through pictures of my wedding and diaconal ordination, I saw how some of the best pictures were with my brother.  He has always made it to the big occasions in my life, and I am so grateful to him.  

One month in, y'all.  We are very happy!

Vaccine! - 10 1/2 Months In

At this time last year, we had begun celebrating the 15th anniversary of SpiritWorks, Jan and I had started house hunting and planning a wedding, and at Bruton we were in the thick of Lent and Holy Week planning. Who would have guessed that by early March all of that would simply stop?  Who could have anticipated the long-term effect this virus would have on my life.

My last update was at the end of November.  Prednisone for poison ivy had set me back, but I was starting to be able to take walks again.  What I found shortly thereafter was that I could either work or walk.  But I didn't have the energy for both.  So I gave up walking since there were scarcely enough daylight hours in which to walk anyway.  I focused on work and wedding planning and the holidays.  And as long as I rested enough, I seemed to be fine.  Maybe I tired more easily, but no other symptoms.

Until last week.  Whether my post-viral syndrome kicked back in, or whether I overdid, I started having shortness of breath again along with greater fatigue.  I'd been able to be upright in meetings for months, but suddenly I had to lie down to Zoom again.  Now when I say overdid - I don't mean that I ran a marathon or threw a gala or even took a long walk.  I mean that I trimmed a couple of bushes Saturday with the loppers, laid down for 20 minutes, trimmed a couple more, and then rested.  The next day I did livestream church, distributed Communion and led a Zoom Bible study.  By Monday I was worn out and had shortness of breath.  

On Monday I also had a Telehealth visit with a pulmonologist who referred me for a breathing test and an echocardiogram, just to rule some things out.  Now this may not seem like the funny part, but it really was.  There was a cancelation, and I got to do my breathing test on Thursday, much sooner than expected.  I felt like I was on an episode of Call the Midwife as the technician would say, "Now pant" and then she would pant and I would do the same.  "Okay now normal breathing."  "Now breathe out, out, out, and then deep breath back in."  It was cracking me up.  Until I got lightheaded and knew that I was about to pass out.  I asked if I could lay down on the floor since there wasn't a bed in the room.  She looked skeptical until I said I would pass out if I couldn't lie down.  I laid down on the cold tile floor, and she took my vitals.  We both remained calm and chatted until I was able to get back up again.  

This is not the first time that's happened, though it was the first time I needed to lie on the floor.  It also happens at the eye doctor, when giving blood, during my first Covid test, and once or twice when I've made emergency room visits.  So I wasn't worried, but it does seem like if you pass out at your breathing test, you're not going to get an A+!

For much of the week I was feeling discouraged.  I'm tired of being tired, and I long to be able to return to my regular level of activity and walking.  At the same time, when I think of all who have died from this virus, I know how lucky I am.  On the positive side, I was unexpectedly scheduled for the vaccine because of our work at SpiritWorks.  Only reaction has been a very sore arm.  And then today, I felt better than I have all week! Perhaps resting so much this weekend has helped.  Whatever the cause, I'm grateful.  Now if I could just figure out what qualifies as overdoing in this long haul, I'd be really happy!

Gratitude in the Time of Covid

I am grateful.  Not for Covid.  How could I be grateful for a virus that has contributed or directly caused nearly 1.5 million deaths world wide and over 265,000 in the U.S.?  That doesn't even count the economic losses and hardships, the deaths of despair: fatal overdoses or deaths by suicide that have increased dramatically in this time.  A close friend has lost both a brother and a sister to Covid, and a clergy friend has contracted the virus two separate times - both with significant symptoms.  There are also all the long haulers who may or may not return to the health they once experienced.  I am still experiencing long-Covid symptoms.  How I hope I'm not able to contract this thing again.  

So I'm not grateful for Covid.  I wish it hadn't come and invaded our lives and taken so many from us.  I wish it hadn't altered my life and my health.  

That being said, since Covid is here, and it has changed the world, I can choose to be grateful in the midst of it.  

I'm grateful that if I walk every day, my heart rate stops spiking so high and my blood pressure stays lower.  As much as I've always loved walking, I'm even more grateful for the ability to do so after having lost that ability for a chunk of this year.  I'm grateful for the lifts in mood that walking gives me, for the rich fall colors, for the time spent with God's creation.

I'm grateful that the poison ivy I had is gone and I'm no longer taking prednisone.  While on it numerous aches and pains were gone, including the arthritis in my right hand, but withdrawing set me way back - couldn't get out of bed one day.  I will be grateful if I never need prednisone again! 

I'm grateful for breath, for learning to listen to my body better, for learning to rest when my body tells me so.  A slower paced schedule has been a blessing.

I'm grateful for Kasee the miracle kitten who I truly believe is a gift from God.  She has brought so much joy to Jan and me and her followers on the Internet.  Her soft fur and sweet face and lively antics and photogenic personality bring smiles whenever she's around.  I would be even more grateful if she liked to cuddle, but I try to accept that biting is one of her love languages.

I'm grateful for my new home and beautiful neighborhood, 

I'm grateful for my Bruton ministry and the SpiritWorks community and their patience with my up and down recovery.  I'm grateful for meaningful work and the privilege of being with people in their joys and sorrows. 

I'm grateful for our Juneteenth service and Sacred Ground group and for being awakened further to the need for action against racism.  

I'm grateful for my corona buddies - you know who you are!  I wish we hadn't had it, but I'm grateful we could support each other.  Grateful, too, for all who have cared for us, sent cards, brought food, emailed, prayed, and asked how we are doing.

I'm grateful for the red maple tree in the back woods whose leaves are lingering.  The chickadees and tufted titmouses (titmice?) and finches and other birds who provide endless entertainment for Kasee.

I'm grateful for friends far and near and family, biological and chosen.  

I'm grateful that I continue to heal.  I'm grateful that Advent starts tomorrow and Christmas is coming.

And I'm grateful that you continue to read what I write.  :) 

Happy Advent Eve, y'all.  I'm grateful for you!  

Quarantine #3 - Re-exposed

Quarantine #1 for me started on March 13.  I hadn't been feeling great the day before but was scheduled to do an Interment.  I stayed far from the family and left quickly.  Though I was supposed to head on to SpiritWorks, I called in and said I needed to go home and rest.  For the next 17 days I didn't leave my house except to go to the mailbox a couple of times and once to feed the birds.  People have asked me if that was hard.  No.  I felt so ill that staying in for 17 days was a relief.  Though I knew I had COVID because others close to me tested positive, I didn't even have the energy to go get tested.  I laid on the couch and endured.  

Quarantine #2 started on April 20.  After two weeks back at work and trying to resume a relatively normal (though mostly from home) work schedule, I had relapsed with extreme fatigue and shortness of breath.  My bishop put me on medical leave, and I finally got tested.  From the moment I returned home from the Urgent Care, I remained quarantined for 14 more days.  I had fewer symptoms, but the fatigue continued to be debilitating, and again I was grateful for the respite.  Who knew just driving ten minutes to the church could be so exhausting?  Talking on the phone was a chore.  I attended Zoom meetings by lying on my couch with my computer on my belly.

As I saw all the posts of frustrated friends who had cleaned every closet, put together multiple puzzles, redone parts of their homes, or volunteered to help frontline workers or neighbors in need, I felt envious of their energy and activity.  I wanted to clean something, but just taking a shower wiped me out.  

Now I'm on day 3 of Quarantine #3 due to re-exposure. Fortunately, it seems unlikely that I have re-contracted the virus, and my fatigue a couple of days ago is the familiar long-Covid version, not some new symptom.  Although I've had to cancel some things that were important this week, none were urgent, and I'm well enough now that I've been able to use the time.  I am finally able to walk a mile - the exact length of the loop my new home is on, and some days, my heart rate doesn't spike!  I've been doing some writing and have had multiple lengthy Zoom meetings ranging from vestry to Mission and Outreach to our Sacred Ground Dialogue Circle on Race and Faith.  I've read grants on my front porch, eaten lunch on my front porch, and done reading for work on the front porch.  

Every time I facilitate a group, we open with highs and lows.  I had thought my low this week was being re-exposed and having to quarantine again.  It turns out, though, that I've gotten more done and still been able to rest when needed, and of course the dogs and cats are delighted!  Most importantly I'm so glad I voted early.

I certainly hope that we will soon create a safe vaccine that works.  And that we are able to eliminate this virus and stop it from causing death and destruction.  In the meantime, I'm grateful beyond words to have some beautiful fall days where I can work from my porch, take walks, and continue to heal.  Maybe this time, I'll get Quarantine right, and I won't be sent back to do it again!

Your Comments - Oh no!

 

Dear Readers,

My hearty apologies - when I, on a whim, decided to change the blog template, I didn't understand that Blogger would no longer email when I had new comments.  And some of you have commented!!!

Thank you, thank you.  I have fixed the problem and will be able to see and respond to them now.  I'm so excited to discover all your comments!!!

I'm so grateful to all my readers, and I love comments.

Love and light,

Lauren

6 1/2 Months in the Coronaverse: Update

September 12 marked the 6 month mark since my first COVID symptoms.  I've had some good weeks, and I've even moved this summer - just across town, but still.  What I've been so grateful for are the weeks I've had the energy to do as much as I have.  One day during the move, I think I even had 14,000 steps.  I was feeling pretty close to normal, and then, the week before Labor Day, fatigue returned.  And some shortness of breath, which I thought had resolved in July.  And the achey place between my shoulders.  But most of all, my arch nemesis in this battle - fatigue.

Eating crab - and then a 2 hour nap!

I was particularly frustrated with this "relapse" because I was planning a Labor Day Weekend trip to GA to see my parents and celebrate their birthdays with my brother.  My dad turns 80 in October, and I thought a visit would be the best present I could provide - actually the steamed Chesapeake Bay blue crabs I brought with me were the best present, but my visit was also welcome.  We had a great time cracking crabs and catching up, and I even went on a very slow walk around the neighborhood with them.  Best of all was celebrating Communion with my family and going to pray with a dear friend of the family.  However, it appears I was too ambitious.  Two 10 hour drives in a weekend was too much.  While I was there I had to take long naps and even had to watch the Kentucky Derby lying down.  Fortunately on the driving days, I had the energy to get where I was going, but upon my return, I've had a set back lasting for weeks, feeling worse than I have since earlier in the summer.  

Mid-September I had a visit with my nurse practitioner.  Turns out I now have high blood pressure - high enough that starting medicine was a requirement.   Pre-Covid I didn't have an issue with high blood pressure.  So I'm monitoring it and taking medicine.  In my long-Covid group, a number of people have mentioned high or extreme fluctuating blood pressure.  I've been hoping that's the cause of my malaise because it's treatable, but I haven't been able to find a correlation.  

I've also learned that my fatigue is not about sleep.  It's really an inability to maintain an upright posture.  When I'm having a "wave," standing is hard, and even sitting upright drains me.  As soon as I'm horizontal, I'm better.  I can have an animated conversation, work on the computer, even lead a Zoom group, but I can't do it if I have to be upright.  I don't necessarily need to sleep - just lie down.  This isn't constant; I have days where I can stand and walk and even mow the lawn, vacuum or carry boxes up and down stairs.  But when the "wave" comes, I have to lie down. 

What surprised me on my trip to GA was walking into a gas station in South Carolina, and though a "Masks Required" sign was on the door, I could count on three fingers the number of people wearing masks besides me.  And they weren't employees!  I've also been surprised by how few people know about us long haulers.  There are 21,000 of us just in one FB group.  People don't realize that you don't have to be an elder or have underlying conditions to contract this virus.  They don't understand how many people have ongoing debilitating effects from it.  They don't know how many athletes have been affected and can't even exercise any more.  I find myself doing a lot of educating.  

Taking a spin in Dad's '65 Buick Skylark.  Chris and I both learned to drive in that car!

The long term effects of COVID-19 are still unknown.  We've passed 200,000 deaths in this country, and we're just entering fall.  For the first time in my life, I got a flu shot.  Can't risk getting anything else on top of this!  I worry, though, for our country and our health care system and for all the people on the front lines.  How many more will die?  How many more have long-term debilitating effects?  How long before we can stop social distancing?  How much will we have lost?  How much will we lose?

I do believe I will recover fully, but until then, I have to keep pacing, keep resting, and keep to the sidelines much more than I'm used to doing, hoping that it won't take 6 more months to return to full strength.  In the meantime, I'm so grateful for cooler weather, for the joy of a new home, and for all the support and love I've received in this time.

Labyrinth Balm

On a Wednesday evening a couple of weeks ago, I walked out of SpiritWorks and didn't immediately feel like I needed a shower.  There was a slight breeze, and it wasn't quite as hot or humid.  Instantly I knew what I wanted to do - go to the labyrinth.  I hadn't walked it in months.  Every time I'd thought about it, I felt overwhelmed by the effort.  My heart and soul were willing, but my body just couldn't do it.  So over I drove.

I spent a bit of time gazing at the overgrown flower boxes that I have tended for the past few years.  Weeds and flowers battle for control of the soil.  I pulled at a few clumps of nut grass and attempted to dislodge some of the clover choking out the lavender, but I knew I needed gloves, clippers, and a trowel to do any serious work.  And energy.  

Next I walked over to the entrance of the labyrinth.  After taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I reached out with my spiritual senses to connect with God.  Moving slowly along the path, I felt overwhelmed with the sweetness of once again treading the way that has brought me close to God so many times.  Mixed with that gratitude was a flood of loss.  Normally I would have been walking the labyrinth 3-4 times a week during the summer, watching the magnolias and crape myrtles as they started to bloom, watching my hawk, making friends with the sparrows, listening to the mockingbirds sing a medley of all the bird tunes.  This summer I haven't walked the labyrinth at all, and I've missed so much.   The magnolia blooms are gone.  I missed daffodils and the new growth of other plants.  I missed the breezes and bird song and communing with the deer.  All of it was there, but I was not.

On that night there were many blessings.  The crape myrtles were still blooming as they will until fall, and I saw not one, but two hawks and listened to them screeching out their greetings while I walked.  Mockingbirds and insects and swifts darted and whirred. Cloud formations showed storms in the distance and the beginning glow of the sun sinking down. A few deer grazed down the hill.

I hadn't realized how my soul had been longing for the labyrinth. A breeze brushed gently against my face, and I shuddered with the layers of emotions.  Slowly, I tread the path, savoring each step, each breath, each sound and sight and smell.  

In the center I saw that someone had placed a red rock with "hope" painted on it on one of the pavers at the entrance.  In other labyrinths I've seen gifts and offerings of stones, beads, pinecones, jewelry, and other items left along the labyrinth or in the center, but never at this labyrinth.  As I stood in the very center over the crack in the concrete that causes an echo when you stand over it and make sound, I sang, "There is a balm in Gilead."  The words and tune settled over me, a balm of their own.  

Sometimes we don't know how much we've missed something until we get it back.  In a conversation with a seminary friend recently, he mentioned that I always downplayed any illness I had while in seminary, saying things like, "Maybe I'm just making this up."  It's good to have long term friends who remind us of who we are.  All this time I've thought that I wasn't really that sick.  Compared to others, I'm so very lucky with the symptoms I've had.  Oh, the odiousness of those comparisons.  For me not to have walked the labyrinth in months...  I've been sick, not making it up.  Only when I returned could I feel the difference.  At last, I am returning to the things I love.  I am healing.  I have hope.  Things will not always be this way.  Change is coming...