Love is love is love

I confess.  Despite the urging and enthusiasm of some of my best-loved friends, I have not gotten on the Hamilton bandwagon.  Partly because I don't like rap.  Or hip hop.  It's hard to convince myself that a rap musical is something I would enjoy, no matter how clever and brilliant it may be.  My brain is just too slow to follow the rapid patter of words.  Part of it is stubbornness.  Sometimes I resist simply because everyone is telling me that I have to.  I have come late to many good things because I didn't want to join the lemmings, even though sometimes the lemmings are jumping into something amazing, and it would benefit me to be running with the pack!  So until now, though I have smiled at my dear friends' addiction to Hamilton, I have refused to engage with it.

On the Sunday of the Orlando shootings, I heard something about a shooting before heading into church, but somehow it didn't penetrate.  It's like my brain said, "Does not compute."  Maybe it was because the news story was so brief and there seemed to be so little information.  Maybe it's because I've become acclimatized to stories about shootings. 

It wasn't until I got home from church and checked in online that I discovered what had truly happened, and it started to sink in.  But I still couldn't feel anything.  I knew that this was a terrible, terrible thing, but I couldn't connect to my feelings.  Numb.  Depressed.  Discouraged.

After an afternoon of aimlessness, I turned on the Tony Awards.  I used to work in the theatre, and I used to watch the awards show, though I haven't always remembered in recent years.  These days I rarely know any of the plays.  I tuned in a few minutes late but in time to see the brilliant opening number that reminded me so much of a number we did in our high school one-act production of Magic! written by my high school drama and music teachers, Robin Bennett and Janice Folsom.  It was a collage of songs from musicals suggesting that "That could be me" in each one of them. Watching it transported me back to my childhood room where I listened to the cast albums of all those musicals and played all the parts.  

The rest of the night made me so proud of the arts community, for their passion and compassion, for their collaboration and inclusion, for their humor and joy, for their talent and brilliance and dedication.  Their witness shone out against the darkness, and I am grateful.  Watching all the performances made me nostalgic for the theatre.  Or at least for theatre people and opening nights.  Nothing can make me nostalgic for production meetings at midnight!

As expected Hamilton won many awards.  But what blew me away was Lin-Manuel Miranda's acceptance speech.  He wrote a sonnet.  If you didn't get to catch it, click here. A couple of the lines really hit me in light of what had happened in Orlando.  "When senseless acts of tragedy remind us that nothing here is promised, not one day."  Oh yes.  My heart is breaking for the families and the loved ones of those who died.  Not one day is promised, but they didn't think it was today.  It was so unexpected - and it could happen anywhere at anytime.  This addiction our country has to guns and violence is something I cannot understand.  How do we stop the fear that seems at the heart of it all?

Not one day is promised but the enormous numbers of young people overdosing on drugs didn't think it was today.  We are losing them to heroin and other opioids.  Our country uses 99% of the worlds supply of hydrocodone (found in Vicodin).  Why are we in so much pain?  This may seem a non sequiter, but pain and fear are at the core of all this violence and death. 

Not one day is promised.  All we have is today is today is today.  Dear God, please help us use it for good.

Lin-Manuel's sonnet went on,
  "We live through times when hate and fear seem stronger
  We rise and fall and light from dying embers
  Remembrances that hope and love lasts long
  And love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love
  Cannot be killed or swept aside"

Hate and fear seem stronger, but they are not, despite how it may seem right now.  Love and hope last longer.

Love is love is love is love is love is love is love. 

I believe in God who is love.  God who loves every single person whom God has created, including all of the people seeking safety and celebration at Pulse and even the man who gunned them down.
Love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside. 
Sisters and brothers reading this, we must work together to let go of our fear and to heal our individual and collective pain.  We must. 

I still have not listened to Hamilton, but I'm getting closer to being willing.  Its creator has inspired me.  Thank you Lin-Manuel and the Broadway community, for the evening of hope.  Thank you God, for the love.

Remembering Marlene

Sometimes I walk the labyrinth to honor a person who has died.  On Tuesday night I walked for Marlene Linz, who died from cancer last Saturday.

The first time I met Marlene (I believe) was on the weekend that Peter proposed to her.  We were at Camp Mikell, where Peter and I had met as campers and served together as counselors and summer staff.  The first week I knew Peter, I was a rising sophomore in high school, and he was a senior.  I fell head over heels in love.  Sadly for me at the time, Peter fell head over heels for another girl in my cabin.  He was kind and gentle, but he had eyes for someone else.  At the end of the summer I wrote him a letter proclaiming my love for him, and he wrote back telling me he hoped we could be friends.  We have been ever since.

Over our years together at camp we grew close.  I so admired Peter for his enormous talents.  He could sing, dance, act, lifeguard, tell stories, and play guitar.  He loved puppets and hoped to become a puppeteer.  Best of all, he loved the kids at camp like I did.  Over the years I redeveloped crushes on him, but we were always best as friends.  We commiserated with each other through broken relationships and celebrated together when things were going well.  I often caught rides with Peter to and from camp sessions.  Once Peter drove 3 hours up from Atlanta to Sewanee, where I was in college, to sit and comfort me for a couple of hours during a particularly difficult time, before driving back 3 hours so he could be at his internship at the Center for Puppetry Arts the next day.  One of my favorite things in life was sitting around a campfire while Peter played the guitar, and we all sang along.

Peter and Marlene at Guest Camp

When I met Marlene at Guest Weekend at Camp Mikell one Labor Day weekend, I knew that Peter had found the perfect woman for him.  She loved him, but she did not get pulled into the "Peter fan club" behavior that some of us had a tendency to do.  She was beautiful and down to earth.  She was creative and practical.  I heartily approved and was thrilled when I learned he was proposing to her that weekend at camp.  I was blessed to attend their wedding and have visited them on and off over the years.

Peter's dreams came true as he began working on Sesame Street and then Bear in the Big Blue House and Between the Lions.  He and Marlene moved to New York where I visited them many times.  I was always impressed with how grounded Marlene was and how devoted she was to her children.  She also had a passion for pottery.  I prayed hard for her when she had to stay on bed rest for months during her first pregnancy with twins.  I don't remember exactly what it was she did during that time, but it was something creative that she could do from her room, and I remember appreciating her determined spirit. 

I later prayed hard for her when I learned she had breast cancer and again when I learned that it had moved to her brain.  Peter says that she did not fight cancer, she lived with it, and that is true.  Oh how she lived.

Jan and I spent New Year's with Peter and Marlene and their children in 2012.  Marlene was undergoing chemo and had her head wrapped in beautiful scarves.  I wasn't sure whether she would be up to company.  Jan and I were taking someone to a treatment center about an hour from their house, and they told us to come and stay.  Marlene sat in the dining room as the whole house centered on her.  She was very practical, resting when she needed to but still directing things from her spot.  It was clear that her strength fed the whole Linz household.  She told Jan that she drank 2 glasses of water every morning.  Jan has done the same ever since, and she thinks of Marlene each morning while she drinks her water.  Marlene was talking about dreams of helping women and children in Africa, even while she was in the midst of cancer treatment.

I didn't know the cancer had gotten worse until I received a message via Facebook that Marlene had died on Saturday.  I cannot imagine how Peter and their kids must be feeling.  I am glad that Marlene is no longer in pain, but I am deeply sad for her loss.

On Tuesday night I went to the labyrinth in her honor, even though it looked like it might storm.  Dark grey clouds loomed overhead.  Raindrops plopped down on my head as I wound through the first turns of the path, and I wondered how bad it would get.  Not bad at all.  Just a few sprinkles before the wind blew the darkest clouds to the east.  A mockingbird perched in the top of a crape myrtle nearby and sang through his repetoire of tunes.  As I traversed the outer circuit of the labyrinth, I heard an inner voice say, You have to let me go, Lauren.  I didn't feel Marlene's presence in quite the same way as I have for some others, but I realized I was, indeed, hanging on to her.  I didn't want to let her go.

As I walked I kept looking to the east, hoping for a rainbow.  It would be so perfect, I thought.  A rainbow for Marlene.  It didn't come.

When I reached the center, I looked west, where the sun was descending behind some clouds.  A few rays of light streamed out from behind the clouds - it was like paintings you see that make you think of heaven.  Sunlight and clouds and blue sky in the background.  Stunning.  No rainbow, but a glimpse of heaven instead.

Still, on my way out, I kept straining to see a rainbow.  Surely it's going to come.  And then I realized that it wouldn't.  That's for you and Peter, I seemed to hear her say.  I don't need anything so dramatic.  Ever practical, even in my imagination.  She died in her own room in the house she loved, surrounded by her family.  She is at peace.

As I left the labyrinth, I took a picture of a tall sycamore, illuminated with golden light, leaves quivering in the breeze.  It reminded me of Marlene, deeply rooted, its presence offering strength and comfort.  When I see it I will remember her. 

Although I didn't know her as well as I would have liked, I am so glad I was blessed to know her at all.

Farewell, Marlene.  May you rest in peace and rise in glory, and may God bring comfort to all who grieve.  Your spirit will linger in our hearts.

Marathons and Miracles

The past 10 days have been like running a marathon for me.  I'll bet some of my clergy colleagues will chuckle, thinking I'm a bit of a light weight, but I'm not sure I've ever been responsible for so many liturgies in one week - not even during Holy Week.  This was my schedule:
   Saturday - Blessing of a Civil Marriage with homily and Communion - outdoors at Kingsmill
   Sunday - Preaching and Celebrating both services at St. Stephen's
   Monday - a few pastoral care needs
   Tuesday - 7:30 am Eucharist at Bruton
   Wednesday - 11am Healing Eucharist at Bruton with noon Bible study following
   Thursday - 11am Daughters of the King Installation and Eucharist and luncheon
   Friday - First Fridays Recovery Eucharist
   Sunday - preaching 3 services at Bruton
Each one had a homily or sermon.  I'm ready to keel over in a heap.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining.  If there are two things that I love to do, it's preach and celebrate the Eucharist.  Doing that every day?  It just doesn't get any better than that.  And when I think back to the hours I kept when I worked in the theatre, this is like a jog around the block.

However, just as a marathon runner could probably sail through the race as long as there are no injuries, bad weather, or unexpected occurrences, so too I would have found the week a challenge that I was ready to meet.  Except.

My nemesis.  The Common Cold. 

For the past two weeks I have been struggling with some kind of upper respiratory thingy that has turned into a nasty cough this week.  My head has felt like it has been stuffed with clouds, preventing me from hearing much of what people have said.  I am so grateful for my lifeline of Halls lemon-honey cough drops that has gotten me through each service, though I would be happy if I never had to stick one in my mouth again.  I have drunk enough hot tea with honey and glasses of water to drown a hippopotamus.  Actually, my liquid intake has made me feel like a hippopotamus.  I have spent several hours on several nights sleeping propped up on pillows on my downstairs love seat because lying flat makes me cough too much.  This morning I woke up at 4:11 with a coughing attack that didn't let me go back to sleep. 

I have taken Mucinex.  I have taken NyQuil.  I have taken lots of vitamins. 
I have taken my temperature.  It goes back and forth from 97.5 to 99.

Yes (to all the moms out there) - if my symptoms continue this week, I will go to the doctor.

Plus I've had ants invade my home.  Have you ever battled ants?  They are persistent and ubiquitous little bugs.  Enough said.  

Today in my sermon I talked about how we're often so busy praying for the big miracles that we can miss the small ones that are right in front of our faces.  I have prayed and prayed this week for God to heal me from this cold, but to no avail.  In the midst of my marathon, I have enjoyed the blessing of some of those small miracles:
   -Jan Brown's prayers that I'm convinced got my voice through the last three services today
   -a man who stopped by at the end of the 7:30 service this morning and brought me a fresh picked rose that he said would boost my immune system for 5 days.  Not sure of the veracity of that statement, but it sure made me smile.
   -Hearing Ralph Vaughan Williams The Call played and sung multiple times this morning - one of those hymns that speaks to my soul.
  -the delicious salads at the DOK lunch.
  -the beautiful, sweet faces of all the people at worship.

One of the gifts of starting my time at Bruton not feeling well is that I've been forced to stay grounded.  I haven't felt well enough to be "on," trying to impress.  I've stayed quieter because talking makes me cough.  I've stayed present.  It's given me an opportunity to listen and watch and begin (as I have in each church I've served) to fall in love with the people of God in this place.  

This marathon has ended, and I am grateful to rest.  I am also grateful for the gifts that I've received.
(But if you'd like to take the cough away now, God, I wouldn't complain!)   

2nd Sunday at Bruton - Gifts and Superpowers

Yesterday was my second Sunday as the Associate Rector for Outreach and Women's Ministries at Bruton Parish Church.  It was my first Sunday at the 7:30 service.  Jan was the preacher, and I was the celebrant.  Sunday services at Bruton begin with announcements, so after entering from the sacristy with Jan and the two Eucharistic Ministers, reverencing the altar, and moving to the crossing, I introduced myself to the congregation.  They clapped.  I was surprised and pleased.  I'm going to have fun when I get to be at that service.  After highlighting a few announcements from the bulletin, I began celebrating the first Eucharist of my time on the staff at Bruton.  Of course I've celebrated the recovery Eucharist once a month at Bruton for the past three years on the first Friday of each month.  But this was my first time for a Sunday morning. 

For the next two services, I was what they call "2nd paten."  This person processes in, sits in the middle chair of the rector's box during the Ministry of the Word, and then distributes the wafers during Communion.  Serving Christ's body to the people of God is something I could do all day long.  Seeing each face, knowing that each is a beloved child of God, smiling at them if they make eye contact, blessing them, being a channel for God's love - it just doesn't get any better than that.

Second paten was also a good role for me yesterday because the services were a little more complicated with the choirs singing a Haydn Mass at both the 9:15 and the 11:15.  It was lovely.  Beautiful, soaring music made Trinity Sunday especially festive.  And, I was glad that I didn't have the responsibility for knowing when we were to stand and sit.

Yesterday we also dedicated new kneelers that go around the altar rail.  Stitchers have been working for a long time needlepointing the cushions to help celebrate Bruton's 300th anniversary.  Many of the stitchers were present yesterday at the 9:15 service for the dedication.  I have done some cross-stitch in my time, but nothing like these kneelers.  They are stunning.  I remember seeing one of them in progress when visiting my colleague, Mollie Douglas Turner.  They will be a blessing to both people associated with Bruton and the many visitors who tour the church each year.

Here are a couple more:

Bruton is also developing a flower guild to do the flowers each Sunday.  I have often been blessed to be at churches where people have the gift of arranging flowers in creative ways.  Because of my connection with nature, I am grateful that flowers are a part of the way we glorify God.  And I am so thankful that there are people with the gift for arranging them!  Craftiness is a gift I did not receive, and I so appreciate and admire it in others.  The same person who sang the soprano solos during the Haydn Mass also helped arrange yesterday's flowers.  Every time I hear her sing, I tell her that she sounds like an angel - I could listen to her forever.  It's clear that she has other gifts as well.  So many people contributing in so many ways to make the service beautiful. 

As for me, I learned again what my best gift (or superpower) is.  My smile.  So many people commented on it.  No matter how many times people tell me that they appreciate my smile, I am always surprised.  It's not something I work at.  It truly is a gift.  It comes naturally and easily to me.  What a wonderful world God has created in which we all get to use our gifts to bless others. 

Transition

In the 1990's I spent five summers as a stage manager at the Interlochen Center for the Arts near Traverse City, Michigan.  Northwest Michigan is a lovely place to spend the summer - low humidity, breezes off the lakes, long days where it seems like the sun will never set.  Each summer as I walked around campus, I enjoyed listening to the music from orchestras rehearsing in outdoor concert spaces and individuals practicing in the tiny wooden cabins scattered through the trees.  On Sunday nights I usually attended the World Youth Symphony Orchestra concerts in Kresge Auditorium, a covered space with open sides and glass windows behind the stage that allowed us to see the movement of the lake while listening to the strains of a famous composer's symphony. 

Working with student actors and professional directors and designers brought me joy.  Each summer I stage managed the Shakespeare play and the 10-day show.  We rehearsed morning and evening with time for paper work and meetings in the afternoon.  We had Monday afternoons off - time for naps or canoe trips or trips to Grand Traverse Bay.  One summer we even drove out to Lake Michigan at night for the spectacular Perseid meteor shower.

I loved my summers at Interlochen.

Except.  Each year I had to acclimate.  The staff arrived a week ahead of the campers in order to get everything ready.  I was the stage manager of the 10-day play.  This meant that the day the students arrived we held auditions.  We had ten days to cast, block, rehearse, and tech the show before we opened.  It never seemed possible, though we always made it work.  My first summer we did The Rimers of Eldritch, and another year was To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday.  I can't remember the other years, though I'm sure I have records somewhere.

During a phone call to my mother in my 3rd or 4th summer, I guess I was complaining about the stress of the opening production when she said, "You get like this at this time every summer.  You hate transitions."  I was shocked to hear her say it.  At first I was even a bit offended.  Whatever problem that I was discussing felt unique to that time and place.  I didn't have the same complaints every year! 

As I thought about her comment longer, I realized that she was right.  The 10-day play was always stressful, and then we got through it and the rest of the summer unfolded more gently, at least until tech for the Shakespeare and Musical shows.  Once those first two weeks were over, I had more time for walks and chats by the lake and bonfires on the bluff and getting to know campers and staff and enjoying northwestern Michigan.  But at the beginning, in addition to that quick start with the play, I also had to adjust to new living quarters, food, schedule, weather (sometimes freezing, even in June!), roommates, directors, leadership, rules, etc.  Plus there was the uniform - light blue shirts with navy shorts, or navy corduroy knickers or skirts for cooler temperatures. 

I agreed with my mom - I did not like transitions.

I'm in one now. 

On May 1 I had a glorious send-off from St. Stephen's, complete with a beautiful cake, cards, presents, kind words and hugs, prayers, and even an azalea for me to take home.  It was hard to say good-bye, even though I'm just moving a little bit up the road.  Jan and I spent the next week in Colorado, hanging out with my niece and nephew for the weekend while my brother and sister-in-law celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary at the Kentucky Derby.  We also had the opportunity to meet with the Bishop of Colorado, attend the Wilderness service at St. John's Cathedral in Denver, explore the red rocks of the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, discover and walk the labyrinth at the Sanctuary Center in Castle Rock, and spend two days in Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park.  As much as I may dislike transition, I sure do like vacation!!

Actually, I'm not sure I hate transition anymore, it just leaves me feeling uncomfortable.  So many unknowns.  So much to be learned and figured out.  The struggle to remain authentic in the midst of new expectations.  Adjusting self-care to fit new schedules.  And as happy as I am not to be driving down I-64 three times a week anymore, Costco is no longer on may way home.

When I was in Denver I spend some time watching my nephew play one of his superheroes games on the big screen TV.  He was explaining the various characters to me ahead of us going to see Captain America.  I'm not a video game fan, and I haven't followed the Avengers movies, but I found myself thinking about my nephew as he guided a character through the game.  I never understood the point of the game, but he seemed to be having a grand time making the characters use their different powers and change into various forms.  When an obstacle came - he just adapted to it. 

I spend a lot of time saying, "Why is this problem happening to me?  How come this obstacle is interfering with my day?  Why can't everything just go smoothly?"  Well that's not life.  Instead of being irritated, why not use a superpower to deal with it and see it as a challenge?  My superpowers may be different from the ones in my nephew's game, but I've learned a thing or two in life.  I can do hard things.  I can adapt when something new comes my way.

In a recent conversation with my colleague and friend, Sven, he suggested that I change my mantra from "I'm bad at transitions" to "I used to be bad at transitions.  Now I'm embracing them."  Yeah.  That. 

Last Day, Full Heart

This morning, after snapping my clerical collar into place and pulling on my Canterbury t-shirt, I put on my CNU Episcopal Chaplain name tag for the last time.  Above it I attached my small “Safe Zone” pin.  Turns out the weather was cool and rainy enough that I also wore my blue and white CNU sweatshirt on top of everything. 

My last day at the prayer station.  It was hard to wrap my brain around it this morning, and now that it’s over, I’m still in disbelief. 

When I arrived today, I took one load of stuff to the Plaza.  I was pleased that it was dry enough to set up outside.  After running inside to order a chicken flatbread sandwich for lunch, since I hadn’t brought anything with me, I went to the chapel to get my sign.  Before I even got the chairs out of their bags, the raindrops began plopping onto the sign, threatening to smear the ink.  I checked my Weather Channel app and saw a big blob of green, yellow, and red approaching the blue dot that indicated my location. Scary looking blob.  Promising more than a few drops of rain.

Time to move inside.

I was disappointed to be inside on the last day, but I was glad that I made that decision because a few minutes later I saw students running into the building, soaking wet.  Umbrellas and hoods went up as students headed out into the downpour.  After picking up my sandwich, I began setting up the chairs in the DSU rotunda, when a senior walked in and greeted me.   

“How are your exams going?” I asked him. 

“I just finished college,” he answered.  He had just emerged from his last final.

I held my hand up, and he gave me an exuberant high five.  The look on his face was priceless.  Joy, wonder, disbelief, shock, amazement.  He told me that last night he had felt a flood of feelings and that it would all take a long time to process.  I bet.  He asked what was going on with me, and when I told him about my new position, he said, “You’re in transition too.”

Yes.  Yes, I am.  I guess I feel a little like he does today – lots of feelings.

My Canterbury students surprised me with a gift at lunch – a book they had made of pictures and notes they had written, including one from our student who is studying abroad.  Some were handwritten; some were typed.  They included our scripture, John 8:32.  At first I thought it was a little writing notebook, but when I opened it I saw what they had done and tears formed behind my eyes.  I couldn’t read it right then because I knew I'd be too emotional, but later in the afternoon I read through each note and smiled with wet eyes as I read their kind and loving words.  It was the best gift they could have given me and will be a book I treasure.  I found myself holding it close and finally put it in my bag.  The student who gave it to me said that they had all pitched in.  My heart was so full - gratitude, humility, sadness, joy, surprise, love.  I know they aren't really my students - they are their own wonderful, individual selves, but I can't help thinking of them as my students, and they will always have a special place in my heart.

At about 1:45 it was time to pack up the prayer station and unload the exam snacks.  St. Stephen's senior warden came by and blessed me by helping me unload and set up.  He also took some pictures and helped with the exam snack table.  I was so grateful for his help.  As always we provided a smorgasbord of options ranging from fruit to Capri-suns to chips to candy, with an especially heavy emphasis on the candy that had been leftover from the Easter egg hunt.  Capri-suns were the first to go.  One of the Canterbury students hung out for about an hour helping us out.  Another came by to pick up a new t-shirt that I had just received from the printer this morning.  A third came by and helpfully filled a bag full of candy for her suite-mates just when we were ready to pack up and assisted us in loading the car.  Hugging each student good-bye was hard, but I am so grateful that I've gotten to have this time with them. 

Leaving CNU early tonight felt strange.  I'm not sure I quite believe it's over.  I will preach and celebrate at St. Stephen's on Sunday at a combined service in my honor and begin another round of good-byes, but today was it for my time on campus.  Like the seniors, I am graduating, and there is a whole heap of feelings.  Though I have a sermon to write and many other things on my list to do, I have been at odds tonight, not quite ready to let go.  New good things are coming, not the least of which is a trip to Denver to see my brother and his family, but for tonight, I'm trying to be with my feelings.  It's okay to be sad.  It's okay to miss them.  It's okay to need time to process.  Both for them and for me. 

Saying Good-bye Part 2

It's hard to say good-bye.  And not only to trees.

Today I start saying good-bye to CNU.

Monday night we had dinner at Father Scott's - the last time I will be part of it.  Tonight will be my last official meeting for Episcopal Campus Ministry at CNU.  This afternoon I'm bringing the labyrinth to the Plaza for its final appearance.  Next Thursday students will be finishing up exams, and I will sit and pray one more time at the Plaza Prayer Station and then hand out some exam snacks.  The first of May will be my last official Sunday at St. Stephen's, though I will be there once more briefly to fill in when Scott is away on the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend.  Lots of lasts.

I will not miss the commute down I-64 under construction, and I will not miss watching the trees being destroyed.  I will not miss the wind trying to knock me down as I carry my sign across campus or the freezing cold temperatures as I huddle in the DSU in winter.

I will miss the students, the prayer station, the beautiful CNU campus, the quiet prayers and in depth conversations, the chocolate croissants at Einstein's, ECM meetings in the chapel, sharing the labyrinth, the Farmer's Market, blessing the semester, the staff members I've come to know, weekly visits to the OSA office, Sunday mornings with the good people of St. Stephen's, the dinners at Father Scott's, the check-ins with the Canterbury Club, highs and lows, the afternoons praying and talking and being present.  And did I mention the students?  Canterbury students, Thrive students, Cru, UCM, and Lutheran students.  Students on the Diversity Council, students in the arts, student athletes, student leaders, students who I only met for 5 minutes, and students who I got to know quite well.  So many amazing students whom I will miss.

When the seniors graduate from CNU this year, so do I.  I have accepted a position as the Associate Rector for Outreach and Women's Ministries at Bruton Parish Church.  It will be a wonderful opportunity for me to expand recovery ministry and meet a whole new church full of amazing people of God and integrate my SpiritWorks ministry with parish ministry.  It will also be very cool to serve in the church where I was ordained a deacon.  I'm excited.

But first it's time to say good-bye.  Am I starting to sound like Emily in Our Town?  "Good-bye Grover's Corners..."  (Once a theatre major, always a theatre major!)

Good transitions are bittersweet.  In order to say hello to the new thing, we have to say good-bye to what we are leaving behind.  The seniors will be saying good-bye to CNU as they prepare for the new phase of their journey.  Please keep all of us in your prayers as we make this transition.

Although it's hard to say good-bye, the difficulty shows the importance of the relationships.  Thank you, God, for this time at CNU and St. Stephen's, and for all the beautiful people you have brought into my life.  Bless us and keep us until we meet again.