Went to church this morning. There was a woman preaching. Must be Mothers' Day.
Best part of the morning was talking in the lobby afterwards with R. Some folks at this particular church have been good friends to him and he attends there occasionally. He sat about halfway back by himself wearing his trademark red fleece jacket and a bright yellow button that says, "I've survived DAMN near everything." I'd never have the nerve to wear that to church. But I'm working on it.
Afterwards, he sat in the lobby, on his own again, with his cookies and coffee and called out to me, "Hi, Ruth!" so I went and sat beside him so we could catch up. Asked him if he'd called his mom yet. He said he'd tried, but the line had been busy. He'd try again. Can't imagine what that call must mean to her. Wow.
He told me about an AA Roundup he'd been to the other day, from 10 am to 6 pm, with a bunch of speakers. I said that sounded like a long day. He said it was, but there was lots to eat, so it was OK.
He said that next week he'd be getting his new teeth. He's one of many I've got to know whose dental health has suffered from no money. What generally happens is that your teeth decay to the point where they all have to be pulled. All of them. At which point the government will cover the cost, and help pay for dentures. Not much help available to keep the originals, though.
I said that would be great, he'd be able to enjoy his cookies more. He laughed and said yeah.
Then he said, "Hey, wanna see my new tattoo?" I said sure.
He stood up and started fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.
And I had one of those mental gap moments.
I thought, "What did I just agree to? What did I just give permission for? In the church lobby? On Mothers' Day?"
Hadn't even thought about it. Just said yes. My thoughts flashed ahead to some shirt-removing or unbuttoning scandal that would be discussed at church board meetings for years to come. With me in the middle of it, surrounded by gaping grey haired saints and young children. "Mommy, what's that?"
Not that I really thought R. was likely to do anything entirely shocking, it was just one of those moments when I wished I'd asked for more information before committing myself.
But it was fine. He took off the red fleece jacket. He was wearing a tank top and showed a few of us standing nearby his arm with a big Popeye tat. Most apropos, for he who had "survived DAMN near everything."
I also talked to a woman I haven't seen much in the last year. We've heard that the family has been going through a rough time, but hadn't been told exactly what was wrong. We'd heard rumours, hints, half thoughts, probablys... But not the actual story. And we'd certainly never asked them.
On one hand, it's not really any of our business. On the other hand, we care.
We walked together out of the service, and she asked me how we were doing, so we chatted briefly about my boys, in school and church and life.
But it was another one of those mental gap things. My mouth was happily going on about what my family is up to and where the eldest is going to university in the fall and how's business and are you still doing that thing at the Motel. Meanwhile, my brain was trying to decide whether or not to ask, "And how are you guys doing?"
What if it seemed intrusive? What if she didn't want to talk about it? On the other hand, how could I not? How could I talk about myself and how good this and that are without acknowledging that she must know that I know that for her, things weren't quite perfect. It's a small town. Everybody knows enough to know when something is up.
So I asked, hoping she wouldn't just say "Fine" 'cause then I'd have to pretend to believe her. But she told me - what they were dealing with and how stressful it had been and how God had brought some help to them just when they needed it and what was hopeful and what was making them nervous.
And I recognized in her eyes and her voice that whatever-it-is you feel, that I've felt, when somebody else brings it up. When you get to vent for a bit about what's pressing on you and somebody actively listens. When you don't want to go on and on about all your troubles, but you'd love someone to ask. When you get past "Fine" to the true state of affairs and don't have to pretend.
So I just listened, glad I'd asked, because church can be such an ungenuine place for we, the imperfect and the struggling. And sometimes we need permission to admit that that's what we are.
And that, yes, we're surviving damn near everything.
r
Best part of the morning was talking in the lobby afterwards with R. Some folks at this particular church have been good friends to him and he attends there occasionally. He sat about halfway back by himself wearing his trademark red fleece jacket and a bright yellow button that says, "I've survived DAMN near everything." I'd never have the nerve to wear that to church. But I'm working on it.
Afterwards, he sat in the lobby, on his own again, with his cookies and coffee and called out to me, "Hi, Ruth!" so I went and sat beside him so we could catch up. Asked him if he'd called his mom yet. He said he'd tried, but the line had been busy. He'd try again. Can't imagine what that call must mean to her. Wow.
He told me about an AA Roundup he'd been to the other day, from 10 am to 6 pm, with a bunch of speakers. I said that sounded like a long day. He said it was, but there was lots to eat, so it was OK.
He said that next week he'd be getting his new teeth. He's one of many I've got to know whose dental health has suffered from no money. What generally happens is that your teeth decay to the point where they all have to be pulled. All of them. At which point the government will cover the cost, and help pay for dentures. Not much help available to keep the originals, though.
I said that would be great, he'd be able to enjoy his cookies more. He laughed and said yeah.
Then he said, "Hey, wanna see my new tattoo?" I said sure.
He stood up and started fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.
And I had one of those mental gap moments.
I thought, "What did I just agree to? What did I just give permission for? In the church lobby? On Mothers' Day?"
Hadn't even thought about it. Just said yes. My thoughts flashed ahead to some shirt-removing or unbuttoning scandal that would be discussed at church board meetings for years to come. With me in the middle of it, surrounded by gaping grey haired saints and young children. "Mommy, what's that?"
Not that I really thought R. was likely to do anything entirely shocking, it was just one of those moments when I wished I'd asked for more information before committing myself.
But it was fine. He took off the red fleece jacket. He was wearing a tank top and showed a few of us standing nearby his arm with a big Popeye tat. Most apropos, for he who had "survived DAMN near everything."
I also talked to a woman I haven't seen much in the last year. We've heard that the family has been going through a rough time, but hadn't been told exactly what was wrong. We'd heard rumours, hints, half thoughts, probablys... But not the actual story. And we'd certainly never asked them.
On one hand, it's not really any of our business. On the other hand, we care.
We walked together out of the service, and she asked me how we were doing, so we chatted briefly about my boys, in school and church and life.
But it was another one of those mental gap things. My mouth was happily going on about what my family is up to and where the eldest is going to university in the fall and how's business and are you still doing that thing at the Motel. Meanwhile, my brain was trying to decide whether or not to ask, "And how are you guys doing?"
What if it seemed intrusive? What if she didn't want to talk about it? On the other hand, how could I not? How could I talk about myself and how good this and that are without acknowledging that she must know that I know that for her, things weren't quite perfect. It's a small town. Everybody knows enough to know when something is up.
So I asked, hoping she wouldn't just say "Fine" 'cause then I'd have to pretend to believe her. But she told me - what they were dealing with and how stressful it had been and how God had brought some help to them just when they needed it and what was hopeful and what was making them nervous.
And I recognized in her eyes and her voice that whatever-it-is you feel, that I've felt, when somebody else brings it up. When you get to vent for a bit about what's pressing on you and somebody actively listens. When you don't want to go on and on about all your troubles, but you'd love someone to ask. When you get past "Fine" to the true state of affairs and don't have to pretend.
So I just listened, glad I'd asked, because church can be such an ungenuine place for we, the imperfect and the struggling. And sometimes we need permission to admit that that's what we are.
And that, yes, we're surviving damn near everything.
r
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