Though I was raised in the Roman Catholic church, and spent my youth very active in a wonderful youth group, I have struggled with feeling out of place in Christianity for most of my adult life. I believe in science, in kindness, in lifting up others, in women’s rights, in civil rights, in LGBTQ rights, and in the importance of recognizing the value of all people. My beliefs are often shaped more by my 20 years of service as a nurse than my time spent in church when I was young.

Though I converted to the Episcopal church in my early twenties, my church attendance has been spotty and irregular, particularly as my children grew up and began asking questions about God that I didn’t have answers for.  I have often kept my faith private, and sometimes even refused to give it a name. I have doubted every aspect of what I learned as a child about Jesus, about church, about God’s plan for me and for this world. I have struggled with anger at a world that often seems so unfair and uncaring. Still, I have prayed over and with many of my patients and their families. When my son was in a serious boating accident at the age of eight, and I learned he was safe, I fell to my knees and simply cried “thank you” for the better part of an hour. For the past two years, I have carried my rosary with me, more often than not, because it brings me comfort as I grieve the loss of my brother-in-law in 2018, and my father just this past December. My faith may be small and full of doubt, but it is ever present. My faith is like a gentle light that shines brightest when my world darkens.

Enter: Twitter. And a pandemic.

Several months ago, I discovered the Twitter account of Father Daniel, an Anglican priest who I find quite funny and also quite poignant. I particularly appreciate the way his faith quietly shines through in his interactions with others on social media without feeling pushy. It was a new experience to witness a faith leader expressing the same frustrations, doubts, and hopes that I often feel. With the pandemic leading to physical churches being closed, he and others began posting meditations and services online in order to maintain connections with their communities. One Sunday, I decided to watch Father Daniel’s service. I was curious to see how this man, who openly identifies as a gay, married, Anglican priest, shared his faith with his congregation. I wondered what he knew that allowed his faith to be stronger than any doubts he may have. Watching the service, I laughed and cried, and sat in wonder as I listened to his sermon. I felt like he very nearly quoted a conversation my sister and I often have when he said that God did not send illness or death because he needed to call another angel home. That when bad things happened, it was not because God was punishing us. God is found in life, not death; in rebuilding and resurrection, not in devastation and destruction. Afterwards, I sent him a direct message because I wanted to thank him for sharing his faith with the world and with me.

To my surprise, he found time to write back, and we engaged in a brief dialogue over the next few days. I told Father Daniel about my struggle with Christianity and churches, and how I often felt the narrative we hear so loudly on television, from politicians, and from many others does not fit with my understanding of Jesus (or science!) I shared with him my doubt and fear that I was a hypocrite if I attended church doubting God and Jesus as much as I often do.

I have read his response countless times, and I’d like to share a slightly annotated version of his response here (emphasis is mine):

I also struggle with what the church has become for many people – and the pitting of faith against science is so ridiculous. One can believe in science and not see it as opposing God. Throughout history some of the greatest scientists were people of faith, whose fascination with the created world stemmed from a deep spiritual respect for it. Those who equate faith with material prosperity and conquering the earth have missed some fundamental teachings in scripture I think! For me, Jesus IS God incarnate, so when I think of God, I think God has to be like Jesus was, or that isn’t God. For me Jesus is the human face of God, that God showed us so we would finally know what God is really like and what God really wants, and so much of what people say in God’s name just doesn’t accord with what I see in Jesus. I don’t think you’re a hypocrite for being part of a church that doesn’t always live up to the Gospel’s own expectations. First of all, none of us do. But better the church have SOME people in it that at least acknowledge that than not. …keep the faith you have…however small it seems. Hold on to that and don’t let the failures of many Christians turn you away from God or the Christ who wanted us to know God as God truly is. You may feel lost but I don’t think you’re far from the Kingdom 🙂

Reading this, I felt seen for the first time in a very long time, by a man who has never even met me. I cannot explain, even now, just how much the lack of judgement about my struggles combined with encouragement to hold on to even a small amount of faith affects me. In response, I have spent a fair bit of time meditating and praying during these weeks of social distancing.

I am beginning to understand that my beliefs were never far from those Christ taught us.  Jesus is God incarnate. He has experienced humanity with all its messiness and chaos, joy and pain. The message of Jesus is one of love for ALL people. Jesus also taught us that actions matter. Feed the hungry. Clothe the poor. Visit the imprisoned. Care for the sick. The lessons of Jesus are most often focused on acting intentionally, with love, towards others. He specifically calls us to care for the most vulnerable among us. Jesus embodied the very idea of being the change you wish to see in the world. His death was a final act of love, one meant to give hope to all through the resurrection, because he could not bear to see anyone left out from the Kingdom of God. None of these lessons are new to me, but somehow, they feel different. Perhaps I just needed permission to give myself, and everyone else, grace for not always living up to the Gospel’s, or my own, expectations.

This Easter, more than ever before, I feel as though I have a new appreciation for the hope and love Jesus granted us through his crucifixion, death, and resurrection. I am even considering once again joining a physical church community, when we are able to do so, and further exploring this journey of faith with others. In the midst of the darkness of COVID-19, I am grateful to have followed the impulse to reach out to Father Daniel and for his willingness to be a guiding light that I did not even realize I was searching for. Most of all, I am beginning to understand that while I may doubt in God, He never doubts in me.

 

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” – John 1:5

 

 

 

Anyone that knows me for very long figures out quickly that I am a passionate gamer. While I did play Atari and Nintendo growing up, my real love for video games started when I was 30 years old. I needed a social activity that I could do  as a single mom after my young son was in bed, and my sister and her friends were playing computer games together online in the evenings. Adult conversation and zombie killing? Perfect! I’m in!

My gaming hobby has become something of a part-time job. For the past four years or so, I have run a small community that plays games together. We have an annual get together, and we even made the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest running online gaming guild (over 22 years old!) I have made some amazing friends through gaming, and I love when we get the chance to hang out in person. Even more, I love that I can hang out with them most evenings through voice chat programs and in game, and I don’t even need to have shoes on to do it!

This past year, I jumped into an amateur esports organization. It started as a chance to play a game on a team with some friends, and then I ended up helping to run the league. It kinda cracks me up. Here I am, 40 years old, and I’m helping to run an esports rec league! And yet, it’s really cool, and a great brain break from my normal work grind of dealing with incredibly ill people and their families on a daily basis. I get to interact with players, game developers, and community personalities about the games I love.

Why am I writing about this, you may be asking? Too often, we get caught up in what we “should” be doing as adults. We do not make time to find and do the things that are fulfilling to ourselves. Maybe you love to dance, or hike, or sing; be in theater,  draw, paint, or even play video and board games…whatever it is that you love, that fills you with inner joy, give yourself the OK to pursue it. Make a hobby of it. You will not regret it.

 

“One of the most important things you can do on this earth is to let people know they are not alone.”
― Shannon L. Alder

When I was thirty, I went through a divorce. It was fairly clean and civil as divorces go. Quite the opposite of our marriage, really. One of the first tasks that I needed to do as a newly single mother was move to a new home. It was overwhelming. I was 1400 miles away from my family, and I did not really know anyone local. If I am completely honest, I likely would not have called anyone for help even if I’d had anyone to call. I was embarrassed and ashamed at the crazy turn my life had taken over the previous seven years.

I remember attempting to pack up the master bedroom, and I came across the game Candyland. We had bought the game recently in order to have family game nights to encourage more bonding time and try to reconnect. In that moment, it felt like it represented everything wrong in my life, and I sat on the floor and sobbed for the longest time.

It was shortly after that when my doorbell range. I had no idea who might be coming by, but I went to answer it anyway. And there, standing in the doorway, were two women. I knew these women. They were acquaintances in the friend group circle that we hung out with as a couple. Apparently, word had made it out that my ex and I had separated and that I had to move ASAP.

I don’t remember the exact words they said to me, but the essential message was that they wanted to help me and my son get to a safe place. They wanted me to know I was not alone.  They helped me pack my house. They hugged me while I cried. They made me laugh. They befriended my son. Most importantly, they didn’t expect anything from me. I’m not sure I can properly describe how much it meant to me to have them show up like that. We became fast friends.

When someone is going through a crisis, they often feel overwhelmed and unable to act. It is good to let people know they can call you anytime, and also to recognize that sometimes people will feel unable to make that call. Anxiety, embarrassement, shame, guilt, sadness – those emotions can make a person feel paralyzed and unable to reach out. They may feel unwanted, or they may not want to burden anyone. When you show up, you take away the pressure of them deciding to reach out.

Showing up doesn’t have to be big. The smallest action can matter more than you can imagine. A few years ago, I suffered a miscarriage. I was devastated. One day, I opened my front door to find a small care package. There was a sweet card and a couple of boxes of tea from a friend of mine. It was the first smile I had in days, and even though she didn’t even ring my doorbell, I felt her love and caring in that moment. That small act carried me through some very dark days.

It is an understatement to say that we often do not know what to do when someone is going through something rough. It is easy to let fear keep us from acting. However, if we can let go of the idea that people need to be OK all the time and accept that anger, fear, sadness, and anxiety are normal; healthy emotions, perhaps we can all learn to just be present for each other. It is enough to just show up and let people know that they are not alone.

When I was twenty-five years old, I went to counseling for the first time. My first husband and I had an eighteen month old baby, and we had just had our worst fight yet. It was the kind of fight that I should likely have moved out because of, but I was not ready for that. I was raised Southern, and Catholic, and we do not get divorced.

My first counseling session is a blur, and I do not recall most of what was said. I told the story of my marriage, and of the fight. I remember the counselor was compassionate, concerned, and did a really wonderful job of helping me feel comfortable talking to her. At the end of our session, she gave me an assignment: I was to write down twenty things that I liked or that were important to me.

The next week, I came to the counseling session with my homework in hand. I was quite happy going in because I had come up with twenty-four items for my list! Have I mentioned that I am a recovering people pleaser? She asked me to read her the list, so I began at the top. I only got about 4 items in when she stopped me. “I want you to cross off any item that mentions your husband, your son, your family or friends. What is it that YOU like? What is important to YOU? Read me those.” When I finished crossing everything off, I had nothing to give her other than that I enjoyed reading books.

“Where are you in your life, Kristi?” she asked me. I told her I did not understand what she meant. She explained to me that she likes clean toothbrushes. Because of this, she buys cheap $1 toothbrushes and replaces them every other week. This way, she doesn’t feel wasteful by ditching $15 fancy toothbrush heads, and it gives her a level of peace and quiet inner happiness to have a clean toothbrush regularly.

“I like underwear without holes in them,” I told her. “How many pairs of underwear do you have without holes in them?” she asked me. “None.”

And it was true. I had not a single pair of underwear without holes in them. It took me two weeks to work up the courage to buy new underwear. Lane Bryant had a 5 pairs for $25 dollar special, and I decided to go for it. Not just new underwear, but *pretty* new underwear. I felt a bit ridiculous as I spent $25 for a measly 5 pairs of underwear, but it did, in fact, bring a sense of quiet peace and joy to my heart when I threw out the worst offenders in the drawer of holey underwear. And I cannot even describe the thrill I got by having adorable polka-dot panties.

If I were to say there was a beginning to my journey from being an awkward young woman to being a confident woman who is generally at peace with herself, I would say it started there, at the 5 for $25 dollar underwear bin in Lane Bryant. I took my first steps to discovering exactly what I could do for myself to bring peace and joy to my heart.

To this day, I love buying underwear. My current favorite store is Target. Since I have lost a significant amount of weight in the past few years, I no longer have to shop in Lane Bryant. And Target has the most fun undies: Pacman, Star Wars, Wonder Woman, Superman, various Disney themes. My underwear drawer looks a bit like it should belong to a 10 year old girl instead of a 40 year old woman, and I couldn’t be happier. I smile every time I open the drawer. I even have a pair featuring Oscar the Grouch. Across the band, they read “Grumpy Pants.” Best. Undies. Ever.

 

 

 

My brother-in-law, Gavin P. Coldwell, passed from this world to the next on February 12th. It was a hard death following a hard illness. But that’s not the story I’m going to tell today. Today, I’m going to talk about the first time my sister went to visit the cemetary.

There is a lot of chaos in the days following a person’s death. Because of this, Sunday, February 18th was our first opportunity after the funeral to visit Gavin’s grave. We brought flowers and drove to the back of the graveyard where Gavin’s eternal resting place is located. The site is lovely. It is just behind a statue of an angel and right near a pair of young crepe myrtle trees.

The windchimes sounded softly in the breeze as we sat down at Gavin’s grave. My sister’s eyes were damp, and my chest felt heavy. My sister commented on the flowers left there after the funeral (they were beginning to wilt), and on the wreath laid over his final resting spot (it was simple and beautiful and comforted her a bit). And then, I heard shock and disbelief as she loudly stated, “WHO THE HELL IS CALVIN?” She was pointing at the temporary marker left there. And sure enough, it read “Calvin P. Caldwell.” And then, instead of the tears that we both expected on this first visit, we began to laugh and laugh and laugh.

When you are in the midst of grief, you sometimes find humor in odd places. You see, Gavin never particularly liked his name. He was born in South Africa, and grew up in Great Britain. Once he moved to the USA, he was often called “Kevin” as Gavin is not a common name here in the States. And so we laughed at this misspelling because it seemed so very much like something Gavin would do to try and cheer his widow. Like a practical joke played on us from beyond.

Still, practical joke or not, we couldn’t let that stake stay there! And so, Kathy stood and ripped it out of the ground. “This comes with me,” she said, “and I’m saving the card. But I’m going to repurpose the stake with a snarky saying and place it in my flowerbed.” Then she looked back at the grave, “What do you think of that, CALVIN?” And we were both in stitches again.

The next afternoon, we returned to the funeral home and explained about the stake. The first woman we spoke to was a bit confused as to why we had confiscated it, and she felt certain it could be fixed if we would just return it. “If I bring it back here, I may stab someone with it. I’m quite certain you can just get me a new one! It’s just a cheap stake. And that one is going in my garden” my sister stated. Today, there were tears and anger.

And then, Casie arrived. She helped us with the planning of the service, and she was gracious as she knelt before my sister. She apologized and ensured us another stake would be ready in minutes, and the name would be correct. She also assured us, at my sister’s request, that Jack would have us a full plate of freshly baked Otis Spunkmeyer chocolate chip cookies when we returned later that week to order the headstone. (And ONLY chocolate chip cookies! None of those oatmeal raisin ones, please!) It was the least they could do.

On our way out to visit Gavin’s grave, and place the new stake, we passed a pond. Upon the pond were two swans. My sister was wearing a Bob Ross t-shirt, and we stopped and looked at the swans. “This mistake,” she said, “now, it’s birds.” For us, at least, those swans will always be Calvin and Hobbes. We didn’t laugh quite as hard as we had the day before, but we did smile and chuckle a bit as we took some pictures of the birds.

And just in case you were wondering, the cookies were warm and delicious.

Life is messy and unpredictable. This past year has made that abundantly clear to me. And, if I’m honest, I was already pretty clear on the topic. There has been a lot of loss in the past year, but the one that affected me most has been the loss of my brother-in-law, Gavin.

Grief is a strange beast. I did not expect Gavin’s passing to affect me as deeply as it has. And yet, there’s hardly a day that goes by that I don’t think of him and miss him. His quiet presence has been in the background of every major milestone of my life since I was a teenager. And even more than that is knowing that for all the pain I feel, it cannot touch the pain that my sister and her children must be feeling. So, I do what I can to support them and let them know how very much I love them.

If you are wondering why I started a blog, Gavin’s loss is the inspiration. I have realized that, as a society, we are not good at talking about how messy life can be, or how to cope with that messiness. As my sister and I recently discussed, sometimes you are just face down in the mud, and the only thing anyone can do to help is to just sit with you. And it is OK. It is OK to just sit in the mud with your friend or family member in crisis. It is OK to experience grief, and sadness, and anger; uncertainty and anxiety. It is OK to be face down in the mud sometimes. It is normal, even.

Through Deathwine, I will share stories from my own life. Personal stories. Some will be funny; others will not be. My goal is to help open up conversations about how to deal with this crazy, messy world that we live in. How we can lift one another up and support each other. A favorite quote of mine is “Be the change you want to see in the world.” So, here we go. Thank you for joining me on this journey.