Last week I arrived early for a funeral at a Catholic church which gave me some time to sit, meditate and pray before the actual service began. This particular church had a huge, imposing crucifix (as opposed to just a Cross) mounted high on the wall behind the alter. I began to count all the crucifixes and Crosses that I could see without moving and got up to seventeen before being interrupted by a friend coming in.
I was born into the Catholic faith and raised
I am rich, very rich in daughters.
And then a year came when that blessing grew by two, then three and four and now, like wildfire into five, count them, five glorious little lives all their own called grandchildren. They snuck in on little ships one day when I was busy doing something else that seemed important.
I am not sure just how this all happened. There's no manual, no playbook, nothing on being grampy. Just unwritten expectations that come without words or reason. Each of them, Kevin, Madison, Owen, Joshua and Zachary just moved in to the middle of who I am, set sail and changed whatever course I thought was mine.
Last week I was in the halls of our local high school on my way to meeting with a student. Two girls, whom I have known for several years now, were walking a short distance ahead of me and unaware that I was among the pack walking a short distance behind. One of them was carrying an iPod and sharing one set of earphones between them, so that a skinny, long white wire dangled back and forth between them as they walked to class. The girls rounded the corner and turned to head up the stairs....together...
March winds blew characteristically cold and strong, sweeping dune grass and longer shafts of late-day shadows in a symphony of sight and wind-song there near the oceans edge. They came trudging, noisily, over one dune and up the next, a pack of life and confidence, nineteen in number and headed straight for the water's edge. For years I've led groups of young people to the seaside, most especially to Horseneck Beach and each and every time my heart leaps with wonder, watching and feeling as the wind and water pulls us home again.
"Life is made up of marble and mud." - Nathaniel Hawthorne
Strange words to wake up to I must say. But it seems they're true. Yesterday our fair town had an election with several important funding "override" questions at stake. The outcome of one ballot question especially would determine the future of my employment working with our youth. And as the sun's early rays stream across my desk I realize that this is the first morning in several months that I can say with certainty where I'll be working next year and beyond. It's a very good feeling, indeed.
For me the "marble" has been the overwhelming outpouring of support by many residents of all ages that my position as Youth Advocate should continue. These townspeople, from twelve-year-olds to seniors, were rock solid, smooth and determined to speak out and be heard. They wrote letters, spoke at meetings and in effect became the very definition of community. It's a truly humbling experience and discomforting sometimes, to watch ones life work being carried and given voice by others. It requires trust, letting go and somehow surrendering to the process. Personally, I have much to be grateful for and many people to thank in the days ahead.
