The Eyes Are On Us

On May 24, 1844, Samuel F.B. Morse sent a message from Washington to Baltimore: “What hath God wrought?” Morse’s telegraph was the first electronic transmission of information in the young United States, changing the face of the world. Now, as watches, phones, and computer screens bring us breaking news 24/7, Morse’s coded question still begs to be answered. 

Because of these seemingly miraculous advances in technology, the eyes of the world were able to focus on a graceful young woman as she stepped into a church aisle on Saturday morning. Moving radiantly toward the marriage altar, she met her future father-in-law at the halfway point, and with a courtly manner, escorted her to the man of her dreams. When the breath-taking young woman met her beaming groom at the altar, People Magazine reports the ginger-haired man turned to the heir to the British throne and said, “Thank you, Pa.” Our misty eyes took in the magic of a royal wedding, with its designer dresses, hats and shoes, a celebrity-studded guest list, an elegant mother-of-the-bride complete with dreadlocks and nose-ring, and an impassioned gospel choir (my claim to fame is that one of its singers worked at the Salvation Army camp in Carrolton – you go, Wayne!). 

I didn’t polish any silver, bake any scones, or steep any tea for the occasion, but I’ll admit to being sucked into the fairy princess story of Meghan Markle, an American actress who’s brought joy to the bonny Prince Harry, the young boy so bereft by his mother’s tragic death. While I’m not normally a royal watcher, I joined in this party, excited to catch a first glimpse of the “say yes to the dress” creation, charmed by the bright-eyed children in the wedding party, and pumped up by the preacher’s exuberance. The eyes of the world were on Harry and Meghan, and they came through with flying colors.

For one brief shining moment on Saturday morning, our eyes were distracted from the unpredictability of North Korea, the heartbreak of the most recent school shooting at Santa Fe High School, the playoff trials of the Cavs, and the tweetstorms emanating from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. For one brief shining moment, we could believe, as Anne Lamott often says, that “love bats last.” I’m guessing Bishop Michael Curry would say, “Amen to that, sister.”

As a child of royalty and a television series veteran, Harry and Meghan are used to being in the spotlight. As for me, while life in the palace might be fun for a bit, my knee creaks when I curtsy, so I’ll grudgingly let the new Duchess of Sussex live the royal life in my place. I’ll gladly stay under the radar, content with the royal title of Nana.

The people I know aren’t royalty and don’t live fairy tale lives. We’re not famous in the eyes of the world, and on our good days, we’re grateful to be beloved in the eyes of our pets and our grandchildren. 

Approaching her third birthday (how can that be possible?), the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday likes to play by herself, creating imaginative scenarios with her dolls, with playdough, and with the dog (when he’s willing to cooperate). As she talks to her various characters, she repeats phrases she’s heard from her parents, her sister, and me. The resulting dialogue is often hilarious, peppered as it is with “I have birtday party,” “you go in time out,” and “I don’t want to,” but it’s also sobering, reminding me that the eyes of Elizabeth and her sister, the lovely Madelyn Simone, are on me, and their ears are listening as well. Like the paparazzi with the newlyweds, the girls are watching and waiting, storing up images and sound bites to be used at the most inopportune moment. 

The eyes of the world were on Harry and Meghan for one brief shining moment, but in our own family circles and neighborhoods, the eyes of the children are on us. Might our words and actions be motivated by Bishop Curry’s reminder to the royal couple and to the world: “There’s power in love to show us the way to live.”

A Drowning Joy

As I picked a bouquet of lilacs for our home, I was reminded of my mother. She enjoyed bringing a glimpse of beauty in from her garden, with a sprig of lily-of-the-valley beside her recliner or a single yellow rose in the slim bud vase on the kitchen table. She also kept up with holiday décor; red, white and blue bunting, ceramic bunnies and eggs, and lace-rimmed hearts and cupids in place well before the designated holidays. 

As for me, I embody my dad’s frequent pronouncement: “a day late and a dollar short.” I fully intend to pick daffodils or pull out the tub of patriotic decorations, but I don’t always do so on a timely basis. As I sit down to write this week, I’m feeling like the “better late than never” relative whose birthday card seldom arrives on time (guilty as charged). 

In the days since we celebrated Mother’s Day, I’ve been thinking a lot about mothers. Stand at the display racks overflowing with flowery verses on greeting cards, or scroll through the endless waves of tributes on Facebook, and the naïve observer might conclude that we live in a culture of perfect mothers and ever-grateful children. 

Yet that assumption fails to recognize that on Mother’s Day, Hallmark, American Greetings, and children of all ages across America take the high road, at least for one day. Mothers across America do as well, choking down burnt toast and proclaiming it to be the best breakfast in bed they’ve ever had. In turn, children across America do their best to reach for their ideal of a mother, joining the lovely Madelyn Simone in this affirmation: “As you can see, my mom is special because she’s the best mom I had ever have.” Grammar issues aside, Madelyn’s eight-year-old wisdom captures a precious connection desired between mother and children.

However, the reality is that Mother’s Day is also tinged with loss – lost mothers, lost sons and daughters, lost dreams. That loss comes in many forms. A friend of a Facebook friend posted about their friend, Broadway actress Ruthie Ann Miles, who lost her four-year-old daughter in a tragic accident in Brooklyn two months ago, which critically injured Ms. Miles, seven months pregnant. Now, just days before Mother’s Day, Miles’ unborn child has died. Unimaginable loss.

The death of a child forever marks a mother (and a father as well), yet my heart also breaks for mothers whose children are alive, yet consumed by the world of addiction, the terror of domestic violence, the grip of mental illness, or the estrangement of selfishness or irresponsible choices. Theologians often debate the meaning of Genesis 3, but these women experience the unending truth of its words, “with pain you will give birth to children,” a pain mothers innately understand does not end in the delivery room.

Yet motherhood also brings a drowning joy. In my work-in-progress novel, the main character, an attorney turned Salvation Army officer, wrestles with the reality of motherhood. “These tiny humans, so dependent in their first months of life, can pretty much terrorize their parents.” But she also knows the truth of Mary Gordon’s words: “Nothing has ever been more powerful, nothing has ever been more dangerous [than mother love] and it takes her entirely by surprise . . . the exhaustion, the boredom . . . these are nothing compared to the drowning joy.”

Since Mother’s Day occurs on Sunday each year, churches traditionally recognize mothers with a carnation or a potted plant. Wanting to be sensitive to those with empty wombs, empty arms, and empty hearts, some choose to focus on the essence of motherhood rather than the physical experience of childbirth. As Mary Lee Downey expresses: “every single one of us, when we are nurturing, caring, empathetic, when we hold our friends and family close – we mother.”

Mother’s Day 2018 is history. Its flowers are fading and its sentiments may quickly be forgotten, but the reality of the drowning joy and the depth of pain experienced by those who dare to enter that dangerous mother-love reaches far beyond the second Sunday in May. Maybe I’m not really a day late after all.

Down in the River to Pray

Growing up in a Buffalo suburb, I was spoiled by my home’s proximity to the mighty Niagara River. Five short blocks, and I could ride my bike along its banks, skip stones, or simply sit on its shore and ponder the mysteries of heaven and earth. In the intervening years, I’ve moved through New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio, seeking out places the Celts call a thin space, where the human spirit is able to touch the divine. Due to geographic restrictions, this space has seldom been defined by rushing waters, although vacation has allowed for sacred times at the Atlantic, the Pacific (one awesome visit), and even a magical trip to “the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond.” 

As I’ve entered new communities as well as welcomed new phases of life, I’ve had to search out those places of respite, sometimes simply the rocking chair in the corner of a darkened living room long after our children’s bedtime, or the stillness of a bench under the spreading canopy of the cemetery’s mighty maple. During my seminary days in Ashland, I happily discovered the ATS Prayer Garden, nestled alongside the south wall of the library. After cramming my mind with knowledge in the stacks of books, I was glad for the opportunity to refresh my spirit in the quiet of the prayer garden.

Now one of my favorite places of respite has received a facelift, as current seminary student Kathy Kollar and classmates have spearheaded its restoration to honor one of its beloved professors, Dr. JoAnn (Jody) Ford Watson, Ashland Theological Seminary’s H.R. Gill Family Professor of Theology and Spiritual Formation. I’ve been privileged to sit under the anointed teaching of Dr. Watson, and our mutual name (which our mothers even spelled the same), our connections within the community, and our shared appreciation for Henri Nouwen, Mother Teresa, and the role of women in ministry, have allowed me to call her friend and sister. She’s a sister kind of girl, and even titled one of her early books, “Sister to Sister,” a volume that provides a spiritual formation resource based upon the narratives of biblical women. 

Watson has led the way for many of her sisters in faith and life, beginning in her days at Princeton Theological Seminary and Northwestern University, where women were a small minority of those studying theology. Returning to her hometown of Ashland to join the seminary faculty, she became the first tenured female professor at that institution. As an ordained Presbyterian minister, she was among the first women to serve the church in its pulpit and pastoral ministry.

But when I think of Jody Watson, I don’t think of her degrees or her pioneering status in the church and the seminary. Instead, the Jody Watson I know is living a life epitomized by the word “encouragement.” Put aside any accolades, duly deserved. This is not a woman (like some who strive for a certain status in life) who has stomped on the fingers of those trying to follow her “up the ladder” of success in her field. Instead, she has been a cheerleader in the best sense, the giver of enthusiasm and courage, who has both led the way and walked alongside others, inside and outside the classroom.  

As a friend recently said to me, it is the end of an era at ATS. It is hard to imagine the seminary without the presence of JoAnn Ford Watson. But wait. I’m hearing an echo, for I’m sure similar words were spoken a generation earlier, when Watson’s mother, Dr. Lucille Ford, retired from the Ashland University campus. If Dr. Ford’s experience in retirement is any indicator, I can’t wait to see how Dr. Watson’s post-retirement life unfolds. 

Bungee-jumping? A new book or two? It wouldn’t surprise me. But as she enters retirement, we just may find Jody Watson sitting on a bench in a prayer garden, extending the healing and courage-giving grace of God. And if we listen carefully, we may hear her softly singing with Alison Krauss: “O sisters, let’s go down, let’s go down, come on down; O sisters, let’s go down, down in the river to pray.”

Nepotism or Family Ties?

More than three decades ago, Larry and I were blessed with a husband and wife team as pediatricians for our young sons. Ashland had its own long-time physician couple in Drs. Henry and Vera Chalfant, and currently, Drs. Danielle and Doug Raber work in the same medical practice.

Family connections are common in many professions, such as medicine, the military, the practice of law, law enforcement, and education. A similar thread runs within ministry, as sons and daughters often follow in the sacred footsteps of their parents. Clergy couples are also becoming more evident, a role Larry and I were fortunate to share, as the doors to ordination have opened wider for women in recent years. 

Government, public service, and politics can also be a “family business.” Historically, royal families ruled countries for generations, with majesty and authority being transferred based upon blood lines, with little consideration for the actual ability of the heir to govern. Many still remain enchanted with the United Kingdom’s royal family, as interest has surged with the upcoming marriage of Prince Harry and American actress Meghan Markle. 

Certain American families have brought a dynastic flavor to our country’s politics as well, with the early father-son presidential team of John and John Quincy Adams, and the more recent examples of the Kennedy brothers and offspring, and the Bush political lineage. As in other fields, it’s no surprise when a child follows in the footsteps of a parent’s achievement – just look at the potential awaiting the sons of Shaq and LeBron.

But I’m not sure we’ve figured out what to do with married couples whose lives overlap with political ambition. In the twentieth century, the expectations for a political wife were unspoken yet clear, and Barbara Bush fulfilled them well. Upon her recent death, her son, former president George W. Bush, wrote: “Barbara Bush was a fabulous First Lady and a woman unlike any other who brought levity, love, and literacy to millions.” Sesame Street responded as well: “Barbara Bush and Big Bird shared more than the same initials – they shared a love of friends and family, of teaching children their ABCs, of helping others, and a generosity of spirit.” The consensus: Barbara Bush fit the role of FLOTUS well.

But in the twenty-first century, norms are changing. While best evidenced in Hillary Clinton’s campaign for the presidency, the Clintons are not alone in their role as a political power couple. Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell is married to Elaine Chao, a former Secretary for Labor and current Secretary for Transportation. Mercedes Schlapp, the director of strategic communications at the White House, and husband Matt Schlapp, chair of the American Conservative Union, both lean quite right, but do disagree at times. Following what Mercedes saw as a campaign faux pas by her husband near election day in 2016, she called him out with this message: “You’re benched.” Apparently they’ve worked that out. 

One exception to the assumption that married couples in D.C. should stay on the same side of the aisle is the Matalin/Carville romance. James Carville was instrumental in Bill Clinton’s victory over George Bush in 1992, who had been assisted in his campaign by Mary Matalin. Despite their obvious political differences, they married the next year, and have found ways to make the marriage and their careers work.

Is it possible to see the partners in a marriage as two separate people? Can Kelly Anne Conway’s husband George express less-than-flattering opinions about her boss on Twitter without her job being endangered? Should contributions made to Jill McCabe’s campaign be criticized because she was married to an FBI agent? 

With nearly 60% more women running for the House and Senate this year compared to the 2016 election cycle, it’s time to allow individuals to rise and fall on their own accord, regardless of gender, marital status, or family ties. Yes, it’s complicated. Yes, perception often matters as much as reality. But if educators, physicians and lawyers can avoid sensitive pillow talk, separating their professional lives from their marriages, so can political spouses. 

With that sorted out, we can make plans to watch the royal wedding, two weeks from today. Can’t wait to see THE DRESS!