Metaphysical Quail

I need to get my house on the market.  But before I do that I need to get all of the landscaping taken care of.  And new doors bought.  And touch up painting.  And staging.  And packing.  I've known all of this for months but I'm getting down to the wire and I just need to do it.

But I haven't.  

It probably has something to do with the fact that I'm not moving where I expected to.  Late in February I got a call from a congregation in Southern Texas and since then I'd been in the interview process with them.  It felt right.  I felt called to be their minister and the search committee was on the same page.  In early May I went down and preached for them, talked with them and shared my own conflicted stories with them.  It felt right.  I felt called to be their minister.  But they wanted a week to think and pray before they voted and as I drove away from that church I felt a realization growing in the dark parts of my mind: "This week wait is a bad thing.  It will only give them the opportunity to be swallowed by fear.  I need to prepare for a No."  

And I was right.  On Mother's Day, the Search Chair called me and told me that I'd only garnered 50% of the vote and so it was a "No."  He was brokenhearted and shocked at the outcome.  I wasn't shocked but I was still brokenhearted.  And just like that, the moment of resurrection and joy and goodness that I so desperately needed was stripped from me.  I thought I was going to finally be able to leave Holy Saturday behind and walk on into Easter morning, but instead I'm still leaning my back against a firmly closed tomb and praying that dawn will come soon.

Instead of moving down south I'll be moving up north; north as in my parent's house.  My job as an associate ends on June 2nd and I have no prospects anywhere else despite the fact that I've been searching and praying and waiting for a new call for 15 months.

I suddenly understand the grumbling of the tribes of Israel as they wandered in the desert looking for the promised land.  God has been caring for me in the wilderness and I believe will continue to care for me for as long as this search takes but I AM SO TIRED OF METAPHYSICAL QUAIL AND MANNA.  I just want to GET THERE.   I understand the horror of Joshua and Caleb as they walked into the promised land and then had to walk away from it.  Not because THEY were afraid! Not because THEY were disobedient!  Not because THEY distrusted God and God's plans! Because OTHERS were afraid and disobedient and distrustful.  They suffered the consequences of other people's fears.  I get that now.  I'm living that.  

I'm thankful that I've never struggled with my faith during these terrible years of loss.   I feel good about who God is and how God loves me.  I trust in God's game.  I told a clergy group yesterday that the real difficulty has been finding the strength to have faith in PEOPLE, as all of my difficulties and pain have come at the hands of those who should have known better and acted accordingly.  Now I fear that the feelings I have when I think about my husband (I want to trust you but how do I trust you?) will be applied to any future congregation I interview with (I want to trust y'all, but how do I trust y'all?).  

::Deep Breath::

So here I am, wandering in the desert again.  God is leading me, clouds by day and fire by night.  I like to imagine that God is just as upset with the turn of events as I am, that the clouds by day are thunderous and heaving and the fire a crackling, whip of light.  That God is striding ahead of me with power and anger and purpose and peering into the unseeable places to find a place for me and my future.  And I will wait because how could I do anything else?  I will be a pastor again and not because I have some kind of stubborn chip on my shoulder.  Because its the song of my soul, the story that tells itself in all of my dreams, because its the weight of my bones and shape of my very breath.  I will do this because it is what God intends for me to do, because it is the shape of me.

I will wait.  

So, This is My Life Now

Sunday Night, I got a call from Cliff at 8:56pm.  The phones in his unit usually shut down around 9 and we'd already spoken earlier in the evening, so I was surprised that he was calling again.  Very quickly he told me "I'm on chain." 

And there it was - he was finally being moved from his "transitional" facility (where he'd been for a year!) to his permanent facility.  And here was the note of anxiety - there was NO TELLING where that permanent facility was going to be.  He could be moved to El Paso or Pampa or Beeville, and there would be no recourse for us.  Palestine was a 4 hour round trip for me, but it was still close enough that a monthly visit was within reason.  A move to El Paso would mean I would only rarely be able to visit Cliff - it would mean hardship for all of us.  But when you are "on chain", they don't tell you where you are going.  You just get chained up and loaded in a prison transport and wait for however long it takes to get there.  And for those of us waiting to see our collective fate?  There was only the waiting and the obsessive checking of the TDCJ Online Offender Search.

My phone conversation with Cliff was short, so I told my parents and Cliff's family about it immediately afterwards.  As I sat with my mom and dad, I realized I felt none of the panic and nausea of the last time this had happened.  I don't know if time heals wounds, but time does provide you with callouses.  And somewhere in between January 18th, 2012 and January 27th, 2013, a thick emotional hide has grown over my heart - or the part of my heart where Cliff lives.  I was surprised that he'd been moved (but not too surprised), I was worried that he would be moved somewhere incredibly inconvenient but I wasn't traumatized like last time.  When he was moved from Waco to Palestine, it was the finally severing of our geographic life together.  Nothing was severed this time, except my obligation to have to drive to Palestine EVER AGAIN.  There was nothing lost this time.  Nothing taken this time.  Even Cliff's stuff went with him.  The only thing that changes for ME is the direction I will drive to see him.

Which turns our to be Huntsville.

I was pleased to find out that Huntsville is only 20mn farther away than Palestine was.  Let me repeat that: I WAS PLEASED that my husband's new prison facility was in convenient driving distance.  I WAS PLEASED that his new prison facility will have better educational and job opportunities.  I WAS PLEASED that his new prison facility was closer to family so that Gareth's care won't be so hard to arrange on weekends I visit.

DAMN IT! 

Who is PLEASED for any of those things?  How screwed up does my life have to be for me to be PLEASED about ANYTHING that has to do with prison facilities?  How terrible has the trauma been in my life that I am glad for the opportunities my husband will have while he is IN JAIL?  And yet, that's what I am - pleased, relieved, unmoved.  How could I possibly have gotten used to this WRETCHED part of my life?

The answer is, of course, that I've gotten used to it because that is the only way to survive.  I would be a twitching mess if the grief I experienced in November/December of 2011 was the same grief I experienced today.  I've taken these dark places and cutting grief and absorbed them into myself and now they are a part of me in the same way that all the light places and joys are - they are simply a part of my internal landscape.  They are mental furniture that I resent and wish I could replace or be rid of, but they are there, firmly situated in my frame of reference.

Which is why, when I have to drive my toddler to Fort Worth at 10:30pm because of a possible food obstruction in his esophagus, I am annoyed but not panicked.  I've done this before.  Gareth will make it.  This isn't the worst its ever been.

Which is why, when I find out that because of budget shortfalls at my church, the new budget won't cover my salary after we hire a new senior pastor, I experience no anxiety.  I will find a new job and a new place to live.  We will make it.  This isn't the worst its ever been.

I wish I could say it is because of some kind of deep, spiritual sense that I find myself less anxious.  I do trust in God's movement in my life.  But that's not the reason that I can be pleased, or peaceful or blase in the face of turmoil.  The reason is this: I've already experienced worse than this and I have the callouses necessary to survive.  This is my life now.

So what's next?

Moving Day

A family down the street is moving today.  One of those huge commercial moving trucks is parked in front of their house, a ramp bowing and bending under the weight of loaded furniture and appliances.  It made me think of all the times we moved when I was younger.  I was born in Alaska, but months later we moved to Seattle.  And then months later after that we moved to Dallas.  When I was in the second grade we moved to Houston, and then back to Dallas when I was a sophomore in high school.  And then there was the move to college, all the moves in Phoenix to different dorms and apartments, and then the move back to Dallas after graduation.  Then came the move to Waco for Grad school, the move to our first place as a married couple and then the move to our house.  The house we first brought our son home to.  Looking back, it seems like my whole life I've been packing and unpacking boxes, looking up apartments, crunching budgets, transferring services, leaving a forwarding address.

But I had another moving day this week, one that I was expecting and dreading.

Cliff has been in the jail in town since November, and I'd gotten used to our arrangement.  I saw him every Tuesday and I brought Gareth to see him on Saturdays - 40mn a week to talk and see one another and share our broken hearts and abiding love.  We knew that he could be transferred to Huntsville at any moment, but we tried not to talk about it.  Tried not to focus on the fact that when he was transferred that we would be limited to one visit a month - a 2 hour visit - but just one.  Tried not to focus on the fact that we wouldn't be able to share long phone conversations anymore.  Tried not to focus on the fact that the miles that separated us would be long and difficult.

Thursday, I got a letter in the mail from the Sherrif's office, notifying me that Cliff had been transferred and that I needed to go pick up his property.

Moving day had come and gone and no one had told me.

I went by the jail as soon as I could and waited while an officer collected Cliff's belongings.  He came out with a big bag, jumbled with Cliff's stuff.  Books and paper, what seemed like hundreds of letters and cards, pictures and Cliff's clothes, his rings, his shoes.  The sum total of my husband's possessions was thrust into a large plastic bag and carried out to my car for me.  When I got it all home I sat in the middle of his possessions and sorted, books from letters, papers from clothes.  I touched everything he had touched, wishing that I could feel him instead of his absence, wishing that I had more of him than legal papers and uneaten candy bars.

I don't know where he is right now.  I've called to Huntsville but he isn't in the system yet.  I will try again this afternoon and every day until I find him - like a treasure hunt where the treasure stays locked away from you even when you discover it.  I won't be able to visit him or talk to him for 30-90 days while he goes through processing.  I will be able to write him and send him money for his commissary account, but I will have no contact until this system works him through and spits him out to his permanent facility.  My husband has been taken from me and hidden within the inner workings of a beast that has no mercy, and all I can do is look for him and wait.  I have no words to describe to you the powerlessness that has gripped me.

The moving truck down the street that reminds me I will be moving soon as well.  Though I am being helped financially by many family members and friends, I cannot live in this house much longer.  The mortgage is too much for my salary.  Once again, I will have to pack boxes, look for apartments, crunch numbers, cancel services, and leave a forwarding address.  And even though I have had my share of grief during other moves, the sadness of leaving behind family and friends, of fearful transitions and unsure future, this move is different.  This grief is more violent, this sadness tinged with anger and frustration, this fear unshakeable and life-altering.

Moving day has come.  Moving day is coming.

Lord Jesus Christ, Have Mercy.  God, Have Mercy.

One Month Past

Today Gareth is 20 months old - so close to two but still so much a baby.  I must admit, when anticipating Gareth's birth and listening to all of the well intentioned advice from friends and family, I fell for that line that every parent hears before their first child is born:

"My son/daughter/niece/cousin started sleeping through the night at 6 weeks!"

Well, let me tell you, my baby did NOT start sleeping through the night at 6 weeks.  Or 16 weeks.  Or 16 months.  He is STILL not sleeping through the night, though intermittently he will clock in a solid 9 hours of sleep without waking.  I'd gotten used to his sleepless nature because I had a partner to take shifts with.  When I couldn't get Gareth to go down at night, I would pass him off to Cliff and take a breather on the couch.  When Cliff had suffered with Gareth for over an hour in the middle of the night, I would slap in and do my best to calm the wild beast.  But now...now Gareth and I are the only foes who meet at bedtime.  Night, after night, after night.

Today marks a month since Cliff was sentenced and began his long stay in jail.  A month of me discovering all the things I would have to do alone.  Like cooking all the meals.  ALL of them.  And remembering to take the trash out every Friday.  EVERY FRIDAY.  And doing all the shopping, and the bill paying, and the yard work, and, and, and....

But somehow, getting Gareth to sleep is the most difficult task that I have to do alone.  And not just because I'm emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted.  But also because he has started to ask for Cliff at night - "mommy did it, mommy did it, mommy did it..."  Last night I finally figured out what he was saying.  "Gareth, do you want daddy to come in here to put you to sleep?"  ::nod::  "mommy did it."

He's right.  "mommy" (Gareth's name for Cliff) was always the best at putting him to sleep at night.  When I had done my best and Gareth was still struggling against sleep, Cliff could take him to bed and work some kind of daddy-magic and Gareth would go down within 20 minutes.  When this Mommy couldn't do it, "mommy did it."  But thats not an option anymore.

"I'm sorry Gareth, daddy isn't here."
"...NOOOOOO!"

Oh my boy, I know how you feel.

So we're one month out into this new life, this normal that I hate so much.  We're one month in and still I just can't bear the thought that I have years of months left, seemingly countless Januarys, Februarys, Junes, Octobers and more.  Years of Christmases and New Years and Valentines Days and our Wedding Anniversary, all without him, all alone, all having to explain...

"I'm sorry Gareth, daddy isn't here."

"I'm sorry, I guess you haven't heard."

"I'm sorry...."

He isn't here.

One month has past.

And he isn't here.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

It is certainly hard to believe that 2009 has already ended and 2010 barely begun!  It seems as if we’d just started this year when we realized we were celebrating its ending, but that seems to be the way of time, flying quickly past us.  We give thanks to God for his love and care in these past days and look forward to His great works in the future.

2009 was a year of exciting changes and adventures for the Grasham-Reeves family.  After over a year of retail drudgery at ATT, Cliff accepted a position with Child Protective Services in April as a Conservator for children in the foster system.  This job enabled him to spend more time with family and friends and to participate in local theatre programs.  Cliff was one of the lead actors in the Waco Civic Theatre’s production of “The Woman in Black” in late October, and has recently accepted a part in the spring production of “The Diary of Anne Frank.”  Cliff finally got his wish for a dog of his very own this past July and is the proud papa of Rika, a mutt of Catahoula and shepherd origins.

I had an exciting year, finally graduating from George W. Truett Theological Seminary with my Master of Divinity degree in May of 2009.  During graduation, I was awarded the Robert Jackson Robinson Preaching Award for the graduating class of Spring 2009, and preached during chapel on April 28th.  The day after graduating, following three years of participating in the ordination processes of the Southwest Region of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), I was ordained to Christian ministry. Two weeks and one day later, on Pentecost Sunday, I was installed as the Associate Minister of Children, Youth and Families at Lakewood Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).  God is good!

May was a busy month, especially considering the fact that Cliff and I bought our first house!  By happy coincidence (or providence, depending on your inclination), we were able to purchase the house of our friends Scott and Beki Baker as they moved on to Nashville, TN.  We are discovering the joys (and tribulations) of home ownership, but are thrilled to finally be in a place we can truly call our own.  Later last summer, we were also able to trade in my old Ford Escort and purchased a new-to-us Chevy Trailblazer that some of our friends jokingly call the “Grasham-Reeves Baby-mobile”.  Ah, if they only knew…

Which of course brings me to our happiest news: Cliff and I are expecting our first child in late April of 2010!  We discovered the happy news in August of 2009, finally breaking the news to family and friends in early October.  To our joy and surprise, we discovered that my sister Arwen and her husband Paul as well as my cousin Daniel and his wife Sarina were also expecting their first children all around the same time as us!  In early December, Cliff and I discovered that we will be having a baby boy, and have decided to name him Gareth Alexandre (sic). 

2010 brings its own exciting challenges and adventures.  Cliff will start a new job at Harmony Science Academy in mid-January as a high school English teacher, and we are both preparing for the great blessing of parenthood.  We are excited for God’s movement in our lives and look forward to what the future may bring.

May God bless you and yours in 2010!

Clifton & Elizabeth Grasham-Reeves

The New Year

I remember when I was in the first grade and I saw a 3rd grader and thought -"I'll never be that old."

I remember when I was in junior high and my sister was in high school and thought -"I'll never be that tall or that old."

I remember when I was about to graduate from high school and thought -"I'm not old enough to be in college. And I'm still not tall enough."

I remember when I was about to graduate from college and thought -"I'm not old enough to be a grown up. But at least I have high heels."

Last month I turned 25. I've been married for over 18 months, I'm a licensed minister and I'm about to graduate from seminary with my M.Div and be Ordained. I've bought a car, nursed my husband through surgery, paid for all my own bills, changed cell phone providers, gotten a pet and had to have him put down. Now Cliff and I are looking at buying a house, having children soon and I might have a full-time job come June.

And you know what?

I still feel like I'm not old enough to be a grown up. But I guess you don't have to feel it to be it. And you sure don't have to be tall, cause goodness knows that never worked out for me.

2009 is going to be a big year. Lots to achieve. Lots to dream. Lots to hope for.

My resolution? Keep buying high heels. Because if I'm really a grown up, I should at least look like it!