Sacred Pants

“There is nothing so secular that it cannot be sacred, and that is one of the deepest messages of the Incarnation.” 

― Madeleine L'Engle

The other day a friend and I had to make a trip to Walmart.  We had been working on a project all day and needed one final thing to complete it.  We were a mess. I was wearing my "painting clothes." The whole way there we laughed at how thankfully we were going to Walmart and not the mall because at Walmart we'd fit right in.  I love to paint. I'm not Van Gogh or Monet, but I love to paint walls and houses and sometimes things a little more creative.  Years ago I started wearing the same clothes to paint - a pair of blue sweat pants and a light blue shirt.  Even though I am a very clean painter, the clothes are covered in paint.  Knowing that I wear these "painting clothes" whenever I paint, my friend said, "Your pants are like the Traveling Pants."

Have you ever seen "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants"? Four lifelong friends have to spend their first summer apart. They go shopping and amazingly they find one pair of jeans that fits each of them perfectly, despite their varied body shapes and sizes.  The girls decide to have shared ownership and these pants spend the summer traveling between them, experiencing family turmoil, first love, tragic loss and lots of exploration.  In the midst of story is the magical element of these pants that saw so much of growing up and learning.

When my friend said, "Your pants are like the Traveling Pants?" It hit me for the first time that I had unintentionally created one of the most sacred items in my possession.

These pants were worn by my husband before I ever knew him, through boot camp, through his time on Active Duty and then through the first several years of our relationship until they no longer fit him or until I grabbed them one day that I wanted to paint a wall and needed something that I didn't care if I ruined.  They were his and they didn't really fit anymore, so that day over 10 years ago they became mine. My painting pants.  Painting pants that I'm sure already had such a deep story. They were pants that had already seen so much in his life.

I never intended for these pants to be anything more than a comfy pair of sweats that I could feel free to wipe my hands on, spill paint on and basically trash.  But the other day on the way to Walmart I was struck with the sacredness of what I was wearing.

You see, these pants have painted every home we have lived in during our nearly 20 years of marriage; two of which no longer are standing. They have painted the nurseries of our children when I was expecting. They have painted the rooms that we have invited people into over and over. These pants have painted the homes of my grandparents, parents and siblings.  Hours have been spent in these pants laughing, crying, and grieving because painting is therapeutic.  These pants have painted three different offices that I have inhabited, each with their own stories.  These pants have painted homeless shelters where they brought hope and new life to women who have been through so much.  These pants have painted the home of a dear friend who couldn't herself because of cancer.  These pants have painted the walls of my church as I have attempted to create sacred space for my community.  I guess in sense you could say, these pants have painted my life.

These pants have become sacred.  And when I look down, I see a rainbow of colors that each hold a sacred moment in my life.

I walked into Walmart that day holding my head high because I was clothed in the sacred and I wouldn't have it any other way.  These pants are sacred because love has been incarnated in every moment of their existence. My painting pants make their own rounds, never worn by others, but always presenting themselves in service to others.  They are my "traveling pants" that have seen so much. Like the pants in the movie, they've seen family turmoil, love, tragic loss and indeed, lots of exploration.  They have grown up with me and in them I have learned so much.

F*** Cancer

Three summers ago, I received word that one of my dearest friend's cancer had returned. It had been two years since her first diagnosis and we thought she was good.  I remember the emotion so vividly - the heartbreak, the fear, the anxiety, the anger. I spent a lot of time crying, a lot of time praying. Quite frankly, I was blubbering mess.

The Sunday after receiving that news, standing in church, I found myself unable to breathe, nearly collapsing. I rushed out of the sanctuary, pressed my back against a cold brick wall and let myself sink to the ground. In this moment another friend that was there came, lowered herself to the floor and wrapped her arms around me. It was as if her entire body enveloped me, she just held me and together we sat there and cried uncontrollably. 

Today, my friend has been fighting this second battle for three years. We have been up and down, in and out of the hospital. There have been so many moments of joy and many moments of crushing pain. And still she fights. She has the strength of a super hero. 

When I've been with her I've found myself just staring, wanting to take in every expression, every freckle, every twinkle of her eye. I don't want to miss a thing and sometimes that has paralyzed me. Sometimes I haven't been able to even express the emotion and yet it is still inside me. I hang on her every word, fearful of losing her and angry that she has to go through this. The cancer isn't stopping. It's like a tidal wave that just keeps hitting and is doing everything to pull you under. 

The fear remains real.

The heartbreak is ever present.

The anger invades

and with all that I am

I beg for her healing. 

It's like a bad dream. 

I want a happy ending

so badly it hurts.

Desperately, I press my back against a cold brick wall and sink into the ocean of tears. 

This week, as the battle intensifies, as we brace for the next round, I find the emotion wanting to come out. So I cry out in anger... "F*** cancer!" I cry out in heartbreak... "This isn't fair!" I cry out in desperation... "Lord, have mercy! Christ, have mercy!" And I find myself in the realization that perhaps it's hard to express my emotion because I feel as if He isn't listening...

And I'm left trying to keep the tidal wave from stealing my hope. Sometimes it's okay to say "This sucks" and it's probably always okay to say "F*** cancer!"

The person nearest you

"Never worry about numbers. Help one person at a time and always start with the person nearest you."                                                                                              ~ Mother Teresa 

This week Mother Teresa was declared a saint by Pope Francis.  I downloaded her book this past week on Audible "A Call to Mercy: Hearts to Love, Hands to Serve." After listening for a bit, I realized that this is a book I should have just bought in print.  

Mother Teresa was not perfect. Sainthood is not about perfection. It is about faithfulness. This book reveals struggles that she had, but more than anything it reveals her heart for G-d and for people.  It reveals her faithfulness in such a humble way.  

In today's western Christianity, as much as we say it is not about numbers, the reality is that it is.  As a pastor, I go to conferences, meet new people, and the first question is always how big is your church? How many people attend on a Sunday? Numbers are the proverbial pissing fight and the person with the largest count gets to pat themselves on the back as the day's success story.  We justify this with quick comebacks, like "each number is a soul for Christ." Numbers matter in religion because the belief is that numbers pay the bills.  And there's some truth to that, but it's not really how the Kingdom of G-d works. 

What if all of it is bull? What if Mother Teresa is right? What if we are never to worry about numbers, but instead just love the person next to us? What if keeping buildings doesn't matter? What if the latest technology doesn't matter? What if all that matters is the people in your life? What if all the mess of world was redeemable through simply loving our neighbor as ourself? 

One woman who dared to ask these questions and had the audacity to look at the one in her care, changed the world for thousands and left a shockwave of compassion in her trail.  She was a trailblazer! A pioneer! A faithful follower of G-d...following Him into the gutters of India with courage and humility to help and serve the one nearest her.  

In my world, I needed this reminder.  My role is not about numbers, but it is about loving those in my care. My struggles are real, as they were for Mother Teresa, but I find rest from those cares in pouring my life into the people whom G-d loves passionately.  I needed a reminder to just love G-d with all that I got, and love others with His help.  

May Mother Teresa's life be an inspiration to us all to live faithfully to the call of love! And may we be reminded that the one in front of us is enough.