Reflections on a Meaningful Life: Funeral Homily for Xavi Kiemde

Xavier Jean Kiemde, September 13, 2012

Written and delivered by Patty Stromen, Church of the Ascension, Minneapolis, MN

There are many ways that we describe what a meaningful life is. 

Some people say it is the length of life, some people say it is the possessions that we own, some people say it is the relationships that we form.

As Christians we have a very clear definition for a meaningful life, we believe our vocation, what gives greatest meaning to life, what we are born for, is to embrace God’s love and reflect it back to the world. That reflection of God’s love is at the heart of a meaningful life. To quote Fr. Greg Tolaas, “Let love meet love.”

Baby Xavier, baby Xavi,  during his life in the womb, and his brief time outside his mother’s womb, lived the most meaningful life any of us could ever hope for.  He experienced God’s love perfectly, and he reflected God’s love to each of us.

In the first reading from Isaiah, we are given an image of God never forgetting us, writing each of our names on the palms of God’s hand. 

We might hear this and think, could this really be true?  Could God really love me that deeply? God’s abiding love as described by Isaiah is more deeply embedded in each of us by witnessing Melissa and Francois’s love for  Xavi. 

From the moment he was conceived, when he was a twinkle in God’s eyes, he was loved deeply by Melissa and Francois.  When faced with impossible decisions, they chose to mirror God’s love for each of us, in their decision to honor, receive, and embrace Xavi’s life, however his life came to them.  Melissa and Francois celebrated the perfect conditions of love and warmth inside Melissa’s womb and parented Xavi before he was ever placed in their arms.

Could there be a clearer or deeper image of God’s love for each of us?

Lest we romanticize God’s love for us and our love for God, and lest we romanticize the challenges that you faced Melissa and Francois,  we are given the Gospel reading from Matthew that Fr. Michael just proclaimed.

I have to believe it isn’t by chance that we hear, “I give praise to you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to the childlike”, and yet only two verses further, 

Even with the pure and simple faith of a child, believing that our ever-loving God, along with all the angels and saints are welcoming Xavi home to heaven with a huge party, and hopefully each of us some day, we know it is almost impossible to say good-bye to this beautiful little boy.

So how do we do this?  

We place our good-bye to Xavi’s body in the midst of our belief that his spirit is soaring in God’s hands. We do it by believing, as the poem that Francois and Fabio read says, (which by the way is a poem that was memorized by Francois when he was a young boy in school): 

“Those who have died have never left, they are in the shades that become clearer, they are in the water that runs."

Xavi is in our hearts forever.

Xavi has led the most meaningful life any of us could ever hope for – he has, and will continue, to live perfectly in God’s love, and to reflect God’s love back to us.  

In thanksgiving for this most precious gift you have given us God, we give the precious gift of this beautiful baby boy back to you.  We trust you continue to love him and cradle him in your arms.

May we trust that you cradle us in your arms in the joys and the and the sorrows that today brings.

Like a little child, in his father’s arms, my soul will rest in you,
My soul will rest in you.
Like a little child, in his mother’s arms, my soul will rest in you,
My soul will rest in you.

On DOMA being struck down: One Baptist's Perspective

Pastor Amy Butler

Curious what a Baptist minister has to say about DOMA being struck down? Here's my friend Pastor Amy Butler, from DC, (who I met up at the Collegeville Institute) writing powerfully about her experience and thoughts after yesterday's Supreme Court ruling.

She's funny. And real. And makes my heart hurt - in a good way.

Click to read...

The Struggle is Real

Today, even after this historic and just Supreme Court ruling we get up and keep calling for justice, preaching a gospel of peace, sounding a prophetic cry.

Laafi Bala: Koudougou Contemplations and Prayers

I keep seeing M'Po Augustine's feet in my mind. Her bare toes pointing up and thin legs crossed at the ankle, resting next to mine on the ground. This is where we spent ninety percent of our visiting: in the courtyard of her home in Koudougou, Burkina Faso, West Africa, seated on chairs and woven mats close to the paved earth. Brown, barefoot children, intent family gathered all around - with three year old Marguerite Kiemde tucked behind either her father or myself, sheepishly peering out at her newly proclaimed grandmother. "Yaaba." 

I recall the warm touch of my mother-in-law’s hands on mine while she spoke softly to me in More', offering a blessing, or more loudly with new phrases she's asking me to repeat. “Laafi be me;  Laafi bala."How is your health? We are in good health.  

These memories bring me back to my post in her home on the outskirts of Burkina’s third largest city. M'Po's eyes smile and I recognize their joy as that which she passed on to her son. I think to myself, "Who could ever mistake this woman for my husband's birth mom?" Their eyes dance with delight and a simultaneous darkness. As she holds my hands and whispers, I wonder, “How much has she seen in her life?” As one of fifteen of Regma’s wives; a bearer of 8 children; mother and grandmother to countless babes; mourner of two deceased sons. My imagination races with what her eyes, heart, mind have taken in and known.

We sat daily in shaded spaces - under mango trees, under tin canopies, under thatched roofs, under the roofs of cars -- to protect ourselves from the intensity of the sun's rays. 110 degrees fahrenheidt is something to endure...Our consumption of liquids was seemingly never-ending to replenish all that was perspired through our pores. Bottled water. Brakina Beer. Milk. Water. Orange Fanta. Sugared Nescafe. Tea. Brakina beer. 

Our first Sunday in my husband's homeland included mass at the Ouagadougou Cathedral, followed by a meal in the shade of pink flowering trees and a thatched covered dining area. French fries, fish, rice and spicy soup served up next to a swimming pool – and then a trip to visit Armelle, Francois' niece, in the hospital. It was an especially poignant trip for me, as Armelle was the first one to really "introduce" me to my husband's home through a series of photographs she'd taken and sent back with Francois on a previous visit. Armelle with the broad cheeks and smile. Armelle with the curly hair. Armelle with the bold request and vision for her own hair salon. Armelle, the middle child in an orphaned sibling set. 

As we approached the mental health facility in our car where Armelle was being treated, a young man emerged from the crowd outside our vehicle. Was he en route home? Was he looking for us? Where was he going? How did we see one another?

Suddenly, More and French words were being exchanged enthusiastically; the car door opened to invite in this child, and I realized that Francois was greeting someone special.

 It was outside the gates of his sister's hospital room, that I met Cedric Kiemde for the first time. This 14 –year-old-looking 17-and-a- half-year-old son of Francois' deceased brother Raphael. And something shifted inside my heart. Cedric was the very first official Kiemde child I met in the daylight, and my heart felt like it might burst inside my chest. Big eyes, dark skin, broad smile. Sweetness incarnate.

"Enchante'" I repeated, squeezing his hand, when we got out of the car. "Enchante."

 "No, that's too formal," my husband chided. But I didn't care. I was beyond delighted to make his acquaintance. Enchante. Enchanted I was, and still am. 

Georgette, Zio, Victor, Roger, Wally, Lucy, Mark, Pauline, Delphine, Kaillou, are all central figures from Francois' large and extended family and network of friends that I can still name, beyond Yaaba, Cedric and Armelle. At every corner would appear someone else my husband would claim as a brother or sister, a friend or elder who had known him his whole life. At the pharmacy counter. In the lobby of our hotel. Stopping to retrace the boundaries of his childhood home. Visiting his father’s gravesite. Kiemdes everywhere. And conversations ensued. Words of joy, passion, sorrow, humor uttered almost ceaselessly in French and More'. While my mind never processed literally what was being said, I know on the deepest levels of my spirit and psyche that this visit and the stories are stored in my being. Pain. Poverty. Blessings. Need. Hope.

Can you pay this electric bill?

You have a beautiful family!

Your brother has a new job.

Would you make me a loan for my peanut and t-shirt cart?

Here now it rains!

She will recover!

It makes me so happy to see you.

I wept when I met Georgette and Roger. These two siblings of Francois' in particular who have held my prayers and attention. I keep them close still as I write. Older sister responsible for sending Francois to the States. Younger brother who my husband helped get grounded in work. 

***

We birthed and buried our own son Xavi last September. And that experience gave way on many levels for this trek to my husband's homeland. With our child’s brief life and the ache present in our home as we grieve him, there is this amazing open space in our hearts that begs God for direction in receiving anew. Our time in Koudougou provided us with real glimpses of God's goodness, and possible ways that our family may expand in welcoming a new member. 

The invitation to reframe Xavi’s life and death is constant. We didn’t just lose a son, we broke open a way to grieve our family’s deepest sorrows, and make way for new life.  With our hollowing out, has come a greater capacity to receive and claim.

A child. Our marriage. Our family. Our callings.

On a very practical level then, Francois and I have been prayerfully discerning our next steps. In the quiet of each of our hearts, and in our spoken prayers and reflections, we both know we would like Cedric to come and live with us. We have investigated adoption, as a permanent response to this calling to receive him, but have learned that that window is closed, given his age. So: we are simply inviting Cedric to come and visit. We hope this might happen as quickly as August. We shall see.

The Visitation Sisters have a prayer that they say with most everyone who knocks on their door in need or want of something. As I recognize my own incredible need and want at this juncture, I request your prayers. I invite you to join me and Francois as we contemplate these words by St. Francis de Sales:

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;
the same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you then and everyday.
He will either shield you from suffering,
or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imagination.

May we be at peace. May we know God’s embrace. May we take our next best steps.
Amen.

**************************************************************************************

To see pictures from our journey: Africa Photos Online

Dayenu!

"Dayenu!

"The Jewish people have a beautiful prayer form, a kind of litany to which the response is always "Dayenu!" (It would have been enough!). ...They list, one by one, the mirabilia Dei, the wonderful works of God for their people and themselves, and after each one, shout out DAYENU! As if to say, "How much is it going to take for us to know that God is with us?!" It builds satisfaction instead of feeding dissatisfaction." - Fr. Richard Rohr, OFM

Day 2 of Lent.

I was struck this morning, driving through our neighborhood, by the beauty of the snow covered trees.

As Francois and I practice making our litanies of satisfaction -- combing our lives for evidence of Love, Beauty, God's presence this Lenten season, this image seems a perfect example of something that might inspire us to exclaim: "Dayenu!" - or as Fr. Rohr translates, "How much is it  going to take for us to know that God is with us?"

What say you?

Happy Lenten Journeys!

Lenten Prayer: "Mirabilia Dei" - "Dayenu!"

On this blessed Mardi Gras, I'm contemplating ways that I might prayerfully journey through this Lenten season.

En route to Centering Prayer this morning,  feeling joyfully rooted in our life together and calm in the face of our morning routine, I called my husband and asked him what we might do as a family to move through Lent together. I posed the question as a prayerful invitation, trusting some prayer practice or intentional action would surface. Et voila! The following writing from one of my favorite Franciscans gives me an idea:

"Let us compose litanies of satisfaction! Of abundance! Of enoughness! Let us start each day mindful of how much we have and how great is our God."

Will you join me?

A Prayer to Avoid Entitlement
by Richard Rohr
 
The Jewish people have a beautiful prayer form, a kind of litany to which the response is always "Dayenu!" (It would have been enough!).
 
They list, one by one, the mirabilia Dei, the wonderful works of God for their people and themselves, and after each one, shout out DAYENU! As if to say, "How much is it going to take for us to know that God is with us?!" It builds satisfaction instead of feeding dissatisfaction.
 
If we begin our day with any notion of scarcity, not-enoughness, victimhood, or "I deserve," I promise you the day will not be good--for you or for those around you. Nor will God be glorified.
 
Maybe we all should begin our days with a litany of satisfaction, abundance, and enoughness. God, you have given me another day of totally gratuitous life: my health, my eyes, my ears, my mind, my taste, my family, my freedom, my education, clean water, more than enough food, a roof over my head, a warm bed and blanket, friends, sunshine, a beating heart, and your eternal love and guidance.
 
To any one of these we must say, "And this is more than enough!"
 
(Adapted from a post to Fr. Richard's blog, Unpacking Paradoxes, on January 30, 2012) 
 
* * *
 
In his annual Lenten letter, Fr. Richard shares some of the blessings he celebrates this season, including the tremendous support of CAC donors. Thank you for sharing your gifts of God's abundance with CAC, allowing us to share Fr. Richard's teachings.
 
Read Fr. Richard's Lenten letter and participate in alms-giving out of joyous "enoughness"!
cac.org/lent-2013

A month into this grief business: Finding gifts

Welcoming Xavier Jean Kiemde -- September 13, 2012

I woke up last Thursday morning and had this thought, "It was four weeks ago today that we met Xavi." My day, really my entire week, has been marked by this month anniversary of his arrival.

"I had a son..."

These words have the ability to break open my heart all over again...

"The mind, in such pain and turmoil, is seeking comfort and meaning. In Victor Krankl's book "Man's Search for Meaning" he tells us that in the worst circumstances humans face, the ones who survive are those who can find meaning in their suffering."

I see Xavi's tiny body, smell his newborn skin, think of the ways that Francois and I marked his very brief time with us;  I cry and I laugh recalling it all. His squeaks-- taking in air; his warm skin next to mine; his 3 pound 9 oz frame that struck me with its perfections. Hello toes. Hi fingers. Hi little nose and dark hair. Even his omphalocele felt perfect -- like an extension of umbilical cord that we dressed with his diaper -- not at all daunting or scary, as I had envisioned it might be. His 29 week old body that we bathed, anointed in oil, baptized and loved completely: all God's; so Melissa's and Francois'.

In the time that has passed since we met Xavi, I have marveled at the graces afforded us in this grieving process. (The family and faith friends showing up at the hospital, our amazing neighbors showering us with food and flowers and support; the concentric circles of  blessed beings enveloping us at Xavi's funeral; all a demonstration of community, of love, of people to be with in grief and in our next steps of joy, recovery, hope.)

I should maybe back up -- I need to say that I marvel at the graces afforded us since the start of this journey conceiving and bringing Baby Boy Kiemde to the earth! In hindsight, it is all gift, all love and mystery wrapped in this tiny, precious being who lived for one hour inside the walls of United Hospital, after he blessed me for 29 weeks growing in my belly -- and lives on in our hearts, minds, and the blessed realm of angels.

I believe that with our son's brief life has come a transformational opportunity to heal wounds that have been debilitating for both me and my husband.  

How long did I dream of a son? For how many years has Francois imagined himself a father to a boy? And for this desire to come to pass in such a fashion? It is both a cruelty coupled with an unfathomable gift of fate, methinks...

I say "gift" over and over these days, when I think of Xavi's brief life, because I think of all the ways that I have known love and calling coupled with sorrow and loss in my life. I can make a list of ways that I have felt, beyond reason and without a doubt, called to love and be present in specific ways that have ultimately not played out in a manner that I had hoped or desired. (Do you remember when I taught high school? Do you recall the non-profit I started and folded? Who remembers the early days of me crashing vehicle after vehicle? Shall we reflect on the way I have loved tequila in my life? How about men?)

I can count the ways that I have felt myself to be a kind of failure, or to have failed in my work or role or relational stance. To conceive a child and then learn of his many fetal anomalies resulting in literal death is of course the biggest doozy of fathomable failing -- at least in my book. But is any of this thinking really helpful? No. Not if you want to live happy and upright...

Xavi's birth and death has been gift because it has helped me grieve --quite publicly, transparently, with all of you --all that I haven't been able to fully grieve in my 43 years. (Shoot, the way I live and believe and process -- weeping and simultaneously laughing -- I imagine I might be grieving for a whole host of family members whose stories are stored somewhere in my bones!)  I think of all that is encoded in the cells of my being; I believe that with our son's brief life has come a transformational opportunity to heal wounds that have been debilitating for both me and my husband.

Xavi was born at 8:03 am on Thursday, September 13, 2012. He died at 9:03am.  At around 5:30pm on Friday, September 14, I handed his body over to the mortician who came personally to my room to receive him. During the hours in between, I got to hold his precious body against my own. Breathe him in. Bond as any mother and child do beyond the embrace of womb. And in that time, I got to sigh, laugh, smile, weep, and utter sounds of grief that only feel possible in a primal loss sort of way.  I released sorrow from the very bottom of my soul that I believe could have been stored there for centuries.
Mother.
Dead child.
Arms.
Open mouth.
Ache.

In those hours of holding Xavi's body, I couldn't fathom letting him go to be buried. I had just gotten him; there was no possible way in my mind that anyone could take him from me. I believe with all my heart, this side of the experience, that each hour I held him was akin to a year of my life where I had known loss (shame even?) unprocessed. In all of his precious body was the promise I had clinged to of a career; a new life, a love, a way of leading and inspiring change that I didn't get to see fully realized -- at least not according to my own visions.

Taking Xavier to the hospital chapel and presenting him to God in that formal space was a key point in letting him go. While his spirit was released hours before in his literal death, it took me - as his mom - more than a day to catch up and embrace the way his body could simultaneously go...

With special permission of hospital nurses and security, my friends Brigid and Marianna accompanied me with Xavi in my arms, under a blanket, from the 2nd to the 4th floor. They wheeled us into the chapel and placed me with my son beneath an icon of Mary and Jesus. There, for maybe twenty minutes, a half hour, hour? -  I listened. I sat, cried, giggled, and tuned into the way that I heard Xavi speaking to me, alongside God, reassuring me of a presence beyond this physical realm, experiencing a joy possible only, in my mind, beyond the limitation of our human selves.  I got instructions from my son and God as to what to do next.

In that space, I knew Xavi's spirit beyond the room. I could "see" him as a toddler; then as a four or five year old curly headed wonder, all rough and tumble boy. He was wearing jeans and red sneakers, a striped shirt with numbers. All around him were happy, licking puppies and non-threatening bouncing balls. He was laughing and told me, "Mom, Heaven rocks."  I giggled with these sacred images of son; I still cling to them as inspired, transformational memories that communicate happiness and inform a deep peace in my heart.

When I looked back down at his anointed body resting in my lap, I felt his limbs cool to my touch, and saw his omphalocele pulling back from his skin. His physical self was giving way; and I knew that I didn't have to cling to him in this form.

"I'm here mom, in your heart, in your mind. I do not live in that body. You don't have to let me go, ever, because I'm here."

With that, I knew I could hand over his physical form.

And a month later, I can see that most difficult moment as a graced one guiding me in all of my grief. We receive, we let go. Xavi's life was not to be defined by me, or contained in my human hopes or maternal longings. He came as a gift, not unlike every other gift of Love we have received in our lives. Francois and I had this privilege of conceiving him, of bearing his life, his gentleness, his imperfect perfection -- into this realm. And we are transformed because of the journey.

***

On the anniversary morning that all these thoughts started to take shape, I was giving our two year old daughter a bath. Instead of our ritual wrapped-in-a-duck-towel-snuggling post suds, Marguerite stepped out of the tub and put her hands on my head in a blessing fashion.  Did she hear all of these reflections tumbling around in my heart and mind? Did she sense my desire to honor her brother Xavi with some kind of contemplative prose? Who knows. But Thursday morning, four weeks after her brother's birth and baptism, in all of her own naked wonder, Mags placed her still wet palms on my forehead and said, "Bless you, mamma."

Indeed. I am blessed. We all are. We know such fierce love.

The Sanctity of Gay Marriage: Procreation Through Another Lens

I want all people who are called to marry to be able to do so,  both within and beyond the borders of church. I am grateful that the cultural tide is shifting where same sex unions are considered. I'd like to advocate within my own Catholic faith community, however, for an expanded definition of marriage in the sacramental sense which includes gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. The following conveys some of my thinking about this topic of marriage as sacred, unitive and procreative for all called into it. I am writing for members of my Catholic faith community who are discerning this issue in both civil and religious contexts.

If you love well, no matter who you are or what your orientation, you have the ability to inspire and create a more loving world. Love begets love, right?

I think of this wild, amazing God who made my body, and all bodies, and created us to love. He gave us all these unique parts -- to touch, to kiss, to hold, to embrace, to intersect, connect, interconnect and even the capacity, especially in sacred and holy unions, to transcend our limbs and glimpse Him in our love-making. Every reflective and religious man or woman I know who has had the opportunity to be loved in a physically and spiritually honoring manner, inside a deeply caring relationship, talks about the ineffable experiences that are the result of God’s gift to us when we make love. These are generative experiences that inspire our capacity to love more, to give more, to serve more, to live Christ more, in a humble and honoring fashion. These kinds of love-making experiences are not exclusive ones for heterosexuals. Gay and lesbian sexual experiences can be just as pro-creative, if you will, as heterosexual ones, if you expand the definition of creation possibilities to include acting creatively and in service beyond your bedroom. If you love well, no matter who you are or what your orientation, you have the ability to inspire and create a more loving world. Love begets love, right? (Consider the infertile heterosexual couple’s capacity to love and be procreative, and therefore okay morally, through this lens.)

I wonder: how does this thinking resonate within your heart?

Who are your gay or lesbian friends and family members? (Do you have a list of heterosexual ones?) What do they look like? Which "group" are you a member of? Do you have a hierarchical ranking in your heart or mind when you think of all these people? Who desires to be married civily AND religiously? (What are the benefits of each?)  What does a marriage in the eyes of God, affirmed by the church,  stir in you? What GLBT person sees their love, and capacity to love, as different from heterosexuals’ love? Who gets to decide whose vocation to love is inferior or superior? What does God say to you in your heart when you think on this? Does he whisper differently into the heart of a gay man or lesbian woman?

I keep hearing in my prayers, in the quiet of my own heart, as a Catholic woman, that I’m called to love and support other people in their vocations to love with their whole heart, mind and body. I am working to this end right here, as I write, pray, and advocate for marriage equality.

I do ask for your prayers. This is tough, messy stuff.

Life Cycles

Standing in community: Balm for heartache

I have been carrying around an enormous amount of ache in the last 24 hours, and going unnamed or processed it feels harmful to my own spirit, or certainly not helpful for my psyche and my capacity to parent or partner well. I turn here to identify this sadness and describe what has (or is) transpiring, with the hope that in doing so, some of this will be transformed and or eased.

A couple of weeks ago, at the end of a discernment class that I help co-facilitate at a catholic, urban spirituality center, two participants requested some special prayers for a newly born child who was on life support. While I had no connection to this babe, my friends did, and entering into the sacred space of quiet and love-filled silence required nothing, save for my sincere intention. Yesterday, at lunch, with two mom friends in relationship with this child's parents, and one of the catholic nuns we all work with, we learned that the child passed away. She had been taken off life support on Wednesday, began breathing on her own, and then abruptly died on Thursday.

In the same lunch/ work space, with  this news arriving via text message and shattering the calm and ease of our cohort, came tears and a request for further prayers. Sr. Mary* lead us quietly in a beautiful reflection on this child's passing, imagining her ease into Heaven, her arrival into the arms of ancestors and angels, and asking the God we all believe in to hold the family closely, guiding them in their grief and gratitude for this little girl's brief life.

I sat at our corner table, feeling tucked and safe with my friends, but wildly open and vulnerable in my heart and whole body. Days away from celebrating my own daughter's second birthday, and thinking of the small being growing inside my own belly, (for those who may not know I am 10 weeks pregnant) I thought I might crack in half with sorrow for this kind of loss of life.

Within moments of this news, Sr. Mary shared a tale from her own northside community that involved another kind of ache and loss simultaneously being experienced across town. She told us of a mother who she has known for years who was, that afternoon, giving her newborn daughter up for adoption. The why of it was not fully disclosed, but details of this mother's other, OLDER children --  six and 8 years,  begging for their mom to bring the baby home - were again enough to send me over the edge.

Yes, the mom is an addict.
No, this wasn't the first child she'd given up.
Yes, she was in darkness and despair.
No, the older kids were not doing well -- stepping into a space to caretake for their mother.

I immediately thought of a lesbian couple I know who have adopted three children -- all with special needs, two from the same mom, both of them born addicted to narcotics. I saw their sweet faces and robust smiles and snapshots of arms wrapped around their tiny frames -- all so loved.

I was angry and grateful and overwhelmed all in one breath.

"Man, is God busy today" were the words that came quietly out of my mouth toward Sister Mary. She nodded and smiled, "yes."

My friends processed a bit of their own immediate grief over the death of the daughter that they knew personally, and tears flowed as they considered the way their own children's knowledge of this passing would bring them so much closer to their own mortality and questions of life, death, vulnerability, God, uncertainty, and the fragility of life.

I listened to these moms reflect on ways that they would parent through this time, addressing their 4, 5 and 7 year olds' fears, and considering the larger community that they have in common and will journey with as adult friends.

We moved through our lunch and planning meeting in stops and starts, and I personally was grateful for the distraction of our work tasks at hand.

After my colleagues left, I turned to email and other to-dos, and almost immediately got another note that was a blow to my heart and mind. My long time friend, colleague and teaching mentor sent an email to share that her sister had died suddenly the day before, completely unexpectedly - and so no, she wouldn't be able to make our monthly date for dinner.

WHAT?

***
Today, at ECFE (Early Childhood Family Education), we gathered in a circle with Teacher Todd for songs and stories and up on the whiteboard behind him was a penned obituary for the guinea pig that had died a few days ago. (Even this classroom pet was not safe from the cycle of life playing out!) 

The levity in my morning, and balm for all this ache and woe, came in fact from one small child named Lily, who confided in me near the guinea pig's cage while feeding the other remaining pet a carrot: "She went to guinea pig heaven, you know?" I nodded, in awe at this child's capacity to state so clearly what had happened and why the cage was a bit emptier. After a brief pause, she looked at me, shook her head, and uttered one more word, "Shoot."

Next to this large classroom cage, with one lonely guinea pig being plied with straw and carrots --like any good family-survivor-in-mourning household would be --I acknowledged my own broken, grieving heart and gave thanks for this space.

"Shoot" is a very appropriate response for it all.

***
Thanks for being on the receiving end of this reflection. Please keep all families who know loss and death at this time in your thoughts, as images of love, largeness, community,  life-cycles, especially birth, buoy us, and remind us of the circles that envelop and permeate our existence, and perpetuate and transform our hearts and minds.

LOVE,
Melissa

*not her real name.

On Structure: Inviting a Framework for Healthy Living

Some days I miss teaching. Rather, I miss the rhythms and order of the school day. I crave the structure inherent in a formal educational setting, complete with an early rising, mapped lesson plans, the ringing of the school bell, and allotted time for lunch, further prep and recess. I marvel reflecting on the discipline required by this profession to have learning objectives and a curriculum laid out that guide each class of learners, and me as their teacher/ facilitator. I miss this kind of framework for my daily life, as well as my role in helping co-create this structure.

As a mom who works part time professionally from home -- and coffee shops-- I need this kind of structure for my sanity, productivity, and well-being. However, this marked rhythm of the day often eludes me. With a beautiful small child at the center of my priorities and focus comes the needs of this little wonder and her own body's growing, changing requirements and evolving temperament. Life changes from day to day. As the old adage goes: the minute you get comfortable knowing your child and their needs, he or she changes.

Marguerite is a good little sleeper by all accounts. There is no question we were blessed by a combination of her disposition and some intentional parenting advice that gave rise to a fairly healthy sleep routine. Kiddo goes down consistently between 7:30pm and 8pm and 9 nights of out 10 stays happily put until 7:30am the next morning. (I'll admit that 7:30am is even EARLY for her to wake, and it's more like 8:30am or 9am when her father or I lift her out of the crib.) It's that tenth evening out of ten, however, when baby girl rears her head towards sleep -- is so engaged in some new piece of learning -- that her spirit demands further awake time, or better yet, more contact time with mom, and things have to shift. My life and rhythms have to shift.

This is parenting, this is a role I have prepped for -- consciously, or unconsciously -- all my adult days. This life is hard.

Add that my dear husband's schedule has changed from week to week for the past 105 that we have been married, and you may begin to fathom my knee-wobbling, weary status. "When do you go to work? When are we having a meal together? Will I see you in bed tonight? Are we able to attend mass together? Do you think we might be able to go out on a date next week?" Nothing is ever really consistent. On Thursday, Mr. Kiemde learns about his Saturday's schedule. Planning ahead is virtually impossible. Add some rocking college courses to the mix of our lives and his schedule, and it all adds up to create a challenging life that invites me to live, most often, ungrounded, but in the present moment.

I hold the needs of my husband and daughter in the center of my heart, and respond accordingly. It's not unlike education in that regard, in that I find my priorities falling behind those of the dear ones that I feel called to be present to, and in the case of family, made a lifetime commitment to.

Enter: The Visitation Sisters. Enter these religious women who have also made a lifetime commitment to Love, to one another, and to God, but whose order of the day is grounded in prayer. Four times a day these nuns convene to pray the liturgy of the hours, to tune into what scripture is saying to them, and unpack their lives through the lens of Love, of God, of inspired Word. It's awesome. I believe this is certainly why I feel called, over and over again, to return to the monastery, to be among the sisters and pray.

Recently, I made a commitment to return to a weekly structured prayer time in the vicinity of the Sisters. The Centering Prayer group that convenes every Tuesday morning at 7:45am at St.. Jane House under the auspices of Vis Companion, Brian Mogren, has rejuvenated me.

I rise -well before my body normally wakes- to shower, dress in the dark, and creep out the door to make my way in early morning rush hour traffic from St. Paul to north Minneapolis, in order to join a group of 15 to 20 or so other friends in silent prayer. Some days I'm able to enter the space during a storytelling time, when a member of the Centering Prayer community is sharing a narrative about their faith journey; I listen and am inspired. Then, with the ringing of a singing bowl announcing the start of prayer, and some intentional words guiding our silent meditation, we enter into the quiet. For twenty minutes I breathe in and out with nothing save the goal to empty myself and make way to tune into the Divine Indwelling. I sit within this circle of aligned individuals from various faith traditions who likewise crave quiet, order, an emptying of all personal agenda, except to Love, Heal, Be. In a word, it's "awesome." At the end of twenty minutes (which goes all to quickly for this aspiring prayer-warrior), another bell rings, and individuals speak aloud prayerful intentions that have surfaced in their meditation. Together, we are joined as individuals in the world with all other prayerful beings around the globe as we give voice to what is in our hearts, or even silently, as we offer these thoughts to a benevolent Creator and one another. Together, we slowly recite the Lord's Prayer, and by 8:30am, we are standing to go on about our day.

And this weekly structured activity is like my salvation. This is where I am able to turn over any and all concerns that plague me and give voice to my heart's deepest longings and largest joys. I celebrate that this group exists. I celebrate all that is necessary for each person to convene to actually convene. I recognize that it is not without some significant conversations and intentional actions on the part of my husband and I to make this weekly activity a possibility for me. I celebrate the way that this experience helps ground me, at least momentarily, in world where I feel so wobbly and crave stability and structure. I celebrate the way that this one activity every Tuesday morning inspires me as a wife, mom, and writer, tuning into the many ways that I am called to love, create and serve in this world.

***

I wonder how you are making structure, or find such parallel experiences or activity in your world?

Peace, Happy Contemplating,
Melissa

On Marriage, Love, Stories: An Invitation to Reflect

"It's my ongoing prayer for all men and women to lead lives that honor the way their hearts and God have called them to love. This includes being able to marry." --Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

I attended a gathering of families and friends on Sunday evening, November 6, 2011, marking the beginning of a year long campaign to celebrate marriage equality. There was food, kid friendly activities, and a short program on the MN United for All Families campaign to defeat the "Marriage Amendment", defining marriage as between one man and one woman. A Catholic neighbor of mine invited me to the event. It was at this gathering that each person present received another invitation. Our host, before her 30 or so guests -- all standing or seated next to each other around the periphery of the living, dining and entryways of her home -- said, "I invite you to tell your stories of what marriage means to you. Don't point or refer to large groups of people in general, tell your story. Make it personal. Share something that can be said in six words, or up to six minutes; think of what you might be able to convey to someone, for example, riding on an elevator with you."

"I invite you to tell your stories of what marriage means to you. Don't point or refer to large groups of people in general, tell your story. Make it personal. Share something that can be said in six words, or up to six minutes..."

The prompt gave me pause, made me smile, and stirred something deep within me that longs to talk about this issue, especially as it relates to my faith, my family, and how I'm called to live love, or "Live + Jesus!" as we say.

Marriage is the transformational vocation I received to live my life committed to one other person, a radical action in any time, in my opinion, evolutionary in its charge. I believe God called me to this institution and to my husband, Francois, just as He called and calls me over and over again to serve others in and through relational ways. Marriage is hard work, no matter who you are or what your sexual orientation is. It's something my partner and I return to daily as we tune into the ways God invites us to love and be gentle and nurturing with one another. I could not do this work without a community of people alongside me, helping model and remind me of Love's mystery, grace and on-going call. The Visitation Sisters, the Catholic women I am a companion to, are such a community of nurturing, religious women, who help anchor me in the ways I've been called to love, partner and serve, as they live their faith and the mystery of the Visitation, fostering mutual love alliances at every turn.

It's my ongoing prayer for all men and women to lead lives that honor the way their hearts and God have called them to love. This includes being able to marry.

Our daughter's godfather is a beautiful Catholic man - who happens to be gay. We chose Zac to serve in this baptismal role for Marguerite because of his gentleness, wisdom, humor, and dedication to his faith. We believe he is a model of God's love in our midst: a God-father for our child in the fullest sense. If Zac is called to marry, and be a father to his own children, we want nothing less for him, as a Catholic family, but to have his heart and calling honored by our larger church and civic communities. We want him to be able to have the love and support that we so need in living out our vocations.

And so we pray. We invite you to share your own stories of what marriage means to you.

******

I share this post here today as a Visitation Companion, as part of my call to write about - and for - women and men discerning their vocations and the way that they may be called in a religious Catholic tradition, as well as in a larger, universal sense -- honoring the Salesian tradition that the Visitation founders - Sts. Francis de Sales and Jane de Chantal - modeled for us.

Fried Green Tomato Church

by Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

After an incredibly trying church service (in which the newly walking Marguerite Kiemde strutted her developmental stuff, doing laps to the front of the church to the choir, out the side door to the street, around the corner to the front steps, toddling up and back inside, and then repeating the entire procedure with me closely behind, celebrating her steps, trying to stay calm, and avoid any judgmental? stares.) If you can imagine: I came home a bit beleaguered.

(How to parent in church? What does an enriching mass experience look like for a young family without a cry room or child-care center? What fine line exists between cultivating a child's physical/ emotional/ developmental stages appropriately, alongside her spiritual sensibilities? If I am not "fed" spiritually, as my child's mom, how do I ever nurture my babe?... That's another blog in and of itself!)

I turn to how Mags and I made "church" at home, after our early departure from Ascension (post-homily/ pre-Eucharist.) In a phrase we found God in: Fried. Green. Tomatoes.
YES!

This past week on facebook there was a whole strand about this delicious summer fare that included several exchanges from my Aunts Marian and Peg and their Osmond/Colorado friend Audrey Wanke Dummer. I asked for recipe ideas, and I got them. And today, after the above described nearly God-less mass, I came home and adapted these cooking ideas, using fresh green tomatoes from my own garden, and tried to channel as much love and family and Jesus as I could into the experience.

I share these recipes with you now, smiling, with a sleeping baby; both she and I with full, happy bellies.

Fried Green Tomatoes
4-6 hard, green tomatoes
Buttermilk
Flour
Panko crumbs
Cayenne Pepper
Garlic Salt
Bacon grease

I began by frying a half a pound of applewood smoked bacon in a skillet. Once browned and crisped, I removed the bacon, placing it on a large paper-towel lined platter, that I would use for the fried tomatoes. I reserved the hot bacon drippings for frying my green tomatoes.

I cut the tomatoes pretty thin, between 1/8 and a 1/4 inches, salting them, and then soaking them in buttermilk, covering them in the cayenne pepper/ garlic salt flour mixture, and adding panko crumbs for extra crunch, before putting each in the hot bacon fat. I was working this assembly line as quickly as possible with messy fingers, and thanking God for a content Marguerite in her high chair (eating a banana and playing with a clean feta cheese container.)

I fried these till they were golden brown, and appreciated the way bits of bacon adhered to the panko crust. Delish!!

Sweet Onion Relish Sauce
Half of a sweet onion, chopped and cubed
1/2 cup mayonnaise
3 Tablespoons rice wine vinegar
Salt

Note: I totally ripped this recipe off from Paula Deen, when I was doing research for the best item to accompany said green tomatoes. (Buttermilk dressing? Spicy mustard? In a sandwich? I didn't know how exactly I was going to EAT the tomatoes once fried.) This sauce rocked!

Paula adds sugar to hers; I didn't. I prepared this onion mixture and served it next to the tomatoes. Maggie then climbed up on my lap and we gobbled up the dish. (Well, mostly, I gobbled up, and she alternated showing me her shoeless and shoed foot.)

***

"How is this church?" you might persist in wondering. To this query, I respond, channeling my best St. Francis de Sales thinking: that all small actions, done with love, are prayerful ones. I add that when we couple prayerful activity --our intentions directed toward God-- with the company of family, friends, angels, saints, are we not in deed experiencing a kind of church?

Today, I experienced service in a literal way, at Church of the Ascension in north Minneapolis, (in all of its parenting complexity) alongside a more figurative celebration: in my kitchen and at my dining table with my daughter, and the company of women and men who have grown and prepared fried green tomatoes in our family. It was a most nurturing kind of meal that buoys who I am as parent.

AMEN.