September Synopsis

The wisps of hair not caught up into my bun are swaying in time to the ferns hanging from their hooks, the wind builds up power as it comes gusting through the trees, down the hill, whipping past me, knocking the fern on our porch off its stand, as it makes its way to the bottom of the hill we live on. I suspect that the wind is the power move that will bring a cold front our way. The air already feels crisper, more refreshing, lighter than it did this morning.

October 8, is what I wrote in the top margins of my journal this morning—how I wonder did we manage to make our way here already? Time flies by and I am reflecting on if I have been using mine wisely. Our lives turned upside down, by our own decisions, this past summer. Just as the wind brings new cooler weather, the changes have brought a newness I don’t believe Will and I were quite prepared for; if one can ever be prepared for such a drastic new season.

This season has brought a series of feelings that have demanded to be experienced—grief being the primary demanding star. Overwhelm, loneliness, sadness, and discomfort have accompanied grief. All have had their moment in the spotlight and the only thing I have found to do is to let them have their time. They are here to help me heal, to remind me that what has shifted and is now gone—was and is worthy of this time. In order to properly move into this next stage of my life, I must honor what has passed:

A life that we had built for ourselves in Charleston, being so close to family and friends, a call to a hospital with staff I loved so dearly, a call that is no longer my own, to a path that seemed clearly forged, to all that was familiar (even the heat and humidity of Charleston life).

I have been invited to loosen my grip, let tears fall, to give thanks for all that has transpired, to let it go and allow it all to nourish the soil of the ground I find myself on in this moment.

A week before Will and I went on a mid-September trip, I cried every afternoon for days—sometimes for hours straight. A deep sense of “meh-ness” revealed itself after years of being hidden by chronic anxiety, stress and work. Since the “meh-ness” emerged, I had never once taken the chance to slow down and sit with it—to see what it might be pointing me to. I finally have had no other option than to uncomfortably be. To allow it to exist and be acknowledged—all with the hope that it might be transformed.

Call has not been easy for me, I have pursued ministry kicking and screaming all the way. In the past few years, I have grown tired of wrestling with the Divine in hopes of getting a blessing and have begun asking God for another way. A way that is gentler with less fighting (on my end). I suspect the “meh-ness” points to my brute force method of life—pushing through emotional, spiritual, physical fatigue, insisting I need to be the one to do it all and hold it all, consuming the junk food of self-care. Refusing to slow down and be still—because I was scared of what I might find and discover in that stillness.

In this, I realized that I had only been posting on my social media when things were happy go lucky—but I strive to make my presence online as authentic as is safely possible. So, here is this September Synopsis post. September was hard, full of tears, acute experiences of “meh-ness”. And in between all those moments there was an incredible vacation with a stay at a personal retreat center located in the middle of the woods near Hendersonville, an all time favorite of Will and mine. A trip back home to Charleston (because we can always have more than one home). Gentle, call affirming opportunities; wedding officiated by me as well as a sermon shared at my bucket list church—Mount Pleasant Pres, the church I was baptized and confirmed in. Playing and creating with the Spirit allowed me to drink from the living well. Snuggles with Olive were had, pages of my journal were filled, meals with people I love were shared, laughter were had with loved ones on walks and at bookstore coffee shops, countless episodes of Sister Boniface were watched with my mom on the couch and me in the blue leather chair, cookies were consumed and countless cups of tea swallowed down; spiritual conversations were spoken over food, standing in the sweltering heat and over zoom calls.

The “meh-ness” began to subside. She finally felt heard, seen, and gently cared for. Is she gone forever, most likely not, but I am not afraid of her any longer. I know all she needs is a little acknowledgment, a lot of tea, some salty tears shed, to be held with others who love me, and a good chunk of my journal.

I share all this in an effort to express that while my life that I share on Instagram and social media might look super happy go lucky all the time, it is not. And I extend an invitation to you, dear reader, to slow down long enough to assess your own heart and soul. To listen to what might not feel quite “right” or “comfortable” and to gently intervene.

I am being mindful as I create art and content of honoring what is beautiful, happy go lucky, and what is beautiful, more gritty, messy, and even sometimes sad. Because that is what life is. I hope that if you follow along with me you know that all your bits and pieces are welcome here—your mess, your magic, your delight, your sadness. For that is what makes life so beautiful and worth living.

I leave this post with a heads up—Will and I are taking a magical trip to a place we both love dearly to celebrate 5 years of marriage. I will be trying to share as we go along. I will be aware of my intentions behind the posts—primarily hoping that our trip that will be celebrated with tons and tons of tea and cake might invite you to find some cozy restful moments right wherever you are. I know that social media consumed as the highlight reel of someone else’s life can be bad for my mental health—I will continue to be mindful of my content creation and sharing.

May we all find time to be still enough to listen to the “meh-ness” in our lives—and in honoring her, with her grief, discomfort, sadness, we might begin to feel her shift to something a bit more healed. Be gentle with yourselves my friends.

Grace, Peace, and All My Love,

Margaret