10 Things That Happen in Your 50s

  1. You wake up at the same time every morning no matter what time you went to bed and no matter what you have planned for the day. 
  2. Your skin loses its elasticity. Under your chin, above and around your eyes, the creases of your elbows, the sides around your stomach, your butt, your ankles.
  3. You care more about some things, and care less about others. 
  4. Your happiness increases, or your bitterness does. 
  5. You have to find this middle ground regarding clothes. You don’t want to get stuck wearing what you wore when you were in your 20s, but wearing what 20-year-olds wear now makes you look like you’re trying too hard. The same thing applies to how you cut your hair. 
  6. You spend more time in doctors’ offices. 
  7. You begin to look at material processions differently. 
  8. You have to form new relationships with your adult children if you have them. 
  9. You lose track of how many mid-life crisises you’ve had,  and you realize the words “mid-life” no longer apply. 
  10. You write about being in your 50s. 

Just Breathe

A friend messaged me this morning and asked me to pray for him. That alone is holy in itself: that my friend would be vulnerable enough to ask (vulnerability doesn’t come easily for him) and that he knew I would pray if he asked.

“I’m about to start yoga,” I replied. “I’ve been stuck setting my intention as inner peace for several days. I’ll include you in that today.”

Things played out differently on the mat, though. Instead of inner peace, I started thinking Love as I inhaled and power as I exhaled. These words felt like they fit the need my friend expressed. They also worked well for me.

As I began breathing and moving through the practice, I was surprised by how I focused on the words and the breath much more than in other sessions. It felt good. 

My mood changed when I started a sequence of poses where I began to exert myself. I started to breathe rapidly. That made the words that were contemplative before (Love…Power…Love…Power) become demanding and forceful (Love…Power…Love…power…Love power). Love power? That didn’t feel right at all. I started to feel uncomfortable with the words even as the flow was making my body uncomfortable. 

Despite the discomfort, I kept going and I kept breathing the words. Eventually I slowed my pace, moved into stretches, and switched back the more acceptable, Love…power.

Savasana, or corpse pose. My breathing began to slow even more. Not long into this restful state, my exhale word became Love, too. Love… Love…Love…Love….

The morning breath prayer stayed with me throughout the day. I thought about how I have to inhale (love)  before I speak. In the space between the inhale and the exhale, I choose what words I will say with the breath that supports them. Will that breath carry with it love? 

The same holds true for an action. I breathe before I take a step, make a decision, react to a situation. Will inhaled and exhaled breath, supporting my actions, be cradled in love? 

What is more powerful than any power? Love. And it took the little death of corpse pose for me to remember this truth. 

Dear 2017

Dear 2017,

Welcome to the world! It is a marvelous time to be alive.You’re going to love it! Your siblings gave us all the time we needed to resolve our issues. 

We finally realized that possessions offered little long-lasting happiness. We saw that there were those among us who lived in excessive abundance while others could not meet their basic human needs. So we pulled way back from the failed experiment called capitalism and started sharing the resources meant for us all. This did wonders to help heal the earth, an additional benefit! 

When we stopped being so concerned about money, we had time to focus on relationships. We stopped thinking that people who are different are also less-than. Not long after that we came to understand that the differences between us were interesting and beautiful. We started listening to and learning from each other. Hearing one another, we confessed that some of us were:

racist, 
misogynistic, 
homophobic, 
transphobic, 
ageist, 
nationalistic.

Those of us with power equated that power with privilege. But we found a way to overcome that evil for everyone’s sake.

How? How did we do it? How did we let go of hate and fear? We started to love on purpose. We loved intentionally. We loved without judgment. We loved without condition. We loved without expecting anything in return. We loved freely and we loved often. 

2017, we are far from perfect. But we believe that every time we choose love we experience a moment of perfection. Loving is a joy! Our hope is that your arrival will bring with it unimagined opportunities to love and that we will choose love over and over again. 

2017, welcome to the world! You’re going to love it. 

Be love,
Ann

Sister Ann Wenita Morelove
The Valentine Nun

Merry Christmas

I attended my first Gaytivity last Sunday. It’s a Christmas pageant held every year at a gay bar. Imagine every raunchy, off color, some would say blasphemous joke possible applied to the Christmas story, add a bar full of mostly gay men, alcohol, and you’ll have figured out Gaytivity. For example, dressed as Sister Ann Wenita Morelove, I was one of the three wise-ass bitches. I gave baby Jesus a merkin instead of myrrh. The Dickson Chicks, two part-time campy queens, write the script and narrate the farce each year. 

Two profound observations came to me at Gaytivity. One, everyone knows what it’s supposed to look like even though there’s no rehearsal. The “actors” move to the traditional spot associated with their role without direction. The image of nativity is imprinted upon us. That doesn’t and shouldn’t mean anything to a person from another faith. I’m not one to force beliefs on anyone. But I find it significant. 

Second, there was this wonderful moment on the patio. I’d heard that the baby Jesus’ entrance is always a big deal. Last year, baby Jesus flew on a zip line through the bar to the manger. Knowing this, I was surprised when Joseph asked me if I had any ideas about how it should happen this year. 

“Hasn’t it already been planned?”I asked.
“There was a plan but it didn’t work out,” Joseph answered.
“Let me think a minute,” I said.

“I’ve got it. You know that big trash can full of ice that the barback rolls from back in the kitchen up front to the bar? Put Jesus in that and roll him to the manger.”

I thought more about it and I decided this was inspired in the true sense of the word. I’m saying the idea came from outside of me. That barback rolling around ice is disruptive on a crowded night. He cuts right through the dance floor. Jesus’ birth was disruptive. Run with that in your imagination. 

A few days later, I was talking to the bar owner. I told him it had been my first Gaytivity and that I had had a blast. He said some people think it’s blasphemous. I said, “It is blasphemous!” But the idea of incarnation is blasphemous. God becoming flesh, becoming human, is blasphemy. God born in a manger, or rolled in a trashcan through a bar is blasphemy. We can’t stand it, so we add lights, delicious food, often a lot of liquor, gift giving, and even Gaytivity in order to distract ourselves from the outlandishnesss of the original story. 

That story still cuts through the distractions, even in a gay bar in Nashville. It is the story of a God who is with us, who loves us–loves creation–so much, the story of a God who is love, and who is willing to do anything to be in love with us. 

This is nativity. This is incarnation. This is Christmas. 

Merry Christmas from icanhasgrace. 

Birthday Greetings: New Mugs

Good morning, lovely people!

My first thought when I woke up this morning was how grateful I am to be connected to people. I felt that connection STRONG yesterday through the birthday video, memes, messages, and gifts. 

Actually, that’s a lie. My first thought was, “What the hell is that noise?” Then I remembered Rosie, Sister Wendy ‘s pug, is staying with us for awhile. If you’re not used to pugs, they’re just weird. Are you upset? Excited? I can’t tell what that snort/grunt means! So after hearing all that, I thought about y’all. 
Then I thought about coffee. I  brewed some and I’m enjoying it right now in my new cock mug, a gift from son Ben and his wife, Bre. They’d noticed that Sister-Husband Pursefonee and I collect cocks. To keep us from fighting over the one cock, they gave me two! I’m perfectly happy to share a cock with Purse. 

Lord, what am I? A fifth grader? Yeah. Pretty much.

Thank you for all the birthday love yesterday. More post birthday posts later.

Feast of Lights 2016

The Feast of Lights is a service of lessons and carols held at Belmont United Methodist Church in Nashville, Tennessee. A 60-plus-year tradition, there are elements of the service that folks have come to expect and cherish. It begins with a child singing the first verse of “Once in Royal David’s  City.” It ends with choir members carrying lighted candles into the congregation as we sing “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and “Silent Night.”

The tenors and sopranos sing a descant on”O Come, All Ye Faithful.” As a tenor, this is unnerving for me. It’s loud and it’s high, and I sing it relatively far away form others, but close to the congregants seated near me. It’s basically a solo. 

I decided to pull all the stops and sing that descant full throttle. I processed to the spot where I was supposed to stand, closed my eyes, and let ‘er rip. On the last phrase of the descant verse, I remembered to enunciate,  nailing the “CH” consonant in “CHrist the Lord.” I opened my eyes and saw that I’d blown out my candle.  

I got tickled. A few folks around me started suppressing laughter. I had to make a walk of shame to a nearby choir member to relight my candle. I recovered, and I successfully transitioned into the much more manageable “Silent Night.”

We sing the last verse of” Silent Night” accapella. As we sang, I saw that the members of the orchestra were singing, too. This was significant to me because, while the choir is all volunteer, the orchestra is composed of paid local musicians and members of the the Nashville Symphony. They hsd finished their gig. But their singing said they had transitioned from employees to participants. 

Mom and I have a tradition of sharing our Feast of Lights Christmas moments, that moment when the transcendent message of grace that is Christmas becomes incarnate. It happened for me when the orchestra began to sing. 
Merry Christmas.