What is Eleven Years?

This what Aidan wore on the plane to NYC yesterday. He's an unabashed Yankees fan, in order to be opposite of his dad, and with thanks to his Uncle Richie. I'm going to NYC today. O my gosh, that poor futon in that poor apartment in the background. If there were ever an image of our lost liver year, it would be that frumpled futon. Whoever was able to sleep, would sleep coiled up and boiling there in the kitchen/living room/morgue.

We've come a long way, baby. :-)

Now that I am in full throws of ordination mode, if you could please allow me this one dispatch of pure, unadulterated, schmultsy, bleeding heart reflection on our road to ordination. In academic terms it's a college bachelors degree and then a seminary master's degree. Although master's of divinity is actually a 4 year program, which is the length of some doctorate programs. And for students with families it usually takes 5 years. For Bob it took eleven years, because he started part time while working full time and taking care of new babies. He began at the New York Theological School in Manhattan. Then he took classes at St. Mary's Ecumenical Center while we lived in Baltimore. And then you know the rest of the story at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, where he finished off. Including a year of experiential education internship with a liver that lost and found it's soul.

But if you count the other stuff -- teaching Sunday school, mopping a flooded fellowship hall, driving the church van, unplugging holy toilets, hosting visiting youth groups, helping with the boilers, organizing trips to the national youth gathering, making mass batches of spaghetti sauce, building trust with parents who don't speak English, opening the church yard for the neighbor kids, serving coffee, taking kids to camp, you know stuff like that -- well then you add a couple more decades to the mix.

But even here and now, today, the day before Bob's official ordination into word and sacrament ministry; I realize that it's all about the people and the experiences. So, the bishop will lay his hands on Bob and he'll get a piece of paper that says he's ordained, and I'll cry my eyes out -- but he was actually ordained a long time ago. By many of you, and the people all along the way who worked with him, taught him, loved him, trusted him, laughed and ate with him. All of you who healed him last year. By the people of St. John's Lutheran in Des Moines who called him to be their associate pastor.

It was the people at his home church at Trinity Lutheran in Brooklyn, who said a long time ago, "Robbie you should be a pastor." And if I could speak on Bob's behalf, I'll say that was pretty much unthinkable to him. He was a quiet guy who liked playing basketball in the park and just helping out a little here and there. He mostly preferred to keep to himself. But the people at Trinity were relentless with encouragement and support, before, during, and after seminary. Even to this day.

So anyway, there you go, a wife's exposition on her husband's ordination. And I'm getting all nostalgic for New York City and all the people and the walking, all that I miss very much. I miss the constant contact with neighbors and the extremely social nature of life there. I heard this interview on NPR yesterday about an Iraqi refugee family who settled into Bay Ridge (our other neighborhood in Brooklyn) and the Iraqi commented how friendly people are there. "I understand!" I exclaimed to the radio. And for a moment I wished I was that refugee and living in Bay Ridge. Oh I know, that's completely ridiculous. Just nostalgic, that's all.

Well, I better get my laundry done and pack so I can head out to the airport. Tomorrow is a big day. I'll try to take lots-o-pictures, if I'm not just in a complete puddle of tears. Be back in a couple of days.

With love, T

P.S. The answer to the question in the title: Amanda.