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Joscelyne's Memorial Service
Thursday was Joscelyne's memorial. It was a beautiful service and I guess a good 200 people came out. I didn't cry and I believe a large part of that is due to the presence of those 200.
My former boss, Nancy, and her husband. My heart leaped at seeing her face. She was my boss when I was 19, working part time mentoring freshmen.
Tamara, one of my oldest friends. We use to make mud pies in my backyard when I was 7.
Carly, my friend of 15 years who I hadn't seen for over one.
"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come."
Hamlet, Act III, scene 1, line 66
I pulled into the driveway, and put the car in park. It was a risk, just showing up like this to see my sister, but I missed her. I pulled out my cell and hit her number on my contact list.
After two attempts and nothing but voicemail, I called her husband, Manny, who was at work.
"Hey Man, she is home, right?"
"Yeah, Li, she is. She doesn't have the car, and it's what, 11? Where else would she be?"
So I did a post about Contemporary Christian Music's (CCM) supposed suckage in the minds and ears of quite a few. It went up, but the views for it didn't. At least that is, until the very cool Matt at The Church of No People kindly retweeted the link.
Quite suddenly, a bunch of peeps in the Twitterverse let me know, in no uncertain terms, that CCM is, if not awesome, at the very least, the opposite of "suckage". At first, I got scared. Really. See, I've found myself cornered by anonymous folks on the Interwebs in the past, trying to converse to no avail. So when I saw all those "@alishadefreitas" comments... I felt a chill.
But I warmed quickly when I actually read through the replies. There was no attack on me, just...
When I sat in that doctor's office over a year and a half ago, being told I should consider terminating my Zoe because I might have a genetic condition that I may pass on to my daughter, I knew deep in my heart, she was- and is- a gift.
I knew that even if some cold, detached doctor did not, could not, would not see her value, she deserved life.
And when she was born, a beautiful, squiggly girl of seven pounds and seven ounces and a long twenty inches, the precious gift I was blessed to carry for thirty-eight weeks entered the world, full of curiosity, attentiveness and hunger.
Zoe Lyne Hope. Zoe means "life". Abundant life.
The first time I held my precious little Zoe.
The thing is, while I had all the hope in the world...
Me after the 8AM service on Sunday. All these pics are of my church, taken by me.
Despite being Unapologetically Episcopalian... well, liking it on Facebook, I've been feeling something like sorrow for the denomination to which my church belongs. It seems every other day there's yet another story about it's decreasing numbers and entire parishes breaking off to become Roman Catholic or join up with other theologically conservative Anglican communities.
And little by little, I've been feeling out of step, too. There was the little devotional that left me at a loss for words. Then there was this post based off of last Sunday's Liturgical Gospel Readings. It was written by David Henson who is currently undergoing training to become...