They make me laugh every time I see them. “Go, Spandex Boys, go!” I say to myself as they peddle furiously by. Because, you know, they’re just. so. serious. I like to cheer them on. They mostly seem to be Captain of Industry types and I’m sure they really need the release that biking gives them. I get it, I just think it’s unintentionally hilarious.

Thinking of these guys is what made me fall instantly in love with the gal in New York City yesterday.
I was sitting on the steps of the New York Public Library — you know, by the lions — waiting for a friend when I saw her. A beautiful girl in a skirt riding a simple bike — a Schwinn Breeze for God’s sake — the kind of bike you ride when you’re just trying to get somewhere. She rode fearlessly down 5th Avenue in front of a bus — no helmet, no Lycra, just a girl on a bike trying to make it to a date.

Here’s the bus she arrived just ahead of before she got off the bike and hauled it effortlessly up two levels of stairs like this one,

And here she is with her guy and her green (!) Schwinn Breeze,

I don’t know who you are, intrepid and beautiful young biking gal, but thank you for making me so happy and for giving me such a wonderful memory. I should advise you to wear a helmet, but I’m not going to. Because like the old Billy Joel song says, I love you just the way you are.

I have been searching for a week on-line for something that was religiously-themed but not Bob Jones University material and here Barb came to my rescue with this totally perfect option and for that I owe her a million billion thanks and also some cocktails on me when we next see each other. Can you tell that I’m breathless?

On a related note, did you check out the faculty of the SBS? I know! Wotta bunch of babes, eh? So much for mainstream America’s idea of the stereotypical egghead Bible scholar! Smart, fit and gorgeous isn’t what I expected but I ain’t complainin’. It’s just… well, can I keep up with these Indiana Jones hotties? Good thing I have almost a year to work my walking legs and touring tootsies, and NO CUTE SHOES are going with me on *this* one. We’re limited to one bag, anyway. What, no separate suitcase for my toiletries? What if I want to give myself an Aveda tourmaline face masque in Kudasi? What if I want to paint my toenails in Athens?

In all seriousness, though… there’s a focus on the god Asclepius on this tour, people! And he and I are like THIS.

Excuse me, I must go do the happy dance again. Max will join me, as he’s very good at it (think Snoopy dancing to Schroeder’s music).

Some ministers take classes during their sabbaticals, or return to seminary for a semester. I’m in a very different place in my continuing education: having just completed coursework for a Doctor of Ministry degree, I should probably avoid the classroom for my sabbatical.

I still want to travel the USA and podcast and blog “Some Good News About Religion” by driving to visit you all and see you in your church/houses of worship setting. I want to hear the ridiculous, the divine, the heart-breaking and the triumphant stories about religious community. But I do not relish the idea of spending 8 weeks on the road.

So far, I envision this:

Early January: teach an intensive course on worship at my seminary. I love teaching and I haven’t offered the class yet this year.
Later January: go somewhere Spanish-speaking and warm, take an intensive Spanish language course, and rest for 2-3 weeks. Any ideas for locations, escuelas?
Mid- February through March: Travel the USA and collect stories for “Some Good News About Religion.” Start by driving South down Eastern seaboard, cut across the South/Southwest, drive up California, return home by Northerly route. (Eek, this sounds exhausting.)
April: Travel to Partner Church in Transylvania for a week or so and then travel to Turkey for Bible-themed tour (the latter is a deep desire I’ve had for a long time). Again, any ideas, recommendations?
Two weeks in May: Home, rest, re-entry.

This might be way too crazy and over-ambitious.

I made it explicit that SweetieBang has care of my four-legged children and should preside over distribution of my possessions. Rev. Perpetua is entrusted to be Major Domo for a memorial service, with a team of minister buds I hope would help her in any way she needed. I find that I still want to be buried in white pajamas with a cotton quilt tucked around me, in a pine box (a romantic notion — I know by law I’ll probably have to be put in a stupid vault). I would like it if friends would put sprigs of fresh rosemary and lavender on top of the casket or in there with me. I don’t want to be embalmed if there’s any way to avoid it — I left instructions to my friend Bob the undertaker to “keep me on ice, if need be!”

I chose music and wrote out all the details of my biography so no one will have to compile all that nonsense on my behalf. I left SweetieBang a big passel of emergency numbers since he would have NO IDEA where to start if I perished.

This is a really satisfying exercise. Have you done it? It’s not legally binding or anything, but it’s not for that purpose anyway. It’s about not leaving people you love to try to figure out what the heck to do to dispose of your remains (if there’s any of you left to dispose of) or to discern how you would like to be memorialized when they’re blind-sided by grief and loss. So seriously, do it. For them.

I am currently on a five-week sabbatical from church and taking an intensive course in the spiritual discipline of discernment. I leave on Sunday for the Festival of Homiletics.

It was SO HARD not to go to church yesterday… but it helped that I’ve had a stomach bug and a bad back for a few days. It took the strength of ten men not to call my DRE and ask, “HOWDITGO?”

This time away from the rhythms of church is interesting. I sometimes can’t figure out what day it is. I read for three to four hours a day, spend hours thinking and figuring things out (how is God really calling me and my congregation to use my sabbatical time next year? What does it mean that my life has changed so radically in the past six months? How does the body respond to letting go of consistently hurtful and even abusive relationships?) and write papers. I am working on a 20-page paper that is due for another class. If it wasn’t for SweetieBang and PuppyBang, I’d probably stay in my pajamas until 2 pm and eat cereal for every meal. Having the guy and the dog here give me different kind of energy and a focus outside of myself, thank Gods. I use laundry and cooking as welcome distractions from brain work (although I don’t hesitate to yap at SweetieBang if I need him to contribute more in that arena).

I await the birth of a healthy, precious Baby Philocrites. I hope to fit in a Washington, DC trip in July for ChaliceChick’s birthday soiree. Life is so sweet, and having things to look forward to make it even sweeter. Some people counsel always to live in the moment but as far as I’m concerned, some moments aren’t worth giving that much attention to. Most moments these days are, and I’m so grateful for that I could toss a bunch of flowers in the sky just for God.

He came to us already named Max. It’s a name that I love because of the character Max Bialystock in my favorite movie, “The Producers.” SweetieBang loves it for its reference to “Where The Wild Things Are.”

I have wanted a dog forever but vowed that I would never get one while I was single — too busy, away from home too often, etc.
SweetieBang is just as insane about dogs as I am and we planned to get one this summer; maybe a French bulldog or a yellow lab or some kind of labby mix. But of course that’s never how it works. Greg works right by the local shelter and as anyone hankering after a dog will do, he stopped in to have a look. And there was Max. And Greg fell in love. He came home and woke me from a nap and said, “Come with me to meet Max.” I read his mind immediately, jumped into my coat and we sped off right away, because I know how it is when your animal chooses you. I had to see this little guy. I had to see his little bologna ears. I adore beagles but SisterBang always warned me that they’re a HANDFUL so I never seriously considered trying to be a Beagle Mom until I met Max.

We know that beagles are incorrigible, willful dogs. We know he will bay and howl and dig and require lots of walks, lots of attention, and obedience training. Also an outdoor fenced in run. And a crate. We will spend weeks carefully introducing him to Ermengarde and she to him (he lived with a cat before and likes them — she, of course, will initially hate him). I’m sure he will chew shoes or furniture and pee and poop in the house until he’s potty-trained (what kind of dog owner doesn’t do this immediately with a puppy? We are disgusted! AND… it doesn’t help knowing that Max’s former owner was a local minister!). There will be times I rue the day I ever looked into his brown eyes and saw him nuzzle his whole little body hopefully against Greg even though I was the one holding the treats.

But he is a cuddly, sweet, affectionate pup who might be the tiniest bit not-so-bright but we love him and are brimming over with excitement to bring him home on Tuesday and make him a huge part of our lives.

So this is my Easter joy. At long, long last I will fulfill my heart’s desire to become a doggie mommy. May God bless you all with new life.

(This really isn’t the best photo. He looks kind of funny and bow-legged here and he’s not. But you get an idea of his beautiful markings. Also, jeepers creepers, where’d he get those peepers? *thump, thump*).

And it’s here.

Now FaceBook, I have no excuse for. That’s just about saying “hi” to pals and being in high school all over again.

Off to Weight Watchers, then the gym, then a recording session (boy, does that make me feel way hipper than I am!), then to ATTEND a wedding. “ATTEND” is in caps because I can’t remember the last time I actually attended a wedding rather than officiating at one. That earns a big “WHOO HOO” from this girl, even though the temperature has dropped and my carefully chosen outfit is chiffon-y and I’m likely to freeze my nu-nus off. But I’m not complaining: SHE GOES FREE OF VESTMENTS TODAY, LORD. THANKEE.
Then, tomorrow: church, newsletter column, grocery shopping, reading for class, and that whole relationship thing that I’m still adjusting to. “Honey, I’m home” doesn’t just go out to the cat any more. Wow.

I am particularly looking forward to tomorrow’s worship service for an unusual reason: I received an e-mail from a local young gay man detailing his search for a religious community and wondering if he would be welcome at our congregation, and to Unitarian Universalism. It was such a joy to be able to say “YES” to him unequivocally and to say that even if he did not find a spiritual home with us, we certainly wanted to offer him a roadside rest and some hospitality on his journey. Our faith tradition isn’t for everyone, but it feels very good to be able to offer at least what I hope will be a healing moment of respite where he knows –and explicitly hears — that his sexual orientation is no barrier to his full participation in the church and that our faith proclaims God’s unending love for each one of us.

Finally, I want to thank you, lovely PeaceBangers, for awarding this blog and Beauty Tips for Ministers with so many UU Blog Awards. The winners can be viewed here and I’m really looking forward to some free hours to peruse some of the other blogs that were nominated that I’m not yet familiar with. Thanks to UU Updater for putting in so much time and talent to making the awards happen. Above all, I think they’re great for getting more of us linked to a variety of UU bloggers, and as Martha S. would say, “That’s a good thing.”

Have a blessed weekend.

Here’s hoping that you’re all well and staying warm.

I am in re-entry mode after a lovely Florida vacation, courtesy of some very generous friends who gave me and a colleague pal the use of their condo. I’m not officially back to work until Tuesday which is nice and gives me some time to unpack, do the grocery shopping, and to curse the gods for their obnoxious sense of humor.

It’s just that, you see, Cupid got out one of his biggest, baddest arrows while I was away and hit me and a perfectly innocent other party with it, so now there’s a little jet stream of romance mojo moving north and south between Massachusetts and Southern Florida. A convenient 1,555 miles apart, that’s all. Well, we’ll see. And he doesn’t even own a computer, so there’s no chance of him seeing this, in case you were worried.

If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you’ve been through a few romances with me. Well, let’s say that you’ve been through about 100 bad dates alluded to, sporadic musings on the loneliness of the single life, and many reflections on the special challenges of the single minister.

I have tried not to chronicle every twinge of “gee, I might have met someone special” with my readers — because SisterBang and other pals have always been there to indulge those insecure, ad infinitum ramblings with — and also because no one needs to hear about the ups and downs of a clergywoman’s mostly non-existent dating life and romantic rejections . It’s neither appropriate nor interesting.

But let me offer this: I believe that chemistry is real and that it matters. I believe that kindred spirits and soul mates are real. I believe that we spend many years believing in the well-meant but totally cock-eyed interpretation of us handed down by family lore and old relationships, and that as soon as we jettison all that — really flush it down the toilet for good, it is possible for love to come, and to last. It is that latter process — not having a baby, not getting married, not getting our first paycheck — that makes us truly adult, and makes us truly free for true love to find us.

I have no idea if my new friend from Florida will be a true love. I’m not speaking of what is, but what I believe could be — if not now, maybe later. If not for me, God willing, for thee.

It takes a tremendous amount of work and effort to understand, accept and really know ourselves — to consider the input from those who know us (or think they do) along with our own knowledge of self, and to come up with an accurate and fair assessment of our own character and soul, needs, wants and responsibilities. It takes even harder work than that to hold that authentic person in affectionate and compassionate care, to move beyond the fear and woundedness that comes from being disappointed and treated insensitively, to stop dwelling on past failures, and to trust that God truly has made a unique and precious gift in us that deserves to be honored, and whose deepest recesses are known only to the silent soul. These private places of the soul should not be pried open by curious onlookers or cold-hearted Lotharios who pursue profound confidences in the same fashion that the paparazzi pursue the latest lurid photos of Britney Spears.

Many women have been socialized to gather the opinions of their friends and family when it comes to every subject from how to make a particular recipe, to what they should wear on a first date, to whether or not they should marry, to what career they should pursue next. This kind of intimate and constant gab can be deeply bonding and intimate, but it can also breed the exhaustion and mild contempt that comes with over-exposure to someone else’s vulnerability. At times the best thing for a woman is to cut off, or to be taken off this kind of life-support (however cruel that sounds) and to stand in her own truth for awhile. Not just to cultivate wisdom through spiritual practice and attention to her intuition (which she should be doing already), but to actively assess and, if need be, reject the version of herself assembled by her circle of intimates and to shore up her confidence in the true version; the woman she finally, after many years of hard and honest work, knows she is.

How can I ask someone to love me for better or for worse, unless I can love and accept myself through my own better or worse? Cliched to say it, but I owe my true friends the gift of finally getting it through my thick head that even at our “worst,” we all deserve to be treated sensitively and with compassion, and that love at its most basic means sticking-by. The lesson has finally stuck. Thanks, pals. You know who you are. What Jesus has been trying to convince me of for all these years, you have made real. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the opportunity to practice that spiritual discipline with a Sig Other?

Let’s just say this: if I do ever find true love I would want it to be just like this: during a time of radical emotional freedom and healing, of feeling particularly clear on who I am, what I need and how I want and expect to love and be loved. So no matter what happens with this particular conflagration, as the old song goes, “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.”

Oh, and you know that check-list that so many of us carry around in our heads about who we think we should be with? I’m re-assessing my approach to that. My checklist used to have 40 or so items on it. Now it has about 12:

My Ideal Mate

1. Should be kind and considerate.
2. Should know how to love and be loved, and that includes honesty, trust and loyalty.
3. Should have a great sense of humor.
4. Intelligence.
5. Some kind of cultural interests and talents.
6. Charisma.
7. Be attractive to me.
8. Be attracted to me.
9. Have nice manners.
10. Not be an active addict or criminal.
11. Be politically progressive and actively involved in a spiritual practice or community.
12. Makes my heart go thumpety-thump.

I’ll be in Florida for the next ten days or so. If I have anything burning on my mind, I’ll find an internet cafe and blog. If not, stay warm and take care of yourselves and we’ll see each other online soon.

xoxo PB