A Quaker Meeting

For no good reason, I was crabby this morning. I haven’t been sleeping well so perhaps that’s added up, or maybe I know that as lovely as Thanksgiving will surely be, it’s also tiring -before and after- and busy. I had gum surgery two weeks ago and do miss eating without considering the hard and sharp factors of everything I put into my mouth; sutures out tomorrow, but my gums are still tender. Maybe it’s the full moon up there; it’s so gorgeous but things do sometimes seem wonky when it’s a whole pie versus a sliver.

Perhaps because of or regardless of all that, I eagerly anticipated tonight’s all-school community Meeting for Worship and high-tailed it there just after 6. Have you ever attended a Quaker Meeting? I had never heard of this form of worship before the boys started at a Friends school, but it quickly became one of my favorite parts of the community.

While there is some diversity, the Meetings I’ve attended, at school and in our community, are unprogrammed gatherings characterized largely by their silence and lack of officiant or leader. Instead of churches, we have Meeting Houses in which the pews are arranged in a square formation so that attendees face each other. Meetings may last twenty minutes or 90 minutes or any amount therein and may be commenced with a query to ponder, or none at all.

During the shared silence, each attendee is encouraged to both contemplate and listen, seeking to access their inner light; each of us contains wisdom and self-knowledge. Sometimes we simply don’t make time or space to hear or understand.

If an attendee is moved to speak, he or she is welcome to stand and share. Perhaps a reflection on the query, or a personal feeling about or experience with current events. Some simply stand to share gratitude: for the community, the space, the gift of silence and time.

At school, the boys have Meeting for Worship once each week for 30-45 minutes. I think this time is an enormous gift; it always is for me when I join them for Worship or attend an evening gathering on my own, as I did tonight.

Sometimes, Meetings are called in response to an event. For example, after Ferguson some years ago, Sidwell called an all-school Meeting, and it was profound. Tonight’s Thanksgiving all-community Meeting is an annual event, and I can think of no more thoughtful, peaceful way to begin the holiday break.

This evening, I went alone, not knowing if I’d see any familiar faces but not surprised when I did. Our head of school was there as were several folks I know through parents association work. My resister sister, K, was in attendance, and an older couple I recognize from several previous Meetings too. As luck would have it, I saw and got to sit next to a woman I’ve known for almost nine years now; she was the parent who called to welcome us to Sidwell back when Jack was accepted to PK and she has since become such a truly lovely friend.

As we settled in, I felt the familiar tug of Everything Else. Was Tom making the kids dinner? Did I wrap the pies well enough before I froze them? God, my hacking cough is annoying. Did I, do I, will she, won’t he, is it…?

My shoulders dropped, someone cleared his throat, her stomach began to talk, a cup was kicked over by someone adjusting their legs. Outside, the wind howled and gusting branches scratched at the walls of the Meeting House. Sirens blared -the campus sits on a busy DC street- and doors opened and shut.

That woman has her eyes closed and is smiling.

She is wearing a chic boucle jacket that rises and falls with her breaths.

He is balding, but just. His salt and pepper hair is elegant.

She switches the cross of her knees and adjusts her hem.

She stands and gives thanks.

She rises and recounts a Quaker Thanksgiving when even the most excited child quieted completely during a shared, silent prayer.

The wind and the sirens and the branches and the peace. And then suddenly I think that a gunman could shatter all of this, irreparably and forever. It is the first time I’ve ever thought like that in a public space, and it breaks my heart. I consider how I might dive, and turn over a pew, pulling the friend next to me with me.

I talk myself away from this darkness. The sounds are only of the wind, surely the sirens are typical ones- speeding drivers, a policeman who doesn’t want to wait for the light to turn and so uses a privilege to cut it.

But in Baltimore yesterday, a 5-year-old was shot; she will survive, but just last summer, her older sister was shot; she did not survive. Some Americans are now experiencing multiple gun-related traumas over time. How are we letting this happen? Continue to happen?

I drew my thoughts back to the bald spot and the Chanel-like coat and the humble boots and the close-eyed smile and the growling tummy. I gave thanks for the shared silence, for my community, for the complete stop in a week of pedal-to-metal.

I am grateful. But there is work to do.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate. 

Light

I'd cleared my schedule for today in case I was still jurying. Luckily, I was released yesterday afternoon, and it has been absolutely lovely having some time for quiet contemplation and creation on this beautiful Wednesday. I walked Percy, leisurely on a new route; I raked and watered, tidying what I easily could. I took some photographs, and not quickies. No, the ones that are constructed and thoughtful and take a bit of effort over time. I picked some fresh jalapeños, blackened them in a stove-top flame and diced them finely for the peppery plum jam in which I wanted to use my bushel of pluots.

The light is perfect today. I feel lucky to have no distractions right now, for that means I can notice and treasure all that gleams and glows around me. You can see it in those just-cut pluots, light shining like diamonds in the glistening flesh. You can see it in the incandescence of the leaves attempting to obstruct the sun's rays; their underbellies radiate an ethereal green light that seems gently aflame. You can see it when it catches on dust motes floating softly through the air, their impact an ephemeral sparkle that you're certain was there, but it disappeared so quickly that you wonder.

The light that comes to us, that we see and take in, that promotes growth and warmth, is an enormous gift. But there is another sort of light, equally important and to be treasured.

Before my boys began attending a Quaker school, I was not familiar with the concept of the light within. I mean, I knew of soul and spiritual centers and such, but I'd never heard our inner selves expressed in terms of light. I love this concept, and I love the way it guides the teaching and interactions with my children, and all children, at their school. The teachers look for the light in each child, knowing it will be unique and that its presentation might be challenging or simple, tough to find or near the surface. They treat each child's light with such respect, seeking to both honor and make it familiar to the child as they gently guide its shape and expression.

This concept is very much in line with the inarticulable philosophy I had, before my kids were born, about how I wanted to appreciate and raise them. I wanted to celebrate the individuals they were but concurrently help them become their best selves. Watching this practice in action -as I see teachers unearth and celebrate that within each child- and learning how to speak of a child's self as his light within has given me a much greater facility for and appreciation of this Quaker tenet. It inspires and humbles me regularly, it gives me hope when things seem dim, it makes me a better parent.

I feel bathed in light today, that from without and from others' withins. And I am grateful.

Yesterday afternoon was one of those that wore like an overly tight shoe strap. One of my children was the strap, and by bedtime, I was a raw, ragged blister. He was funked out about everything, and though I felt I handled him terrifically-even likening his behavior to a piece of poop which he thought was hysterically awesome, by the way- I felt utterly tattered by the time I shut his door for the third (but not the last, as time would show) time.

In the midst of his negotiations, ploys, pleas, questions, complaints, demands, whining, obstinacy and insistence that he was not tired and could not sleep, I found it extremely difficult to see any light inside of him, much less want to. I wanted to snuff that little guy out. I wanted him to be quiet and leave my alone and to stop pushing, pushing, pushing. Why do kids keep at it so strenuously when the feedback isn't good? "Enough!" I wanted to yell. But I didn't (though of course I have before, so don't think I'm that zen).

I looked at my little guy who was so desperately tired but trying not to be. I tried harder to see a flicker of his light, and I did. I hugged him tight, told him I loved him and firmly said it was time for bed. Because, you know, we have to acknowledge and honor our own lights too.

And he slept and I slept, and today is bright.