What No Longer Serves

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

There is something about a new year that feels “blank slate” and offers up a chance to set lofty goals—at least that’s how I approached 2023 in choosing integrate as my word of the year. Reflecting on it, I have actually made some progress…but have a lifetime of practicing to go.

This year’s word is an intimate glimpse into that practicing, and since vulnerability is a part of the practice, too, here goes…

Everybody has their issues, challenges, and history of hurts, and my personal story includes having a clinically diagnosed narcissist with borderline personality disorder for a mother. She passed a few years ago, and this is by no means an attempt to “disparage the dead” but—let’s just say it didn’t make for a lot of easy laughs and unconditional love. My mom was privately explosive and unkind, which created a hypervigilance in me to do my best not to trip her trigger.

You’re probably thinking, “Good Lord, Lisa…where is this going? It’s a word of the year, for crimony’s sake!” I know, I know. I’m getting there.

My mom lived to a ripe old age, and I was a seasoned professional at walking on eggshells and trying to manage circumstances to appease her. Eventually, I got into therapy and started learning, among other things, that it wasn’t my job to try and make her happy. But intellectually learning something and internally letting go of practices that kept me safe as a kid (but are no longer needed) are two very different things. One is easy…the other…not so much.

I noticed many years ago that I am almost always clenching a muscle somewhere in my body. Subconsciously, I create a physical tension—perhaps part of my hypervigilance to always be ready. It’s exhausting. When I recognize that I’m doing it, I literally make myself stop and let go. And I am now understanding more clearly how I do the same internally, as well. I am coiled and ready to spring into action at any moment to make sure landmines are averted. It, too, is exhausting. But guess what? The landmines are gone—and even if they aren’t—they are not my responsibility.

Which finally brings me to my word of the year…

I see 2024 as a year to add to my practice of trying to be a better human being the discipline of release. The release of actions that no longer serve me or the people I love. I’m not fully sure what that means or how to do it, but I know that when I find myself walking on eggshells or managing landmines, I need to stop and recognize I’ve retired from that job. And I need to let go of the resentment that comes along as part of the package at no extra charge. Just like I do when I tell myself to relax a clenched muscle, I need to release myself from the constraints of well-worn patterns and emotionally “relax.”

As I’ve shared before, my word of the year often falls right into my lap, but this year, as I was reflecting on what my word might be, other synonyms came and went before release settled in…unravel, uncoil, unwind, and unfold all spoke to me in different ways. When “unfold” was speaking up, it of course made me think of Steven Curtis Chapman’s song that has touched me deeply at other times of my life.

No matter what shape your faith life is in or where it falls on the “spiritual spectrum,” I think you will appreciate this video. While it is about a “Glorious Unfolding,” it is also the beautiful gift of a father releasing his daughter from grief and encouraging her to live her life to the fullest. It is just the kind of release I am striving for.

It’s a good thing I love learning because it seems there is always homework to do. But I am grateful to have this life to keep working on all of it.

May your 2024 be a year of practicing release of what isn’t helping, embracing what is, and being able to know the difference between the two.  

Frageelay Numero Dodici

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

For twelve years I’ve been putting out a post around Christmas Eve that speaks to the fragile nature of this season…and life. When I first started writing my annual “frageelay” piece, I was busy juggling being the parent of a young kid, the daughter of a (very demanding) older parent, work that led up to a major crescendo on Christmas Eve, and hosting a decent-sized gathering on the 25th. Add in parties, in-person gift shopping, cookie exchanges, playdates, Christmas cards, school concerts…you get the idea.

And now? Well, let’s just say I have arrived at a different season of life. The kid is no longer young, the parent has passed, work still has a ton going on but it’s different and healthier, and the family gathering has shrunk and moved up on the calendar. Covid did in many of the traditional parties (though thankfully not all!), and my shopping is nearly all online. There are no formal cookie exchanges, my kid takes care of his own “playdates,” and I—like so many of us—have ceased writing Christmas cards.

Some might think this different season sounds sad. The truth is…I love it. Of course, there are some things I miss in the crazy of the earlier years—my little drummer boy banging away in concert, his wobbly but wholehearted voice singing of Jesus’ birth, and of course his delight at seeing what Santa left under the tree. I am grateful for those memories. As I am the laughs and good times shared with family and friends under the glow of Christmas lights.

I love having those memories. But I love making the new memories that come with this different time of life. Our new tradition of a smaller family get-together earlier in the season means that I get to exhale and enjoy so much of what I missed scurrying along trying to get everything done in previous years. I get to be a little.

Years ago, I got hit with a 24-hour stomach bug on Christmas Eve. Because of how Christmas fell on a Saturday that year, I was able to push it to Sunday with everyone still able to attend. Due to my barely having my legs back under me, I was not interested in eating the traditional Italian spread that I make, but I was so glad it could work out and everyone could still be together.

“You, know, Lis…I’m sorry you were sick and all, but yesterday was awesome,” my sister said. “Because it was a last-minute cancelation, all we did was stay in our PJs and order Chinese. It was wonderful.” I think I responded with a sarcastic, “I’m so glad that my sickness worked out for you…,” but the truth was that I wanted that, too. I wanted my PJs and Chinese food Christmas Day, and…flash forward to now…if we choose it, we get it. Last year, we ordered sushi on Christmas Day—wonderful indeed.

Perhaps this season of life will evolve into something different someday. If a grandkid or two or five enters the picture, it will all be a new and wonderful kind of crazy that I will welcome with anticipatory delight. What a blessed season that will be.

But who knows what the future will bring? Life is fragile—and decidedly unfair. My son is only six months younger than I was when I lost my dad. That is crazy for me to think about when I look at him and know how I hope for many more decades for the three of us to have each other in our lives.

I pray for a long and healthy season in this regard.

What I have learned through the years, though, is that there is a way to see to it that the people you love feel loved during this holiday season (and pretty much every day) without killing yourself in the process—in fact they prefer it! And…they would also like you to be able to feel the love right back.

I certainly don’t have a lock on all this, but I am learning. And this is what I hope for you—that you stay on (or find!) the path that’s paved with love that goes both ways—with occasional moments of joy and peace (as much as you can possibly swing!) added in for good measure.

Because life is frageelay…so it’s best if we handle with care.

Faith (R)Evolution

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

As a child, my faith was simple and unconflicted. As I grew, it became less so, but I knew that was alright because I have always believed that faith without questioning isn’t really faith at all. So I question, but I believe.

These last several years, though, have really affected how I feel about organized religion–particularly Christianity. And not for the better. Far from it. In fact, I’m pretty sure some of my early Christian education instructors would be rolling over in their graves if I told them about my faith’s evolution. How it has evolved to include all the people that we were taught needed to change who they were or they couldn’t be a part of the club. How I believe so many people in the club should be slapped upside the head and made to see that their actions are the hypocritical opposite of what Jesus taught us. (You know–Jesus, the brown-skinned, undocumented immigrant who believed in paying taxes…) How I believe that the man-made church is built on a patriarchal system designed to deny equality and manipulate scripture to retain power. Or how… well, you get the idea. My faith is no longer that of a six-year-old.

The truth is, if it wasn’t for my current church, I’m not sure I would still be attending one anymore. I am grateful for the people in it and the open heart and mind that shapes all that our church does. So when my pastor asked me if I would write and share a perspective of mine “from the pews” for our church blog, I did.

I’m sharing it here in case you might be interested in taking a peek. It’s just a simple little story of how my family has literally left our mark on the church!

2023: Folding in the Cheese

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 3 Comments

Have you ever had a thread hanging from a sleeve that someone thought they would “help” by pulling, but it didn’t break off and just kept pulling? And when you were able to take a closer look you realized that if you continued pulling it, the entire sleeve would come off?

This is what the last several years have felt like for me. How about you?

The great unraveling.

I feel the national/global version of it—where rights we thought were carved in stone have been shattered into rubble, hates we thought we grew beyond were revealed to be as ugly as ever, and a disrespect for the world we are leaving our children is counted in billion-dollar profits.

Day after day feeling like Apollo Creed getting mortally pummeled by Ivan Drago.

It’s personal, too. The word I keep returning to for how I’ve felt these last several years is “untethered.” The feeling of overwhelm has resulted in a disconnect that has me floating around in a surreal, slow-motion 3D-pinball game. A game I am not winning.

And if I haven’t mixed enough metaphors/similes for you yet, here’s one more: I feel like I have been working to swim to a shore that I cannot see—and don’t know if I am getting closer or farther from land.

Even choosing a word of the year for 2023 has had me scratching my head. Normally, the word truly “appears” to me with little thought, but this year—unless the word “huh?” qualifies—I have been grappling. I was tempted to forego it—and if it hadn’t been a years-long tradition, I probably would have—but I didn’t. I’m holding myself accountable. (Though in reading this rambling post, perhaps you are wishing I wouldn’t have.)

I need to feel more grounded. I need to feel a little less lost and a little more found, and so it is with this yearning that I share the word I have ultimately chosen for 2023: integrate.

Merriam Webster defines integrate as “to form, coordinate, or blend into a functioning or unified whole.” While there are variations of the meaning—like the societal application—for my purposes, the understanding that I am embracing is the idea of working toward a personal “unified whole.”

Should take me just a few more days.

Or a lifetime.

Give or take.

The problem is that there’s no pause button to hit on life—the pages of the calendar fill up and get ripped off without missing a beat—no matter what you have going on. And working on anything, let alone a “unified whole,” too often gets buried under life’s responsibilities.

But in 2023 that is all going to magically change for me.

Okay, maybe not. But putting a name to it and seeing it for what it is matters, and the pursuit of wholeness should not continue to be relegated to the bottom drawer of my mind’s file cabinet. This year I am going to do my best to make it top drawer.

Though I am not sure of what integration looks or feels like for me, I know it involves the whole smash: body, mind, and soul. A team effort. I know that, like most of us complicated beings, I have some parts that have broken down or were maybe never put together properly to begin with, and so I am striving to both repair and build anew—and hopefully find true wholeheartedness along the way.

Fun fact: a welded joint, when using the right materials and process, is stronger than the original metal. I like that. Maybe there’s some welding involved in this integration that will result in even greater strength.

Other verbs I know factor into this goal include focus, listen, learn, rest, heal, play, connect, feel…and more. I sense, too, that it is not a destination but a practice, just as when I hit the yoga mat and must remember to breathe and pay attention.

Have I convinced you yet that I absolutely don’t know what I’m talking about regarding my very own “word of the year”? I’ve certainly convinced myself.

In thinking about it, though, I can’t help but remember a scene from one of my favorite shows…

Folding in the cheese is a way of integrating a part into a whole, after all. Maybe I just need to figure out what needs folding and where.

What I do know is that the swirly-ballooned-3D-pinball experience needs to be game over. Please. Before I float away all together. I could end up like one of those balloons we used to release when we were kids (before we knew how bad that was) with our address attached to the string hoping someone might find it and write us from some exotic land. (Does Beloit, Wisconsin qualify as exotic? If so, I think our hopes were fulfilled.)

Lots of thoughts. No clear plan. Sounds about right.

But here we go, 2023…Hoping for “into great.”

FraGEElay x 11

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 8 Comments

Over the years—ten previous ones, to be exact—I have written a Christmas Eve fraGEElay* post that reflects on life’s fragilities and how this season is a good time to take care of one another and be mindful of life’s precarious nature.

This year, I want to share a personal reality to help drive this point home.

When I was a kid, a rift in my extended family happened that resulted in my immediate family disconnecting from pretty much everyone else. We kids didn’t really understand or know why, but it happened, and we just had to deal with it. And so we did. For…decades.

My dad died when I was 21 and took his answers with him. My mom—well, that’s a whole other story—but she expected/demanded our loyalty and kept her answers to herself, as well—until she, too, died.

And in the wisdom that sometimes comes with age, my sister and brother and I decided that regardless of what those answers were, we needed to seek reconnection with those we missed out on for so many years.

In our seeking, we have met with family and learned that the origin of the issue was small and petty. And unless there is more to the story that we have yet to learn, this little incident stood—and hurt feelings built up until a wall divided loved ones—and way too many people died with that wall separating us from one another.

My family missed out on decades of relationships and memories with our extended family over a stupid spat. In fact, the people who were the ones with the issue have long since died.

The ripple effect of loss is far-reaching and life-changing. Such fragility.

But now we are working to move forward. We can’t make up for lost time, but we are striving to make new memories together.

But.

There is a plaque that hangs in my kitchen that says,

The clock of life is wound but once,
and no man has the power
to tell just when the hands will stop
at late or early hour.
Now is the only time you own,
Live, love, toil with a will,
Place no faith in “tomorrow,” for
The clock may then be still.

In November, we were fortunate to reconnect with our aunt and several cousins. It was so much fun, and we all were genuinely delighted to spend time together. None of us could even understand why we had fallen away from each other. We felt the love and warmth and knew it was the beginning of a new chapter.

We made plans for another gathering to spend more time with my aunt. To just be with her and listen to her stories. She was the last person from my parents’ generation who could still share memories with us, and I yearned to hear the stories of long ago.

A few days before our get together, my cousin reached out to postpone because a couple people in the family were sick, and she didn’t want her mom to get sick, too.

Eight days after we were supposed to get together, my aunt was gone.

People. Life is fragile.

Yesterday—on a day with ridiculously frigid temps and dangerous winds, not to mention the day before Christmas Eve—was my aunt’s visitation. The place was filled. This was a testament to who she was, as well as the family she raised. While a few minutes outside could result in frostbite, a few minutes inside, and you could feel the warmth and love.

The outpouring of that love was beautiful—but also a stark reminder of what my sister, brother, and I missed out on. Many people shared stories about sitting at my aunt’s table—of her feeding them, sharing stories and laughter…

Had it not been for choices made by people long ago to hang onto slights rather than talk them through, we would have been at that table, too.

And so, my friends, as you gather with family this Christmas and holiday season, remember that life is indeed fraGEElay, but conflicts—big or small—do not have to result in long-lasting brokenness.

If you are dealing with an issue where hurt feelings exist, please consider planting your feet in vulnerability and reaching out. While it does risk more hurt, it also offers the hope of fresh air, warm hearts, and a seat at the table that will leave you full of both delicious food—and love.

I wish you a peaceful, safe, and love-filled Christmas and New Year. Happy Holidays to all—and may we seek and find a way of being better to one another…in our homes, our communities, our nation, and our world.

*If you are unfamiliar with this reference, it comes from the beloved movie “A Christmas Story.” I can no longer see the word “fragile” and pronounce it in any way other than fraGEElay. That must be Italian.

2022—A Year to Begin Closing a Gaping Agape Hole?

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ Leave a comment

My faith needs bolstering these days. In general, it feels like Rocky after a few rounds with Clubber Lang…taking quite a few hits and finding itself on the ropes, hoping for the bell to ring to end the round and catch its breath before it keels over.

It is primarily my faith in people that is so wounded, after these last years of division and vitriol. We have siloed ourselves and shouted in echo chambers and across social media platforms to tear each other apart with little thought of impact or consequences.

“Us” and “them” is deeply rooted in our psyches, and I am weary from it all.

In those initial, scary weeks when the pandemic struck, I hoped that maybe a tiny positive byproduct of it would be its common enemy status—that we would come together to fight this invisible villain in order to save lives.

We did not.

While we may rise to the occasion…we fall to the everyday.

Yes, people come together in times of crisis. When Harvey ravaged Houston and people drove around in boats rescuing anyone they could find, they noted how it didn’t matter what your politics were—just get in the boat. Moments of coming together? Sure. Continued, concerted everyday efforts? Well, that’s unfortunately a different story.

Consequently, my faith is wobbly from the heart punches it has sustained and the loss it has witnessed…and I long for a way to renew it. I think that is why, as I wondered if a word for 2022 would find me, as it has for the last several years, the word “faith” was knocking on my heart.

But then bell hooks passed. And Archbishop Desmond Tutu joined her. And as I looked for my next thing to listen to while I do my morning exercises, Bishop Michael Curry’s Love Is the Way presented itself to me on my audiobook playlist. In listening to his Morgan Freeman-esque voice, my word for the year fell right into my heart: Love…It must be. Because it is only through love that my faith can regrow in the fertile soil of agape, and not just for me alone.

Agape, one of the seven words to describe love in the Greek language, is defined by Bishop Curry as a “sacrificial love that seeks the good and well-being of others, of society, of the world.” And in our current times, it feels like there is a gaping hole where agape love should be firmly established.

what the world needs now…

People like Curry and hooks and Tutu have lived lives dedicated to teaching that love is THE gamechanger. It is a verb—an action—that, heals, redeems, and brings about true change. It is a choice we make daily. It is what Jesus made plain: My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. (John 15:12-13)

So…with love determining itself to be my word of the year—what exactly does this mean for me? After all, it’s not exactly a newsflash. I know love is the way.

It feels more like it is to be a recommitment.

And since agape is manifested in action, I will need to recommit to…act more. Learn. Listen. Serve. Share. Pray. Give. And more that I have yet to know.

But please do not see this as a New Year’s resolution. I am in no way thinking that with this guidance for the year—and my life—that I just need to keep at it like any other “goal.” Oh, no, no, no, no…no. This is a reminder for me to continue to wrestle with the call to love one another and live a life of love. It’s a biggie. There are those who are easy to love, and then there are those who…are not easy to love. And the call is to love the whole smash. And live it out in action. A tall order. Something that I must practice day in and day out.

And in my wearied state of wobbly faith, I don’t approach it glibly. But I do know that love wins, so even in my weariness, I must recommit to doing my best to live that love. Because otherwise? Otherwise, not only love and faith are at risk but hope, too. And where do I go from there?

I do not want to know.

So here is to 2022 being a year that plants seeds of love that develop into generous, thriving gardens of faith, hope…and more and more love.  

To love, my brothers and sisters, does not mean we have to agree. But maybe agreeing to love is the greatest agreement. And the only one that ultimately matters, because it makes a future possible.
―Michael B. Curry, Love Is the Way: Holding on to Hope in Troubling Times

The choice to love is a choice to connect―to find ourselves in the other.
―bell hooks, all about love

Your ordinary acts of love and hope point to the extraordinary promise that every human life is of inestimable value.
―Desmond Tutu

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.
―John 13:34

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
―1 Corinthians 13:13