by Erin Robinson Hall | May 22, 2015 | Wonder |
The table is where it happens. It’s chaotic, usually. You grab the dishes, make sure there’s something green (or slightly healthy), you pour the milk and get everybody to sit down. Just pause a minute. After the sixth time we put Little One back in his chair and swat the dog away from the table because she is snacking every time we’re not looking, we stop. We pause. We reach out and take hands because we are trying to make a ritual out of this anything-but-refined meal. We sing the blessing and hold the hands. We were at the table this weekend with more guests than usual. For Dad’s birthday, we cooked for him. Nothing says love to Dad like a home cooked meal, so that is what we made. And like we do, we tumbled into the dining room in a chaotic storm. I don’t know how nice, quiet families calmly sit down to a meal, but we are basically the opposite of them. We are a loud whirlwind of plate carrying (husband), telling (Mom), barking (three dogs), commenting (Sister and Brother), requesting (Little One. And his grandmother), bossing (Me), and spilling (husband). The honored guest, dear old Dad, just sat there watching us whirl around him. And then we paused. We reached out hands and began to sing our blessing, when Little One, shouted, “Wait! Look!” He was so excited to recognize what he saw as we held hands: “We making a circle!” Yes, we are. Around the table, our reach to one another shaped something that even this three year old could recognize. Our circle was...
by Erin Robinson Hall | May 6, 2015 | Wonder |
Around this house, we don’t say “bless you!” when we sneeze. We rarely say “uh-oh” if something spills or slips. If a certain little boy sees you sneeze, drop something or even trip and fall, he has taken to saying “Re-take!” This started because of a video message we sent to a favorite babysitter recently. We were filming him singing happy birthday and he was trying so hard to get it right. Our little production was humming along perfectly until he had a major sneeze in the middle of it. To keeping him from weeping, I said, “Re-take!” with a camera still rolling. And the tradition was born. As he watches this video of his very own self over and over (what, you DON’T watch videos of yourself over and over?) the story has cemented. You mess up, the only proper response is: Re-take! Your perfect, practiced performance gets interrupted by something you didn’t expect? Re-take. This is what I think Church is about. Looking out for one another and remembering to say, “re-take.” Even if the words sound something like “bless you,” the hope behind them is that we are offered and can offer forgiveness, resurrection and peace. We are reminded that second chances and re-starts are available to us. And the reminder comes from someone near to us, unfazed by our blunders, maybe laughing but still shouting, “Re-take!” You might also enjoy these posts...
by Erin Robinson Hall | Apr 28, 2015 | Reflections |
These hands. These women shared a stage with me on Saturday night, and shared their hearts with an audience who cried and laughed and gasped with us. We are a band of mothers connected by the act of being vulnerable and hearing one another. We are each forever changed because we offered our stories to one another and accepted the gift of someone else’s story. That’s what these red bracelets are about. Connection. These were a gift from our LTYM directors, naming that we are forever connected to each other. I am awed with the privelege of wearing this bracelet. It is a realization of how this group of diverse women matters to me and that I matter to them. It will remind me how I am connected to women who are just like me and women who have very little in common with me. And I wore this bracelet last night when I watched the news. The problem with bright moments of realization is that they can light up the nice, cozy lamp-lit corners of your comfortable spaces. The corners with your cozy chair, in your quiet suburban house, with your dishwasher humming sweetly in the background, and your child fast asleep tucked into his pottery barn bedding. No one wants the glaring light of realization to come barging in and pointing out the harsh truths. But there they are. There are people hurting today. There are voices reminding us that things are not okay. There is a nation weeping for their losses. I am connected to them. It...
by Erin Robinson Hall | Apr 4, 2015 | Prayers |
At dinner with friends the other night I got to explain one of my very favorite Easter traditions: flowering the cross. It’s a true Easter moment for me. Some people say Easter happens when they sing at a sunrise service or say Hallelujah. For me, it’s when a chicken wire cross fills with flowers. Probably because it’s so communal and sensory and all those other churchy words. And I just love that there is no way to pattern out what this display will look like. Everyone is told to bring their own flower, so you may have huge daffodils or store-bought roses or scrawny looking “daisies” that we all know are weeds. You can try to have some easy carnations there for people who forgot their own, but like the Church itself there will always be one obnoxious, mis-matched blossom shoved in there. That’s what makes it beautiful. One year there was a gigantic, stubborn tulip. It was shoved onto the cross by a frustrated, heartsick woman. It slowly became surrounded by wildflowers and lilies, the whole thing processed into the sanctuary during a choir anthem that sounded like the skies opened to heaven. But it didn’t start out that way. That tulip showed up on that flower cross because I showed up at church at 6:00 am that morning. Our family had been in a season of struggle: everyday frustrations, tough moments of ministry. And infertility grief. But life doesn’t stop for liturgical seasons, and Easter did not go easy on us that year. It hurt. My husband and I had welcomed a rainy Good Friday that seemed...
by Erin Robinson Hall | Apr 3, 2015 | Wonder |
**This is dedicated to baby Julia, born today to our sweet friends, Angela and Adam. ** Dear one, We have waited for you, hoped for you. Your mama, daddy, grandparents, cousins, family, and friends can’t wait to see you and say that because you are here, this is surely a good day We woke up this morning glad that we can mark this day as the one that brought more joy into the world. We know how we have done Good Friday in the past remembering the darkness, remembering the words that we have chiseled down to neat phrases we can handle: I thirst, My God, It is finished. But it isn’t. Not for you, beautiful girl. It is just beginning. And there we are. On this day, when we all look to the cross, toward its rugged vulnerability we also look at your sweet face, tiny and tender. On this day, when so many mothers weep for children around the world, when fathers fear the broken systems that threaten their boys and girls, we hear your tiny cry. And it is a sound that stirs us to forever circle you in peace. We listen fiercely to your whimpers and your wails and we promise, like all the mothers and fathers that everything is gonna be okay. Shh, hush, dear one. It’s all going to be okay. The hush proclaimed by so many faithful folks tonight is about just that, sweet girl. All the wails and hurts and whimpers of brokeness that we see in all the cracks in our hearts and our days and our cities are met...
