First Unitarian Church

May 9, 1999

During a recent visit with my two boys, Kash and Madison, I began talking with them about what they would do upon my death. I’m not planning that anytime soon, but one never knows and, well, there are practical matters to consider. Cremation, please, I said—I hate the idea of rotting in the ground. That was no problem. But where to bury the ashes? We all agreed it would be unseemly to put me in the family plot, alongside their father and his second wife. So that question was left unanswered. Then I asked the boys, "If I died suddenly, what would you do with my manuscripts?" thinking of the papers, stories, articles, and sermons, some published and some unpublished, languishing in my files. Without a moment’s hesitation, Madison said, "Well, we would throw them out. We know what you think." Right. Then and there, I decided to find a literary executor.

Yes, they probably do know what I think. Not chiefly from my words, from my warnings, from my advice, which I have strewn copiously along their path--but from my actions, from how I move in the world, from what I give myself to. So I don’t know, really, how much good words do. And yet words are precious to me, they do move me and change me. If I came across a letter from my mother or father, both long dead, telling of their hopes and wishes for me, that letter would be almost like a sacred object for me. I would sit down in a quiet place and open it with great care and read it reverently. So even if they do know what I think, I want to try on this Mother’s Day, to speak to my boys: Madison, who is 26 and Kash, who is 27. I hope my words resonate with you, as you think of the children you love and nurture, whether you are a mother or a father, whether these children are your birth children, your adopted children, your nieces and nephews, or those children you care for or teach. Whether they are newborns or grown men and women with children of their own.

Kash and Madison, I want to begin with your birth—no, before your birth. I dreamed you, I imagined you, long before I was ever married. I knew that one day, God willing, I would have some children. As miracles go, this birthing of a new human being seems to me to be the holiest of the holy, and I wanted to participate in this particular miracle—that I knew. I was lucky. Both of you were planned babies, and both of you were conceived right on schedule. Right away, as soon as I first became pregnant, my life changed. Somehow, I couldn’t stop smiling—I smiled so much that my mouth hurt. Where did that joy come from? For once in my life I didn’t have to prove anything or achieve anything—I could just be. My life had one purpose—to bring new life into being, and I gave myself to that, gladly, completely.

When you were born, Kash, I entered into a state of bliss. Before that time, I did not know that I could love anything more than I loved myself—in fact, I wondered about my ability to love at all. But when you came, I knew. My heart was stretched mightily, and I was thankful for the stretching. Blessedly, you and your brother took me out of myself and began your long lesson in teaching me to love.

About your father. I married a man who would be a good father, who would value family above work, and he has done just that. He is a man of the highest character, and having a rare kind of innocence, he sees the best in all the people he meets. He is a man who cares about his community and knows he must give back to that community. Though we have not been together as husband and wife for many years, we both care for and deeply respect the other. You have been the beneficiary of the love and support not only of your parents but also of a large extended family—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all of whom have loved you dearly. I want you to never take for granted that kind of love—the love of strong people who are there for you. Everybody doesn’t have that. I grew up in a different fashion, and I have had to struggle as an adult to understand that I can love and be loved, whereas it has never crossed your mind that loving was not a real and present possibility for you. You love so easily and so well. Above all else, be thankful for that.

I want to say a word more about your father. I know when you were younger, you were angry about my leaving him and breaking up our family. I can understand that. Divorce at best is a terrible thing—marriage is a primal bond that goes deeper than we ever imagine, and a broken marriage—in particular where children are involved—brings terrible pain not only to the husband and wife and children, but to friends and neighbors and kin. It rips at the fabric of so many, many lives. I know you have never fully understood why I left your father, and I can’t fully explain it myself. The best I can do is to say that I married for the wrong reasons—I married out of my need: my need for a family, for security, for home. Listen to me now: marry out of love, not out of need. I do not regret my decision to leave your father, but I am so sorry I hurt you—and him and others--in making that choice.

Speaking of making choices, I want to say to you that there are some times in life when the choices are not clear-cut, not between good and bad, but say between bad and less bad. Or between good and good. As human beings, when we come to those gray areas, all we can do is muddle through as best we can—and then forgive ourselves for the lives we can’t live, the love we can’t give. Hear this, my dear boys: there is no way to go through this world without sometimes hurting other people. People will want things from you that you can’t give without losing too much of yourself. And sometimes there will be moral choices that are fuzzy, in which two values compete. Do all you can to discern what is best and then act and never look back—don’t fill your life with regrets. All you can do is the best you can do.

By all means, maintain self-respect. Live by your own values, take your own risks, accept the consequences of your actions. One of my favorite writers, Joan Didion, had this to say about self respect: "The tricks that work on others count for nothing in that very well-lit back alley where one keeps assignations with oneself: no winning smiles will do here, no prettily drawn lists of good intentions. . . . . However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourselves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves."

Be careful about your decisions, large and small. Weigh the ethics of each, and don’t confuse legality with morality. I say this because I know that it is easy to be led down the garden path into a bed of thistles—one thing really does, quite literally, lead to another. And then before you know it, you find yourself compromised in a way you never thought possible.

You will come to places in your life that are very hard to get through—the Buddhists tell us "life is suffering," and they are right. If we can accept that truth early on, we will not be surprised and indignant when life stands up and slaps us sharply on the face. As your mother, instinctively I want to protect you from all suffering, and of course I know I cannot. Madison, I remember so well the time a policeman came to the door and told me you had had an accident on your bike. When I walked into that hospital and saw you there in blood and scrapes, there in all that pain, I dissolved into tears. I would have gladly taken your place, if I could have. That’s what it feels like to be a mom.

And Kash, to my surprise you have joined the army. You tell me that you want to serve your country, because you love your country. You tell me that you would be willing to die in the line of duty. I believe these words, and I love you for your idealism. At the same time I am afraid for you because I know that warriors in every age are expendable. I think of our foreign policy and how wrongheaded and even corrupt it has been, and no, I would not be willing to see you die to protect American business interests. Don’t ever lose your idealism—but don’t misplace it.

My sons, you are very privileged young men. You have never wanted for the necessities of life, and you both have attended fine universities, paid for by your parents. As white males, you will have an advantage over women and people of color. You don’t have to feel guilty about this—it is simply a fact--but I hope that you will exercise your strength and intelligence to help make our world a more just world. You have a responsibility, not just for your own family, but also as citizens. I hope that your love and caring will extend way beyond your own household, to those who are desperate to meet the most basic needs of food and shelter. I hope you will be willing to speak the truth to power, even when it is not popular, even when it puts you at risk.

Speaking of risks, I would say to you, "No, don’t take foolish risks, but do take risks." Playing it safe may leave you full of regrets at the end of your life. It’s not so much that you have to be successful in what you try to do—you are not responsible for the fruits of your efforts--but it’s important that you have the will and the character to attempt those things which are your heart’s desire. People will tell you to back off, to be rational, to take a more conservative approach. That comes from their fear. Follow your desire, your passion—trust your own inner voice--and you will not go wrong.

I know you think that I want you to "be like me"—to go into some altruistic profession. Please believe me, I don’t. I want you to be the most you that you can be. As the poet Rumi says, "There are many ways to kneel and kiss the ground." You need to find your way, without any shadow of trying to please me or your father. I want you both to be men of integrity and good character, I want you to be joyful and to celebrate life, and I want you to love deeply and well. I pray for your safety each day, but more fervently than even that, I pray that you will navigate well as you find your way through this culture of false values. I want you to know that I trust completely in your goodness.

I want to address for a moment two of the most important areas in everyone’s life—money and sex. Let’s go with money first. I see that you care very little for the things that money can buy, and I’m glad that is so. There is a hollowness at the core of our society just now, for consumerism has become our most hallowed deity. Style and packaging replace substance. As a God, that wears thin very quickly. Wanting simply leads to more wanting. It’s like sugar—a quick hit of energy followed by depression followed by a craving for more sugar.

On the other hand, do not follow the path that I followed in regard to money. I thought that English majors and spiritual seekers were above all that. How foolish! Now I realize that I can’t separate my economic concerns from my spiritual concerns. And then one day it occurred to me that I, too, was getting older and that I, too, would need to retire one day. I’m planning for that now, but I’m way late. My advice to you is to begin saving and investing your money even now, while you are in your twenties. By the time you are 50, you will have more money than you will ever need. You will be free from want and free to choose what to do with your time.

And I have another suggestion—begin now giving some of your money away. Set aside a percentage and decide carefully where you will give it. I’ve decided on the Biblical tithe, or 10 per cent. Giving away money is very satisfying. I want you to have that pleasure. Do not concern yourself with amassing wealth. Money is a burden and a responsibility, and worse than that, it can easily separate you from the common folk and their needs. Money is seductive—what you need is just a little more than what you have.

And now, sex. You have always been open with me about your relationships with women, and I’m thankful that I have that trust. Let’s begin with the obvious—be safe. Be safe, be safe, be safe. Now, about making love. Making love is just that—making love. When sex is anything less than that, both parties are cheated. Sexual bonding is very, very powerful—don’t think you can detach your body from your emotions, because it doesn’t work that way, for men or for women. Always be scrupulously honest in your relationships, so there will be no false expectations and no sense of betrayal if the relationship should end. Respect and cherish your own body, and that of your partner. Make every touch and gesture an expression of your love and your joy.

About marriage. Both of you have said you want to marry one day. My fervent hope for you is that you will find a partner you deeply love who can give you that love in return. Then, of course, there is the question, "What is love?" Philosophers and poets have puzzled over that one for hundreds of years, because love is ineffable and can’t really be absolutely defined. But I would say love is ongoing delight in another. Who knows why one person is drawn to another? Some kind of mysterious complementarity, some kind of unfinished piece of ourselves that reaches out for wholeness. I’ve spent much of my life trying to earn love—but people are not loved because they deserve it, they are loved because of who they are, including their faults and frailties, which are sometimes actually more endearing than their strengths.

Sometimes you may fall in love with someone who is not suitable for marriage for one reason or another—maybe the person is, say, an alcoholic or perhaps the person doesn’t share your values. Don’t count on changing your partner after you marry. It’s best to move on before you become too deeply involved, and find a new love. When you lose someone you love, you may feel as though you will never, never find someone else. But you will. The question is not, "Will I find someone?" The question is, "How able am I to love?"

More about how to treat a woman. When you marry, remember that your wife is not your mother. Just because I will get up early on Saturday morning to make you blueberry pancakes, do not expect your wife to do the same. Pick up your stuff. If both of you are working outside the home, don’t place the burden of the cooking, cleaning, and shopping on her. Right now, working women still do the lion’s share of the housework and childcare. Don’t wait for your wife to tell you what is needed for the house or children—you are not her helper in the household tasks, you are an equal partner. Notice what needs to be done and do it. And the most important thing of all—talk with her about your feelings. And listen to her when she wants to tell you how she feels. Don’t try to fix her problem. Just be with her and let her know you love her.

This letter is a lengthy one. What else do I really want to say before I close? Having never really been parented myself, I was not a particularly good parent, especially when you were very young. There were times when I was in such anguish that I had little room in my heart for your needs. I remember one time when I was so withdrawn, and Kash, you came to me in tears and said, "Love me, Mommy, please love me." And you reached out your arms to me, and you broke through my pain to the love that was there. You boys wanted me to play with you, to kick the ball in the back yard, to jump with you in the maple leaves that I had raked into a gigantic pile. But your exuberance frightened me—I didn’t know what to do with it. There was a deep thread of sadness in me that in truth is still there, but not to the extent it was then. When you come to visit now, you turn my silent house into a place of play—you immediately turn on the CD player and we dance together to Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis and act silly and sing love ballads along with Elvis. We have our serious talks and our blueberry pancakes and our laughter and sometimes our tears. We often disagree—about God, about movies, about politics—and I of course believe that when you are older, you will see the light and agree with me. But there is no question about our deep and abiding love.

You two boys have helped me become a better person. You are truthful with me about my pretenses, you challenge my judgments. You keep me honest, in other words. You share your lives so openly with me—your desire for love, your searching for work that is meaningful. Love and work—isn’t that what Freud said it was all about? I have so much faith in you—I want you to know that. I believe you will find love, and I believe you will turn your hands to good work.

The last thing I want to say is the most important. No matter where you travel on this wide earth, no matter what trouble assails you, no matter how big a mistake you think you have made—you will never be alone. My love will be there with you. You will always be my sons, and I’ll always be your mother. I’ll always love you, I’ll always be on your side. There will come the day when I’ll have to leave you, because even moms don’t live forever. But remember that this body is just the shell, and not the essence. Cremate it, bury the ashes somewhere, or just scatter them to the wind. I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Because you see, that’s not really me. The love that I have for you, my spirit, will be with you always. It will never let you go.

 
So be it. Amen.

 
PRAYER

Spirit of Life, we come today with full hearts, thankful for the children in our lives. For the joy, for the hope they bring us. May we steadfastly give them the loving and the nurturing that they need. May they grow strong in heart, mind, and spirit, and may we as adults pass on to them a world that is worthy of their ideals, of their devotion. So be it. Amen.

BENEDICTION

May we have the strength and the wisdom to bless the children in our care.

So be it. Amen.

OPENING WORDS

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hope of its children.

--General Dwight D. Eisenhower

Copyright Ó 1999 by Rev. Dr. Marilyn Sewell. All rights reserved.