Today I am lonely. I feel so small.
My Auntie’s away. I wish that she’d call.
My mom’s working late and my dad has the flu.
And although I’ve got stuff I’ve got nothing to do.

From Today I Feel Silly and Other Moods that Make My Day by Jamie Lee Curtis

It was raining, just a little, today as we walked from the parking garage to Iz’s gig on 1st and Stewart. Eden was wearing a sundress and ruby red slippers under her pink winter coat. She counted down the blocks as we walked. “Sixth street. Fifth Street. Fourth Street.” At Café D’arte, Sean was behind the counter pulling shots. He actually goes to competitions for this craft. He can spin pictures out of the foam—hearts and flowers and initials—so the line was long. The place was packed, mostly with people I knew. Three members of the ThPM crew were playing music with Iz. Two couples we once tried to build a co-housing community with were in the back corner talking to another pair from our house church. A man from our sending church leaned up against a wall. Fiona wandered in half way through the set. People chatted and made plans for movies and dinners out.

I corralled the kids.

Even when Paul came on duty, and I could sit for a moment with a few folks I felt totally lonely. I was the outlier figure who was always taking care of someone: kids, mentorees, congregations, households. But I was alone.

What is wrong with the picture? How can I make it change? Do I even want to? Because mostly, when it’s just me and Paul and the kids at home putzing in the garden I’m totally fine.

Maybe it has something to do with the Emerging Women Leader’s Consultation. Something in the contrast….

I just got back from Atlanta. Four wonderful days in Atlanta with 35 stellar women. We stayed up ‘til one and got up at seven and filled every possible moment with conversation and worship and laughter. For the first time in my professional life as a “pastor,” I went to an event where the primary language was not debate, but story. For the first time in a long time I went to an event where I did not have to justify my place at the table. The women were smart and accomplished and funny. No one grandstanded. There was a lot of very intentional person-to-person thank-you’s and everyone was being quite deliberate about acknowledging that people had offered things, and risked things, and given us things on silver platters — offerings that may not have been easy to lay out. On top of all that there was a hot tub, a candlelit lab, yoga on the lawn, red wine, barbeque on the river, beer, a ride in a covered wagon, fireflies. It was wonderful.

I came home from this consultation, and I felt totally great for about 48 hours. I felt befriended and cared for. I felt mentored and supported – by the women there, but even more so by the wonderful long-time mentors and supporters that live with me here. (During a ritual which recognized our ‘guiding lights,’ one woman lit a candle for Barb Henderson and I lit one for Jim Henderson. We live in different states and barely know each other, but this one couple had deeply impacted each of our lives. It was a lovely moment.) After those four days I felt competent and able bodied. I felt like a good teacher and an forward thinking leader. I was Dorothy on the yellow brick road, I had my eschatology down pat, I knew where we were going and we were actually getting somewhere…and dog-gone-it, people liked me. And I believe those things are true. I really do.

But today, when Alicia (who is my friend) hugged me good bye at Café D’arte I cried. I miss having friends. Just regular old we-were-college-roommates type friends.

I have come to the conclusion that I don’t have very many friends. I mean, I do but they live in other states… or at the very least 30 minutes away…or they don’t have kids so we can never go out together…or they do have kids and the kid’s schedules are exactly opposite so we can never see each other…or they are 40 years older than me so I always feel like the little sister…or they are 10 years younger than me and I always feel like the mentor lady. I don’t have a peer. A girlfriend. A pal. I live in community and I have no friends. (Okay, Queen of Hypberbole here…but you get the gist.) Can that be right? And if it is, what does it mean about my community? That we are into connecting to the spiritual realm but lousy at connecting with each other? That we have done such a good job at freeing up our time to be connected with people in our neighborhood that we are no longer connected to one another? Then again, the folks in my crew say the main reason they come is connection to one another. So maybe it’s just me. The isolated pastor, one step removed from her parishioners. How did I get from being Dorthy to being Oz? ‘Pay no attention to the woman behind the pulpit.’ Didn’t I leave the big church to get away from this problem? So I could be the pastor who was “real?” Who showed her spots and her shortcomings? Well surely I do that! But it really hasn’t made me more connected to anyone…. Although I do think it has empowered others to live more incarnationally. Is that just a ‘sacrifice’ of ministry? This lack of friendship thing? Maybe because I am the care-giver/host/cultivator I don’t get to be the friend? Or maybe I’m defining friendship too narrowly? Maybe I don’t need to have a close friend who is my age, my gender, in my town. ‘Cuz I do have Amber, and Josh and T, and Jen and Jim and Barb and the crew at the MiniMissCoop. I mean really, the list goes on and on. So why do I still feel so lonely?

I really don’t know how I can walk around all day upright when really I am such a schizo.

Anyway, today, I feel lonely.