Kinship, a Magical Bubble, and Pocket of Protection

I have been sick this week. Today is the first day I’m finally feeling marginally human. (Look! I’m putting sentences together! Mostly.) There were/are so many things on my to-do list but it has been entirely scrapped by an upper-respiratory virus. I’m always thankful to have a job (and community) that is understanding and flexible. It's a big deal, so thank you.

At the beginning of May, Jessica, Linnea and I met up with our Thriving Congregations cohort for a wrap-up meeting in Portland. We came away with an idea for Camp WildWood (still workshopping the name), a weekend camp/retreat with our WildWood community to hang out, eat meals together, go for a hike, make a craft, eat s’mores, sit around a campfire, just be. More to come, but it got us thinking about what it means to be community outside the structure (and expectations) of traditional church.

In the same vain and somewhat intentionally, we’ve been centering and exploring kinship this year. Deeper and different than community, kinship is a sense of belonging. 

University of Washington professor, Devon G. Peña writes in his essay, Borders, Edges, and Shifting Moasics: On Kinship in Walled States;

Most Indigenous communities define kinship as the everyday lived experience of being in relation to others-humans and more-than-humans. In the Màaya t'àan (Yucatec or “Flat" Maya) language, this concept of kinship is enunciated in the principle of In Lak'Ech ("You are my other self"): We become human beings only by being in relation to others.

It is reflective of the Indigenous African proverb, Ubuntu. “I am what I am because of who we all are.” Archbishop Desmond Tutu explained it this way: 

Ubuntu is the essence of being human. It is about compassion, understanding, reconciliation, forgiveness, and respect [It is] the profound sense that we are human only through the humanity of others; if we are to accomplish anything in this life it will in equal measure be due to the work and achievements of others.

Ubuntu speaks the truth that we can’t exist as a human being in isolation. 

This past weekend, because of a last-minute change of plans, I got to spend 36 hours just be-ing with some of my “church friends.” They are part of a group of friends that I don’t get to see very often. Scattered all over the country, at best we get to hang out in the space between meetings each July in overly air conditioned hotels and convention centers. It was a sacred gift to spend 36 hours together, eating meals around a large table, talking about big things and nothing, scrolling our phones and showing each other memes in real time and meeting Bullet the donkey. We had responsibilities; I was running tech for a Zoom meeting, one friend had a presentation, there were kids that needed walks and snacks, but we just did life together in a magical bubble. Even though I don’t get to see these people very often there is an ease with them that I don’t have with other people. Chemistry or context, there is a knowing and being known that is different. 

“I am what I am because of who we all are.”

“You are my other self”

Not just who I am with I’m with you, but you are me, and I am you, and together we are part of each other. It could be easy to twist this and make the assumption that it means you and I are, or should be, identical. That because we are “one” that we think, believe, and experience the same things. But that would be so very wrong and it misses the point entirely. You, in all your beautiful and painful uniqueness, are part of who I am and when I know you better, I know myself better. And I, in all my equally beautiful and painful uniqueness, is part of who you are and by knowing you I come to know you and myself more deeply. 

And, as Professor Peña writes, this extends to our more-than-human relationships too.

We have an Oregon Dark-eyed Junco family nesting in our garden. Earlier this spring I was delayed in planting one of the raised garden beds in our backyard. It has since become overgrown with Forget-me-nots, Foxglove, Poppies, Buttercup, and various other kinds of “weeds.” (Weeds are simply plants growing where you don't want them to be.) And now, tucked deep under the leaves of the Foxglove is a tiny nest.

For several weeks I watched the the pair flit about the yard. But it wasn’t until one afternoon this week when I heard the chicks peeping as a parent ducked under the leaves to feed them that I realized there was a nest and babies too. Even with The Great Backyard Mudpie Baking Competition and a curious Golden-Doodle, they created a pocket of safety, a magical bubble, for their tiny family.

My daughter, the mudpie baking champion, turns 7 this week. I know what it is to create a pocket of protection in the backyard. The day before Elli was born I insisted we needed Adirondack chairs. I had a vision of sitting in the shady yard while my newborn baby slept on my chest. That evening, Lu and Scott dutifully put them together. She was born 12 hours later, but it would be weeks before I could actually sit in them. Even longer before I could get out of it on my own and I don't think we ever napped in that spot. (You don't know what you don't know. 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Now, 7 years later, as she climbs all over my lap, telling me about her day, the Junco family is deep in the arduous early days of “feed. feed. feed.” As the parents fly back and forth to the nest I feel a sense of kinship with them. As a parent, but also as someone who has found belonging in the same backyard. Kinship with, and to the world, is co-creating pockets of protection, magical bubbles, and nests of belonging. Hastily constructed when plans change or tucked safely under the “weeds,” these are the spaces where kinship can be found. Places where I am what I am because of who we all are and you – Junco, donkey, friend – are my other self.

This Sunday we'll visit a little pocket of protection in my neighborhood. Trillium Park is tucked away between the Carylon-North and Wildwood Neighborhoods. Steps lead down into a ravine creating something of a secret park. A wooded trail leads through big trees and near a small pond. It's not even five acres, not big enough for the trail to be a loop, just paths in the woods, but it's a sweet little spot that I'd love to share with you. We'll meet at 4 pm at the entrance on Governor Stevens and Hoadly, 900 Governor Stevens Avenue SE. There is limited parking, ie. no parking lot so plan to park on a nearby side street. See you Sunday!

Sunday, May 18

4 pm

Nature + Spirituality

Trillium Park, 900 Governor Stevens Avenue SE