Lessons in Biology

Have you ever heard the term “interstitial?”  I hadn’t until my friend Katie recently used it to describe the way that she and I often fill in the spaces “in between.” After getting her note, I did a little research and found in a couple of on-line dictionaries that an interstice (from which interstitial comes) means an intervening or empty space or gap between things or parts. This space helps keep things in perspective or provides balance. In medical/scientific use, it is the space between cells, and the fluid inside it facilitates the transfer of life-giving things like proteins and nutrients that allow the cells to do their specific work.

This dynamic space is always hidden, behind the scenes, and most people (except maybe medical professionals) don't know anything about it.  It is, however, an integral part of a bigger system of things working together, often without any recognition of the individual parts, but without which things wouldn't work as well or at all. 

At first the idea that the many little things I do for my faith community, friends and family was just “filling empty space” was not very reassuring. My ego rebelled at the thought that my efforts and time could be boiled down to something as mundane as the grease that helps the bigger pieces work.  My ego wants to be one of those bigger pieces with an important role that gets recognition. I don’t want to just fill in the spaces; I want to do something that brings me appreciation, respect and admiration. My ego want to be a star not an unnamed, faceless member of the chorus.

But because the friend who sent me this note is one of the most integral, involved, admired and beloved members of our faith community, I realized how crucial filling in the spaces can be. And frankly, I don’t hold a candle to her involvement; but I very much appreciate her kind thoughts equating what I do to all that she does. Taking time to thank me for my little contributions is just another example of how she fills in the empty spaces and keeps the nutrients flowing.  She is one of several wonderful, supportive friends I am blessed to have in my life.

While reflecting on her note, I thought of the role mothers often hold: filling in the empty places, tying things together, keeping things running smoothly, often without anyone noticing. Mothers often are the ones who keep things in balance and provide the flow of life-giving nutrients.

Katie’s note reminds me how many people are there filling in the empty spaces in our lives, those who do the little behind-the-scenes things that so often are taken for granted or overlooked but that allow us to fill our roles. Because what I do often doesn’t stand out, is hidden from most people’s view, I understand working in obscurity and, consequently, I try to remember to thank others who do work that is seldom recognized or appreciated. But I’m sure I’m just as guilty as everyone else when it comes to being blind to some of the contributions others make in my world. I’m much better at being disappointed when people occasionally fail to meet my expectations.

The other day I went kayaking with a couple of friends. We shared the river with ducks, salamanders, osprey, May flies and the fish occasionally leaping out of the water to feast on the insects. As we paddled very close to the rocky cliffs, we could see the individual plants: ferns, wildflowers, shrubs, blackberries.  Viewed from farther back, they created an interwoven painting of green hues from the pale gray-green lichens hanging from trees to the golden-green moss covering the alder, to the deep green of the fir and cedar and hemlock on the banks of the river. We discovered hidden waterfalls and little grottos that we could not see from the middle of the river, let alone from the highway following it. It was a lesson in subtlety, and how many little things work together to create a beautiful, harmonious whole. Even the tiniest plants and insects have a crucial role, though they are easily missed in a quick glance.

As I’ve searched for what work I am being called to in these remaining years of my life, wise friends have suggested that it could be I'm called to just “be.” Just being a friend, just being calm and prayerful. Just being available to help where I am needed. Not being in charge. Not being a star. Just being. That’s kind of like interstitial space: filling in those empty holes in a quiet way but one that makes a big difference, even if it is seldom recognized. In spite of what our egos might tell us, that's probably the place God wants us to be: making a difference without making a splash.

Mothers and Daughters

My dad and mom on their wedding day

Unless you live under a stump and never crawl out, you realize that this Sunday is Mother’s Day. It’s been 15 years since my mother passed away from breast cancer. Since she died I haven’t much liked Mother’s Day. Even though I am still a mother and have two wonderful adult kids of my own, all the ads telling us what to get for Mom always felt a little like a slap in the face, a reminder that my mother was gone. Over the ensuing years I was to find more and more reasons to dislike the commercialization of holidays and the unpleasant ongoing reminders from the advertising world of how much I have lost and how little my life resembles the perfect world their ads try to convince us we should strive for. But capitalism must go on, it seems, whether we want to participate or not. After all, we really can’t live under a stump.

This year there is a little campaign on Facebook to post photos of your mother in honor of Mother’s Day. Of course, I have no digital photos of my mom. She died long before I had a digital camera. But I found her and my dad’s wedding photo and scanned it into my computer. My parents were a very attractive couple.

I just got back yesterday from spending more than a week in Medford helping my youngest sister after she had some major surgery. It was nice to spend so much one-on-one time with her without tons of other things going on. I cooked, did a little cleaning, walked the dogs, planted her garden for her, and enjoyed her company and the warm sunshine and blue skies. Although she is almost 16 years younger than me, we have a good relationship and manage to have fun together, even when she’s recuperating.

In looking at the closeup of Mom today, I realize how very much my sister looks like her: she has her smile and square jawline, although she got Dad’s big eyes, a fact of which I am very envious. I can see my older sister in Mom, too, but not as much of myself. Maybe others see what I don’t; that’s often the case, in my experience. We don’t always see things when we’re too close.

Colleen, Shirley and me at the wedding of our brother's daughter

But looking at the photo of Mom and Dad on their wedding day put me into a reflective mood, thinking about who I am and how they both played such a huge role in the person I’ve become: a role both good and not always so good. Seeing how much my sisters look like my mom also helped me remember that she and Dad still live on through their children, grandchildren and their great-grandchildren. It’s a reminder that, though we all will die at some point, we leave behind parts of ourselves in those we love and we have some ability to influence how positive our impact has been. This helps me focus on gratitude instead of loss.

Me and my own daughter

I think of my mom often and still miss her, even after 15 years. Though their lives were often challenging, my parents loved each other very much and loved their six children as well as they were able. I am grateful for a family that is still strongly connected despite the number of miles that separate us. I am thankful for the blessings, gifts, talents and values that were passed down to me because of my family of origin, and I try to let go of the parts of my life that were less than idyllic. I hope I have been able to provide my children with at least as good a grounding as my parents gave me. But even if I’ve fallen short, I know they love me and will remember me with affection and appreciation just as I do my parents.

In Real Women, Real Wisdom: A Journey into the Feminine Soul, one of my authors, Barbara Underwood Scharff, writes a very moving tribute to her own mother and recalls the blessings of being a daughter and having a daughter. A very brief excerpt from her piece, Motherhood and Daughterhood: Love and Good-bye: "In the kinship of mothers and daughters, what we love is not to be fastened to this earth, but to be believed in. Love and good-bye. We will all someday vanish into the unreachable distance. It is in this mystery that each one of us will someday be entrusted to God in the place where we started and the place where we end."