Dorothy Richmond is founder of the Dear Neighbor column and a longtime resident of Cedar-Isles-Dean.
Dear Neighbor,
Michael is the son of my favorite cousin, Rita, who died 11 years ago, gutting us both. Rita, ever wonderful, loving and giving, left Michael and me what I consider the greatest inheritance imaginable — each other.
Recently I returned to Lawrence, Kansas, for Michael’s installation as pastor of his church. Lawrence is a wonderland because Michael and his husband, Matt, live there — and for so many other reasons, some rediscovered, some newly found on this visit.
Lawrence is like stepping into Mayberry, the fictional town of Sheriff Andy Taylor, Aunt Bee and Opie — where the snottiest person was Aunt Bee’s friend Clara, who by today’s standards would be a saint. The people of Lawrence, I’ve discovered again and again, are decent and, what’s more, good. For me, Lawrence is a site of grace, a kind of reassuring rock at a time when the world can feel scary, complicated and difficult.
I stayed at The Eldridge Hotel on Massachusetts Street — “Mass Street” to the locals — which hosts and boasts a ghost. The Colonel Shalor Eldridge room (No. 506) is where Shalor, an anti-slavery abolitionist, chooses to roost. Like Casper, he’s friendly, and the room is nearly impossible to book due to its popularity.
Michael’s installation was celebrated by a potluck luncheon in the church basement — a bounty of homemade casseroles, salads and dessert bars. I sat with Michael’s dad, his partner Vicki, and three not-for-long strangers: Shan, who officiated at Michael and Matt’s wedding; her wife, Kathy, an elementary school teacher; and Eve, their longtime friend. In the course of conversation (no small talk at this table!), Eve revealed that her sister was the social worker for Charles Manson during his stay at California’s supermax Pelican Bay Prison. Eve was quickly christened the “Manson Girl,” and the high spirits rolled on.
An afterparty followed for close friends and family at Michael and Matt’s home. I found myself sitting next to Jana, a spiritual guide. I asked her something I’d long wondered: What’s the difference between therapy and spiritual guidance? She said there’s a lot of overlap — both focus on interpersonal relationships, but a spiritual guide brings in one’s relationship with God.
Jana’s theory is that people’s image of God is closely related to their relationship with themselves. Tears came to my eyes. I thought of my tightly wound Catholic upbringing, how I’d seen God as judgmental, punitive — a bean counter. “Being good” meant checking innumerable boxes, mostly man-made rules impossible to fulfill. I was hard on myself (and by default on others), always striving to be good but never measuring up.
I left the church as I’d known it when I was in my 30s. I wasn’t happy. One Sunday in the middle of Mass I walked out. “It’s not working between You and me anymore,” I told God. “I’m taking a break.” God survived, and I wasn’t struck dead. The separation healed me and brought me to places I’d never imagined. For me, this is Grace: I could be my real, imperfect self and still be a Good person.
The theologian Richard Rohr writes, “That which you long for, you also are. In fact, that is where the longing comes from.” What a comfort. I was definitely longing to be Good. Was I there yet? No — but what human being ever is?
Setting sail from my original belief system allowed me to see goodness in myself and in others. Judgment turned into appreciation. Openness replaced rigid thinking. The goal of perfection transitioned into an aim to be real.
On my last day, I set out from the Eldridge to get Michael and Matt treats for their upcoming wedding anniversary. My destination: Au Marché, a swanky chocolatier four blocks down Mass Street. It was raining, then pouring. My kingdom for an umbrella! I made it three blocks and took refuge in Wonder Fair, a delightful stationery shop, to take a break from the storm. I’d been there a couple of days earlier, and Manda, the salesperson, remembered me.
She asked, “Do you want an umbrella?”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“We have a bunch in the back, and there’s a red one that would go great with your dress.”
“Wow, thanks! I’ll return it on the way back.”
“Okay — or just keep it.”
Double wow. Double thanks. I walked on, got the chocolate, the downpour continued, and I handed the umbrella to Michael to return (he loves Wonder Fair).
That umbrella, so kindly selected to go with my dress, was exactly what I needed that morning. That’s Lawrence, Kansas. That’s grace. That’s goodness. That’s love and generosity — as are my dearest cousins, Rita and Michael, and now Matt, too, part of the magic circle.
