august 12, 2002.

Yesterday Rev Robyn invited the Boy and I to her house for dinner. As the invitation followed our last service in the W-ville Pastoral Charge, it was a nice bookend to our two years here, not to mention an extravagant proof of the quality of community we've found here. And although I greatly enjoyed visiting with the two mysterious bunnies that appeared on the lot this weekend, eating the delicious food and seeing their beautiful energy efficient home, I have to admit that the highlight of the dinner was the opportunity to speak to the Rev for almost five hours. I love her. And it was so nice to feel like a peer, like a friend rather than a nutty young parishioner who walks the land between youth and adult without ever declaring allegiance to either.

(I've often said that one of the greatest benefits of belonging to this congregation is that we're nobody's kids. You don't know how liberating it is to walk into a place and be anonymous at first. We could build our reputations from scratch. We could be just as responsible and devout as we pleased, without being compared to family members. If you've ever had the experience of growing up in a close community like a church, then you'll know what I'm talking about. To be able to make your own space in a community is a priceless gift.)

I find that I have difficulty writing about this afternoon. I could list the facts (the topics of conversation, the individual activities) or give systematic impressions of the Rev's family (all of whom I've begun to know over the last few years). I could talk about the house they built on the North Mountain, and the way the farmer's fields smelled on the drive up. But really what I want to remember is a gestalt: the way it felt to be utterly accepted, utterly treasured, utterly loved by a religious leader whom I admire. I can't think of many ministers I'd like to eat dinner with - it seems like an uncomfortable proposition at best and a nightmare of manners at worst - let alone of many who would make a point of bringing me into their home before I moved away. It was utterly special, like a five-hour long version of the mechanical angel blessing.

I notice that I've been only talking of myself, as if the Boy wasn't there. My feelings yesterday were so strong that it was hard for me to even register what the Boy felt at the same time. Honoured, I believe. Yeah, that's the word.

We came home to Tym, and have only stopped talking to sleep and bathe. I love having him here...

"It's not my fault if I don't want to sound reamable."

- the boy on why he becomes more superficially masculine in tym's presence