Mother's Day

Mother's Day is almost upon us. This year it is a joy for me as I have been thoroughly embraced by my new husband's adult children, their spouses, and all the grandchildren. I feel surrounded by love. 

However, before this year, Mother's Day was a painful day for me, and for many others. 

 A deeply painful day. 

Over the years I have written a number of Facebook posts about why so many women hurt on this particular Sunday. I was asked to repost them every year as a reminder to be aware, and to be kind, to those whose heart's ache amidst the celebrations. 

So I have reposted them on Facebook. And here they are on this blog...

May 11th 2019

It is Mother’s Day Eve. Please indulge me while I post messages from the last couple of years. In the midst of all the joy, celebration, and outpouring of richly deserved love for Mothers, let us be sensitive to those for whom this day is to be endured rather than embraced. (Someone asked me to repost this annually. I’m being obedient. At least in this! 🤣)

Mother’s Day 2018

Tonight, Mother’s Day Eve, I went to a vigil service at church. At the end they invited mothers to stand and then prayed for them. As I left the church, men from the parish were handing out marigolds to the mothers. I consider myself a spiritual mother so without hesitation I stood, and on exiting took a flower. 

Sitting next to the tray of plants was a woman who had been in a class I taught. She had heard me saying I was a spiritual mother and said: 

“I hate Mother’s Day. Do you?”

I lent closer and said “Do you have children.”

“A daughter. She’s dead” was the reply. 

Once again it reminded me how painful this day is for many. We nodded in mutual understanding and talked about how different hurting hearts cope with this day. 

The conversation reminded me of a status that I wrote last year for Mother’s Day. 

Please indulge me while I post it again. 

Mother’s Day 2017. 

“I remember the first time anyone ever wished me Happy Mother's Day. It was twelve years ago. At the end of a service where I preached, in a church behind the razor wire, 240 convicted felons stood up and in unison proclaimed "Happy Mother's Day" and my heart melted. The same thing happened at the end of the next service later the same day. Those big burly men, who were missing their own mothers, have no idea how much that meant to this woman who never bore a child and yet spiritually mothered many. 

Three years later I became the Protestant chaplain at that same prison and those men became my sons. Around that time someone who hadn't seen me for years asked my brother how many children I had. His response was: "She has boys, 2,700 of them. She's a very prolific breeder!"

After becoming the chaplain, every Mother's Day until I left, those men made me cards that dozens signed and that I proudly displayed in my office. Each one touched my heart and were symbols of God's incredible grace and love. In the middle of that dark, cold, hard place they needed a mother and I needed sons. I have never viewed Mother's Day in the same way since. 

So to all the women who have never borne children but who have cared for another woman's either spiritually or physically. To all the mothers whose children cannot be with you because of distance, death, or incarceration. To all the women whose heart aches amid the day's festivities. May this day be filled with supernatural love and grace. And may this Mother's Day, and all the ones to come in your future, miraculously turn out to be happy. Amen.”

Storytelling in an Alternative School

The post below came up in my Facebook feed today. My cousin Siobhan posted it four years ago (thank you!).

It is a post I had written the day before about teaching Storytelling in an alternative school in Oakridge, Tennessee. 

Many of you know that I was a prison chaplain in the largest men's prison in Maryland before becoming a professional storyteller. Since then I have gone into several alternative schools where young people are either on their way to, or are returning from, Juvenile Detention Centers. 

I love teaching stories in those settings. In a couple of cases I turned the students' stories into a show that was performed the same night. That is real hold your-breath- and-pray-that-it succeeds, seat of the pants teaching. 

What I particularly love is to see young people, who have often come from extremely difficult life situations, blossom as they tell their stories and are heard, really heard - sometimes for the first time. 

I love to see mutual understanding and appreciation flow between fellow class members as they share their stories. And to see the audience respond with wholehearted astonishment and admiration  as one tale of bravery and overcoming follows the next. 

Magic happens and I love to be part of that miracle. 

I always hope and pray that some lives might be changed through the process and they might be spared the almost inevitable transition to adult prison. 

I also always pray that I might be able to do much more of this work in the future. 

May it be so, Lord. Amen. 

 

From May 7, 2019

"I have had the most extraordinary day. I was booked by a Storytelling Festival committee in Oak Ridge, Tennessee to pioneer a new program for their City’s school system. They have a special school within a school called the Secret Academy for children who are failing both educationally and at life, often because of very disruptive home situations. The young people often get into trouble because of adverse reactions to those pressures. These are the kids who never have recitals or concerts for their adults to attend because they never take part in those kind of programs. The incredibly kind and caring Storytellers and Educators in the City decided to change that. They hired me to hold a concert for 6th through 10th graders consisting of personal stories that the students had developed that day - quite a challenge!

Starting at 8.00am I taught a three hour workshop followed by brief lunch and an afternoon workshop. Then we gathered together for a quick dress rehearsal before the concert. 

It was a magic - if exhausting - day!

The headmaster was amazed at what went on in the workshops leading up to the concert. The students, who usually have short attention spans, were fully engaged in the story exercises and the preliminary sharing of stories. They developed their main stories, told them to each other and then told them to the class. He told me afterwards that some of the students that got up in front of their peers and shared personal stories never open their mouths in class. He was astounded to see how they participated. 

There were heart-rending stories, hilarious stories, and stories that made you wonder how these young people had survived. And those stories worked their magic. The bonding, support, and understanding that grew and then flowed in those workshops was palpable. 

The Storytelling Committee organized and sponsored a hearty pasta dinner before the evening concert. Not all the students could make it back to school in the evening, but the ones who did were excellent. We supplemented their tales with stories from a teacher and the headmaster. Both did a fabulous job. And I rounded out the day with some of my stories. The Storytellers and Educators were all thrilled with the result. And I sloped off at the end of the event exhausted but exhilarated, once again amazed at the power of story to touch and transform lives. 

Tomorrow I have agreed to speak to the local chapter of the Rotary club with the hope that they will raise the money needed so we can do it again next year. The only thing is that it is a crack-of-dawn club, and I am a genuine night owl. I will be picked up from here at 6.45am tomorrow morning (gulp!).  After the meeting I will check out of my hotel and head towards Jonesborough, where I’ll be staying for a couple of nights before heading home. Hurrah!"

My New Name

I got a life changing piece of mail today. It was a social security card with my new name blazoned across the front. Geraldine Marie Buckley Ellrod. My now official name. 

(Although for storytelling and other professional purposes I will still be Geraldine Buckley. It is hard for a long-established leopard to change its spots...)

I went to the Social Security office last Friday with a notarized copy of my wedding licence, dated November 12th 2022. A long conversation ensued. What do you want your new name to be? said the wonderfully chatty clerk. She was fascinated by the fact that this was my first marriage. 

She told me she was fifty and single. 

I gave her fresh hope.

"Do you want to drop the Marie? Do you want Buckley to be your middle name?  We don't really count those so you would in effect be Geraldine Ellrod? Or do you want to hyphenate your last name and be Geraldine Marie Buckley-Ellrod?

Or do you want your last name to be two words Buckley Ellrod, and keep Marie as your middle name? 

"Whatever you decide now will be permanent," she said. "If you want to change it you will have to go to the court house."

Such decisions!

I am incredibly proud of being married to Rick Ellrod, officially known as Frederick Ellrod lll. I love that man. I am delighted to be married to him, and I wanted to take his name. 

However pride got the best of me. A few of my British friends have received the incredible honor of having bestowed upon them the much respected title, Member  of the British Empire. Known as an MBE. It is given to British subjects who have distinguished themselves in their field, and by doing so have made a great impact on the British, and indeed worldwide, public. 

To receive an MBE you get dressed up in your most elevated finery and go off to Buckingham Palace to be presented with the much-sought after medal by a member of the working Royal Family. Alas no longer by our late and glorious Queen. 

I realized that by being Geraldine Buckley Ellrod I would be Geraldine MBE. Most likely the only way I would receive that honor. 

Which explains the name that is now on the social security card that arrived today.