Religion Corner
Piedmont Post
By Rev. Lois Mueller

This school year I became an official “empty nester.”  Now that my youngest is happily ensconced at DePaul University in Chicago, my house and schedule are empty of the day-to-day concerns of raising children for the first time in 22 years.  It’s too early to know how I’ll respond to this new phase of my life; the emptiness seems to hit different people in forms ranging from depression to a sense of liberation. 

Some years ago when my sister and brother-in-law were in the midst of parenting young children, they had a rare weekend alone without kids underfoot.  My brother-in-law emphatically exclaimed, “If this is the empty nest, let it begin now!”  Even though we may long for respite during those energy-intensive years, when the time comes to let go, it isn’t always easy.

During an orientation session for parents at DePaul, a speaker encouraged us to transform ourselves from being a supervising parent into an “Umbrella Parent.”  An umbrella only comes out in stormy weather.  An umbrella is held to the side or in back of a companion so that the other walker can see her own way.  Finally, when someone holds an umbrella for another, the sheltered one can use his hands freely.  The metaphor works quite well during this time of transitioning roles.

If I can stretch the use of this metaphor in another direction, I think that even those of us who follow a spiritual path sometimes have an “umbrella faith.”   Our faith only comes out in stormy weather.  Our faith is held in back of us or to the side, but not out in front, leading our way.  We look to faith for our own shelter and that of our closest companions, rather than for all of creation.  Even those of us who are observant often use our faith as an “umbrella” that we bring out during rainy weather rather than practicing spiritual disciplines that can be a consistent source of strength, hope and renewal.

Now that my life is my own in a way it hasn’t been for all these years, I’m looking forward to new possibilities.  Maybe I’ll take singing lessons; maybe I’ll get season tickets to the Berkeley Rep again; maybe I’ll kayak on the Bay; maybe I’ll . . .   I just hope that I don’t fill up my empty nest with so much activity that the Holy One is unseen or unfelt in my life.  I just hope and pray that my new-found spaciousness in life can find nourishment in a spacious, still soul.