Anne Lamott - Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith

Anchor Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc. Portions of this work were originally published in different form in Salon Magazine. Permissions Acknowledgments appear on page 274. The Library of Congress has cataloged the Pantheon edition as follows: Lamott, Anne. Traveling mercies: some thoughts on faith I Anne Lamott. em. I. I.

Lamott, Anne-Religion. 2. Women novelists, American 20th century-Biography. 3. Christian biography-United States. 4.

Mothers and sons-United States. 5. Faith. I. Title. PS3562.A4645Z47 1999 8!3'.54-dc21 [B] 98-30487 CIP Book design by M.

Kristen Bearse Anchor ISBN: 0-385-49609-5 www.anchorbooks.com Printed in the United States of America This is dedicated to the people of St. Andrew Presbyterian Church, Marin City, California The Reverend Ms. Veronica Goines, pastor and to Father Tom Weston, S.]. Listen with the night falling we are saying thank you we are stopping on the bridge to bow from the railings we are running out of the glass rooms with our mouths full of food to look at the sky and say thank you we are standing by the water looking out in different directions back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging after funerals we are saying thank you after the news of the dead whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you in a culture up to its chin in shame living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you over telephones we are saying thank you in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators remembering wars and the police at the back door and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you in the banks that use us we are saying thank you with the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you with the animals dying around us our lost feelings we are saying thank you with the forests falling faster than the minutes of our lives we are saying thank you with the words going out like cells of a brain with the cities growing over us like the earth we are saying thank you faster and faster with nobody listening we are saying thank you we are saying thank you and waving dark though it is -W. S. MERWIN viii CONTENTS Overture: Lily Pads One MOUNTAIN, VALLEY, SKY Knocking on Heaven's Door Ladders 68 Mountain Birthday Two CHURCH, PEOPLE, STEEPLE Ashes Why I Make Sam Go to Church Traveling Mercies 106 Three TRIBE Fields Forgiveness Grace Four KIDS, SOME SICK Barn Raising ix

Like lily pads, round and green, these places summoned and then held me up while I grew. Each prepared me for the next leaf on which I would land, and in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear. When I look back at some of these early resting places--the boisterous home of the Catholics, the soft armchair of the Christian Science mom, adoption by ardent Jews--I can see how flimsy and indirect a path they made. Yet each step brought me closer to the verdant pad of faith on which I somehow stay afloat today. That One Ridiculous Palm The railroad yard below our house was ringed in green, in grass and weeds and blackberry bushes and shoulderhigh anise plants that smelled and tasted of licorice; this wreath of green, like a cell membrane, contained the tracks and the trains and the roundhouse, where engines were

You could see the Golden Gate Bridge over to the right behind Belvedere, where the richer people lived; the anise was said to have been brought over at the turn of the century by the Italians who gardened for the people of Belvedere. Tiburon, where I grew up, used to be a working-class town where the trains still ran. Now mostly wealthy people live here. It means shark in Spanish, and there are small sharks in these parts. My father and shy Japanese fishermen used to catch leopard sharks in the cold green waters of the bay. There was one palm tree at the western edge of the railroad yard, next to the stucco building of the superintendent--one tall incongruous palm tree that we kids thought was very glamorous but that the grown-ups referred to as "that ridiculous palm tree." It did not belong, was not in relationship to anything else in town.

It was silent and comical, like Harpo Marx with a crazy hat of fronds. We took our underpants off for older boys behind the blackberry bushes. They'd give us things-baseball cards, Sugar Babies. We chewed the stems off the anise plants and sucked on them, bit the ends off nasturtiums and drank the nectar. When I was five and six, my best friend was a Catholic girl who lived about fifteen minutes away, on foot, from our house-kids walked alone all over town back then. I loved the Catholic family desperately.

There were dozens of children in that family, or maybe it just felt that way, babies everywhere, babies crawling out from under sofas like dust Overture: Lily Pads bunnies. We only had three kids in our family; my brother John, who is two years older than me and didn't like me very much back then, and my brother Stevo, who is five years younger than me, whom I always adored, and who always loved me. My mother nursed him discreetly, while the Catholic mother wore each new baby on her breasts like a brooch. The Catholic mama was tall and gorgeous and wore heels to church and lots of makeup, like Sophia Loren, and she had big bosoms that she showed off in stylish V-necked dresses from the Sears catalog. My mother was not much of a dresser. Also, she was short, and did not believe in God.

She was very political, though; both she and Dad were active early on in the civil rights movement. My parents and all their friends were yellow-dog Democrats, which is to say that they would have voted for an old yellow dog before they would have voted for a Republican. I was raised by my parents to believe that you had a moral obligation to try to save the world. You sent money to the Red Cross, you registered people to vote, you marched in rallies, stood in vigils, picked up litter. My mother used to take the Greyhound out to Marin City, which was a terrible ghetto then, and volunteer in an afterschool program for boys and girls from impoverished families. She tutored kids in reading while other grown-ups worked with them in sports.

My mother majored in the classics in college. She always brought along little paper candy cups filled with the fanciest candies from Blum's or the City of Paris to give to the children after their lessons. It used to make my father mad that she'd buy such expensive candies, but this didn't stop her.