reporting live in my jammies

That deep sigh of contentment you hear off in the distance is mine. It is the blessed weekend. And this weekend I have a lot of time to myself. A lot. Picture me grinning. Ken is working at the county fair over the next week, which offers me the gift of solitude.

I'm still adjusting to the notion of having a weekend. Saturdays still feel a bit pressured with the anticipation of Sunday morning responsibilities, but after a full week of office hours the weekend is a very welcome thing. All two days of it!

It's been good for my creativity. Sort of. I'm part of a postcard swap, and I finally got my July card out this past Tuesday. Yay! I also managed to make a get well card for a dear one who had surgery earlier this week, and I've been collecting "pins" of various creative projects that are now on my "do" list.

One of the student organizations supported by our Center at work is called OWLs: Older Wiser Learners (I add a comma after the word "older," but acronyms don't seem to recognize punctuation). Friends who follow me on Pinterest will note that I've been pinning owl-related items, and that is why. When we hold our OWLs open house in September I'm planning on making owl cookies, stringing owl garland, and filling owl bags with something or other as giveaways. With all the fabric I've been hoarding I'll also make an owl tote/purse and a couple of other owl cuddlies for door prizes. See pics here (aren't those cookies just the cutest?):

 

 

 

 

 

I am so into this. Thank you, Harry Potter!

In the meantime I've decided to play with digital scrapbooking and learn a thing or two about that craft. I am grateful for the efforts of those who have gone boldly before me and written tutorials on the subject. I am benefiting from step by step instructions in Photoshop, and am thrilled to be adding those skills to my humble puddle of graphic abilities. It's been a rather exciting week in that department!

So in spite of my absence from this page--I'm still adjusting to the office hour thing--I'm still up to my usual antics of keeping an eye out for fun and pleasure. Stay tuned for photos of my own versions of the above that will come to life in the coming weeks. I especially need to practice with those cookies.

Ciao, and have have a ridiculously amazing weekend!

beloveds

Did you know this was Pet Appreciation Week? Me either! But thanks to an email from Tractor Supply, now I do, and not a moment too soon! So in honor of my pets, here are some images readily available to share.

That's Brenna, top left. She was my sweetheart Border Collie who came from a real working sheep farm in the Adirondacks. Her grandmother travelled to this country from Scotland, pregnant with Brenna's Mama. That is such an "awwww" thing for me. I lost Brenna to what was likely a brain tumor, six years ago. She took to hiding in the bathtub during thunder storms, or sometimes getting wedged under the bed when she got older and it was hard for her to jump up onto the bed to snuggled for comfort. I miss her.

Then there's Juliet, my current sweetheart. She's a rescue, an Akita/Greyhound mix and the Lady of the House. Her name is, officially, "The Lady Juliet." She's my gem. Rigel is to Juliet's right, looking rather dignified in this pose. We adore Rigel, but dignified is not a word I would typically attribute to him. He's a love.

Starting the second row is McKinlee. She's a mess, as one says in the south. She's also a rescue, Yellow Lab/Jack Russell Terrier. That about says it, eh? That explains the mess. And then there's Dooley, my beloved boy who died in my arms a few years ago. Junior called him Mr. Grumpy, because he could get a little grumpy, but he was the best cuddlebug of any dog I've ever had. During the winter I called him my hot water dog because he would curl up against the curve of my lap in bed and keep me warm. I miss him dreadfully. Hokey, the one cat in my life, is from my youth. She gave birth to kittens in my bedroom closet.

And then we have repeating images of the present trio: Rigel, Juliet and McKinlee (she doesn't even look innocent as a pup!). They are our joy and delight, and our lives would be far less interesting if they weren't a part of them.

So here's to our pets, long may they live and warm our hearts.

light

I started to type the single word: change. An early Beatles song popped into my head, though the word is wrong: "Chains! My baby's got me in chains!" Sometimes I guess guess change feels like chains. Just thought I'd throw that out.

What I really want to post today is how aware I've become of the transitions so many people are living. Some of them are wrenching, others less so, but the truth remains that transitions are in progress. Most of them are for better, but some are not. Some are jolts to the system, others the inevitable progression of life.

On their own merit many of life's changes and transitions are part of the flow, and we ride them like a wave. There are those, however, that catch us like cross currents to be battled just to stay in place. The effort wears us out and, externally, we have nothing to show for it. I'm not going to go so far as to say that life sucks at such time (though it feels that way), but that the challenge of our days are then best borne when surrounded by the help, love and comfort of others.

For those carrying burdens, I offer this light to you. When I went in search of an image I only sought light. But this is xfold better: I hold you in the light. So rest. Close your eyes and know that you are not alone as you soldier on. The Lord gives even as the world takes away.

"Peace I give to you. My own peace I leave with you."

You are loved.

a sober declaration

On my way to work this morning, on a local state highway, I passed a work crew picking up trash along the roadway. As I approached a dark pink, square sign with it's corners pointing in compass directions proclaimed "DUI Utility Crew." My eyesbrows arched slightly: this was a first.

As I passed the crew I couldn't miss the yellow-green neon workvests sported by many roadwork crews, but neither could I miss the words blaring on their backs: I am a drunk driver. These were men and women, most of them between the ages of 20 and 40.

As my travels took me past and away from them I pondered the vests. My first reaction was that the identification of these workers as drunk drivers seemed shaming. I'm not a fan of using shame as a tactic to effect behavior. And then I thought again. Was this shaming? It was an honest statement, and communicated a great deal. Should the fact that they made a choice to drive while under the influence be hidden? Does it make an impact on them in a way that will effect that choice in the future?

I'm still pondering, and would be interested to hear what you think.

prevention

On my way to work this morning I heard a report on a news program about the possibility of birth control being considered a "preventive" health measure, making it essentially free through insurance programs. One of the statistics was startling: one out of two pregnancies in this day and age are unplanned. Half. (I write that for emphasis, not because I think you can't do the math.)

There are proponents of this measure, of course, and there are opponents. The opponents come down heavily on two sides: conscience, and morality. On the conscience side the argument is that those who don't believe in "artificial" birth control would essentially be paying through their insurance plan to support the cost of contraceptive for others. I hear that, but the argument doesn't wash for me. I'm a pacifist who pays taxes, and I'm not overjoyed that a portion of my tax dollars supports the military-industrial-complex. Does that mean that the government shouldn't dole out money to the Department of Defense because of my belief system?

That would be an emphatic "no." Instead of railing against the system (although there are certainly those that do, some more constructively and thoughtfully than others) I choose to invest my efforts by living in a way that exemplifies my values, and hope that there are opportunities for others to see the positive impact of those values not only at work in my life, but as a postive impact on others.

There is a bigger picture here than individual belief systems, even when those beliefs are shared by other. The implications of policies that make birth control available as a preventive measure aren't about flaunting one belief over another. They are in place to assist families, and particularly the poor, in making decisions freely about their own lives and the size of families and the spacing of the birth of their children. Such freedoms benefit all of us. It's how we live together, experience the ebb and flow of our challenges and joys, and work our way through the life's labyrinths toward liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

As for morality--come see me when the death penalty has been abolished.

and baby makes nana and grandpa happy

We're back from a weekend with our daughter and her newly expanded family! Each visit with them familiarizes us with our grandsons, and them, us. A good great thing! Friday evening after dinner we were out in their backyard and Luke was leading the way, calling over his shoulder, "Come ON, Nana!" Music to my ears.

We were blessed with good weather for mid-July. The days got into the high 80's, but overnight it cooled to 70 or slightly lower, and sleeping under ceiling fans to help cool the house down at Melrose, this was an incredible blessing. Humidity was present, but low, and a slight breeze made the warmth bearable. A big "thank you" for that.

Jude, whose birth was the catalyzing event for the timing of this trip, is sweet, and I drank in the joy of watching the constantly changing expressions on his face when he was awake, which wasn't often. In a way it is just as well that his interactive capacity is low right now, because it gave us time to play with Luke and Cross and let them know that Nana and Grandpa are cool. Ya know?

Friday we cooked out on the deck and then played in the backyard, swings and a trampoline being the activity of choice. It's been about 40 years since I was on a trampoline, and although I'm sure I looked anything but graceful up there, it was fun to bounce and giggle with my boys! Other activities included puzzle making and oohing and ahhing over the collection of trucks, trains and boats. I couldn't keep up with all their names, so (shhhhh!) don't tell.

Saturday was spent out by the lake with picnic lunches, some paddling in the blow-up canoe, and attempts to fish. We were also delighted to have dinner with our friends Jimmy and Barbara Saturday night. Time with them is always a treat.


Sunday morning we met the family for breakfast at Cracker Barrel before they headed to church and we returned to Melrose to wash sheets and towels and take care of other sundry details to close up the house. We got on the road around noon and headed home.

Now it's back to the grind with wonderful memories and some fun pictures to light our way into the week. Week? Here we come!

Ashley and Luke rockin' it at Cracker Barrel

Travis and Jude share a moment

Cross demonstrates his double-fisted agility with a banana split.

love, love, love

I hope that Spider Solitaire won't take it personally that I have forsaken it (mostly) for Pinterest. Oh, gracious, how addictive is Pinterest! But it's a good addiction: I discover all sorts of great ideas that I can adopt, imitate, or use for inspiration. I discover recipes that I can dream about and feel like I've eaten without actually using and devouring the results of them. I learn about beautiful places that soothe my soul, laugh at the antics of people I have never met, and find inspiration through encouraging words and quotes. And more.

There have been some very moving items posted lately, and this one was in my vision this morning when I perused the latest pinings. It's an adorable story. Whether or not it's true, I don't care. Posted at herOinchic@tumbler.

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey.  She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her.  I told her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:

Dear God, Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick. I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her You will know that she is my dog. I really miss her. Love, Meredith

We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office.

A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet.  I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, ‘To Meredith’ in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, ‘When a Pet Dies.’ Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:

Dear Meredith, Abbey arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. Abbey isn’t sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don’t need our bodies in heaven, I don’t have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by.  Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you. I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. By the way, I’m easy to find, I am wherever there is love. Love, God…

So happy to introduce

our new grandson, Jude! Facebook friends met him last night, and we will meet him in the flesh this weekend! This makes three boys and one very happy family. I don't have details at this point, but does anyone really care when he got here and how much he weighs? We're just delighted he has arrived!

market day

On our way home from Mammoth Cave last week we detoured to a small Amish community near Scottsville, KY. We picked up some wonderful fresh produce along with home baked tomato cheese bread (oh. my. god.), and maple syrup, but arrived at the door of Habegger's market just in time for them to close for the day. Subsequently hooked on the cantaloup, Ken suggested a return trip (about an hour's drive) Saturday morning.

We knew little about the contents of the market. The worker at the produce store told us that the market sold "Amish goods:" not particularly suggestive. A peek through the locked door revealed a lot of candy along the lines of a general store. We didn't know what to expect.

When we arrived at the market we found a full parking lot, which boded well for an interesting visit. Sure enough!

Indeed, there were candies, and the makings of candy. THIS is the place to come to find anything you want for baking (including cinnamon chips, which will be used in muffins or scones). The colors of sprinkles was extensive, the little silver balls were abundant, and pieces of peppermint stick neatly packaged to spare the agony of smashing your own into powder with a rolling pin, hammer or meat tenderizer.

There was a variety of flours, all manner of things pickled (including brussel sprouts), and fillings for pie vacuum-sealed, rather than canned, in a quantity sufficient for a substantive pie. There were homemade breads, fudge, cookies, and ice cream. The meat at the deli (from which we enjoyed lunch) was sliced to order. There were cheeses and butter and produce and peaches (now in season locally). This was a slice of heaven.

Our basket filled quickly with the selections of items we couldn't resist, and then overflowed to include additional items. We filled two reusable bags from the car, and were smart enough to have brought a cooler and ice packs for the cheese and butter. I braced myself for a high price tag, and was shocked when the total came to $63 and change. Here's our stash for that amount (contents: about 1 1/2 pounds of butter, goat, colby and havarti cheeses, soy beans, corn nuts, pilaf, quinoa, granola, potato salad, cinnamon chips, sliced almonds, ground cinnamon, ranch dressing mix, salt substitute, green peppers, cucumber, peaches, zucchini, squash, banana peppers, and chili peppers.) 

As noted above we enjoyed amazingly fresh sandwiches, and were thrilled to find that they also carried diet birch beer! I couldn't resist a sample of soft-serve ice cream (which tasted so much better than the stuff we usually buy under that name), but we did resist the peanuts.  And the fudge. And every other sweet temptation.We couldn't help but note how many people were also making Habegger's market their Saturday destination.

It was a great day for a drive through the country, and we look forward to future trips to Habegger's, as well as discovery other delights of the area about which we have learned since our return. Just trying to do our part to eat local, with delicious results. What did you do over the weekend?

friday five: summertime and the living is abundant!

painted by my dear friend Wendilee Heath O'Brien

At RevGals Dorcas greets us: So, what's up, Rev Gals and Pals? How are you spending your summer? (I know, some of you are in a different hemisphere and it may be chilly...sorry!) Are you experiencing fire or floods or tornados? Vacationing? Working harder than ever? Experiencing change? Longing for change?

Share five things that are happening in your life, personally or professionally or some of each, in this season of life.

1) Big change here! An involuntary departure from my most recent adventure in parish ministry has led to an amazing opportunity. Through what can only be attributed to divine intervention I am now working at a local university as interim director of their center for women and nontraditional students. This is an amazing place, great staff, and I am in heaven.

2) My departure from the parish (I wasn't fired, there just wasn't money to support my continuing employment) led to a great deal of soul-searching, grieving and assessing. I realized this morning, tearing up as I listened to a moving story on NPR, that the boundaries of parish ministry were like shackles on my soul. I feel liberated (thank you, God!), and am reconnecting to deep reservoirs within my being that feed me in hugely beneficial ways. I will probably be a more sacramental presence to the people I serve here than I could be to members of my previous parishes thanks to this change. I feel like Lazarus being unbound.

3) Grandchild number three is due to make his or her entrance into the world any day now. Can't wait to meet him or her!

4) Because I am no longer working a parish ministry schedule I have weekends! That is a big, huge, fat Amen!

5) Being in a new work environment I am meeting new people, experiencing new challenges, finding new strengths, reviving my confidence and plunging with glee into the future. Yay! and YAY!

thankful thursday

It's an adjustment, this being-on-a-schedule-thing. I've gotten up just once at the time I intended. I still get out the door on time when I get up later than I should but there are consequences. Like having to buy my lunch yesterday since I ran out of time to make and take it. But this morning I actually have time to blog before I leave for work!

LOTS of things for which to be thankful. Starting with coffee, which helps me ease into consciousness at these earlier hours.

I move quickly to my gratitude for pain medication. Two days ago my right hip began to hurt. Yesterday it began to ache just after lunch, and continued to ache through the day. It was particularly bad last night and the extra strength whatever it was didn't alleviate the pain by bedtime. Which meant that sleep came much later than I needed, and which also meant that multiple attempts to go to bed and get to sleep confused the heck out of the dogs. Not to mention me. I think Ken slept through it all. If the pain persists a visit to the doctor will be in order.

I work at an awesome university. New student orientation happens multiple times during the summer with small and manageable slices of the population of the new students and their parents at each session. I have renewed appreciation for my Boss (as opposed to my boss) who does a superb job of assuring parents that MTSU is committed to helping students succeed. At a session with parents yesterday she communicated that reality with directness, honesty, compassion and humor. You rock, Deb!

Golf carts are invaluable on a large college campus.

Yesterday a student gave me a "welcome!" card, along with the gift of a frame to let me know that I was appreciated. Pass me the kleenex! This same student came to the office on Friday to have a quiet place where he could take part in a conference call with President Obama and other students around the country. It was pretty cool to be within earshot of that opportunity for Laurence.

It feels incredible to work with people who have faith and confidence in me, who tell me that they're glad I'm there, and who pile assignments on because they know I'll get the job done. That latter part is a little overwhelming with three days under my belt, but I've got a handle on it!

Today is the second day of this round of new student orientation, which means that wardrobe decisions are much easier than other days. I am to wear blue!

And off I go to get into my blue. For what are you thankful?

patriotic miscellany

I struggle to be original, and although I sometimes succeed at originality I often need inspiration (read: an idea to copy or steal) to accomplish whatever is in my sights. Like today. I'm copying The Bug's presentation of a patriotic version of a Monday miscellany. Ready or not!

My favorite period of American history is the Revolutionary War. Especially the 70's. When I was a tween I wanted to be a docent at Colonial Williamsburg so I could wear those cool dresses. I even wrote a letter to inquire about how to go about getting the job and got a really snotty response. I guess being 13 didn't impress them much. I ended up making my own really cool costume later on. Take THAT, Williamsburg.

In keeping with my love for all things revolutionary I also have in my possession a 13-starred flag. My younger brother (who can be very original) got the idea of giving it to me one year for my birthday. Best. Gift. Ever! Except for the Sheltie when I was 11. My beloved flag hasn't flown in a while. The other day Ken and I were at Home Depot and he bought a "regular" flag (the last one we had got sort of torn up by snagging on the bricks on our house). When I mentioned that I had this Beloved Flag he asked, "why?" Men. They can be so clueless sometimes. (Dr. M., you are an exception, especially regarding this flag!).

Does anyone remember a very short-lived television series back in, oh, 1970, called The Young Rebels? Set in greater Philly, 1777. I ate, slept, and breathed that show. I even wrote my own stories for the characters. You can take the TV show out of the lineup but you can't--well, never mind.

Another tidbit of my revolutionary war-phile era (and then I'll move on, promise) is that I really wanted to be part of a fife and drum corp. March in parades and all that stuff. It wasn't the parades that was cool, it was the dressing up part. I know, there's a theme in the offing. Any wonder I became a priest? I get to dress up!  I played the recorder so I figured it couldn't be too much of a stretch to play a fife. Or whatever it's called. I seem to recall that my mother discouraged me from pursuing this. The word "no" comes to mind. But I honestly can't recall and I don't mean to malign my mother in any way. She knows I love her. Eventually I got over the fife and drum thing. I think I realized that I would be really hot (as in sweaty hot) in that colonial costume. Especially marching in a parade on July 4.

According to a very well hidden legend the song Yankee Doodle (as in "went to town,...") was "inspired" by the disorderly troops under the command of one of my lateral ancestors. A great-great-great-great-great-grandmother's brother, to be precise: Colonel Thomas Fitch.  Lest Tom get all the glory, his sister, Elizabeth (that would my ancestor), later saved the town of Fairfield, CT from being burned by the British. Girls rule!

I have two favorite musicals. One is A Chorus Line, the other is 1776. Surprised you there, didn't I?  I was fortunate to see it twice with its original cast on Broadway, with William Daniels as John Adams, and Ken Howard as Thomas Jefferson. I still break into song sometimes when certain phrases cue the lyrics. Musicals written for the stage just don't translate well to movies, IMHO. For instance, the play ends with the various representatives of the Continental Congress being called up to John Hancock's desk to sign the Declaration of Independence. The liberty bell begins to toll in the background. Adams, Jefferson, Franklin and two others are standing there at the desk when the tolling of the bell crescendos and a screen with the declaration printed on it drops like a curtain in front of the scene. A light shines from behind it and the scene on stage freezes. You realize that it is the famous portrait of the signing (see below). There is such power in that visual presentation of the signing and the words superimposed with the image.  This isn't what makes this a fabulous musical, it's just the crowning glory. If you haven't ever seen it, I recommend highly that you do so if the opportunity presents itself.

I guess that's enough historic miscellany for today. I hope you enjoy your celebration, whatever it entails, or your day, wherever you might be. For the record, we'll be home doing regular stuff, and our cooking out will involve a drunken chicken.

a mammoth day

With mere days left before the rhythm of my life changes dramatically, several days ago Ken and I revived an idea that we'd considered over a year ago. With the acquisition of a golden access pass, Ken (and at times, his companion(s)) gets free or discounted admission to national parks and their associated attractions. We contemplated visiting a different national park within a 100-mile radius of where we live once a month. There are about ten that fit that description, and we felt in good position to begin to check them off our list. That is, until the incredibly uncomfortable heat and humidity of last summer set in. The idea of being out in nearly 100-degree heat, with accompanying humidity, put a distinct damper on our plans.

We looked at our collective schedules and chose yesterday to head of to Mammoth Cave National Park, less than two hours from home in Mammoth Cave, KY. We had a gorgeous day for our outing, with temperatures hitting their peak in the low 80's, and zero humidity. The skies were blue and the sun bright and beckoning. Once in the park we paused to let rather large wild turkeys cross the road (no jokes, please), and shortly thereafter spotted a doe with her twin fawns. This picture is of one of them (my error on spotting the deer was in ogling this tame trio instead of grabbing my camera immediately--thus limiting my photo opps to this single shot).

Mammoth Cave NP is a HUGE park, with cave tours as the highlight but far from the only activity. We have learned that many such parks aren't done justice by a single day's visit, so we knew better than to attempt to cram in too much. We settled, instead, on a single cave tour with the highlight of stalactites and stalagmites toward the end.

Known as the New Entrance (blasted out in 1921), it takes about two hours to wind down labyrinthine stair steps through the living part of this section of the cave, known as the sinkhole. It is referred to as living because of the continuing presence of water. These next pictures are in the sinkhole--looking up, over and down (click to enlarge for a closer look).

 

 

Upon inquiry we learned that it took three years to install the stairs (which at times take you through rather narrow and contorting spaces) that take you to an area 250 feet below ground known as Grand Central Station: so called because of its relative size to the sinkhole through which you've just ventured. I opted not to take a picture there, since the light from my flash would not illuminate its size, nor was there an adequate place to try a time-lapsed exposure.  Generally speaking it was about the size of a basketball court, with a lower ceiling and irregular, sloping floors punctuated by chunks of rock. Grand Central is considered dormant: a constant temperature (54 degrees), no humidity and no water.

From Grand Central we walked--and sometimes climbed--through more dormant portions of the cave until we reached the most impressive section known as the drapery room, full of stalactites and some stalagmites. The remaining walk from that area to the exit also contained some stunning formations where I was able to use the handrail to steady my camera for a longer exposure and less washed out color. Then again, we are talking about shale and lime rock, not known for their splashy contribution to the world of geology.

 

 

 

 

 

Let's not forget our intrepid adventurers!

After some time in the bookstore we headed to the nearest Dairy Queen (thanks to Linda, our informative travel information concierge), then wended our way south through beautiful Kentucky farmland toward home. It was a wonderful day full of God's splendor, highly recommended to one and all.

beyond warts

This past Wednesday Ken and I lived the refrain from one of Toby Keith's songs: "I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." Early that morning we got up at 2:00 a.m. to drive to Rockwell, North Carolina to attend the funeral of Ken's aunt. It's a seven hour drive, and with a time zone to cross putting the pedal to the metal was imperative. We arrived as the casket was being taken from the hearse and carried into the church. Phew! Three hours later we were back in the car, heading home. It was a long day.

Travel like this is sort of an out-of-body experience. Were we really there?  Did our heads leave and return to the same pillows on that day and yet give us the gift of those few hours with family far away?

In the natural course of things on the way home we talked some about the family we had just seen. Ken made calls to his dad and sister to "report in," and conversation around the nature of those conversations (or lack thereof) fueled further conversation. I shared with Ken a recent conclusion I had reached after reflecting on the stories and details of families with whom I am acquainted. No matter what "norm" our culture/society tries to paint of what a family looks like, few bear a resemblance to that projected norm.

Whether the family portrait reflects hues of divorce, addiction, triplets, estrangement, illness, adoption, no children, eight children, disability, premature death, infidelity, abuse, gifted children, homosexuality, celebrity, poverty, trophy wives, wealth, fill in the blank--it seems that no family is spared a reality skewed from the cultural ideal (I am not attaching value to any of these descriptors, only naming deviations from the cultural script). Some of us are unphased by this, some adapt, others learn to cope reasonably well, and still others carry scars that impair them for life.

Reflecting on that notion further this morning I heard in my mind a scene from Franco Zeffirelli's 1968 film Romeo and Juliet. I was 11 when I saw it, and was captivated by it. I bought the record of the movie and listened to it endlessly, essentially memorizing the whole thing. The scene to which I refer is the concluding portion of the story, whereupon receiving news of the deaths of Paris, Romeo and Juliet the prince ferets out what led to their demise. To the heads of the Capulet and Montague families he says,

See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.
And I for winking at your discords too
Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd.

In the film, astride his horse, the prince repeats those final three words, shouting them at the top of his voice, "all are punished!"  The words reverberate among the cobbled floor of the town square and the walls of buildings surrounding it.

It is that declaration of punishment that echoes in my mind now, not stemming from hate and power-wrangling as in the case of Shakespeare's story, but as a result of the many ways our lives become fractured and damaged. It causes me to wonder why, when we have the means to heal and recover from damaging story lines, and when the desire for wholeness generally permeates our being, we shrink from opportunities that lead to that wholeness. Why is it so hard to be honest and vulnerable, to risk sharing our hurts and bridging gaps when instead hateful words are hurled, or taunting putdowns and meanness carry the day? I know the clinical answers, but that's not good enough. I believe we all have the capacity to put aside whatever false benefit we believe power holds for us, to be seared by the healing power that comes from love, or at the least, the willingness to respect another person.  It boggles my mind that the world is full of so much dysfunction when it doesn't have to be, and worse, that human beings choose dysfunction over health.  The result is that we all are punished.

I know it can be wearying to put on our best face, to lay bare the rawness of our being in an effort to overlook the toxic fruit that emanates from the wounds of others. I am convinced, however, that without efforts to show love in return, to mete out kindness and compassion as balms for those wounds, we will spend our lives in the shadow of punishment.  That's unacceptable to me. I hope it is unacceptable to you as well.

friday five: faith and culture

At RevGals Terri and the church she serves are involved in a week-long celebration of ecumenism across faiths. With that celebration as a jumping off point, she invites us to consider:

1. Have you ever had an experience of a religion other than your own? And, if so, what was it like for you to experience something different? If you haven't, what religion might you like to study, experience, and learn more about?

I grew up in a community with a large Jewish population, so I counted among my friends, neighbors and classmates many Jews. This was my norm. I didn't think twice about fellow students missing school days for high holy days, and talk of Pesach and Seders (among other holidays and events) was as common as conversations about Christian holidays and traditions. I attended several Seders, and though the first one was a new experience for me, it never occurred to me to consider it as something "different." In fact, for a period of time after that matzoh was on our grocery list.

2. Have you ever studied, traveled, or explored other cultures? What and where, and when?

I was very fortunate to be part of a leadership team on a trip to Israel and Egypt in 1997. One of the things that impressed me most was the coexistence of cultures in Jerusalem that looked nothing like the conflict depicted via the media in the United States. I am so grateful for that first hand look. An impression was also made by our tour guide, a Jew, and our bus driver, a Palestinian. They ate together at most of our meals along our trip, and talked and joked together as we journeyed. 

The camaraderie of these men stood in contrast to the reality of travel in Egypt, where Cairo street corners were populated by machine-gun-bearing soldiers, and our tour bus had its own undercover, armed guard. (The presence of the military was also evident in Israel, but they somehow "blended in."  I guess that should be a little disturbing.)

Another impression was architectural. I found Israel to be uninspired, architecturally: homes were built of concrete and functional in design. Beauty seemed irrelevant. Egypt, on the other hand, and mosques in particular, were stunningly beautiful. With the Islamic prohibition on depicting anything live, geometric figures were lively, colorful, and dynamic.

3. Any stories you wish to share about a person (author, teacher, etc), or a friend or colleague, from another culture or religion, who has impacted you in some capacity?

My above answers hint at this. I don't think of individuals as having impact on me as much as being part of what has informed and shaped me over time. I was fortunate to grow up in a family and religious tradition (Quaker) that honors and values diversity. My own reality included learning from everyone, in whatever way their life differed from mine. Perhaps it is no wonder, then, that among my family my older brother is agnostic, his wife Jewish, my younger brother Buddhist, his wife a Buddhist converted from Roman Catholicism, and me, the Episcopal priest who tries to embody being a Quakopalian. 

a daughter tips her hat

For the record? I don't have the greatest father in the world. Most of the people who know my Dad would be shocked to hear me say that. He has one of the biggest fan clubs imaginable, and if you met him you would understand why. I understand why. He's very personable, interested in people, listens, is compassionate and empathetic, kind and generous. He can laugh at himself and express the depths of his soul in eloquent words. He's smart and creative and inquisitive, and he's not afraid of pushing the envelope.

But Dad has deep wounds that, although he's worked to understand them, he hasn't been willing to risk their healing. Those wounds get in the way of intimacy and connection at the deep levels where it matters. Or at least they did while I was growing up and becoming an adult.

In early adulthood I tried to build a new relationship with my father as two adults. Again and again he disappointed me, until one day I realized that I  had to change my expectations. I didn't lower my expectations to avoid disappointment. Instead I got to know the man who was my father, and came to understand who he was and what had shaped the person he had become and was becoming. That change on my part made all the difference in the world toward opening a door to relationship with him.

A new perspective also made it possible to see him as others did. When I was in seminary he came down to New Haven to take me and my roommates out to dinner. One of my roommates was a med student (Dad is a doctor), and as he engaged her in conversation over dinner I got a glimpse of the professional so respected among his peers, and other medical professionals with whom he worked. It was a rare moment of objective appraisal that I cherish.

Dad had polio as a child, and in his elder years the consequences of that illness have contributed to a significant physical fragility.  He cannot walk on his own, and even the use of a walker puts such a strain on his upper body that the walker is only useful for short distances. That doesn't stop him from trying to cover greater distances, to his peril. On my recent visit home I arrived at his house in the midst of one of those less successful attempts at ambulation. Unable to support his weight, he had fallen. But he raised himself to his knees and, using the walker for support, shuffled his way to the front door to let me in. We then struggled to help him get upright again so that he could return to his spot on the couch in the living room. It took multiple efforts and resilient determination on the part of my father, but we managed to get him where he needed to be.

In the face of this lifestyle Dad is bored, but uncomplaining. Caught vulnerable on his knees, he was not embarrassed or self-conscious. He sees his current physical state as a natural--if unfortunate--evolution. He rolls with the punch.

I didn't get the father I wanted, but as his daughter I have access to a man that I admire greatly in many, many ways, and for that I am thankfuul. On this day of honoring Dads I honor the man who is my Dad, and I am glad to do so.

untangling the knots

Next week will mark the sixteenth anniversary of my ordination as priest. That's not a long time, but it's a significant length of time to have walked that path. As I stand at the present fork in the road of my life I haven't really said much about why I choosing the prong of that fork that doesn't have anything to do with priestly ministry. The short answer is that it hasn't worked out. The long answer is considerably more complex and nuanced.

Here's a window into that complexity that might help understand where I am.

It's not uncommon to hear that members of any church think that pastors or preachers don't do anything between Sundays. I'm not going to waste my time dignifying that myopic cluelessness, but it does share similar qualities with a persistent experience of mine as a parish priest. When parishioners express their appreciation for me as a priest that appreciation has fallen into a singular category: preaching. Don't get me wrong, to be praised in the area of preaching is not a small thing. I suspect there are any number of clergy out there who are starved for praise in that department. But here's the rub. It's essentially the ONLY area of my ministry that has received appreciation.

Why is this an issue? For reasons that escape me it is the only one that members of congregations I have served seem to notice. Let's do the math. Fifteen minutes out of a sixty-hour week (the average norm for clergy) is .625%.  Does it make sense that it frustrates me that 99.375% of my effort goes under-acknowledged and unappreciated?

My coach helped me understand this dynamic in this way: in parish work my strengths and abilities were focused around communicating opportunity, illuminating possibilities, sharing transforming realities, honoring diversity, assuring the love and available presence of God in times of distress, listening, expressing gratitude for the efforts of volunteers, encouraging doubters, speaking truth, mediating grace, loving when I didn't like, valuing the smallest contribution, telling stories of hope, and more. The collective behavior of the people I served suggested that they paid attention to what was available to them and chose not to participate in the kingdom being proclaimed.

In visual terms I was about growth (picture vertical, reaching upward), the community was about business as usual (picture a flat, horizontal line). See that intersection? No wonder there was no affirmation, appreciation or recognition. No wonder I felt empty and starved. No wonder it's time to use what God has given me in a place where music can be made.

Does this mean that the world of parish ministry is empty and void of fulfillment? No. What it means is that my experience of serving in it has left me depleted.

For the record: there are individuals from  my congregations who have told me about transformation resulting from sermons, or bible studies, or one-on-one moments. I do have letters from parishioners who thanked me for my pastoral care, for being authentic and vulnerable, for helping them believe and hold on to hope when the world around them suggested otherwise. I have been chosen to lead retreats because it was evident that there was light in my soul, and because it was equally evident that I was eager to share that light. It has not all been a disappointment, and it does matter that 1% of my time could touch so many hearts and lives and make a difference in them (including members of the Bush family!).

Coming to understand that it is best, and right for me to take another path right now does not mean I have answers, only clarity where there was once a great deal of fog. It is my prayer that revelation will continue to unfold, that way will open, and that the moment of dancing in the light is not too far in the future.

friday five: stairway of surprise

At RevGals Jan is inspired by "a book entitled Stairway of Surprise: Six Steps to a Creative Life by Michael Lipson. His premise is a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: "I shall mount to paradise by the stairway of surprise." Lipson's book is about practicing or developing six inner functions--thinking, doing, feeling, loving, opening, and thanking.

So these categories of attention are a jumping off point for today's Friday Five:

Pick five of the six actions and write about how you are practicing them today or recently. For a bonus, write about the sixth one you originally didn't choose!"

What or how are you...

1. thinking?
I am thinking about so many things! Old work, new possibilities, politics, relationships, working up the energy to do a thorough cleaning of our dog-ruined carpets... Some thoughts emerge of their own accord and some are thrust upon me. Poke me at any given time and you'll find something different on my mind. In June 2011, that's the way it is!

2. doing?
Newly unemployed I am focused on looking for work. So much to say about that, so little energy to say it (at least this morning). Maybe tomorrow this weekend I'll expand on this. I've got the time!

3. feeling?
I'm in that place of coexisting contrasts: grieving what is lost (more than a job), and anticipating with excitement (if not a little anxiety) what lies ahead. I'm not wallowing in the former, but I am trying to honor its truth when it makes itself known. The latter is pretty much a "hot damn!" that comes with some rolling up of the sleeves.

4. loving?
This is my bonus "sixth." Some love is easy. The less easy is the uncomfortable part. Let's just say that there are some people in my life whom I love and whose behavior is hurtful. I'm trying to love my way through the hurt and make good, grounded decisions about how best to navigate the relational stresses. I strive to be honest about the hurt while acknowledging that the complexity of other lives and hearts skew the equation in ways that are difficult to anticipate. Another reminder that I continue to be a work in progress.

5. opening?
This is another category that, to do it justice, deserves a full response. Since I lack the time for that this morning I will simply say that I am opening possibilities.

6. thanking?
I just enjoyed the gift of almost two weeks back on "home turf" in Connecticut, land of my birth as well as of steady habits (CT folks will understand).  My time there with family, driving familiar roads and visiting favorite places (not to mention enjoying amazing June weather) was restoring as much as it was a respite after some difficult months. I am deeply grateful for everything that was part of that time away: reconnection, new connections and letting go. Being in the moment of each moment of that time was an expression of gratitude.

between chapters

It was inevitable. The grief, I mean. When I learned that I would be losing my job I was upset, angry, sad, jolted...  you name it. I had to process what I knew and what I would come to know and make my peace with it. I saw this transition as an opportunity for my benefit and growth. All well and good. The last day came and I turned in my keys and took home the last of my belongings: vestments, prayer book, stoles. The door closed behind me.

The following day I worked at cleaning the house and preparing for my mother's arrival, packing my own things and making arrangements for my trip to New England to see my family. I got in the car the following day and away we went.

Now, with that envelope of peace and comfort and familiarity and love and support back in another time zone, I face my life where I live my life.

Saturday night I didn't need to review the lessons or the logistics for the morning to come. Sunday morning it didn't matter what time I got up or what I did once my coffee cup was empty. I wasn't on vacation, I was in a new world.

I directed my attention to the jumble of chaos that my office contained. Sort, pitch, relocate, repeat. You wouldn't know it to stick your head in to my office, but it weighs considerably less than when I began. The ironing board is down at least, and the piles that were on top of it have been dispatched to their necessary resting places. Time to begin again.

And then I took a break, sat in the recliner and noticed the sun filtering through the windows. Sunday sun. And I wept. The grief is trickling, but it stings. The reality is that in spite of saying yes, in spite of praying, discerning, laboring, listening and yielding all these years, I am meant to be somewhere else. Perhaps one day I will make sense of the path that I followed. Perhaps one day I will see the opportunities and choices and experiences as divinely guided to bring me to a place of deeper joy and greater service. For now I grieve.

I do not regret the sacrifices to study. I do not regret the bumpy road that led to consecration. I do not regret the opportunity to meet and serve the number of lives that intersected with mine. I do not regret the tears or the joy of sacraments shared, lives welcomed or bid farewell. I do not regret any of it.

But I am sad. The loss is great and deep, and apparently necessary. I will welcome whatever comes next with gladness. I know that to be the truth because the bud of gladness is forming within my being, and it longs for light.

But today I am sad.

a brief look back

A quick post this morning as I am heading off to the Berkshires to meet an old friend for lunch. She posted on facebook that it has been 16 years since we've seen each other. Unbelievable!

My buddy The Bug mentioned that she was unaware of the fire to which I referred in my last post. Oddly enough I'm not sure I ever blogged about it, which is strange. Briefly, nearly two years ago a fire broke out at my mother's retirement community. It was in the roof of the "natatorium," which is a stone's throw from Mom's apartment. 46 residents were not only evacuated that night, but displaced for eight months while the effected section of the complex was gutted and rebuilt. It was a rough time for all, though the staff here were amazing and supported the residents and took great care of them every step of the way of that nightmarish journey. Only one apartment suffered real damage from the fire, though all got water from the sprinklers. Every impacted apartment was emptied and put into storage. Anything wet that couldn't be dried (papers, for instance) was thrown away. Fortunately for Mom all essential papers are in filing cabinets and didn't get wet, so she suffered minimal loss. My particular job on this visit is to regroup and arrange a collection of photographs for the hallway. Seems I have a knack!

So it's high-ho, high-ho, to the Berkshires I will go for a delightful and nostalgic visit to that area of western Massachusetts. Have a grand day!

pigeon watch

When Mom and I arrived at her place last Wednesday we discovered that pigeons had been regular visitors to the deck off the living room of her apartment. Let's just say that they left a multitude of calling cards. Very messy. One of the neighbors whose window gives them a magnificent view of Mom's deck mentioned that he thought some nest-building had also been going on. We decided to explore further and, sure enough, in the shadow of some folded chairs propped against the wall there was, indeed, a nest. See above! One pigeon hatchling and one egg waiting to hatch.

It's not every day that you have a front row seat to such an event, so I've been keeping a watchful eye through the deck door to cheer the second baby pigeon's arrival. But day by day, Mama roosted and the egg didn't hatch. We began to worry that the egg wouldn't hatch, and last night a lot of mournful cooing and the company of other pigeons perched on building rooftops piqued our curiosity. This morning the egg is outside of the nest, and Mama and Papa can't seem to decide what to do next. We're a tad worried about the baby, not that we're eager for a growing population of pigeons, but all God's creatures deserve a fair shake at a good start in life. So we watch, and wait.

In more important news my godfather, George, died the day we arrived, so I was not able to see him to say goodbye. The good news is that I am here for his funeral on Monday and time with the gathered family, and I am grateful for that. This is one of the ways that God is being good to me right now.

Halfway through my visit I have lunched with my nephew, had a visit with my dad, dinner and a movie (The Cave of Forgotten Dreams, a documentary) with my older brother and his wife, and a good visit with my younger brother. The week ahead holds more opportunities with family, a "meet half way" with a friend, coffee and networking with the director of Friends Committee on National Legislation (FCNL), and a handful of projects to help Mom restore her apartment to pre-fire glory. Furthermore, the weather has been spectacular and the rhododendron are still glorious. The time will pass more quickly than I would like.

Hoping that you all are well and holding the fort in my absence. Ciao!