friday five: 2012 recap, sort of

At RevGals Deb writes:

As we take a breather from the busy weekend of Sunday/Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, it's time to reflect on the past year. It's hard to move out of this holiday season with its delights and celebrations. Here at our home, we've barely finished the eggnog. The tree is still up and our cats delight in knocking off the lower (unbreakable) ornaments. As we are rounding the final turn on the year 2012, I hope you'll play along with these questions. :)

This has not been a banner year for me, so I'm grateful for the opportunity to look for the good that it wrought!

RECYCLE:

1. What is some "old news" this year that you'd like to repeat for 2013?

I would love to spend time with friends I met through blogging, and who I finally met in real life in July. I want me some more of that!

2. What "new thing" have you started that you want to keep going in 2013?

 Writing timely thank you notes

RE-GIFT:

3. What event, experience or gift would you just as soon "Return to Sender"? Maybe it was a disastrous sermon, a congregational kerfuffle, a vacation nightmare, or your own mis-step. It can be funny or sad. 

In a moment of pique I included something in a blog post that proved to be a huge mistake, and has caused lasting damage. That was in August. The impact lingers. 

REFLECT:

4. Share the brightest bit of joy that was a part of your year. 

My aunt's 85th birthday celebration, which reunited family members from across the country and the generations. I hadn't seen some of my cousins in more than 20 years. It was a great time.

5. Share a picture that says far more than words. (You can use it to illustrate one of the above.) 

My favorite picture from the year. You can't hear my grandson giggle, but there is so much joy in this picture, taken at my favorite place in the world (our family farm), at my favorite time of day.

 

BONUS:

Share a recipe! Soup, stew, main dish, side dish or a healthy dessert - any and all are welcome!

One of our favorite healthy recipes is fish tacos (a Pampered Chef recipe). I don't bother with the tortilla half of the time, which makes this even healthier!

Fish Tacos

serves 4 (two tacos each)

Slaw:

1/4 cup sliced green onions with tops

2 T snipped fresh cilantro

1 T fresh lime juice

1 T olive or canola oil

1 garlic clove, pressed

1 t sugar (I use honey)

1/2 t Cajun seasoning

2 cups broccoli slaw mix

Fish:

1 pound tilapia fish fillets

1 T cajun seasoning

1 avocado, seeded, peeled and sliced

8 (6-inch) corn tortillas, warmed (I use flour tortillas, personal preference)

3 medium radishes

Combine first seven slaw ingredients in a bowl. Whisk until blended. Add broccoli mizture and toss to coat. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Heat grill pan over medium heat 5 minutes. Season fish with Cajun seasoning. Brush oil on pan. Place fillets in pan and cook over medium heat 10-12 minutes or until fish flakes easily with fork, turning carefully once.  flake fish into bite-size pieces.

Grate or finely chop radishes. Microwave tortillas on high 1 minute. Top evenly with slaw mixture and fish. Add radish pieces and avocado slices. Top with additional cilantro, if desired.

risky business

More years ago than I can recall, a friend recommended Anne Lamott's book, Bird by Bird, to me. The title is misleading: one might think that it's about birds, but it is, in fact, about writing. Birds serve more as object lessons than subject matter, but This colorful way of titling her book notwithstanding, Anne Lamott became known to me. She has gone on to write other, more widely circulated books, and has become something of a celebrity among women of faith who enjoy raw, honest writing with humor, and a touch of self-deprecation. She's an absolute gem. I considered it one of my finest hours when a blogging/facebook/cyber-friend remarked that something I wrote sounded like Anne Lamott. High Praise!

Thanks to my mother's generosity at Christmas I am now the proud owner of Anne's most recent publication on prayer, Help, Thanks, Wow. As is typical for me when reading such a book, my thoughts begin to go off on their own thread of reflection, and just such a departure from the page led me here to this blog post. Anne writes: "Prayer is taking a chance that against all odds and past history,  we are loved and chosen, and do not have to get it together before we show up. The opposite may be true: We may not be able to get it together until after we show up in such miserable shape." (Prelude, page 5-6)

This absolutely struck a chord with me. The first part of the above quote speaks to the difficult line that clergy walk at all times, and that female clergy, in particular, struggle with daily. Or at least I think so. Don't get me wrong, we can be a confident lot with very good cause, and there are any number of my brothers and sisters of the cloth whose lives radiate confidence because they are grounded, solid, authentic people whose inner strength overwhelms the wobbles far more often than not. There is an expectation that assaults us regularly, however, and that is the notion that we have our act together before we "show up," as Anne puts it. Trying to meet that expectation can feel, at times, like walking barefoot on glass, but we risk getting bloody because that's what servants of God do. (No disrespect intended toward servants who don't wear collars--I'm simply speaking here as one who does).

I put aside the collar to move on to the latter sentence. I've felt pretty ragged the last several months. Being released from a job that I did well and for which I was qualified to continue doing well has taken a toll. The road I pursued from there ran out, and no clear path forward has emerged. I have listened to my heart, listened for the will and voice of God, and made every effort to apply the lessons of the past to making choices for the future, and firm ground has not emerged. Others disappointments and hurts compound the stress. This is a hard, debilitating and demoralizing place to be, and it takes more energy to "show up" than most people realize. But I am trying. I am trying to show up, to be engaged, to let go of my own expectations to have it together so that I can at least be present in my raggedness with the hope, and prayer, of finding a way toward wholeness. 

I have felt low, to be sure, but today I have finally acknowledged to myself that I am broken. This is not a "woe is me" acknowledgement, but a "stopping to take stock" moment. Years ago when I shattered my heel, my father comforted me during a period of extended pain by explaining to me that what I was experiencing was healing pain. My body was doing its job of repairing what had been broken, and in so doing the effort resulted in pain. This made sense to my intuitive self, and that wisdom has come in handy from time to time since that episode.  It is time to be reminded of it again.  Sometimes I am too good at reviewing and assessing what contributes to my pain, and once I have a grasp of the parts and can make as much sense of it as possible, I strive to move forward and past what has been hurtful and damaging. I do a disservice to myself at such times when the damage goes deep. Feeling the pain and grieving what is lost and broken can appear, and sometimes feel, self-indulgent. It is a place I don't like to stay, because I'm not fond of wallowing. But a period of experiencing the pain of healing is essential to the healing itself. I fear that of late--because there is so much pressure to move forward, find a job,  pay the bills, repair what is broken, be confident--the work of healing is a job itself. 

So before I pick up where I left off in Help, Thanks, Wow, I need to sweep the glass metaphorically from my path and not berate myself for spending the day in my pajamas. I can curl up with the dog, a cup of tea, the box of chocolates that was her gift to me for Christmas, a box of kleenex, and just read. And while I'm at it I'll cry, and grieve, and hurt, and let the pain of healing go to work on me.  This is me, showing up. Collar optional.

let us pray

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. (Psalm 90:1-2)

Once again, we are reminded about the meaning of this bleak midwinter we call Advent. For God did not come to create a greeting card industry, nor so we could string lights on houses and trees. God did not become one of us so we might have office parties and give people things they don't really need. God was not born so songs could be written and sermons preached.

God came for such mornings as this, after the long night of anguished tossing and turning, with visions of horror dancing in our heads. God came to walk with us as we wander the streets of our hearts asking, 'how? why? when?'

God came to huddle with terrified children in closets where school supplies are stored, and to give teachers the strength not to show their worst fears. God came to cradle the wounded and the dying, so they would know they were not abandoned in that loneliest of moments.

God came to give the first responders the courage to walk into the unspeakable, willing to put themselves between danger and little children. God came to gather the parents and grandparents up into the divine lap of comfort and hope, even as their arms would no longer be able to embrace their child. God came to have that most compassionate heart broken as many times as ours are, to weep with us even when we have run out of tears, to stand next to us with the same look of horror and disbelief.

God came for mornings such as this, with the same haggard face, with the same questions, with the same anger, with the same sense of loss and hopelessness, but with deep wells of grace from which we can drink, with compassion which will never end, with comforting arms which will not grow weary, with hope which stretches from everlasting to everlasting.

God came, and is still with us.

© 2012 Thom M. Shuman, Occasional Sightings of the Gospel

in the shadow of friday

This morning as I read various reports and reactions about what happened in Newtown my thoughts slide past the grief and sadness. For better or worse my life is a bit saturated with those emotions and I don't have much room for more right now. The sign on the door of my heart directs me to my head, so that is where I go.That explains the irritation that arises when I see the graphic-gone-viral that misspells Newtown, omitting the second w.

For most people Newtown is a now-familiar dot on the map, but to me it is a place I  know. I've spent time in Newtown. My best friend in divinity school lived there with her family, and I was a regular guest in their home. I ate at restaurants in town, visited the library, the local video store and other businesses. Getting ready to graduate I interviewed at the Episcopal Church whose stone spire is visible from the road after you get off the highway and head up the hill to an intersection anchored by a flagpole boasting the American flag. The person through whom my spiritual journey was forever altered, the trajectory of which led me to the Episcopal Church and all that followed was once rector of that church. Newtown is not a dot on the map to me, it is part of my story.

I listened to an interview with one of the teachers from Sandy Hook Elementary about how she protected the children in her care. Locking the door. Keeping them quiet. Insisting when the police arrived that they prove who they were by pushing their badges under the door and demanding that if they were "the good guys" then they would access to the keys to unlock the door. Hearing the details of her experience gave me fresh ears when the usual "the tragedy could have been minimized if the teachers were allowed to carry guns" argument came out of the brush. I don't think so. In a case like this one can protect or one can defend, but not both. You cannot soothe the fears of children and draw them into a huddle when you're busy pulling your piece out of your coat pocket to confront a maniac armed with multiple weapons and wearing protective gear. Chances are better than good that an armed response by a teacher or staff member might distract an assailant for a moment, but would likely end up a casualty. Worse, that posture would leave children unsupervised, and very much to their own devices. One young student noted, "I know karate, I can go..." You can imagine how that would turn out.


To all those people who are posting that this action is somehow connected to constitutional restrictions on prayer in school, that God isn't there because God isn't allowed to be there, stop it.  Such a suggestion diminishes God at every level.

Yet again the call has gone forth to do something to end this kind of violence through gun control. Many have pointed to statistics about gun-related violence and death. I'm in your corner. I'm not a fan of guns. I have, however, been listening over the years since marrying a man who grew up hunting, spent a career in the military, and as an avocation is a student of human behavior (at least in certain quarters). Our constitution ties our hands considerably when it comes to matters of gun control. It seems to me that the solution lies less in controlling weaponry and more in nurturing human beings. We are a violent society because we encourage and stoke the primal part of our being that seeks power and control. Yes, we are "free" to do so, but that freedom runs roughshod over any attempt to encourage the responsibility that is the flip-side of that privilege. Being bullied is a normative experience for many because the ethos of our culture, especially for boys, cheers the "top dog" who uses any means necessary to reach that pinnacle. Intimidation and physical prowess find reward where the values of compromise and consensus are left in the dust. When our  nation's leaders look to point fingers rather than take responsibility how can we expect our citizens to act differently? When we demonstrate a value for decency and respect, perhaps that behavior will begin to emerge as prevalent.

In his facebook post this morning Tom Ryan (of Following Atticus) shared a reflection to yesterday's events, and offered a quote from Victor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning. The quote reads, “everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” I second that. If we are not already doing so it is time to make some different choices. Honor one another. Learn from differences. Value diversity. Love everyone. Bless the world with so much love that we almost burst from the light. Put prayer into action. Do one thing to add beauty to the world today as a way to honor the lives that were lost, not just in Newtown but in every corner of our broken world. We have to do this together. We must.

making the list

I woke up this morning thinking about today's Christmas lunch for our diocesan women clergy. Organized by two of my colleagues, it is an event I have been anticipating with some gladness, eager to be with my sisters of the cloth who I rarely see any more. The more I imagined that time together, however, the more tender I felt. Chances are that our canon to the ordinary will be there, and her presence would pretty much stifle any freedom to share honestly what life has been like for me as a priest in the eighteen months since leaving my last parish. The tears pricked and the sobs began to emerge, and in a few minutes I was out of bed and making my way to the coffee pot. Far removed from the bedroom, I let the tears flow without ceasing and the sobs shook my body as I huddled against the kitchen counter in the cold.

It's all so complicated. Monday was the anniversary of my ordination to the deaconate 18 years ago. Last night a friend was sharing on facebook the joy of her ordination to the same. It was bittersweet to read her posts and see the pictures. I remember the joy, the hope and the promise. Now I am still trying to come to terms with the call whose embers continue to burn within me and the shattered reality of what life can be like in the Church. Or out of the Church, as the case is for me these days. 

It is a threadbare life, spiritually. Holiness still permeates my soul, which longs like a deer for refreshment from the stream. I am grateful for the ability to imagine the glow of God's light within, and relieved that I experience a sense of divine companionship as a result. This is an exceedingly lonely time, isolated by geography from the people who matter most to me, and lacking connection with a community that "gets" the pothole-filled road I travel. I am weary of cheery platitudes that trivialize my pain and disregard my experience, and efforts to steer me onto a broad and level path carved out by popular devotion. I wonder if, when I will find my place again among the mediators of grace and sacrament, a place that provides a plumb line of purpose and fulfillment. 

Into this hollow place of longing a ray of light fell this morning. A "list" of Christian women bloggers has been compiled and shared, and its existence is being made known across the internet. A friend and colleague who I have come to know and value through the blog world posted a link to the list, and there, tucked into the r's was my very own blog title. It is a glimmer of light, one among 1001, but it is there. Recognized. Appreciated. Not invisible. My favorite line from Antoine de St. Exupery's The Little Prince comes to mind. "If you love a flower that lives on a star, when you look at the sky at night all the stars are abloom with flowers." I don't equate appearing on a list with being loved, but the recognition does serve to refresh my bloom, and I am humbled to be in the company of some amazing women who share and reflect upon what it means to be a Christian woman. To be included is a small thing of huge significance. I may feel alone, but I am in the good company of other seekers who yearn, hope, love, give, weep and pray as part of the larger community of the faithful. Together we bloom, and together our light shines across the universe. I am held up by that light even as I contribute to it in my own way, on my own journey. 

Today I am grateful for so much light from sources known and unknown. I will put one foot in front of the other, the tears that flow will water the flower that lives on the star, and I will strive through it all to bloom.

My friend The Bug has given me a reader appreciation award! And since I appreciate being appreciated I’m answering the questions & passing it on. Thanks Buggles!!
Where do you do most of your writing/blogging?

I write at my desk, in front of a computer. Sometimes I actually journal in long hand in a notebook or journal. It's really been a while since I did that, though.

What books were your childhood favorites? 

I loved The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Pippy Longstocking, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Encyclopaedia Brown, and just about anything else I could get my hands on. I read a lot when I was a young'un. 

Who is your favorite fictional character? 

Wow, that question caught me off guard. In terms of books I reached into the Mitford series to name my most beloved dog, Dooley. He was named for a impish kid named Dooley Barlow. How impish? Well, how can you not love a kid who emerges from the parish bathroom and announces, "There's corn in my poop!" Kind of endeared me to him forever.  The entire ensemble cast of The West Wing is right up there, too.

What is your favorite time of day and why? 

I have two favorites. One is first thing in the morning when I get up and get my coffee and surf the net (as in facebook, Pinterest, news and a daily dose of sudoku). The other is a more "physical" time of day, which is late afternoon when the shadows are long and the sun kisses everything with a lovely golden yellow. Love. That. Time. of. Day.

Have you ever Googled yourself and been surprised at what you’ve found? 

Yes, and no.

Who would play you in a movie of your life?

That would be Allison Janney, who became known to me when she played the indefatigable Director of Communications for Jed Bartlett on The West Wing. She's tall, like me, and I used to be thin. You see the resemblance, don't you?

Wanna play? There aren't many people who follow this blog any more, so I am going to let you self-select, if you don't mind. I know I always find it helpful to have prompts offered to me. Have at it, friends!

first light

image by Werner Schnell, from Flickr

I've always wondered exactly when it was that Advent started. Calendars and such begin on the first of the month because, I suppose, the month starts with 1, not 2 or 3. But liturgically, I realize, the last Sunday after Pentecost runs its course through the whole of the week, including the Saturday that follows it. So Advent does, personal observances notwithstanding, begin on Sunday. This was confirmed for me this morning when I went to Pinterest with great anticipation of following Advent there on a particular board only to learn that I would have to wait until tomorrow. 

I have decided, however, to begin my own Advent observance today on the first of the month. 

Historically, personally, Advent is a season with deep, nurturing roots in my childhood. They are warm and fuzzy, and bask in the glow of Advent Candle light--among other things. In adulthood I draw on the nostalgia of Advent to launch me into a season that theologically and spiritually doesn't always line up for me. I ride its wave, so to speak, but rely fully on where the wave takes me, rather than using any sort of motivation to help me make the most of that ride.

It's different this year. There's been a lot of spiritual angst and honing, and for the first time I am living with an acknowledged hardness in my heart. It's not my whole heart, just a piece of it. But the fact that any hardness exists is unacceptable. So I am catching the wave at the onset, digging deep into the apocalyptic foundations of darkness to appreciate as fully as possible the gift that is on its way to us. 

I am struck, as well, that as that uncomfortable tide carries us forward a parallel journey is underway for an oddly matched couple expecting an untimely birth. Theirs is a journey over dusty roads and inhospitable strangers, but they go faithfully. They do their part as citizens following clear instructions on the one hand, while on the other they have entrusted themselves fully to a mystery that will shatter all mysteries. 

My earthly road is long and dusty, too. The spiritual one? Full of trepidation. Not because I worry about the outcome, but because of what life is like waiting on the outcome. How appropriate for Advent. 

Today I attend that wait, releasing the care of it to God while holding hands with Mary, and doing whatever I can to shake loose that bit of hardness so that I may soar with the angels that come to announce good tidings. 

Blessings, dear ones.

friday five: corners that thrive

Here's an intriguing ff from RevGals. I wish I had the means to shop more often and be better acquainted with what's out there! Nevertheless...

1) If you suddenly received a ton of money and could open up some kind of store or service just for the pleasure of having it (assume it wouldn’t have to be too financially successful!), what would it be?

I want to have an artisan's gallery that would incorporate: 1) a gathering space for knitters or others doing hand work (a beverage counter would, of course, be available), 2) pet-friendliness, 3) the proceeds of which would benefit animal rescue groups. 

2) What service or store that no longer exists do you miss most?

The fabric store and greeting card/gift shop in the center of the town where I grew up

3) What local business do you think you could make better if you were to take it over? And if you don’t mind sharing, what changes would you make?

No particular business comes to mind, but efficiency and poor customer service bug me like crazy. I would want to help improve those aspects of any business.

4) What spot nearby seems to be impossible for businesses to survive in?

Oddly enough, locations near Walmart. Restaurants, in particular, have trouble.

5) We’ve all seen stores that combined books and records, beer and laundry, or coffee and whatever. One of my favorite places to get coffee in Honolulu is a cafe and florist, and there is a car garage that’s also a diner in a town nearby. What would be a cool hybrid of two disparate ideas for somewhere you’d like to hang out?

Fabric store and coffee/tea shop! I don't see these as disparate, necessarily, and I understand why it would be a challenge to put them together. That said, bring it on!

Unsolicited Bonus--some of my favorite names for food places: Play with your Food (at a theater), Food for Thought (at a museum), and The Readers Feast (book store).

thankful thursday

Dusting off this weekly opportunity to reflect on gratitude, although that won't become obvious until deep into this post...

Yesterday was Ken's birthday (as most readers here know, since we also keep up on facebook). It was a pretty rockin' day, if I do say so as the unbirthday girl. A little background, first... 

Sunday we went to worship at St. Augustine's Chapel, the Episcopal presence at Vanderbilt University. The chaplain at St. A's is one Becca Stevens, about whom I wrote a couple of posts ago. For a variety of reasons St. Augustine's is one happening place. In recent years the chapel membership has outgrown its designated physical space on campus, so they now meet for their principal service at the university chapel. On this particular Sunday the music was a combination of traditional--from The Hymnal 1982--and offered by local musical artists. Remember that this is in the heart of Music City, so when I refer to local musical artists I'm not talking about people who can simply carry a tune. The congregation includes a modest sample of greys (you know, retired folks), families with young children, and everything in between. The pulse is palpable, and I felt very much at home. On this particular day I had the honor of being asked by Becca while I was receiving communion if I would come to the altar at the conclusion of the service to give the blessing. 

The reason for our presence at St. Augustine's that day was two-fold. One, we had never been, and we are looking for a place to worship (now that I don't cry through worship this effort has taken on a higher priority). Yes, it's a little bit of a drive to get there, but that is true of any Episcopal Church for us. Two, Ken wanted to connect with Becca about arranging for a work project by the Templars to lend a hand at  Thistle Farms. On our way out the door at the end of the service we made arrangements with Becca to be there yesterday at 9 am. 

When we arrived at Thistle Farms that community was engaged in a meditation circle, a regular event there. Those present identified themselves, a practice that incorporated us as visitors. I do not exaggerate when I say there were probably 70 people overflowing the space, including students from an area high school, first-time volunteers, regular volunteers, board members, staff, Magdalene House residents and graduates, and who knows who else. I felt the gift of blessing being folded into that experience. 

I won't detail our time there, but will say that it is an impressive operation of thoughtful, visionary, grace-filled ministry that touches many, many lives, and inspires many more. We now consider ourselves part of the Thistle Farms family (and have a bumper sticker to claim it)!

Having skipped breakfast by default to get on the road earlier, we were starving when we left TF at 10:45. We thought we'd find a place close by, but ended up back in town near Vanderbilt, and headed to Pancake Pantry. PP is a Nashville institution, boasting pancake options that puts IHOP to shame. On weekends the line extends outside the door and down the sidewalk for a very long way, that is how popular this place is. Even at the hour we arrived the restaurant was full. We had a great meal (pastrami for me!), and felt the continuing touch of blessing's outstretched hand. 

Our next stop was to pick up our flooring before coming home, and while we were driving Ken shared some reflection on the day's scripture reading from the morning during his prayer time. The psalm made reference to "a blessed man," and we got to talking about how one could be blessed even when one's life didn't feel blessed. As you know, these are challenging times for us, and we feel the weight and stress of a multitude of what might be considered burdens. We are careful and grateful to acknowledge our blessings. We are also aware that our days feel like breathing while an elephant sits on our chest. In such circumstances I am especially grateful that I experience hope almost without ceasing, trust with conviction that better times lie ahead, and have faith that many factors are at work on our behalf--beyond our comprehension or our anticipation. God is good all the time, as the saying goes, not just when life feels good. Both realities coexist, and it's okay to say so. 

So my thankfulness today comes from a deep place forged through surviving trials that have littered my path in earlier years. That I can laugh, smile, muster energy and continue to seek purpose for my life bears witness to my journey through the refiner's fire. The dross is not all gone and the work is not yet done, but the core is stronger than ever to withstand the heat. It is exceedingly uncomfortable to be in the fire, but today I give thanks for being upright, on my own two feet. I give thanks for fortitude that makes it possible to put one foot in front of the other. And I give thanks that when the tears of grief, desperation and sadness overflow they give way to renewal and perseverance. Though bruised, I am not beaten. One day this chrysalis will have served its purpose and release the new life being transformed within. I may not be having fun, but the taste of gratitude is a regular guest.

mia

see below for details

 

I haven't been here much. Truth: life is hard these days. I stay busy with a variety of activity like looking for work, cleaning the house, errands, volunteer work, and other assorted projects. None of it feels particularly share-worthy, though, you know? I'm not a big fan of blogs that simply catalog the day like a diary. I mean, who cares, really?

I do feel that some catching up is in order, however, so disclaiming the previous sentence, here goes (in no particular order).

We had Thanksgiving at home. Our plans to go to Melrose for the week and share the holiday with the kids got derailed by a little reality. We're not in as tip-top shape as we might like, and our aging bodies don't respond well to the toll of travel. When you add dogs to the mix in an environment that requires more care than what they need at home the work level gets ramped up. Then there's the fact that this is the time of year that requires making and maintaining two fireplaces to generate heat in a house that isn't insulated. We love Melrose, but when so much effort is expended to be comfortable over a period of days, the phrase "diminishing returns" enters in. We also would have had limited time with the kids. We are beyond eager to see Kenneth and Trisha, whom we rarely see and haven't seen for a real visit in more than two years. It appeared that we would see Ashley and the boys for a handful of hours. The scale tipped clearly toward remaining home. We did ache not being with our family over the weekend. Just because we made the right decision for us doesn't mean that it didn't come with a cost.

Since we were home we were able to participate in the regular monthly Templar "sweat equity" opportunity of helping to distribute food to elderly poor in a neighboring community.  We are always grateful for chances to be useful. With the time at home we are also now busy ripping up carpet in the living room and hallway to replace it with laminate flooring, thanks to a sale that couldn't be refused at Liquid Lumberdators Lumber Liquidators along with a good financing program. A gift card for Home Depot also allows us to seize this opportunity of moving furniture all over the place to update the look in said living space with some fresh paint. We are too embarrassed by the state of the carpets to document the timely "before" look, but pictures will be forthcoming with longer-ago images and the new "after" look once we reach that point. As I write, most of the living room carpet, padding, and 1001 staples are gone from the living room and half the hallway. Emptying bookcases stands between us and getting the rest of the carpet up, but that task is on today's to do list. 

Sadly, the sub-floor is not pretty thanks to Miss McKinlee's bladder habits (and yes, some of our habits, too). We will be applying sealer and some patching to prepare the floor for the new flooring. It's a big job, but we are highly motivated (I mean, the Christmas tree can't go up until the job is done!), and we are trying to pace ourselves physically so that we make daily progress without needing to over-medicate Ken with pain management. And if I may brag here for just a moment--I've gotten quite good at staple removal!

Last week a colleague died, and in reviewing his life and accomplishments in his obit I was taken with the closing line that was clearly written by him: in lieu of memorials please show a kindness to someone in need.  Amen to that! This week I'll be giving some time to help rescue efforts for 65 dogs that were retrieved from what looks like a dog fighting and breeding environment. The dogs are being housed about a mile from where we live, which makes it very easy to show up and be put to work. This opportunity appears to be an answer to a prayer, about which I may write tomorrow (if I remember). 

In the meantime, I hope your holiday was satisfying. We're enjoying leftovers and soup, and are thankful for what we were, and are, able to do. Here's a prayer to more of the same, all around.

what happens when some of becca's light spills on you

This has been the weekend of the autumnal convent and investiture for the Priory of St. Andrew, our "local" arm of the Grand Priory of the United States of America, Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem, also known as the Knights Templar. It was the first "C&I" for Ken and me since our investiture in April when he became a knight and I, a Dame, and also an assisting chaplain.

This was a big weekend for us as newly minted knights and dames, and also because since my investiture at the last convent I experienced a quick elevation to acting chaplain for our priory (the existing chaplain needing to step away for a period of time to take a sabbatical). I had a role in the service, a homily to present, prayers and blessings throughout the weekend, and a part in the postulants' vigil Friday evening. The experience, without having any real training or cheat sheet to follow, felt a bit like being thrown into the deep end, but I survived with only a minor scratch of embarrassment when I blanked giving the final blessing at the close of last evening.

We were honored last night to have as our guest speaker Becca Stevens. I know Becca as a colleague in this diocese. We cross paths in that capacity and have had a few occasions to get acquainted under other circumstances. The rest of the world knows Becca as the driving and inspiring force behind Magdalene House and Thistle Farms. The two are distinct but intricately connected outcomes of Becca's ministry to women of the street recovering from prostitution, trafficking, addiction and abuse. Magdalene House is the residential arm of the program, and Thistle Farms the business portion that makes high-end personal products like body lotions, healing oils, candles, room and bug sprays and more. Thistle Farms provides jobs, training, confidence and then some to these women as they do the tremendous work of leaving behind a life that resembles nothing of the kind. Becca began this ministry 15 years ago with six women, and over those years her efforts have grown exponentially, touching and healing not only the lives of the women served but those who get to know this story and are moved by it.

Each year the Priory of St. Andrew chooses a charity to which it makes a fairly significant donation. This year's choice was Magdalene House/Thistle Farms, and as a result of that choice Becca was invited to be our guest at dinner last night, speak for a few minutes, and receive a check for $5000.

Becca's resume doesn't prepare you for the person you meet. In addition to the incredible results that bear witness to her work and the recognition she has received locally, she was honored last year at the White House by President Obama as one of 15 "champions of change," she has raised more than $14 million dollars since Magdalene's founding in 1997, Thistle Farms products are sold in more than 200 retail outlets around the world, a new commercial undertaking--the Thistle Stop Cafe--will open in January, and she oversees what are known as "infusion" weekends so that others can come to learn about the Magdalene Model to replicate its efforts in other communities. Oh, and she serves as chaplain to the Episcopal community at Vanderbilt University in Nashville. Clearly this is a woman who has the capacity to run a billion-dollar empire. I don't know when she sleeps. I do know that Becca is probably the most humble person I know. She doesn't wear shoes when she leads worship. Her dress is modest (she prefers jeans) and her hair long. She has a razor-sharp sense of humor.

I refer to the local nature of our priory in quotes because our geographic spread covers northern Alabama, all of Tennessee, western North Carolina, north Georgia, western Virginia and parts of West Virginia. As well-heeled and -everything else represented by this group it wasn't a surprise that a significant number of our members weren't familiar with Magdalene and Thistle Farms last night. But after Becca spoke and received a spontaneous standing ovation, one of our knights conducted an auction of three Thistle Farms products and two other items donated by members of the priory. Those five items raised an additional $516 to send home with Becca, and Ken witnessed a number of people essentially thrusting cash into her hands that included several hundred-dollar bills. As our prior noted when confirming that the group's intention was to direct the money raised by the auction to Becca's ministry, "we can't leave a waiting list of 100 women out there."

What I think makes Becca so compelling, besides her down-to-earth, no-holds-barred honesty, is that she makes it clear that the ministry to which she gave birth is about two things: love and healing. As she shares stories of Magdalene House and Thistle Farms her anecdotes reveal every day challenges that are encountered and the ordinary but grace-infused and organic response that she brings to them from her heart. Start with love, healing will follow. She recognizes the deep need for both in our world, whether in a room of women working to claw their way from a damaging past or a village where industrialization has robbed a community of its capacity to make its own choices. The recognition that all of us need love and healing and never failing to offer the hope that we may experience both is, I think, Becca's greatest gift to the world.

Today as I reflect on the impact her message had on me and on my heart, I can't help but want to reflect that hope myself in the world. There is consistency in that desire. Perhaps my prayer needs to focus on how that might come to be.