another stream of consciousness

As part of looking for work Ken and I have come to terms with the very real possibility that relocation might be necessary. We are fine with this. Except for the investment we've made in our home with various improvements and refreshers (and by investment I don't mean financial), there's nothing keeping us in the town where we live. People who were friends have become acquaintances, and the community-based groups with which we've been associated have shifted in importance for us. Having one foot lifted to put out the door--should it come to that--is a good place to be when you consider how absolutely bonkers our state legislature is. They're not fooling anyone with the use of the word "reform," which is simply code for stripping the substance out of every possible good thing that has been in place to benefit the citizens of this state. Okay, they are fooling a lot of people, but mostly because those people just don't pay attention and/or don't care. It's enough to turn my still-brown hairs gray. Thank goodness for color in a bottle.

Then again, relocation might simply mean 30 miles to the west (e.g. Nashville). While Ken is up to the straps of his bib overalls volunteering at Thistle Farms (think construction), the worship at St. Augustine's is more and more alluring to me. Yesterday the priest associate absolutely knocked the sermon out of the proverbial park, moving me to tears, and the blend of traditional hymns and folk-style/bluegrass/country sequence music, offertories and communion melodies almost has me dancing (I swayed in the pew). I had more than a few twinges during the morning thinking of how much I would miss St. A's if we were to move away. Let's not think about that.

After church we attended the adult ed hour on natural burial. Say, what? Here's Wikipedia's definition: "Natural burial is the interment of the body of a dead person in the soil in a manner that does not inhibit decomposition but allows the body to recycle naturally." The conversation with the presenter of this topic also addressed ways to make the experience of laying a loved to rest as personal and fulfilling as possible. Fulfilling might be an odd word, but when you consider that this woman lost her 26 year-old daughter to brain cancer, she didn't want to relinquish her daughter's body into the care of strangers during the rituals of farewell. She and other family members and friends washed the body, wrapped it in a shroud, and shoveled the dirt back into the grave when the body had been lowered. As she put it, she was the first person to wash and comb her daughter's hair, and it was only right that she be the last person to do so. Those who are interested in the practice of natural burial seems to appreciate two components of this. One is the personal involvement in the literal last rites connected to the person who has died. The other is an appreciation for and commitment to being friendly to the natural world: not adding concrete and steel to the ground through vaults and caskets, or toxins like embalming fluid to the earth's soil. Even shrouds are prepared organically and certified as suitable for burial. Wood coffins are made without using metal nails, and so on. 

These various components of natural burial have sort of captured my imagination. I'm still reflecting on the things I learned and letting various ideas pop into my head. In some ways this is a natural progression of thought, launched by my father's death a little more than a year ago, and come full circle now at Easter as we celebrate and consider the meaning and implications of resurrection. There are several other posts that could be catalyzed by that last sentence, but for now it is enough to say that the ground of my imagination has been tilled to receive these new thoughts and consider what meaning they might have for me. 

And then there are the crape myrtles, zapped by frost and needed attention to come into bloom. Isn't it ever thus? We live, we die, we are reborn. We lose, we grieve, we grow. Thank goodness we have each other to help us through.

sigh

Reader-be-warned: what follows is a rant.

Do you ever stop to consider that you are part of a statistic? In most cases such inclusion is benign, like the fact that I'm part of the percentage of white women who have an advanced degree, or part of the percentage of women who are ordained. Yada yada.

It's not so benign when the facts or circumstances of your life dump you into other categories. Unemployed, for instance. Ouch. And now, thanks to congress, I fall into a new category: a person with reduced health benefits. As a military dependent my health insurance is the result of your tax dollars at work. (Mine, too, by the way, lest someone think I'm sitting idle here living low on the hog.) Let me say right up front that I thank you for that benevolence.

Back to statistics and the consequences of congress. Not long ago I received a letter from my insurance carrier informing me that my existing plan was being discontinued. Now, instead of co-pays, I will be paying a percentage of my bill. Ouch again. Because of this I almost cancelled a scheduled appointment with my doctor last week. I had to weigh the cost, literally and figuratively, of showing up in order to get a couple of prescriptions renewed. I could go without the prescriptions, but let's just say that one of them keeps my cholesterol level in good shape, and the other manages pain level for a certain affliction that really sucks, while simultaneously helping me function like a normal person, whatever that means. I opted to shoulder the financial cost of the visit. I'm actually in pretty good health, a few issues notwithstanding, but particularly as I age I'm a continuing believer in the benefits of preventive care.

Then yesterday I get a call from the doctor's office telling me that my insurance carrier is requiring a pre-certification on one of my prescriptions. Apparently they don't want to cover this medication any longer and are requiring justification to remain on it. But here's the kicker. I am required to meet with my doctor to answer some health questions in order for this to be accomplished. I'm told that this cannot be done over the phone, despite every well-articulated argument I assert through the phone at the poor office assistant who makes her living making calls to share this kind of news. (I'm really sorry, Jennifer. I hope you've developed a thick skin and don't take any of our outrage personally.) The alternative? "I" can decide to use a different medication that is covered. Huh? I'm not in any position to evaluate the benefits of a medication for my particular physiological quirks. So here is my choice: incur additional financial burden because the insurance company isn't happy with my doctor's comfort level a week ago with prescribing a certain medication or wing it with my health.

Here's what I hate (and there are very few things that I hate). I've actually been feeling pretty upbeat this week. In spite of having to cancel a trip I was looking forward to, in spite of having to contort my  life to appease the requirements of the state in certain matters, in spite of a handful of other thorns in my side, I've been exulting in the Light that beams from a certain recently-celebrated resurrection. A phone call later my voice is quivering and tears are running down my cheeks because the carefully constructed dam that helps keep me intact through the refining fire gets punctured and I suddenly feel deflated.

I have been angry with congress for ages because of the cold-hearted disregard that is demonstrated toward those who need help. Now my anger is personal. Now the helplessness with which I empathized looks back at me in the mirror. Now the narrow road of care upon which I've been walking is narrower and more precarious. I feel like the mythical Haggis who clomps up the mountainside on uneven legs only to topple to the bottom when it reaches the top. This is such an exhausting kind of life.

Mind you, I will recover before the day is over, but it's not just picking up where I left off. It's like getting knocked off your feet while carrying a carefully ordered stack of papers. Everything gets scattered and now needs to be collected again. And put back in order. It makes a person crazy.

If you're still reading, thanks for listening. You are now free to unbuckle your seat belt and roam about the cabin.

The Mary Passions: Easter Morning

Internet image

 

This reflection is the third of a three part series titled The Mary Passions. The Mary Passions take the biblical text for the Passion of Christ, the anointing of Jesus' feet, and the resurrection and re-imagine them through the lens of Mary, the mother of Jesus (Palm Sunday); Mary of Bethany (Maundy Thursday); and Mary Magdalene (Easter).  All three may be found at Feminist Theology in an Age of Fear and Hope

These reflections were inspired by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski, and written in collaboration with The Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig (Palm Sunday reflection) and The Rev. Anne Wolf Fraley  (Easter morning reflection).  Anne Fraley wrote this Easter Day reflection. 

The Passion of Mary Magdalene

Easter Morning

I had not slept. Since leaving Golgotha I had been overwhelmed by despair. Whether from gray skies and starless nights or the weight of grief pressed against my heart, I do not know. But I did not sleep—my mind raced, struggling to grasp our crushing loss.  Was he truly gone, my beloved Jesus, my friend?

I was there, crouched beside his mother as we watched the wind whip against the bareness of his body, the force of which blew his hair across his face.  I could not turn my eyes from his. I did not want the memory of his suffering to burn itself into my mind, so I looked only at his eyes.  I must tell you, his eyes were extraordinary. They bore the pain of his injury, a tender, forgiving dullness outshone by deep and abiding love. I do not know how such contradictory expressions could be revealed at once, but I should not be surprised. He is no ordinary man.

I remember that my hands were numb. His mother and I clung tightly to one another during those endless hours. She was drained of strength, stumbling several times as she stood faithfully near her son. A merchant whose curiosity had led him off the path as he left the city gates drew a cushion from his stores and brought it to Mary to ease her plight.

Jesus’ breathing became shallow, yet he did not fight what he knew awaited him. He raised his head a bit and looked at us. Upon his mother he looked long and with deep devotion. I felt the tension slip from her being with a deep sigh, and when I looked her face was drawn with comprehension and the tug of peace suggested a smile.  My eyes shifted back to his, and in the deepening darkness of them I saw the world gathered to him.  He did not smile, but the same peace that touched his mother radiated from him. Our eyes locked in wordless farewell, and with one last, penetrating gaze he entrusted his heart and wisdom to me and released his last breath.

Mary sank against me, and I was grateful for the need to tend to her as the enormity of our loss gripped my soul. I remember little else, for which I am glad—no one should endure the agony of love being stolen from them.  What I recall is that we were swallowed by the deep darkness of night, and there remained until the song of the birds alerted us to this dawning day.

We gathered our oil and spices and ventured into the early morning light to go to the tomb. We did not speak. The ritual of this loving obligation to the dead was well known to us, and conversation flowed between us in the sorrowful echoes of our footsteps.

It looked as it did when his body was laid to rest two days before. The entrance to the tomb, small but easily accessible, was marked by the scars of its recent hewing, jagged and raw.  I felt oddly comforted by its gaping darkness, as it reflected the state of my own soul—jagged, raw and dark.  Perhaps it was for this reason that I gathered the folds of my dress around me without hesitation and ducked through the opening to confront the reality of my lifeless beloved.

The others followed behind me, and our eyes adjusted to the darkness with growing puzzlement.  “He is not here,” my voice broke the silence after several moments. We looked at one another, fear beginning to creep into our blood. I set the ointment down beside the lonely shroud that had wrapped his body and made my way around the perimeter of the tomb. It was as empty as I felt.

Of a sudden the tomb was filled with light, as though the sun had breached the horizon and directed its rays to illuminate our devastated world.  So vivid was the light that at first we did not see the two men who stood before us in radiating brilliance. It was too much for our heavy hearts to bear, and our knees gave way to our fear as we fell to the ground, averting our gaze from this terrible wonder.

“Do not be afraid,” one of them spoke gently. “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”

My thoughts reached deep into the mystery that was this man we all loved, Jesus, whose teaching changed our hearts and thus, our lives.  The experience of him, of what had become known through him, began to take hold and banish the fear that had begun to settle in my heart. I had no answers, but neither was I afraid.  “He is not here,” I heard my voice again, this time with a hint of confidence.  Could it be? Was it possible that the promise of his triumph was more than a metaphor, that it was, in fact, the miracle we were blessed to witness here in this tomb?

“He has risen?” queried one of my companions behind me, and another shouted with excitement, “He is risen!”

In one heartbeat we turned to find the men gone. The light, however, continued to fill the emptiness, permeating our hearts with the fullness of love. Then grief gave way to awareness, and in that shattering awareness we began to leap with a joy that we had never known.

Before we knew it we were rushing from the tomb toward the village, and before long we came upon the place where the disciples had gathered. Peter, hearing our ruckus, got up and began to move toward us. When he saw who he were he stopped, puzzled by our exuberance.  One by one the others got up and moved toward us, and by the time we reached them they were drawn together in a cluster of confusion and concern.

Peter grasped my arms in his hands. “What is it?” he demanded, fearing, I think, that our mourning had given way to delirium. We began to talk all at once, sharing the gleeful news of our Lord’s rising. The significance of our words began to sink in, but they were backing up and turning away, dismissing our claims as fantasy and wishful thinking. Only Peter continued to listen, but doubt, too, clouded his eyes. 

At last we fell into silence, and Peter looked at each of us, furrows of weariness and the weight of sin etched across his forehead. “Go home,” he said at last. “You are tired. We are all tired. We will talk soon.”

In stunned silence we turned away and began our walk to the place where we lodged. I turned once to look back, and saw Peter begin to move in the direction from which we had come. Our heads were swimming, our hearts were bursting, and in a daze we returned to the city while the miracle of the morning began to take hold and fill us with hope and expectation.

That evening Peter came to see us, bringing with him the oil and spices we had abandoned at the tomb.  I knew when I saw him enter the doorway that he had seen and believed. His face was no longer ravaged by the bitterness of the last few days, but was illuminated by the light of joy and renewal. I took the jars from him and wrapped my arms around him, and in that moment we felt buoyed by the love that been bequeathed to and would now sustain us.

We talked long into the night until the full impact of all we had witnessed and come to understand was within our reach. Outside the door, stars hidden from view the previous nights seemed to sparkle with a new brightness, and though my heart still ached with loss, peace coursed through my veins like a soothing tonic.

He was risen. The world might appear the same, but in each breath I took I would draw in the power of love as I served God’s people with compassion and mercy. There was joyful news to share about the God of our people, and as the knowledge of that love unfolded in the days to come, lives would be healed and restored, love would bind wounds and forgiveness would open hearts to reconciliation.  Our Lord had work yet to do, and we would be part of it. He was risen indeed. Alleluia!

the daffodil principle

Whether it's one day at a time, one hour at a time, or twenty-minute stints here and there, I have really come to value the practice of pacing myself. When life holds as much uncertainty as ours does here, the accumulation of  tasks can become overwhelming. In my case, overwhelming can lead to paralysis, and then it's just one big, ugly cycle of getting nowhere.

Catalyzed by knowing that someone would be coming to the house today, yesterday I began cleaning up in earnest. Somewhere there's an ecard floating around that says a house never gets so clean as in the ten minutes before you have company. Anyone besides me raise their hand to confess to that reality? (This is how the flylady generated a very successful web site based on the idea of CHAOS: Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome).

I took it slow. Gave myself 30 minutes with a promised break at the end of that time. Did the dishes, and made some critical decisions about things that were cluttering the countertops. Took a break. Tackled some of the stuff that was hiding the top of the dining table.  Took a break. Shifted to the bathroom and began decluttering the counter there. Took a break. Living room--items on the coffee table. Back to the dining table. With breaks in between I was able to disengage the notion of "have to get this done!" and relax. I had permission to play spider solitaire, check in on facebook, or take some time with the daily sudoku. By lunch time I had made significant progress.

This morning as I look at the remaining tasks that I would like to accomplish I don't feel overwhelmed. There is still plenty to do (my office--egad!), but I can take time out comfortably to make the banana muffins that Ken would like, and I can even spend a little time this afternoon (after our visitor has come and gone) cheering on Tiger Woods in this weekend's gold tournament. 

The concept of pacing, of breaking down a large task to manageable pieces is hardly new. I was helped in beginning to assimilate it into my life through something I read years ago called the daffodil principle. As a person who thrives on metaphor and imagery it is helpful to me to see how the application of making incremental progress can make a difference in the grand scheme of things. As a lover of daffodils, this particular principle never helps bring a smile to my heart and my face. 

Happy Spring--enjoy some daffodils.

image from the work of Rick Huotari at Fine Art America

once upon a stream of consciousness

So.... last night I was at a Pampered Chef training event. I go to these whenever I can and soak up the tools they share and try to expand my satchel of business savvy. I actually know a fair amount after six years of being a consultant, and I have lots of tips to share with and offer to other consultants. I'm a storehouse of information.

And still, my own efforts in this business are almost flat-lined. I know that I am my own worst enemy, with habits that interfere with success. I don't have a fear of success, as some  adages go, but I do have some less than helpful habits that don't help me. As the trainer reminded us last night: what we do in the next two hours, two days and two weeks will impact our business, and what we don't do in the next two hours, two days and two weeks will impact our business. As she also said, this isn't rocket science. 

She also got us to look more deeply into the reasons behind why we think we don't do better. For me? I don't have a goal. Sure, I want to succeed, schedule shows and sell lots of products. I'd be happy to recruit others to this business who want to earn extra money, grow personally and professionally, and perhaps make a career doing this. I've got lots of knowledge to share, and I'm a good coach and mentor (in many respects). But what the trainer told me last night when I acknowledged that I didn't have a goal because I didn't know what I wanted was that until I had a goal I would not succeed. 

This resonates entirely with my current vocational quest. Employment may be a goal of sorts, but it's not the kind of goal that helps me find employment for which I am suited and that I will find satisfying. God seems to have left the ball in my court for the time being on this subject, and though I am beyond frustrated with the enduring silence from divine quarters, I understand and am familiar with both this process and this desert.

Although not directly related to the content of last night's training I was reminded of an answer I gave to an interview question last summer when I was asked about a "five year plan." What did I want to be doing? Work that I found satisfying and helped me thrive, was my answer. That's pretty vague, but it was a light bulb moment for me. What is related to last night is this: my goals aren't materially oriented. I don't have my sights set on a particular vehicle or a design for a custom-built home. Although there are some "things" I would like to have in my possession, those "things" are not the ends, but means toward other satisfactions (like a good camera for my photography), or tools to assist me in particular endeavors (like Neat Desk to organize my files and get all the paper off my desk!). I recalled something I wrote to a friend recently about attending a milestone celebration of an organization I used to support as a board member. I'll write more about all this in another post at some point, but for now I'll simply share that, in an effort to create an endowment to secure a financial basis for this organization, the cost to attend this celebration is waaayyyy beyond my means. It's a bit demoralizing to be invited to an event whose price tag excludes me, and not to be able to contribute to or bid on silent and live auction items that include things like cruises, a stay at a private home on an island in the Caribbean, or a trip to Napa with exclusive perks. What I shared with my friend is that I wish I were a philanthropist so that I could support the many worthy causes in which I believe and need help. Although not exactly concrete, this is a dream that includes some specificity and can help me define some goals toward which I can reach.

Does this make Pampered Chef the answer for me? No, but I will say this for it. For six years my association with the Pampered Chef has consistently encouraged me to dream, to reach, to discover and to succeed. I have had access to tools, training and personal support related to all of that. For the time being, I intend to seize what is in front of me and rebuild my confidence toward a future that resonates more clearly with what fits who I am and who I am to become. This is not to the exclusion of other interests and ongoing discernment, but as a means to help myself and my family breathe more easily as I make my way on this journey. Just because I'm in the desert doesn't mean I can't bloom

monday miscellaney

Here we are already greeting the fourth of March--where in the world do the days go? I had imagined sneaking in a project 56.0 update at the end of February, and zoom! Speaking of snipping (last post) I guess February took a hit and lost a few days. I wonder how that month was chosen to receive the annual trim?

Today is my grandmother's 111th birthday. She's no longer with us, but her influence in my life is so woven through my being that she truly is with me every day. I talk to her occasionally. She was incredibly wise, and in spite of sometimes suggesting that I could do better in certain aspects of my life (she was right), she had a tender and gentle heart full of compassion.

A brief project 56.0 update:

I've been reading like a fiend! Since finishing Dating Jesus I polished off a short little work on Templar random acts of chivalry, and I'm a chapter short of  the end of Integrity: Good People, Bad Choices and Life Lessons from the White House, by Bud Krogh. More on that in a sec.

I'm plugging along on my cross stitch effort. Some days I just zoom along with my head down, and other days I barely manage to stitch two lengths of thread. I think that has more to do with the strain on my eyes than anything else. In spite of having my eyes checked just a few months ago and with a new prescription for the computer, my "off the rack" reading glasses just aren't doing the job any longer. While painting a couple of weeks ago, and now while doing close work on canvas, I'm wearing two pairs of glasses simultaneously so that I can see. I even upgraded a pair of reading glasses to the next level of magnification, but...

Such joy, aging.

I'm afraid I haven't added any more items to my list of 56 items. I had better get creative soon!

We had some flurries over the weekend. Except for rooftops and cold places (like the top of the grill) there wasn't any accumulation, but I loved watching it come down. Snow makes my heart glad.

Back to the book. Bud Krogh was part of the Nixon administration and headed up what was called "The Plumbers," whose job it was to investigate some specific leaks that Nixon thought imperiled national security. The book came out six years ago, and I bought it after hearing Terry Gross interview Krogh on NPR's "Fresh Air" program. I was impressed by the revelation shared during the interview that his value to act with integrity led him to plead guilty to a particular crime with which he was charged. It was that aspect of the interview that led me to buy the book, and I rediscovered it while we've been shifting books and their cases in the process of our floor re-do. All this was connected to the Watergate investigation, a period of our history that I barely remember because politics totally bored me in those days. It's interesting to read about it through the particular lens of Krogh's story. It's particularly interesting to read Krogh's almost dispassionate perspective of Nixon, given that in my family he garnered no respect whatsoever. The book isn't political. Instead its focus is to reveal how loyalty can obscure the greater context in which we live and make decisions. Whether or not we recognize the conflicts that are inherent in so many of the choices we are called upon to make is indicative of the degree of our integrity and our capacity to hold ourselves accountable for our choices. Thought-provoking stuff.
 
All in all it's been an interesting read, and I'm eager to set my sights on the next book I'll take up.

What are you reading, and what do you recommend?

Have a good week!

friday five: snip, snip

It's Friday Five time! Over at RevGals, Pat is pairing today's event with the thundering hooves of sequestration. She writes: "let's all agree that there are some things that it would be good to have less of, some things that could use a nice trimming.

I invite you to name five of them here! The possibilities are endless, from the pruning required for the health of a tree to the hair cut that makes us feel fabulous. What are you planning to cut in the near future? And in what way will those cuts improve someone's life?" 

1) My first cut is my weight, by cutting calories via carbs. I don't actually consume a lot of calories, but I need to shift the content of what I do consume. 

2) Related to #1, cut back on sedentary time, which translates into burning more calories in order to lose the weight.

3) Cut back on computer time. One of my goals for myself is to bring back into my life some former pleasures. I have already had some success with this, Since Christmas I have read four books (my goal is one per month), which is, sad to say, more than what I've read in the last several years!

4) Cut back on fear. There are a few areas of my life where I hold back because I don't want to deal with potential consequences (this is mostly focused in the area of loving confrontation).

5) The other thing I would like to trim is the house. One way to accomplish that is by cutting the clutter (a process already underway: big ol' yard sale ahead!). The other is to trim the house with decor. We only decorate at Christmas. There are plenty of other seasons to celebrate with festive touches here and there to bring a spot of color to an otherwise neglected corner or overlooked shelf. Thankfully there are already a boatload of ideas that I've saved on Pinterest.

I think the benefits of each of these are fairly obvious. Although I may be the direct beneficiary in most cases, the concept of systemic change applies.

when you journey, the horizon is always changing

 For those of you to whom I'm not connected on facebook, 

here's the almost finished St. John the Theologian.

 
The first thing to tell you is that this post does not contain angst. Yay! 

I haven't figured out yet whether or not I believe in signs. It's conceivable that they appear to me, I recognize them and then fail to follow through. I hate to say that this is probably the case more often than I would like, since I have been known to hesitate when opportunity knocks. (I keep kicking myself that I missed the Groupon deadline to get Neat Desk at half price. I'm still hoping that it will repeat.) 

Anyway, here's a little of what's been going through my head recently. I keep thinking about dogs, and dog-related employment. One of the causes I support locally is Nashville Paw Magazine. A while ago I looked into what opportunities they might have for work, and though the pay basically sucks, contributing writers do get a stipend for work that is published. I need to submit some writing samples to be considered, but I am confident I can find something "safe" to get my foot in the door. Once that door is open, I have in mind to write a piece about service/assistance dogs as they are benefiting the lives of various people. There's my young friend Barrett, for instance, whose autism (and other ailments) challenge his days, and for whom a new service dog would bring so much relief and support to him and his family. There is K9's for Warriors, a group in Florida that pairs and trains service dogs and veterans (and some active duty folks) with PTSD, and Warrior Canine Connection, in Maryland, that raises dogs for that purpose (they have posted the most adorable puppycams!). One of the things on my "to do" list in the next couple of days is to begin the process of submitting samples, and then start my research for that piece. No matter what happens with Nashville Paw, this is all good.

It was my turn this past Sunday to write for the blog "Feminist Theology in an Age of Fear and Hope." I expanded and polished some of what I wrote in my last post here about my icon. Since I refer to Susan Campbell and Dating Jesus, I thought I would write to Susan and let her know what she had inspired. She is no longer with the newspaper for whom she wrote when the book is published, but I tracked her down at hot-dogma.com. I sent off the email, to which she replied almost immediately. She thanked me for the piece and asked if she could link to it. How cool is that!? As of this morning I don't see a link, but the future looms extensively. 

And then there is this. A job description for a parish associate job came across my path yesterday. Because I know the rector and see his posts on facebook, I'm a little bit familiar with the church. I opened the document to take a glance at what they were looking for, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it is actually an appealing position and a pretty good fit.  I know I have shied away from considering church work, but even before this little turn of events I had drawn the conclusion that any number of vocational opportunities might be fine for me, and being open to them is the first step toward ending up with a good prospect.   (There's a "joke" related to this that goes: a faithful person seeking a job change had two opportunities offered to him. Both looked good, and he was torn between the two, praying fervently for God to reveal to him which job he should take. A little like Tevye, he weighed the options: on the one hand, this; on the other hand, that. Divine silence ensued, and finally in frustration the man cried out, wondering why God wasn't being helpful. To which God replied, "Frankly, either one would be fine.") It is to this notion of staying open that my post title refers: when moving forward, the scenery on the horizon changes with each step, bringing new ideas and fresh prospects for consideration.

So that's today's report. And can I just say how tickled I am with how the icon turned out? 

st. john and prochora

Well, here we are! With three days progress, you can see, below, my work on this year's icon. My camera is on the fritz, so I have used my trusty phone to take these. I'm still learning the ins and outs of the phone camera, and a sharp focus is a bit of a challenge, but at least I have pictures!

We had a choice of two icons this year: St. John the Theologian (seen here) and St. Michael. At first glance I wasn't the least bit interested in St. John, but St. Michael is essentially the mirror image of Gabriel, done two years ago, that I felt a bit stuck with John. Let the record show, however, that I have no regrets, and John and I are on getting along fabulously. Serendipitously, the John icon also allowed me to exercise a little artistic license. After reading Dating Jesus the biblical/patriarchal slant against women was fresh in my mind, so I decided to make St. Prochorus, John's scribe, female. When I spoke to our teacher about making this change she asked, "Why not make John feminine?" I had an answer. For one thing, it would have been a lot more difficult to feminize the icon's image of John (or so I believe). Not to mention that St. John is a well known and established person. Prochorus, not so much. Although biblical and historic, he doesn't stand out. And here, in this icon, who he is is less significant than what he is doing. 

In this icon John is receiving divine wisdom, and is "dictating" it to Prochorus, serving as a scribe. By making that scribe feminine, Prochora, I see it as John entrusting the Word of God to a woman. As one who preaches that Word, that, to me, is significant. There ya go!

The first image, above, is at the close of the first day, after the application of the flat layers of color on the icon. With base coats down, we then worked on the robes of John and Prochora. I still have some work to do on Prochora's robe, but I left it in pretty good shape. John's may get another "wash" of warm color, as well, if I want it to look more like the original. 

Our third day began with the blessing of our hands, since the work we were undertaking was the face and hands of our icons. You can see the guiding outlines of the faces in the second image, at right. It's an amazing process, to watch the face emerge from the dark, sankir base as lighter colors are applied to it. That's one of the glorious things about icons, that the work is done from dark to light.

As I glance at the next image I realize that I have overlooked adding the sandal straps on the feet. Oops! I'll do that today. There is still some tweaking to do--I notice that I left a scraggle of beard "undergrowth" without its accompanying gray/white, and a section of Prochora's face needs a revisit. But essentially, the faces (and John's hair and beard) are done. 

Today the rocky entrance to the cave will get its detail, as well as the scrolls and basket, and the divine "intervention" emerging from the upper left-hand corner. Those rocks are going to be a killer! The rest may have to wait until tomorrow. We'll see.

   

I've included this closeup of the faces. The red on the icon is where the gold leaf will go. Red is the color of choice in the event that some portion of the leaf doesn't take or flakes off. Better for it to show through than the white canvas beneath. So the tradition goes.

 

Thanks for stopping by! I'll report in when we're done.

joy woven through

Lest I give the impression that my days are morose with vocational angst, let me share some of the joys that get sprinkled around to keep me buoyant. 

As noted in the last Friday Five, I got to do some valentining. Yeah, baby. Among the recipients were my goddaughter and her family. She wrote to me that I was a Valentine Ninja--how 'bout that! I told her that was a title I was happy to wear, and I think I just might put together a t-shirt proclaiming it! Feel free to submit artist renderings or ideas--this could be a money-maker! That's Hannah in the picture, displaying the kiss with her name on it. She and a friend are playing kissey tic-tac-toe.

Tomorrow I return to the land of the icon. Ah, bliss. A week in sacred silence writing an ancient icon. Once again I am honored to serve as workshop chaplain. We start each day with Eucharist, and uncharacteristically I've already got all the scriptural lessons for each day assembled for easy reference. I adore the serendipity/synchronicity that aligns certain feast days with such events. This year we start the week with Martin Luther, then move on to Frederick Douglass and John Henry Newman, and we close the week with Eric Liddell. Who? Ah, my second favorite movie of all time introduced me to this holy man. You will know him as the minister who wouldn't run a Sunday race in the Olympics in Chariots of Fire. One of my favorite movie lines of all time is contained herein: "When I run I feel God's pleasure." Lucky me. For all kinds of reasons!

St. Augustine's, The Episcopal chapel at Vanderbilt  University is where we've been hanging our going-to-church hat. St. At's, as it is known affectionately, is a bustling congregation where people from the community vastly outnumber the students who attend. They have lots of ministries, one of which is the Center for Contemplative Justice. I don't really know what that means (I haven't done my homework), but St. A's hosted a fundraiser for Holy Cross Hospice in Botswana, an outreach arm through the CCJ last Thursday night. Called "The Greatest Show Ever" it boasted musical performances from the likes of Janis Joplin; Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young; Otis Redding; Karen Carpenter; Maria Callas; Peter, Paul and Mary; Neil Diamond; and more. It was fabulous! St. A's has a rich music ministry, which I suspect has something to do with the fact that the husband of the chaplain is a grammy-winning songwriter.  An auction interrupted the performances half-way through, and one item on the block was a jam session in the lucky winner's home with four musicians, one of them the aforementioned songwriter. Would that not have been the most fun, ever? Alas, we didn't have $1000+ to offer the winning bid.

I'm reading! I'm closing in on the last pages of Susan Campbell's Dating Jesus, a book given to me a few years ago by my mom. I started it way back then, but got interrupted early on and am just now returning to it. It's fun and thought-provoking at the same time, written by a recovering fundamentalist who became a journalist and left church, but didn't leave Jesus. Finishing this book will keep me on track for my Project 56.0 effort of reading a book each month. Ken has picked out my next book, which is Templar related.

We are now the proud owners of a Hoover Floormate. No, really! This little gem is a life-saver with all those muddy paw prints on the new floor. It vacuums, scrubs AND dries. Of course no sooner is the floor clean than paw prints begin to decorate it within minutes, but that's okay. Our sanity is improved considerably by the illusion of a clean floor every few days, if only for a minute. We're also strategizing ways to reduce the amount of dirt that enters the house in the first place. Stay tuned on that, but don't hold your breath. 

And that's a wrap for now, because I need to get ready for church.  Blessed day to one and all. What joy would you like to share?

moving toward a new normal (routine)

As I noted to a friend in an email earlier this morning, it's hard to change habits. But to routines, change does come. 

For years my waking duties have included tending to dogs (first), making coffee, then heading to the computer to catch up with the world. First it was emails. Then message boards entered the scene. Then online chat. With blogs and facebook, communication is less personal, but certainly economical in terms of time and message. The habit of being at the computer for an extended morning session has outlived its usefulness, at least for now. My world has shrunk significantly, and there is less blog fodder. If I'm not writing my blog, I'm tending not to be reading other blogs since I would link from my own page. That doesn't honor the people whose blogs I tend to read, for which I'm sorry. I need to find a way to adjust that.

My days still start with dogs and coffee, but now computer time has shifted to a review of emails (mostly subscriber feeds from web sites), then facebook, a quick hop to Huffpost, then Pinterest. I play a game of online sudoku, and then I'm done. 

The plan, at this point, is to take advantage of the quiet in the house at that early hour and get some reading done. I have resumed cross-stitching in the evening while we watch television, so that time is productive, but finding the right time to read has been elusive. Until now.

Wish me luck. 

 

friday five: semi-random edition

At RevGals Karla writes: Who knew it was the Second Friday of the month? I have been busy getting ready for Blizzard Nemo (really, 24 inches in Boston?  Why on earth don't I have a snow blower???) and pondering life transitions--oh, but enough about me.  

How about you?  

1) What is sneaking up on you, and what have you been thinking about?  

For a change, Valentine's Day is NOT sneaking up on me! Thanks to the leisure of unemployment I had time to revive an old tradition of making valentines for the beloveds in my life. That list has exploded with a new generation of wee folk in the lives of the aforementioned. Cards are made, treats bagged and tagged, and a trip to the post office is in order this morning to ship everything out. 

2)  What will you have for lunch today? 

Leftover chicken satay made for our super bowl grazing adventure.

3)  If you were to get snowed in for two days, and you need to hunker down, what essentials and treats would you store up? 

I'd be busy making soup and baking bread. Nothing says tucked in comfort like the aroma of both coming from the kitchen. 

4) Tell me a story about one awesome thing you have experienced in the last couple of weeks. 

I had an experience of spiritual rejuvenation several days ago, and that--coupled with the extended benefits of it--was pretty awesome. I'm on a vocational roller-coaster, a journey that is wearing me out, but God managed to get through and settle some peace on me that I didn't anticipate. I am really trying to keep fear at bay through this ride, and working hard to connect the dots of my life to help me find a road map forward. For now, I'm beyond grateful for the peace, and more than grateful for the friends who continue to keep company with me on this desolate road.

5)  What is your favorite office supply to splurge on? (now THAT is random, right?)

I'm a recovering office supply junkie, with a stash of post-its (and other goodies) overflowing from my desk drawer. There's no room for supplies any longer in my office, so I have, out of necessity, applied a self-imposed ban on such purchases. Reality has sapped the thrill from the splurge, which I see as a good thing.

two things

These days, as I stare into the great unknown of my future, I am trying to "read the signs" as I see them. EVERYwhere--okay, just facebook and Pinterest, because I don't get out much--there are quotes and sayings and cliches about the best being yet to come, and words of that ilk. Some days I find encouragement in the way they dot my days. Other times, well, "yeah, yeah, yeah," dripping with sarcasm, is my response. I can't tell you how badly I want to scream at the "everything happens for a reason" prognositications. Spare me. 

But there are times, like this morning, when the agony of my psyche leads me to the lap of God. I mean, enough already! What point are you trying to make? I have learned a multitude of lessons from difficulty through my lifetime. Trust? Patience? Hello!!!!!!! Why do you think I have not abandoned ship?

Anyway, after a fresh round of tears I went to the kitchen to top off my coffee and as I neared the kitchen window I saw snow falling. Unlike the snow of yesterday, this one is sticking first to the street and driveway, and has not yet shown any accumulation in the yard. I know this won't amount to much, but this unexpected offering is the equivalent of God's handkerchief for my tears. It just feels like love. It's a sing sign. Thank you. Just, thank you. My inner Yankee is rejoicing!

Completely unrelated to anything, my high school boyfriend and I are friends on facebook. It's kind of weird. We hadn't been in touch since college days, but some years back I learned that he'd tried to send a message through one of those classmate web sites. Since I refused to pay to be part of "golden member status," I never learned what the message was. A few years ago I learned that Joe was on facebook, so for kicks I sent him a friend request that went into the cyber abyss. Forgot all about it. Then, about a year ago, he accepted the friend request. When my father died Joe wrote a thoughtful reply to my post. He recalled that Dad had taken us camping on the Cape. I had forgotten all about that! Joe isn't on facebook very often, but he occasionally responds to one of my posts with thoughtfulness and support (when needed). It's just nice.

There's a huge gap of years between now and when I knew anything about his life, and we are not in the least caught up. I do know that he's divorced and living with a woman that he dated after we broke up. I don't know if he has children or if his parents are still alive. He works combining two loves: motor sports and photography. He is still a fan of Peter Frampton and other musicians of our era.

There's something comforting about the consistency of who he is. We dated through our junior and senior years in high school--significant days that carry good memories along with some of those difficult learnings referred to above. That we can connect, tangentially, at this point in life is another of those signs that I accept with gratitude. 

Which brings me to this. Life pretty much sucks right now, but the fact that there are glimpses of hope and bits of balm along the way matters. I am trying to pay attention to signs like snow and the presence of a once-meaningful relationship that serve to prop me up on mornings like today, when doubt and cluelessness cling like dog hair. I stand in the doorway of opportunity, and even though I can't decipher what to do with it, the recognition that it is there reveals the presence of light. God-light. Christ-light. Spirit-light. So now that my tears have dried up I'm planning to dance in that beam of light for a little while and shake these unemployed blues. And, I'm going to keep on praying. It may feel lonely, but at times like these there's no better place than the lap of God.

project 56.0 update

As you know, I normally play RevGals Friday Five on this day of the week, but today's questions were just too penetrating for me! I'm not afraid of digging in, but I just didn't haven't answers. Instead, this being the first day of the second month, I thought I'd offer an update on my "turning 56" project.

I won't go through the whole list (which can be found here, if you're interested), but I can tell you that I have both succeeded and failed. 

On the "accomplished" list:

1. We saw Zero Dark-Thirty. Seeing Lincoln is on the list, maybe on Monday when the local theater offers a Veterans discount.
2. I mailed the turtle to my sister-in-law, and managed to get another package-in-waiting shipped off as well.
3. I have started Jude's birth announcement. Yay!
4. I sent a postcard. Well, one is better than none.
5. I finished Brené Brown's book, as intended. 
6. I have reviewed the list weekly, and,
7. Updated the list monthly.

On the "didn't materialize" list:

1. Those things I hoped to do weekly? Too ambitious. I'll just leave it at that.
2. I did try to learn a new digital scrapping technique, but my version of Photoshop Elements got left behind ages ago, and it didn't behave according to the instructions. I didn't get very far. Like, past the second step. Sigh.
3. I didn't bake bread. I did buy rye flour and have a two-page recipe printed out! I'm not afraid of long recipes. I used to make challah (that wonderful, braided egg bread that makes THE best french toast!), and that recipe is about four pages long! I should make challah again.
4. I still need to write a couple of thank you notes.

All things considered I guess this isn't too bad.  A number of items on the list aren't time specific, so I can catch a break there.

I've added one thing to the list: learn how to crochet. I actually crocheted a baby blanket back when I was in high school, using a technique called broomstick lace. You actually use a broomstick. At the time I learned the technique for that particular project and have never been back. I don't generally like the look of crocheted projects upon completion (as compared with knitting), but I'm broadening my horizons. Plus, there's a particular project that I would like to take on.

So there you have it. Time to whip out a postcard or two and catch up.

It snowed last night, about half an inch, so I am REALLY enjoying looking out the window at this wee glimpse of winter wonderland while it lasts. The sun is out, so by noon it will pretty much be gone. 

Hope you have a great Friday, and an even greater weekend. Go Ravens!