friday five: advent confidential

At RevGals MaryBeth invites us to Advent Confidential. What are your favorite traditions, observances, hymns, or memories of Advent? Is there something you remember from childhood that you’d like to do again? A funny story you can share about the time the Advent wreath got a little over-lit? We are here and listening!

Growing up we were awash in traditions, some of which were distinctly Advent. I have so many great memories of that time, which makes this a particularly meaningful season for me in very personal, nostalgic ways.  As Quakers we had no liturgical traditions, but the season was full of wonderful, anticipatory activity.

1) The Advent Calendar. Hung on the back of our front door was a felt version made by my mother. My brothers and I took turns emptying the appropriate pocket each night to decorate a felt tree with tiny ornaments, culminating with a star at the top of the tree on Christmas Eve. 

2) Family shopping night. I don't know how many years we actually did this, but I think of it as a tradition. We headed downtown to the department store where my parents would help each of us kids shop for certain presents. Dinner at a nearby restaurant and a walk around Hartford's Constitution Plaza to view the holiday festival of lights was a part of the deal. I remember snippets of this activity, but the fact that it stands out in my memory must mean that there was some deep joy with much greater impact than the cold of a winter night.

3) Christmas themes. Every year my mom chose a theme that was the focus of decorating the house (and sometimes for our family Christmas card).  Among the themes were the Three Kings, the twelve days of Christmas, Noel, and Peace. She saved cards we received from year to year that depicted these themes, and there was usually a banner filled with several of them that was displayed hung on a doorway.  It is a tradition that I have only recently thought about putting into action myself.

4) The Advent candle. At times, rather than a wreath we had a single pillar candle with 24 marks down one side. Each night at dinner the candle was lit and allowed to burn down to the appropriate date before it was extinguished.

5) Baking and delivery of the goods. My mom had two consistent holiday kitchen specialties: homemade toffee and spiced tea mix.  There were several family friends who were regular recipients of this kitchen largesse, and as a family we would bundle into the car and go to the homes of these friends, standing outside the door and announcing ourselves by breaking into song--a carol, of course. The front door light would come on and the door would open with wonder and joy, and we would spend some time with our friends as we delivered our gifts. It is another treasured family memory.

comfort, then and now

I don't suppose I thought to mention that, now that I don't have a regular altar gig on Sundays, I have joined the choir. Yep. We don't sing every Sunday. In fact, we've only sung on one Sunday so far since fall kicked in, but we're now preparing a couple of pieces for Advent Lessons and Carols. 

We're sort of a pick-up choir, since people who are part of the St. Augustine's family have schedules that demand their presence elsewhere with some regularity. Like a multitude of other volunteer organizations in the world, we work with what we've got. Let me just say that I'm glad it's a group that is willing to work with me. St. A's is littered with song-writers and musicians, and there are folks who show up once and are ready for their solo. I don't have any voice training. I can carry a tune, but learn best by ear rather than reading music (which I don't exactly know how to do). It doesn't hurt that I know how to play the piano and can play the recorder, which means that music is not a foreign language. It's just not my best language.

Anyway. Lessons and Carols. One of the pieces we're preparing is "Comfort, Comfort," arranged by John Ferguson. All good 'piscies reading this are no doubt humming the tune of that Advent hymn right about now. This is the same song, but written for four parts. I can't find a good video on you tube to share (oh, wait, I did find one, linked below), but maybe--when the time comes--I can get Ken to record it on his phone when we perform it. 

The hymn to which I refer is better know by the words of scripture that are set to this tune. "Comfort, comfort ye my people," hearkens from Isaiah. It has a special place in my life, a prelude, if you will, to my transition into the Episcopal Church. It is, as well, a sort of anchor memory for me of a time and place in my life. 

The first house I owned was just down the hill from Trinity College in Hartford, CT, in the neighborhood known as "behind the rocks." Trinity sits up on a bit of a precipice, a rocky crag, if you will, hence the name. The crown jewel of the campus' picturesque architecture is the college chapel, a neo-gothic beauty designed by the same architectural firm as The National Cathedral. Yes. Sigh. It is utterly lovely. Because of the geographic setting of the college the spire of the chapel can be seen from afar, a sort of beacon of the academic life that hums around it. (And to think I turned down an opportunity to serve there as seminarian!)

Among other things Trinity's steeple includes a carillon, and during the summer carillon concerts are a popular weekly offering that many enjoy while picnicking on the broad lawn outside. Because of the proximity of my house to the college and chapel I didn't have to wander up for concerts (although I did). I enjoyed them from my home. 

I also enjoyed the practice sessions of the carilloneur during the week as he prepared for Sunday's prelude. One such practice session stands out. With leafless winter branches now framing a view of the chapel spire from an upstairs window of my house, I remember looking out to it, aglow from the floodlights at its base. The tune that rang out was "Comfort, comfort ye my people." It was unfamiliar to me then, but burrowed a place in my heart and memory as I listened to its distinctive rhythm drift across the night and behind the rocks. My spiritual journey was moving toward baptism, and the childhood rituals of my family's observance of Advent were about to take on new depth and meaning. Always a special season for me by virtue of those family traditions, the sight and sound now associated with this hymn formed a touchstone that has since been foundational for subsequent Advents. 

Now, as I learn my alto part for this arrangement our choir is preparing, that history returns with a poignant twist. My home parish was also in the "behind the rocks" neighborhood, just six blocks from my home. A couple who were an integral part of my formation there, and who became dear and valued friends, had their own connection with Trinity. A year or so after my ordination and relocation to Missouri, Al died suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 51. Having worked at the college for many years his remains are in the chapel's memorial garden. Two weeks ago, Lynne, Al's widowed bride (as he always called her), died peacefully after too many years struggling with diabetes. She, too, will find her eternal rest there in the memorial garden. As her sons have dealt with the closing issues of their mother's life, pictures of Trinity have made appearances on facebook, escorting me back to another time and place, to a season of beginnings, the dark nights of Advent, and the anticipation of things to come.  It is a blessing for me, so many miles now removed from that place, to be able to reconnect to it and remember and honor Lynne (and Al) through these memories.

As we live through our own challenges approaching Advent this year I do take comfort in Isaiah's words, and in the music that has become part of my song:

For the glory of the Lord
now o'er the earth is shed abroad,
and all flesh shall see the token
that his word is never broken.

 (Can't remember how to embed video in the blog. Click the link with the "music" for a video of the tune.)

friday five: random is as random does, or something like that

Kathryn at RevGals gives us a random Friday Five. Here goes!

1.  What’s up?  How are you?

I'm rather well, thank you! I've got some good mojo going on with my fledgling business, have two clients (gotta start somewhere!), am connecting with some marvelous women in business who know their stuff and help other women without blinking, and it finally feels like a real fall here in middle Tennessee. All of this is good, but what is great is that my spirit is aligning in ways it hasn't felt aligned in a very long time. To quote Josh Lyman, "Outstanding!"

2.  You are moving to a new office.  You can only take five books with you (pretend there is no thing such as kindle, nook, etc.).  What would they be BESIDES teh Bible, which is already written on your hearts, yes?

• A Thesaurus. I love words, and a thesaurus is one of those tools that adds verses of meaning to a single thought. Not to mention that it is useful when working crossword puzzles. 
• Frederick Beuchner's Listening to Your Life daily meditations
• A comprehensive book of puzzles that included crosswords and sudoku (for those times when a mental gear shift is helpful)
• A coffee table book of photographs of  prayerful communities around the world, Talking to God, Listening to the World at Prayer. Wonderful book that inspires me consistently.
• A blank journal as a space to ponder, reflect, draw, and ...

3.  If you had a superpower that could give you a five hour retreat, and you could go anywhere in the world to spend those five hours on retreat (because you have superpowers, ya’ know?), where would you go?

The Isle of Iona. It's got sacred space, a view of Mull, the sound of water lapping the beach, sheep, good walking and great memories.

4.  What piece of music, song, hymn, etc. are you diggin’ right now?

A tune written for the pipes, Highland Cathedral. Can't get it out of my head and I don't want to. I can't seem to recall how to embed a video, but if you love bagpipes, visit the link.

5.  Use the following words in a sentence (or two):  Tangle, dribble, hook, Panda, shark, smile, worry, island.

The Panda and shark tangled about who would be voted off the island, unable to come to terms about which competitor had the best hook shot and who was most guilty of dribbling during the basketball competition. The Panda did not worry, however, smiling with the knowledge that immunity would trump home-court advantage.

a hedgehog went into a bar...

Yesterday I spent a stimulating day at a local event called Small Business Boot Camp. I was invited to attend as the guest of one of the women to whom I referred in an earlier post that has been encouraging to and supportive of the new venture in my life. In spite of the fact that our county is adjacent to Davidson County--aka Metropolitan Nashville, a savvy city in many respects--we can be a backward place, stuck in "old boy" thinking and decision making (don't get me started on our city council), with a business that proclaims "We'll trade for anything that don't eat!" (cringe), and women whose hairstyles have been stuck in the 80's far too long. This doesn't mean there aren't forward thinking, highly competent people in our midst, and yesterday's seminar proved it. 

Led by Amber Hurdle, an executive coach, a team of women presented on a variety of topics of concern to small business owners that ranged from strategic planning, to marketing, to time management (which has become far more than the concept of not handling a piece of paper more than once). Some of the information was a review of familiar concepts--repurposed, if you will--while other take aways were new and thought-provoking. 

One item for consideration was something called the Hedgehog Concept. Because I've been away from the world of business and its associated models for a long time now, I hadn't been aware of this particular item, its name derived from an ancient poem about a hedgehog and a fox, and the hedgehog's ability to survive an encounter with said fox because of its ability to do one critical thing very well (roll up into a spiny ball so that it can't be eaten by the fox). In short, for us modern types, the Hedgehog Concept concerns itself with identifying what thing a person (or company) does really well, and capitalizing on that ability to achieve success. It doesn't stop at identifying the skill, however, but incorporates three components that lead to success: the skill, one's passion, and the junction where the marketplace utilizes the skill and passion. The conjunction of those three is literally the core that leads to success.

As the presenter was sharing this portion of her talk I thought immediately of Frederick Beuchner's definition of vocation: the place where one's deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet. This may not sound like a formula for business success, but I would suggest that its application undergirds the success of all sorts of people. One such individual is William Penn, about whom it is said that he came to the New World to do good and ended up doing well as a result. Okay, so that may only be a common adage in Quaker circles, but you get my drift.

I made an attempt to share Beuchner's definition as a means of understanding the hedgehog concept through a different lens--not all people who are in business would describe themselves as business people, after all, and allowing for different frameworks through which to experience an "a-ha!" might be helpful to fledgling entrepreneurs--but as soon as I invoked the word "theologian" the presenter didn't know what to make of me. Though I confess to being a little disappointed that she didn't immediately embrace my addition to the conversation, her response brought home an important truth about the entrepreneurial and business world where I now make my vocational bed, a truth reflected by the Hedgehog Concept: we are each individual and unique, and just as who we are and what we have to offer will have its distinctive place in the marketplace, so will our manner of connecting the necessary dots to be successful in that marketplace be distinctive and unique.  

I don't think of myself as a business person, but that doesn't mean that I'm not capable of applying the necessary concepts to my work to help me succeed in business. Yesterday's seminar was an important affirmation of that self-understanding, and reminded me that I already have many of the tools that I need. And those that I don't? There's a whole community of others in the same boat who are there to help, many of whom don't think of themselves as being a business person either.  And here's a little aside: Of the group yesterday, numbering roughly 25, only three were men.  That's an entirely different post.

the mojo returns

Do you remember Shannon Faulkner? She was the woman who fought to be the first female cadet at the all-male bastion of southern military education, The Citadel. It's been a while--1995, to be exact--so I can't say that I blame you if the incident isn't right there at the edge of the memory pool ready for recollection. Shannon won a lawsuit filed against The Citadel for discrimination when they rejected her application for admission on the basis of her sex. She lasted a week once she was finally enrolled and attending classes, resigning voluntarily. She attributed her decision to extensive emotional and psychological abuse throughout the ordeal that led to illness and total exhaustion.

I remember this little piece of history because the timing of Shannon's very public effort to fight for her cause coincided with a more private battle going on in my own world. I wasn't trying to be the first at anything. What Shannon and I shared was a dedication of energy poured into something in which we believed (I was seeking ordination). In Shannon's case her energy tapped out. In my case, my energy was so singularly focused that there was nothing left for anything or anyone else in my world. Shannon was ridiculed for her departure from The Citadel, those eager to see her go (never having wanted her there in the first place) citing her decision as evidence of why she should never have been granted the privilege of attending. I never saw it that way. I understood that when you are engaged daily in an effort that requires every ounce of energy you have, every moment of every day, eventually that energy will be depleted if it is not renewed. The attacks against Shannon were relentless and public. She had little support, and threats against her required the protection of U.S. Marshals while she was on campus, and security cameras were an attempt at preventing bodily harm. I don't blame her one bit for saying, "enough."

I wish I could say that the experience of energy maintenance was a memory on which to draw for ministerial purposes, or to remind myself that I came out on the other side of a difficult time, evidence of inner gumption and chutzpah. Instead the experience of channeling energy into maintaining an inner equilibrium while the chaos of my world threatens the very same is all too familiar. The gift of that time in 1995 taught me how to navigate this kind of season in life, and in subsequent years I have gotten better at that navigation. I know what things to dismiss and what things to take seriously. I covet the moments when the energy to do more than prepare a meal or do the laundry means that I have created memories or enjoyed something outside of myself. I have learned to hold on to a sense of competence, even if confidence lags.

Not long ago, during a cherished afternoon spent with a friend over coffee laced with conversation, I lamented the loss of my creative mojo. "I used to..." I mourned. Then she covered my hand with hers and assured me that I hadn't lost my creativity. Rather, the energy devoted to putting one foot in front of the other left none for anything else. The core of my being was intact, just obscured by the detritus of the daily grind.

She was right. Is right. And the good news is that there is evidence that my energy is being released from the stranglehold of survival-mode for other, more life-giving expression. Like searching out and deciding on patterns for mug rugs to make for a fellow RevGal. Like following through on Pampered Chef leads, resulting in four--count 'em, four!--shows scheduled for November (until a party I did last weekend, I hadn't had a show since February). Like putting on my extravert face to promote my massage business, and not being discouraged that my calendar isn't filling up with appointments. Like securing a twice-monthly massage gig with a dog! 

It has taken a lot of energy to keep my head above the proverbial water over the last few years as the parameters of how my life was understood and defined shifted or disappeared.  Now that I am in a groove that positions me to move forward with a new purpose, inner alignment is yielding outer results. I recognize the signs of transformation that I trusted to be at work, and my soul is sighing too deeply for words.  

It's not just mojo, it's life, but the two are inextricably related. I'm not so naive as to think it will all be smooth sailing now that there is wind in my sails.  After all, wind also churns the sea. But the shift is happening, and the momentum is forward. As Tom Ryan says, "Onward, by all means."

PS. By 2009, The Citadel had graduated 205 women from it ranks.  No matter how far we've come, we've still got a long way to go.

friday five: super stah!

As I transition from a vocation as a parish priest to a very different kind of ministry I have been astounded by the kindness and helpfulness of others. Their words have encouraged and affirmed me, and they have shared ideas and initiated actions to benefit my new venture.  All of these individuals are women, and I am blessed and a little overwhelmed by the genuineness of their support. It stands in contrast to too much of my experience serving in the Church, which is often plagued by pettiness toward and criticism of its clergy.

Because there is far too little of it, for clergy in general and clergy women in particular, today I want to focus on affirming what we do well. Let’s practice giving ourselves complements, and—gasp!—accepting them with grace! It may be challenging, but I promise it won’t hurt.

List five super powers that you use in your vocational life. This isn’t bragging. It’s naming the light that shines from your lamp stand.

Go!

1) Preaching is one area where I get good marks consistently.  I am so grateful to partner effectively with the Holy Spirit in this department!

2) Creative marketing: I may not have the most original idea out there, but I have been known to generate new ways of looking at old challenges and respond to them with a twist. After Hurricane Katrina a number of displaced families were settled at a campground not far from the church. I took the "Blessing of the Animals" service to them, and it was an entirely new experience for all of us. 

3) Listening is something I do really well. It will be interesting to see how my listening skills adapt as an animal massage practitioner where I use my hands more than my ears.

4) Compassion that cuts through the crap. When someone is hurting, frightened, or sad--I don't care if they're a butt-hole the rest of the week--I care about the human tie that binds.  This has helped me learn to love people I don't like.

5) Partly because I have the "efficiency" gene I'm a good facilitator. Not only do I hear between the lines to make sense of conversation and ideas being generated, I keep a group on track.  It doesn't hurt that as an INFJ I'm all about possibilities. 

Phew!

that "letting go" thing

While drooling through Pinterest earlier I came upon this quote pinned by a friend. "Letting Go" mantras can run the gamut from eliciting eye-rolling, "oh, pleeeeeze!" responses, to making one stop to consider a candidate for allocation to the "wisdom" category. Where the one I've included here, prompting this post, will wind up is as yet undecided. It did, however, draw me here for reflection. It seems I really only reflect on the blog these days.

Letting go is a very personal thing, one reason the plethora of adages can appear so trite and, at times, seem dismissive.  Before one can really talk about letting go it's important to consider why one is holding on. Is it a precious memory? A lesson learned the hard way that continues to be instructive when revisited? Is it a thorn in our side that provides a masochistic pleasure? Is it immaturity? Unrequited love? Long-suffering patience? Sage endurance? Is it like sand in our inner oyster, working its way toward pearl-like perfection? Does someone else's action (or lack thereof) hold us captive to a particular set of baggage?

I've done my share of holding on, and I'd like to think that most of what has been held has also been released.  There are probably as many paths that led to each release as contributed to the matter lingering in my possession in the first place.  In some cases I have gone to bed carrying a particular weight on my soul only to wake without it. Call it magic, mystical, or early dementia--poof! gone.  At other times shedding the cling-on was like trying to flick scotch tape off your finger. It would not go into that good night.

Other matters have lived with me almost like a comfy cardigan. Their presence kept me processing whatever led to me holding on in the first place, and in due time resolution was achieved and transformation experienced. Frankly, that's really the best kind of holding on.  It gets you somewhere in a purposeful way.

Lately I've come to believe (because this quote had me stop to realize it) that holding on just isn't worthy of my time, I don't care what it is that begs for holding. More often than not holding on doesn't accomplish anything but to drain and redirect our energy in ways that just aren't helpful. As I age I am more respectful toward the limits life imposes on us, making my time (and what I do with it) more valuable. 

I still watch too much TV, for instance, but at least now I do other things while watching: I cross-stitch, or plan menus, or massage a dog or two, or make an effort to clear the kitchen table of its clutter. I shift loads of laundry or do dishes. I get up and move, even if it is only down the hall and back to relocate some object that has been kept out of its place for too long. Or I dust the piano. Pick up bits of dog hair that have collected in front of a chair, or between pieces of furniture.  I don't have the time, according to the clock or my psyche, to be bothered with hanging on to things. I have no use for the weight of the issues that dance through  my days or clog my thoughts. I'm more interested in engaging my molecules in other ways.

Sure, there are loiterers, but they're not around without my consent and an established purpose. I think that's okay.  I really prefer to travel light, though on occasion my "leisure activity" totes mean multiple trips to load and unload the car. You know, camera and books and cross stitch and other assorted projects to tend when I have the luxury of leaving home.

As I've worked my way through this post I have concluded that as nice as the quote at the top of the page is, it still lumps the notion of hanging on and letting go into a single, unpleasant mass.  That won't do. It doesn't honor our unique stories or the way that our "stuff" shapes us--for better or worse. It is true that our baggage can be heavy, but it can also teach us things that we wouldn't learn without learning how to carry it. I believe that when we do carry our loads for a tad longer than might be necessary, the day does come when we are ready to set down the weight and say, "enough!" 

If we don't, we'll get out of kilter, lose our balance and stumble, and we'll get crushed under the power the unpleasantness has had over us all along.

Letting go? Strive for it, but honor the process of getting to the point of release.

That is all. 

from crawling to standing almost upright

These are somewhat magical days. It's exciting to be on the other side of the slope of launching Cumberland Animal Massage. 

• My training was spectacular, phenomenal, exceeded expectations and inspired me in ways that I value deep in my bones. 
• My web site is "official!" I am so grateful that our trainer is so proactive in wanting to help his students succeed--among other things he makes a point to take photographs of all of his students in training so that we have images to use to promote our businesses. Gold star! Double gold star! A fellow classmate also took pictures on her phone that she shared, and I'm using two of them on the web site.
• I finally have my business cards in hand and have had opportunities to distribute them.
• A friend and small business owner here in town has offered to sell gift certificates on my behalf to her clients, and will allow me to market my business through hers.
• I've attended a local networking gathering and received some wonderful affirmation.
• A draft of a brochure is complete, awaiting review by other eyes to see if says all the right things.
• I have a Twitter account! I'm not actually thrilled about this, but a business consultant I trust assures me that Twitter is the best social media outlet to use to promote my business. I'm learning.
• I have lots of ideas of people and groups to contact to let them know I'm in business--the opportunities abound! 
• I'm working my way through the certification requirements: two massages on five different dogs not my own, and two tests (one of which doesn't test knowledge but functions more as a task list to help build my business). It's actually fun!

I'm beyond grateful that there is so much good energy around all of this, because as is typical of life, for all the pluses there are also some challenges. It's clear that I need more revenue to cover some start-up expenses. I need a grooming table, and am combing through craigslist to save money there. I need to print promotional materials and gift certificates, and buy ink for my printer. I need vendor materials: a banner, display board, etc. At least I have a stuffed demonstration dog! I need to upgrade my professional membership in the International Association of Animal Massage and Bodywork. I need to buy insurance. I need to pay for the window decal for my car.

I really need a fixed location from which to practice. Experience already suggests that although pets may be more comfortable in their own surroundings, those same surroundings are highly distracting to them--almost too comfortable. Distractions are counterproductive. A fixed location will have to wait, however, until there is some money coming in. 

The hours of my day swell with activity related to all this, and at times I feel a bit overwhelmed. I am so out of practice having such meaningful work to do, not to mention that the responsibilities of "real life" press in.  Breathing is a critical component of massage work, and that plumb line also helps me focus on the components of the rest of my life. Everything is shifting, for good, but I am also reminded of how badly my confidence has taken a hit in recent years, so securing my "land legs" can take some doing. 

I am so grateful during a season of life like this for the wisdom of Dame Julian of Norwich: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

trumping exile

A sermon for Breast Cancer Awareness Sunday at a local church. 
Text: Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7

It was about twenty-five years ago that my life was first knowingly touched by breast cancer. Among the Christmas cards I had sent that particular winter, one went to my friend Katie, a colleague with whom I had worked in my first “real,” post-college job. A month or so after Christmas, I received a letter back from her husband, telling me that he and his family had buried Katie two days before Christmas, a victim of the ravages of breast cancer. In the years that have followed I have known, prayed for, ministered to and buried women whose lives were forever altered by the diagnosis of that same disease. Of that number too high to count, some died, and some underwent life-saving procedures and treatments; blessedly, many, many are alive today to bear witness to the battle that helped them triumph over two words no woman ever wants to hear spoken to them.

Today we remember people like Katie, who lost her battle; we honor people like my sister-in-law Barbara, and your own Pat R., who triumphed; and we support people like my friend Kellee, who is confronted each day by concerns about her chances for victory and who longs, with hope, for a future where breast cancer is but a piece of her life-altering past. Today we are also mourners and care-givers, friends and family to all of the above whose lives have felt the cold shadow of breast cancer fall upon them. For each and every one of us, the full awareness of the disease, its prevention, cessation, treatment and recovery are paramount. Today we to pray as a community with a common enemy, and to raise our hearts and voices toward a future that will one day see the eradication of this foe.

In this morning’s reading from Jeremiah the prophet seeks to comfort the exiles in Babylon by commending to them a life of normalcy. “Build houses,” he tells them. Plant gardens, marry, and have children. In spite of being captive in a foreign land, their days may pass as they would have in their homeland. There is grace to be found in ordinary things, and the future of which the exiles dreamed may yet come to pass. But note this, Jeremiah tells them. Tend to the welfare of the community, for in doing so the welfare of all is assured.

Women and men who receive a diagnosis of breast cancer—or any cancer or life-threatening disease—may well feel as though they have been exiled from their life. Even as people and places and routines are the same, each day is experienced through a new lens of separation and isolation. From one day to the next one’s physical health is unpredictable and, one’s future becomes obscured by the necessity of focusing on the here, the now, the immediate. This day is what matters. This moment becomes more precious than the last. The thief that lurks beneath the breastplate may threaten to separate us from the people and life that are loved, but it cannot separate us from the love of God. The tending community, our very own satellite branch of the communion of saints will see to that, and in spite of the loneliness that hovers, it can never completely descend.

For those here who can raise a triumphant fist as a survivor of the disease, we join you in celebrating this victory. Your very beings have reverberated with the feat that strikes anyone who faces the prospect of an illness that can be combated but not controlled. You have known the darkness of uncertainty, the misery and fatigue of treatment, and the depth to which you are able to dig within yourself to persevere in faith with dignity and determination. Your priorities have been adjusted and your dreams refocused. Ordinary moments have become precious opportunities to know and taste life. Nothing is taken for granted.

For those here presently waging war against breast cancer, we lift you with our prayers, our love, our support, and whatever else you require as you face each day. I offer a familiar passage of scripture from the gospel of Matthew to you. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,” Jesus tells us. “Take my yoke upon and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Mt. 11:28-30). You, and those who have journeyed the road you now travel, know well the desire and value of rest. Cancer takes a toll on more than the body. Emotions are dragged through every quarter of our being. You are surprised by grief as well as joy. Vulnerability and inner strength negotiate a tenuous co-existence. You strive to make hope an unshakeable ally.

The invitation to come to Jesus and find rest is welcome, and one for which you long. He offers his yoke, not as a burden of weight, but as a means of lightening the load. In taking up his yoke we harness the strength and power that is uniquely his, making it possible to face challenges that we could not fathom tackling alone.

The companionship of Christ is one of the greatest comforts and blessings of the Christian life. It is so because the gentleness of his spirit envelops us with compassion, and the humility characteristic of his heart bestows upon us an awareness of our own unique being. In the light of that awareness we find ourselves capable of drawing on our strengths, even as we accept the gift of his help to compensate for our weakness. There are times when the yoke Jesus offers us is the freedom to be carried by his love and his grace. At other times we find that in sharing the load we learn that we, too, have strength to share, and the deepening of our faith becomes a yoke of its own.  It is my prayer for those carrying the burden of illness that you may find the rest Jesus offers your soul.

For those who mourn, I want to share an experience of my own with you. Several years ago one of my dearest friends battled a diagnosis of metastatic lung cancer. She fought against her disease valiantly and boldly, and until two weeks before her death the determination of her own will, and the efforts of the medical team who treated her seemed to be headed for triumph.  At that time she was hospitalized, breathing with difficulty, and the signs seemed to suggest that triumph was not in the offing after all.

It was spring, and I drove from here to St. Louis, where Kathy lived, to see her during her hospitalization, wrestling during those hours on the road with the shifting reality that was taking place for her, and that would have an impact on all of us who loved her. Particularly jarring to me was the contrast between the pain in my heart, and the beauty that was unfolding everywhere as I drove through an awakening landscape of spring blooms and brightening greenery. I adore spring, with all its colors, contrasts and promise, and my appreciation for its glory on that occasion was pierced by enormous sadness. The world was coming to life as my friend’s life was fading, and there seemed no way to reconcile these opposing truths.

It was Holy Week, that time in the Christian calendar when the culminating events in the life of Jesus resulted in his death and resurrection, and through that spiritual lens I poured out my distress to God, seeking comfort from the One best equipped to deliver it. As the miles rolled by I yielded my heart along with my prayers, and I discovered ultimately that the spring of my joy also contained the seeds of my peace. Though Kathy’s earthly life and journey might be coming to an end, a new dimension of her life with God was being birthed. Like the buds and blooms that filled my view, she was about to blossom in God’s eternal presence, radiant and fragrant and perfect.

The image of Kathy’s soul in full and divine bloom flooded my heart not only with peace, but with a joy unlike any I had experienced before. My pain was still deep, but it was mitigated by a deeper truth that buoyed me and kept me from the abyss of grief that I had feared. I found myself smiling, thankful to God for the grace of extending his comfort to me through a means that had always been a source of delight, and for the gentle and loving care with which he was drawing my friend to his heart. That very source of joy turned out to be a yoke offered by Christ to help me find rest. The days ahead would bump and bruise all of us, but the salve of God’s peace would soothe and heal.

In Mitch Albom’s book Tuesdays with Morrie, Morrie is quoted as saying that “death ends a life, not a relationship.”  In the years since Kathy’s death I have come to understand something about the truth of that statement, and daily I discover how much our friendship is integrated and woven into the fabric of my own life. Yet even as I am appreciative of that gift, I am more deeply indebted to God for his peace. It brings home to me in a profound and significant way the promise of Easter, and the hope that is ours in faith.

When, as a community, we tend to the welfare of our members and invest ourselves in their concerns, their struggles and their triumphs, we each hold a share of the experience of exile. Whether we mourn, grieve, battle, or exult in victory, it is Easter hope that serves to permeate our doubts and fears, and infuse us with the confidence of Christ.  Each of us has our own story of loss, struggle and victory. We tend to the welfare of our community through sharing these stories. We honor the experience of exile supported by the love of family and friends, and nurtured by faith in the one who gives us hope.  We live in the houses we have built and reap the fruit of the gardens we have planted. We marry and have children, we dream live into the reality of dreams come true.  Above all, together we find ourselves bathed in the light of God’s triumphant love, and in that light we discover that we are home.

friday five: baby, baby, baby!

I never had a chance to play last week's Friday Five (of my own devising!) since we were away visiting the newest grandson, but thanks to Jan, this week's ff gives me another chance to ooh and ah as Nana x 5!

She writes: Today’s Friday is about babies. Tell us about babies in your life, of all kinds, even ideas! Tell us about the babies you’ve paid attention to in your life:

1. babies of family or friends

Meet Hunter, our newest grandson, two weeks old today! He's the sweetest little bundle of love, but what would you expect his Nana to say? We were fortunate to have a few days of just us and the new family configuration. For me it was sublime--I essentially parked myself on the couch and held Hunter! Ken got put to work helping Kenneth configure the interior of the storage shed at their new house.  Yes, I definitely got the better end of that deal!

2. animal babies

I was fortunate to help my own dog (above) as she birthed four pups many moons ago--I was twelve-- and more recently I had the opportunity to foster some orphaned litters of very young puppies. Can't get enough of puppies, and wish we had the space and means to do more fostering.

Then, of course, there's Emma, our son's dog when we cared for her for a stretch of time when she was a pup. And let's not forget my neighbor's baby goats when I lived in Sewanee, TN. I loved to play with them!

3. babies you remember in movies or on tv

In a high school class we watched a movie of a baby being born, and that planted the seed of desire for children of my own. Alas, such was not to be my lot, but I have loved on other peoples children and am a better person for those bonds.

4. babies in the Bible

Well, Moses sort of stands out...

5. anything that may be a “baby” arising in your own life

My new animal massage business is beginning to crawl and is picking up speed! I've completed training and am working on certification requirements. Business cards are in hand, networking is in progress, facebook and twitter are up and running, and the web site is operational. Now all I need are some clients. I'm so excited I get verklempt!

Be creative! Add pictures.

moving into the starting gate

It's here. It's the beginning of the week that will turn corners that will in turn open vistas, and from which new adventures will commence. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat. Rinse optional.

Wednesday I load myself, Juliet and McKinlee into the car and head north, destination: Toledo and the animal massage workshop that culminates the foundation of my training. I get a small price break by bringing two dogs, and although McKinlee isn't the ideal candidate for this journey (way too much energy and the need to be the center of her mama's world), I'm heeding the words of my liturgy professor in seminary: work with what you've got. I will say that she responds very well to massage, so there's hope that she will overlook my attention to other dogs over the course of the week. Crossing fingers and shooting off prayers! We'll be there for five days of training

In true Anne McKinne fashion (which means that if you bear the name Anne McKinne, like my mother and grandmother before me...) I will be taking advantage of the itinerary. As I go through Cincinnati I will stop to see my Aunt Hap, my father's remaining living sibling. When I called to tell her of my plans and to make plans to see her she wrapped up the conversation with the words, "get your questions ready!" Apparently the bulk of my generation of cousins (including me) have learned the hard way that it's critical to seize the opportunity to ask about the family and its past while there's still someone to ask. This is so obvious, yet so unheeded. Number four on my pre-departure check list is to write up those questions.

From Cincinnati I will venture just slightly farther north to meet up with my friends Dana and Mike. I met them through this blog, one of the happier virtual relationships of my experience, and I look forward to some time with them. We were able to meet in the flesh last year when Ken and I were in Cincinnati celebrating Hap's 85th birthday, and I can't wait to see them again. After Dana and Mike, onward to Toledo!

But wait, there's more! The route to Toledo is so screamingly close to my alma mater that I just can't resist stopping to visit. That modest detour opens up a couple of other opportunities. Picture a Cheshire cat smile... After completing the training next Monday we'll start south with our sights on Richmond, Indiana (alma mater!), where I haven't been since my fifth college reunion in 1984. Richmond is more than the location of Earlham. It was also home to me for the two years following graduation when I worked as Youth Program Director at the YWCA. I have good memories of Richmond and my years there, so this is partly a nostalgia detour. And a chance to pop into the bookstore to scoop up a sweatshirt. There have been a lot of changes to the campus in the last 30 years, and I'm looking forward to taking a stroll with the dogs to get acquainted with those changes while indulging recollections. (Which reminds me, I need to pack pooper-scooper bags.)

My next stop will be only slightly west of Richmond, to Centerville. It turns out that I have ancestors who were early settlers of that community, so armed with a few descriptions of where they built homes and businesses, I hope to locate those sites and take a few moments for my DNA to experience a kind of realignment. If possible, photos will ensue. This is one of those times when I really wish I had an iPad so that navigating maps would be more interactive.

 the log courthouse in Centerville, built in 1811 by my 3rd great-grandfather,

and reconstructed in 1952 on this site.

The whistle-stop genealogy tour will continue as I mosey west toward Indianapolis. Just south of that route are other DNA stomping grounds. I've been reading and rereading some notes written by a great aunt about that branch of the family. These are the roots of my father's father, who I never knew because he died in 1946. He was the youngest of ten siblings, and from the sound of it my father's family (mother and siblings) didn't have a lot of contact with my grandfather's family after his death. I don't even know the names of any of my second cousins. I'm hoping that will change in time. Armed with a hand drawn map that is more than 50 years old I will tour that part of Indiana as well. It is still fairly rural and little changed, and although I know that an old family mill is no longer there, I want to get a sense of that community and be able to picture it. And perhaps visit a cemetery or two.

We're almost done! Next stop, Indianapolis, where I will meet for lunch Carol, the sister of my college roommate, Mary. It may be possible that Mary will join us, but Mary is not a communicator and if she has an email address, I don't know it. Carol and I are in touch via facebook, and she has been an enthusiastic encourager of my new direction in animal massage. She has also volunteered her horses for practice when the time comes!

Breathless yet? See why I started this post with the reminder to breathe? Here's the good news. After lunch with Carol, the intrepid road crew will head home with no additional stops except for nourishment and relief.

Once home we'll unpack the car in order to pack it again for another trip, because grandson Hunter is due to arrive October 1, but that journey is its own story.

I'd appreciate your prayers for safe travel and an attentive mind while at my training. Retention has never been my strong suit, and though much of this work is intuitive, there are all those muscle groups and anatomical details to remember...

twice fortunate

Last week I had the extraordinary opportunity to meet twice with the Rev. Canon Andrew White, vicar of St. George's Church, Baghdad. As the only Anglican church still functioning in Iraq the sobriquet "Vicar of Baghdad," has become attached to him. The first meeting was a gathering of our diocesan clergy--our regular "clericus--"and following worship and lunch we had about 30 minutes during which Canon White shared a little bit of his life and ministry. He has a sarcastic wit, and shared some wonderful and personal stories woven through the more grim realities of a life dedicated to reconciliation and the celebration of God's presence in the midst of the tragic world that is Iraq.

The second meeting was considerably different, an intimate gathering with a handful of Knights (and Dames) Templar from our priory who could be rallied on short notice to meet with Canon White. (Why the Templars? One of the priorities of the Order is the protection of Christians in the Holy Land, and another is the work of reconciliation. The Grand Priory and its member Knights and Dames lend financial support to Canon White, and for his work he has been awarded the Order's Medal of Valor, as well as the awarding of the Order of Merit.) For nearly three hours I think it is safe to say that we sat spellbound in the living room of a former Prior, drinking in some bitter truths about the world to which Canon White has been called and to which he is utterly devoted.

Among the truths--not new, but more starkly delivered by one who can offer a first hand account--is the abject failure of western governments to appreciate the role that religion plays in the Middle East.What may seem politically expedient to some, for their own ends, yields devastating consequences for the people and cultures of those we seek to "help." Another truth is that many, many people work very hard, each day, to build bridges between opposing religious factions in an effort to forge peace in the fractured lands of the Holy One. And they have had success! Peace may not be lasting, but the forged and changed relationships are building foundations upon which future efforts will be supported with greater stability. I am halfway through the first of three books we now own written by Canon White (The Vicar of Baghdad). It chronicles these efforts to which I refer and for which I have renewed appreciation, along with the people and organizations that support the work of peace.  It is by no means a page-turner, but it is most certainly illuminating.

Another experience of the latter meeting was of a different nature altogether. One person was transparent about her disdain for President Obama, though she was genteel in how she revealed it. Her persistence at laying blame at his feet (not to mention extolling the virtues of Christianity in such a way as to demean all other faiths) led, ultimately, to the piping up of another about having a Muslim in the White House. At that point I could no longer hold my tongue. I'm not good at calling people out, especially in an assembly like this, but I could not remain silent. The "exchange" created tension, which was shortly diffused, but not before Canon White wondered aloud if I might be the only person in the room who wasn't a Republican. Interestingly, as the group began to disperse at the conclusion of our meeting two people approached me quietly to thank me for speaking up. Still, my discomfort lingered for several hours that day, and continues to occupy a portion of my reflective thinking here and there.

On a happier note, Ken had brought with him a set of prayer beads that he had made to give to Canon White. The Canon was absolutely tickled to receive them, quickly revealing that he held in his hands two other sets of beads, including one that had been given to him the day before by an inmate on death row. What we learned was that Canon White holds two things absolutely dear to his heart: [prayer] beads and bow ties. Happily, the Priory gave to him as a gift a Templar bow tie! You can see both in the picture I have included above.

I have not done justice here to either Canon White's work, the presence of his person, or the impact of my time with him. I am not good at reporting something that has had such an impact on me--the intuitive has real difficulty extracting information that has melted into the body of what I have learned.  I share what I do here because it did have such an impact, and because I want to do what I can to spread the word about his work, and in particular to encourage others to learn more about the Middle East.  When I've finished the three books of his that we have I'll be in a better position to make a recommendation about which of those (if not all of them) should be required reading!

Thank you for bearing with me as I've written here.  I fear that so few people come to this blog any more that this effort may be for naught, but I couldn't not write about it. I urge continued prayers for peace, and for well-informed minds to make a dent, where possible, in influencing foreign policy.