the in-between time

I am enjoying these last few days of 2011; I've found a liminal space inside them, a place of waiting, reflecting, anticipating, being.  A place between the completed/fulfilled anticipation of Advent and Christmas and the expectancy of a new year and season.  My mind fills with thoughts and evaluations of events in the past year as well as plans for the one to come, but I push these thoughts aside for now and go deeper into the liminal space itself.  Does anything lie here, waiting to be discovered?  Or perhaps it is simply a time to be without doing, to sit and look without planning or analyzing.  I walk, I read, I ponder God and what he teaches me.  The past year or so has been difficult; I have lived with great fear and resentment.  I thank God for the grace to be able to see this and, in this liminal time, to be able to separate myself from the fear and resentment somewhat so that I may understand them more fully, if understanding comes.  What do I fear?  Why?  I am resentful because I have expectations that aren't being met, and I am losing patience and hope.  Perhaps it is time to let these expectations go.  I am beginning to discover that the emptying of a life can bring a greater capacity for grace.

Blessings to you; I wish you well in this in-between time and in the year to come.  May the Peace of God be with us.

Today

Today is Holy Saturday.  Hush...

http://www.24-7prayer.com/podcasts/category/spaces
(scroll down the 24-7 page to see videos)

retreat in the flint hills - April '11

I enjoyed a day retreat at the Tallgrass Spiritual Retreat Center Wednesday.  This time it was an individual retreat.  I made the appointment during a period of depression, and although I felt much better by Wed., I decided to go on retreat anyway and see what happened.

I had two one-hour sessions with Billie planned to bookend my retreat:  meet with Billie, spend several hours on my own, meet with Billie, spend more time if necessary, then go home.  Billie is a great listener, and as I told my stories to her and we talked, I processed recent events/issues and received new things to consider.  On the drive to the retreat, I remembered the many pictures Billie had cut from magazines to use in collages, and I wanted to look at more pictures.  Otherwise, I had absoutely no idea or plan for what to do, other than walk around and enjoy God and his creation.  It's taken me 40+ years to learn that often not having an agenda is the best way.

After settling in and a good talk with Billie, I walked down to the creek.  I hadn't taken that walk before, and I was delighted by the beauty surrounding me.

I didn't get any pictures of the creek.  I don't know why.

As I walked, I opened myself to God and listened for, waited to receive whatever he may have had for me at that time.  I was caught up in looking at everything except the ground, and I stepped on a tree limb and lost my balance.  No fall, no pain, just enough of a jolt to get my attention.  I stopped.  I listened.  "Pay attention," I sensed, "Pay attention to this step, this present moment, and enjoy it as it comes."  And so I did.  I didn't try to think deep thoughts or solve any problems.  I simply walked, looked, was open, and enjoyed.  I received the grace to love and give thanks for each moment.

There is a wonderful variety of stones in many shapes, sizes, and colors by the creek.  I picked one up.  As I turned it over in my hands, I sensed that it would be good to sit for a bit and look at more stones.  I did, then I walked along the creek, stopping a few times to close my eyes and just listen to the water and the birds, and found a few more stones.  I love them.

When I discovered that square stone, I laughed and laughed.  I had just been talking to Billie about my upbringing in the church and the rigidity of it, about the learning I have done and still need to do to be thankful for the good things I received from it.  When I saw that stone, I realized/received the understanding that there's plenty of room for squares in the kingdom of God, that there is a place for and the creation of things with straight sides and sharp corners, and sometimes I could be a blockhead myself.  Then I realized the stone was laughing along with me.

I returned to the bunkhouse and set about looking at the pictures Billie had left there for me.  I just wanted to look and look and look, keeping pictures that touched me in some way, but not thinking too much yet about why they did.  After about an hour, I think, I stopped and asked myself, "Is this it?  Is this how you want to spend this time you're paying for?"  I thought about it and decided/realized that yes, this was it.  For now.

I spent the rest of that time until my second session with Billie going through pictures.  It is a marvelous hospitality she provides just in that one act, collecting pictures for people to look at and use.  The number of and reasons for the images I chose are too many to share, but I invite you to find your own.

After my second meeting with Billie, I spent another hour or so walking around and looking.  There are a number of stones on the railing of the back deck of the bunkhouse; I assume they were left by past retreaters...retreatants?  Anyway, I added one of my own to the collection.

On the drive home I passed a ranged being burned  (see http://www.kansasflinthillsadventures.com/flames.html for more info. on range burning).  I realized that some folks probably don't have range burning in their part of the world, so I took a couple of pictures.  I wanted to take a picture of the sign that said pull over if the smoke from the burning was dense, but I passed it before I could get the camera ready - sorry!

I love the prairie.

cracked pot story

I found this story on a http://www.sparkpeople.com/ forum - I'm glad I'm a crackpot!  :)

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots; each hung on one end of a pole which she carried across her neck.  One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.  At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.  For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments.

But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.  After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.  'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.'

The old woman smiled, 'Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?  That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them.'

A Credo for Support

The videos to the left of this column have a very powerful message written by a man with cerebral palsy and his wife.  When you view humanity in this way, the whole world changes.

A Credo for Support

c. 1995 by Norman Kunc and Emma Van der Klift

Throughout history,

people with physical and mental disabilities

have been abandoned at birth,

banished by society,

used as court jesters,

drowned and burned during the Inquisition,

gassed in Nazi Germany,

and still continue to be segregated, institutionalized,

tortured in the name of behavior management,

abused, raped, euthanized, and murdered.

Now, for the first time, people with disabilities are taking their rightful place as fully contributing citizens.  The danger is that we will respond with remediation and benevolence rather than equity and respect.  And so, we offer you

A Credo for Support

Do Not see my disability as the problem.

Recognize that my disability is an attribute.

Do Not see my disability as a deficit.

It is you who see me as deviant and helpless.

Do Not try to fix me, because I am not broken.

Support me.  I can make my contribution to the community in my way.

Do Not see me as your client.  I am your fellow citizen.

See me as your neighbor.  Remember, none of us can be self-sufficient.

Do Not try to modify my behavior.

Be still and listen.

What you define as inappropriate may be my attempt to communicate with you in the only way I can.

Do Not try to change me, you have no right.

Help me learn what I want to know.

Do Not hide your uncertainty behind "professional" distance.

Be a person who listens, and does not take my struggle away from me by trying to make it all better.

Do Not use theories and strategies on me.

Be with me.  And when we struggle with each other, let that give rise to self-reflection.

Do Not try to control me.  I have a right
to my power as a person.

What you call non-compliance or manipulation may actually be the only way I can exert some control over my life.

Do Not teach me to be obedient, submissive, and polite.

I need to feel entitled to say No if I am to protect myself.

Do Not be charitable towards me.

The last thing the world needs is another Jerry Lewis.

Be my ally against those who exploit me
for their own gratification.

Do Not try to be my friend.  I deserve more than that.

Get to know me.  We may become friends.

Do Not help me, even if it does make you feel good.

Ask me if I need your help.  Let me show you how you can best assist me.

Do Not admire me.  A desire to live a full life does not warrant adoration.

Respect me, for respect presumes equity.

Do Not tell, correct, and lead.

Listen, Support, and Follow.

Do Not work on me.

Work with me.

a meditation on fear - and faith

I was surprised to find this insight in an online article on the recent protests in the Middle East, and specifically in Bahrain:  "The willingness to resort to violence against largely peaceful demonstrators was a sign of how deeply the monarchy fears the repercussions of a prolonged wave of protests."  Take that statement out of its cultural and political contexts; does that kind of fear sound familiar?  I was very familiar with it during the years I taught special education.  If anyone made the slightest critical comment, or even a neutral comment that I interpreted as critical, about my students or my teaching, "Mama Bear" roared up within me.  Fire burned in my chest and lit my eyes, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my claws came out.  Do you know that fear?  This fear may have first been born in us out of a need for safety, in response to protestors or mother nature or drunk drivers or something else.  Our world is shaken and we get a glimpse of a possibility that we may not have as much control over our lives as we pretend to.  But when we react to that realization with even greater fear and greater attempts at control, the fear evolves into something much more deadly and self-serving, doing violence to ourselves and others.

This morning as I prayed about this a small voice within me, a train of thought, caught my attention:  "But we have to fear."  What?  What was that?  Where did that come from?  I decided to follow it and see where it led.  "We have to fear, we must be diligent in defending and protecting ourselves because if we don't, we'll lose everything - the relationships, jobs, activities, etc. we've built our lives into, as well as the foundation of beliefs, values, and worldviews we've built them upon.  If that happens, then we will no longer exist.  We will have no way in which to define who we are.  We have to fear, we must have enemies, because we rely upon them to tell us who we are, that we do exist, and that we have worth."  And so we build a fence, direct a conversation, buy shoes, post a comment, or write a blog sometimes for perfectly healthy reasons and sometimes because we need to check and make sure that we are here, that others notice us, and we are okay.

Since I quit teaching full-time I've been led bit-by-bit to discover the myriad of ways in which I give life to this kind of fear within myself and ways to let it go and place my faith in something greater.  Of course I mean in God, who means so many different things to different people.  For me, God is the source of authentic life, the goal of life, and the primary, ultimate keeper of everything in between.

This is a blog post, not a thesis, so I'll let you take whatever you want from here and run with it.  Faith in God is not a blind faith, unless you've never dared to truly look.

"When we were children, we used to think that when we grew up, we would no longer be vulnerable.  But to grow up is to accept vulnerability.  To be alive is to be vulnerable."  Madeleine L'Engle

"After the amazing delight and liberty of realizing what Jesus Christ does, comes the impenetrable darkness of realizing Who He is."  Oswald Chambers

Rom. 8:35-39:  "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?...I am convinced that neither angels nor demons, neither the present or the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord...." who is Life.



If all else fails:

retreat in the flint hills - Dec. '10

Well, I'm still not ready to write about my personal experience of my 12/15/10 retreat, but kind folks have asked about it so I'll share what we did.  It really was a great time and I was/am deeply affected by it.

I went to the Tallgrass Spiritual Retreat Center: http://www.tallgrassretreats.com/.  It offers a wonderful variety of retreats, presentations, and space to make your own retreat.  Part of the appeal of this center is its location.  The Flint Hills in east-central Kansas are truly beautiful; rolling hills and valleys filled with fields, cows, streams, and a windmill here and there.  I wish my pictures did them justice.  But I was running a bit late, and my camera's coloring is off somehow, and I am a very amateur photographer, so all you can see here is a flat area going by at 60 mph.  (Are you starting to see a pattern in my photography?).  As a friend of mine from LA once said about western Kansas, "I've never seen so much...and so little!"

Now here's the backside of a great picture.  I'd foolishly just turned the camera off when I drove down a small slope dotted with trees and under a bridge with a bright orange train engine just passing overhead.  I mean, I could've won prizes with that picture.  Instead, I passed the bridge, pulled over, turned the camera back on, and captured this.  See what I mean?  Prizes, I tell you.

Anyway, the retreat was titled, "Marking a Passage" and had to do with recognizing and giving attention to any changes we've had in life recently.  We began with a ritual that reminds me of yoga's sun salutation; retreat facilitator (and center director) Billie Blair credits Joyce Rupp:

1.  Stand up and stretch your arms to the sky - giving thanks

2.  Reach your arms out to your sides and twist at the waist - acknowledging our brothers and sisters throughout the world

3.  Reach arms straight in front of you, palms up - giving of yourself

4.  Bring arms in and cup your hands together, holding them against your body - receiving

5.  Bend down and touch the floor - blessing and giving thanks for the earth

6.  Stand up and put hands flat, palm in, against your heart - I didn't write anything down after this step, but I bet you get the point.

Then Billie had us write down and answer the following questions:  "Why am I here?" and "How do I feel about my answer?"  Then she had us do it again.  Then she had us do it a third time.  It's interesting to see how your answers change as you go deeper.

Then she had us write the answer to the question, "How would I describe myself before (the passage/changes I'm marking today)?"

After lunch, Billie had us answer the following questions:  "What brought me here?"  "What do I want to acknowledge?" and "What is changing in my life that I've not been willing to see?"

To answer these questions, we could write in our journals or make a collage using pics pre-cut from magazines.  We probably could've also done an interpretive dance or written a song or painted a fence - whatever way worked best for us.  I chose to make a collage rather than write because it would be a different way to express my experience of the recent passages I'd traveled through.  I don't do much in the visual arts, and I thought it would be interesting to see what I ended up with:

The picture at the top left of the collage is a (fake) duck's rear end and legs - it was one of a set of three mounted on a board; it looked like a coat rack.  Anyway, I am fond of the image of ducks' rear ends - I'll share why another time.  (How's that for getting you hooked?  Or repulsed?)

We shared our answers to the questions with each other, then began a new activity.  With our dominant hand (hand we usually write with) Billie had us write down, "How have I been changed or am changing by this passage?" and "Is there a gift to be claimed?"  We had brought items to symbolize the passages we were marking, and we addressed each item with each question.  (I'd brought Chester and Oliver's name tags and my school/teacher ID from when I quit teaching special education in 2007.)  We wrote our responses to the questions using our non-dominant hand.  The changing of hands was very interesting to me; it is like walking a labyrinth: so simple, yet so powerful.  You turn off your autopilot and the automatic responses you might give to the question, and you access a different part of you - the whole you that God made - that you may not listen to very often.  Try it sometime.

(Now, if you grew up with a spiritual background similar to mine - protestant, evangelical - this activity would be akin to voodoo.  But the unusual methods in which the questions were asked and answered did not open me up to demons from hell, so don't worry.  It just gets you thinking, reflecting, praying, and listening outside of the box of your ordinary state of being.)

After further discussion and reflection, we ended the retreat by sharing what we had gained from it (that we were aware of at that point) and prayers for our continuing beyond the passage(s) we had marked.

I can't wait to go back.

in process

What is this space, this thing, this animal that I name grief?  What is this strange creature that slides in and out of my life with no warning, no asking of permission, yet also no menace?  What are you, you

waves
transformative and transforms itself
comfort
healing
pain
disorientation
death, and new life, growth
fine one day, slammed the next
stunned
weary all the way down to my soul
"grief" is sanity, vs. "depression," "mental illness"
knock me upside head, out of blue, suddenly I have no skeleton, no inner support
it must be drugs, see your doctor, get your meds checked, they say
no, I say - this is different - we've all been watching too many drug ads - it's okay to feel bad once in a while - in fact, it's probably imperative
let me be sad, let me be
but if you can't function...
I will function, I am functioning - this is how people function when their legs get swept out from under them and they fall flat on their face - just give me a minute to recover and stand up again - and please, please, stop making assumptions about or trying so hard to know what is happening to me and what I need - you probably do it without realizing it - I know you love me, but this desire to "help" me is not that at all; it is a desire to solve the problem, find an answer, remove the pain - and you do not have the right to do that, nor have you been given that role...you do not have enough information to know the answers, and I choose not to give you much information - stop - don't be defensive - I love you, too - examine your heart, see if this is true - I know that desire to "help" well - I live with it and learn from it - do not let it come from a desire to know or control things that are not given to us - do not be afraid to let the pain, the uncertainty, be.
I do not welcome the uncertainly that is a constant part of my life, but I hope to, someday.  will she be alright?  will I?  We think we have to know more than we really do.  I have no idea what comes next.  All I can see is where I am now.  And I know that above all, underneath it all, through it all, all is well.
Let me be.  God is here.

stuff I saw yesterday that made me think

A very thin man with a long-ish white beard walking and pulling a small oxygen tank.  I've seen him pass by Mom & Dad's house before when I'm here with Grandpa.  Yesterday he stopped and spent some time blowing his nose and wiping his face with a few handkerchiefs or large Kleenexes.  I wondered how old he was.  What is his story?  Does he have AIDS?  Cancer?  I admired his strength and persistence in taking regular walks, especially in cold weather.

One of those big flashing traffic signs that finally explained why some stoplights had been flashing for a few days:  "TRAFFIC LIGHTS...FLASHING YELLOW...FOR STUDY."  Good, I thought, I hope they're studying the people in front of me who keep stopping at them!  Since when did Wichita become a city full of overly-cautious drivers?

On the trial cable channel, a teenage boy (the defendant? a friend of the boy who was killed?), lower lip quivering as he listened to the prosecutor give his closing argument in the murder trial, sitting directly in front of a man, head back, sleeping with his mouth open.  So near to each other, yet at that moment, so far apart.

A swan sitting in the grass along a city street between the curb and a sidewalk.

movement in grief: state of being, part 2

I've been missing the dogs more lately.  The extra focus on family that comes with this time of year has me hurting for the loss of my "own" family, Chester and Oliver.  Come to think of it, God, I miss my job, too.  Teaching those children, some with severe/multiple disabilities and some who struggled to read, was more than a job; it was a vocation.  And a way to define myself.  As long as we're on this topic, I miss my house and my yard, too.  Sure, I grumbled about taking care of them, but you know I was glad to have them.

I guess the anger that comes with grief has arrived.  I didn't realize it until, while driving to Mom and Dad's on Thanksgiving and thinking of other relatives, I began to cry and yelled, "I want MY family!"  Thank you for that, by the way.  It released tension and made me more aware of how I was feeling, what I was going through.  Sometimes I wish I were less aware of myself, but in this case it helped.  In a strange way it helped me release more of my self.

Sometimes I wish I were so different from the way I am, so not different from "normal" people who are married, have kids, have jobs, and own houses...oh yeah...a lot of people don't have those things...those things are gifts, not things we're entitled to...and the loss or absence of them can be a gift, too, when you, or even just the possibility of you, fills up the space.



"Being Trees in Autumn"
by Steve Garnaas-Holmes

These trees in Buddhist saffron robes,
renouncing everything,
becoming naked without fear,
in wind that is a part of them,
disclose a beauty in this death,
become new shapes, interior.

To live they cannot hoard;
this losing, too, is growth.
New shapes emerge, new vision clears.
Surrender strengthens in the soul
another song.

This emptying is confidence
in spring, but more—a faithing
in the growth that’s come before,
a counting of the gifts
and then releasing one by one,
so as to give again,
knowing growth is not a season,
but is in the root of things.

This is no losing,
but a becoming.
Coveting such openness
of limb and heart and hand,
such bareness in the singing,
I only now discover that I want
this wind, blowing where it will,
within.

state of being

Had a blessed few minutes this morning of being unself-conscious.  Of being unself.  Of being.  I wasn't doing centering prayer or anything to get to that state.  I just sat down in my "prayer space" and I was there - one with God, no worries, no self talk that usually runs in the back of my mind (I don't pray enough, I don't exercise enough, etc. etc.).  It was a tremendous gift, but the gratitude for it didn't last long.  Pretty soon I was getting down on myself again because I'm not unself-conscious more often.  And that takes you right back to self-consciousness and ego worship.  Aaahhh, I'm back.  I'm familiar with this place.  But I hate it.  And that feeds it.  Ever tried to make yourself not think about yourself?  Yeah, it's a mess.

Which is the point - I can't make myself do/be anything.  Take being centered and unself-conscious, for example: I can participate in the prayer, relaxing, etc. but it also depends upon God's participation, his gift of that time and space.  His grace.  I grew up as and in some cases still am a white, Protestant, American from the midwest.  It's in my blood to try to achieve something, by myself, by working hard.  It's difficult to let my self go.  I've put that burden, that yoke, down a gazillion times, but I keep tripping over it, so it's faster and easier to just carry it and walk, without looking where to place every step, and move on to the next task that must get done and must have my help.  :/  And right there is an example of how writing is so helpful to me - I didn't realize, or I see in a new way, how I've been doing that just-carry-the-burden-and-get-the-job-done thing until I wrote it.  Time to let my self go again and watch where I walk.

By the way, my definition of "self" here is very different from what it used to be.  But I don't feel like writing about that right now.

little rockers

Mom and Dad bought me this little rocking chair for my first birthday.  I loved to sit in it and read like the grownups.  I've kept it ever since, not using it except as a sentimental keepsake for the past 35+ years.  When I moved in with my aunt and uncle, I didn't have enough room for it so I put it in storage.  A few weeks later I decided that was dumb - the rocker's store-bought, not made by some long-dead relative, now it's gathering dust and doing no one any good, and I have a picture of myself in it and that's sentimental enough.  So I brought the rocker to aunt & uncle's and put it in the rec room for my second cousins, A and B, to use and enjoy.  I'm liking this way of cherishing this "possession" much better than the old way.

So what do you think these pics say about our personalities?  Here I am, reading an ad for men's shoes.  (?)

Here's A rocking a baby doll:

And here's B watching Dora!

You know the Brave Little Toaster?  This is the Happy Little Rocking Chair.  Awww.

morning walk

When you live in Kansas, it can be easy sometimes to look at pictures of mountains or the ocean and feel a pang of envy - I did just the other day when I saw a picture of a cottage in Wales on a cliff overlooking the sea.  "Those people get to see that every day," I thought with wonder and disappointment in my homeland.  But this morning I took a walk and reminded myself of the unique beauty of Kansas; you just have to pay more attention sometimes.  One of my favorite Kansas sights, which I don't have a picture of yet, is the sun shining on golden wheat fields in a clear, deep blue sky.  It looks like you're in the Sahara, and when the wind blows the wheat really does look like "waves of grain."

I am excited to now live only 1/2 mile from the river that runs through Wichita (okay, there is a point when the Little Arkansas River branches off from the Big Arkansas River, but we just call it "the river").  I walked to and by the river with attention and an open, prayerful heart and enjoyed:

the river itself.  I had been walking fast for exercise, and there's a bike path that runs along it for that purpose, but I changed my mind and my purpose for the walk, since I hadn't seen or explored this place yet, and went off the path and closer to the river.  My heart rate and thoughts slowed as I neared the water and took in some of its quiet and peace.  I saw a couple of interesting pieces of driftwood, but my pictures do them no justice whatsoever, so I'll try again another time.

After walking along the river a short time I sat down to just soak it in and be with it.  I'm trying to remember more often to stop anywhere, when I can, and be still in that place until I begin to see, with my eyes and my spirit, what is there.  After a few moments in this place, I realized a butterfly or moth was feeding nearby, or resting, or doing some contemplation of his own:

I was reminded of the birds in the air and the lilies in the field and of Psalm 23 and God's care for all of his creation.  I remembered that while I have a part in taking care of the various things that come my way, their ultimate fate, or essence, is not my responsibility, nor my worry.

On my walk back I was delighted to find St. Francis, carved by a local artist, blessing the day, the animals, my walk....The face looks a lot like one of my cousins, though, so that broke the mood a bit.  :)

And further down the road I found a great piece of art painted by students from a nearby grade school:

(They painted the word "Wichita" with a variety of faces looking through - here you can see the edge of the "c" and the "hita".)

Then I continued my walk in contemplative mode until my uncle tried to run me over with his truck.  Okay, we passed each other on the road and he pulled over to chat a minute, but first he swerved....

By the time it came to the edge of the Forest the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly.  For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, "There is no hurry.  We shall get there some day."...

Christopher Robin...and Pooh...and Piglet and Roo...would lie down (on a bridge) and watch (the river)...and it slipped away very slowly, being in no hurry to get there....

Christopher Robin came down from the Forest to the bridge, feeling all sunny and careless, and just as if twice nineteen didn't matter a bit...and he thought that if he stood on the bottom rail of the bridge, and leant over, and watched the river slipping slowly away beneath him, then he would suddenly know everything that there was to be known....

From "In Which Pooh Invents a New Game and Eeyore Joins In" (The House at Pooh Corner) by A.A. Milne.  If you have never read this Poohsticks story, you simply must make the time to do so someday.  I have to include more:

"How did you fall in (the river) Eeyore?" asked Rabbit.

"I was BOUNCED," said Eeyore...."I was just thinking by the side of the river - thinking, if any of you know what that means, when I received a loud BOUNCE."

..."Are you sure you didn't slip?" asked Rabbit wisely.

"Of course I slipped.  If you're standing on the slippery bank of a river, and somebody BOUNCES you loudly from behind, you slip.  What did you think I did?"

..."But, Eeyore," said Pooh, "was it a Joke, or an Accident?  I mean - "

"I didn't stop to ask, Pooh.  Even at the very bottom of the river I didn't stop to say to myself, 'Is this a Hearty Joke, or is it the Merest Accident?'  I just floated to the surface, and said to myself, 'It's wet.'  If you know what I mean."

joyful (and other) recent moments

Best sign:

These people got my attention; too bad I'm all stocked up on garbage.

(my) Best domestic efforts since...the 90's?
last night:  made dinner for 3!  actually cooked!  no one's ill!
today:  figured out how to tuck the longer panels of the curtains up so the room is lighter, and my changes don't look stupid!  (my uncle made me the "JOY" letters years ago - they've been a cherished reminder to welcome joy ever since)

Best rhyme:
Grandpa had whipped cream on lemon pudding instead of chocolate yesterday.  As I handed him the bowl, I said, "Here's your white on yellow."  "Quite a fellow!" he quipped back.  He is, indeed.

Biggest lesson:
As I tucked a big pillow behind Grandpa the other day in the recliner, I inadvertently pulled the back of his sweatshirt down too, which pulled the front of it against his neck.  "Aack!" he laughed.  "You're choking me!"  "Oops!  Sorry about that!"  Note to self:  don't strangle Grandpa.

Best sights:
Watching "Papa" (my uncle) stand behind and support his grandson as he walked on a pair of stilts for the first time.

This hand-cut design from China that a friend gave me:

Biggest celebration:
The rescue of the miners in Chile - what an amazing story.



"We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through all the time."
Thomas Merton

home

I think this move to my aunt & uncle's house was my twenty-second - somewhere around there.  It sure doesn't get more fun with experience, but I still enjoy some of the unpacking and arranging things, especially my books.  Someone told me once I was a "nester" - taking time and care to arrange my space before I work or live in it.

I was born way into personality type A - anal retentive, uptight, things have to be just so, etc.  I'm a bit more balanced now, 'though I'm still exploring this new, type B territory (such as chilling out a bit too much and forgetting to pay my bills...).  As I packed for the 22nd time, however, it was interesting to see that I'm still type A in that regard.  As a result of that, I didn't have everything packed when it was time to move, and a relative, who's more of a type B packer, (or maybe he just wanted to get it over with) helped me out.  I noticed these differences in our styles:

Type A:  Like items must go in the same box
Type B:  Put box at edge of table or shelf and use arm to sweep anything and everything into box, or put box on floor and use hands like an excavator (I had to look up the name of that thingie) to pick up whatever is nearby and dump into box

Type A:  Every little space in the box must be filled; this means you need to spend time looking around and thinking about what would best fit in that space.  Try a few different things to see which has the best fit.
Type B:  Once stuff is in box, close it

Type A:  Everything has to be arranged in the box so that all of its space is used efficiently (therefore you can get more stuff in it); re-arrange things a few times if necessary
Type B:  see above

Type A:  Tape box shut
Type B:  see above

Type A:  Label boxes according to rooms they go in or items in box
Type B:  What's a label?

Fortunately, at that point in the moving process, I was just thankful for the help.  I thought many times about just packing what I wanted to take with me and then leaving a sign on the front door that said, "Free stuff - please take!"

One day I was loading stuff into my car (we stretched the move over several days and smaller loads - I discovered that I like that way a whole lot better than one move with a big truck).  During one trip from the car to the house I stopped, looked at the front of the house, and thought, something's different.  Then I realized my shepherd's crook/plant hanger thingie with the bird feeder hanging on it was missing.  I was going to leave it at the house anyway, so I didn't care about it being gone, but I was curious.  I walked closer to the spot to look for clues, but my love for Sherlock Holmes hasn't translated into practical use, and I learned nothing about the plant hanger.  What I did learn, however, was that the front of the house, the entire front of the house, was covered in faint black mold spots.  You can't see them until you get up close.  Top to bottom, side to side, the spots were everywhere - the house looked like it had polka dots.  I looked at the other sides of the house and found more mold spots.  I'd known there were small patches of mold inside the house, but they didn't seem to be growing so I didn't worry about them.  Suddenly seeing that my house had the moldy chicken pox was a shock, and now I'm really glad I'm not living there anymore.  I told my mom that if I stop acting weird, it must have been the mold.  (I hope I don't.)

The next day, I was unloading other stuff from my car into my new digs, using the door that goes from my room into the back yard.  I walked out of my room and was heading to the car when I stopped short: that shepherd's crook and bird feeder in my aunt & uncle's back yard looked awfully familiar....  Later, I asked my aunt about it and it turns out my uncle had grabbed it along with the other stuff he was loading into his truck one day.  I never would have thought to bring it along, but seeing it there touched and encouraged me.  Now I have a reminder here of the yard I loved and good times spent in that yard, and it's wonderful.  It's right outside my back door, and later that day I sat down on the back deck to rest and looked at the crook and feeder and the tree it was next to and spent some time just "being" in my gratitude for God and my family and friends' care for me.  (I believe the tree was like that when a & u moved in; I enjoy it as a reminder that it's good to be silly sometimes.)

My room here reminds me in many ways of my room on my 2008 retreat: one room with bed, desk, and chair (plus a bunch of other junk now), attached bathroom, living with others, (although there's the itty-bitty difference now of a man also living on the premises - oops, I mean a great big difference), etc.  I even have my tree outside my window, except instead of reminding me of protection and blessing, this tree reminds me to be happy and that all is well.

The last couple of days at my old house my cat friend Ozzy came by several times.  He was a welcome and comforting animal friend since the dogs were gone.  On the last day, he'd visited earlier but was gone as I made the final trips to the car.  When I was ready to go, I shut the door and as I was walking to my car Ozzy darted in front of me, seemingly out of nowhere.  As I drove away, I saw him sitting up straight in the driveway, as if he was seeing me off and wishing me well.  Happy mouse-hunting to you, my friend.

ludicrous

This morning I read Psalm 23, then my eyes glanced over to Ps. 25:9.  In the New Jerusalem version of this Psalm, the first words of each verse are capitalized, and instead of "judiciously" I read, "LUDICROUSLY he guides the humble, instructing the poor in his way."  I can't tell you whether or not I'm humble (that's sort of a catch-22), but even as I realized my mistake I thought, "Boy, that's for sure."  I get in God's way a lot, too.

grief and gratitude

I just heard the furtive sound of a Kleenex being pulled slowly from its box...

I love words; I love to explore their meaning.  A few days ago a crossword puzzle reminded me that "brood" can mean "incubate."  I'm a really good brooder, when it comes to carrying around thoughts and ideas for a time.  But I forget that brooding isn't obsession - you don't think and pick apart those ideas to death, you care for them and give them a loving, hospitable place to gestate and be born in their time.

I've been carrying around, caring for, a particular thought for about 2 1/2 years now, and its time has come.  With my upcoming move, my desire to simplify, my need to practice stewardship, my call to do these things to draw even closer to God, comes another aspect of the call:  I need to give up the dogs.

I won't go into all the reasoning, questioning, wrestling, crying, praying, and wondering I've done with God about this decision.  The point is that I understand it to a small extent (and that understanding is a gift), am choosing faith for the rest of it, and that I know this is being asked of me.

I look at Genesis 22 and Abraham's call to sacrifice his son Isaac.  Don't argue with me about whether or not dogs mean as much, or are worth as much, as people - regardless of our views, this is hurting me to the core.  (And no, I don't believe God has promised me or Chester that he will make Chester's descendants into a chosen corgi nation.)  The story in Gen. 22 is short, but I can imagine what might have been going through Abraham's mind at the time; I can imagine what would be going through mine.  "Abraham!"  "Here I am!"  "Take your son...your beloved Isaac, (the fulfillment of the promise I gave to you) and go...offer him as a burnt offering...."

Wait...WHAT?!  Did I hear that right?  You mean this son?  The one that is the foundation for our covenant?  The one you sent directly to me, regardless of the fact that my wife was too old to bear a child?  I thought it was too late, I was content with my life, I was close to you, then you came and turned my life upside down and called me to leave my homeland and asked for tremendous trust and actions from me, you promised me things greater than I'd ever imagined, and now you are not only taking it back, you are asking me to kill it?!  What is going on???

Okay, Abraham seems to have had a simpler faith; the thoughts above may be mostly mine, not his, but I'll bet he hardly slept, if he slept at all, for the three days it took to travel to the place God had sent him, and the walk alone with Isaac to the final place of sacrifice must have been agonizing, even with great faith.

Now, if you grew up in Sunday School you know that God saves the day at the last minute when he sees that Abraham is willing to give up his promised son and provides a ram to be offered instead.  Then God promises Abraham tremendous blessings.  So the moral of the story is, just convince God that you're willing to do as he asks, and at the last minute he'll keep anything horrible from happening and bless you instead.  No, wait, that doesn't sound right...oh, okay, it's about stewardship versus ownership - ultimately Isaac, Chester, Oliver, etc. are not ours, they are God's.  Yes, there is that, but there's more:  Abraham ultimately did not falter in his belief, in his deep faith that becomes a form of knowledge, that God would keep his part of the covenant.  Maybe Abraham wrestled with the idea, maybe not, but when he brought his promised son to the place of sacrifice, his deepest commitment, the one to God, was the source of his actions.  I am not attributing these thoughts to Abraham, but a truth of this story is that God never backed down on his promise, but he might have changed the way he fulfilled it.  He may fulfill his promises in ways we could never imagine.

I have had 10 amazing years with Chester - this dog truly is one of my soul-mates.  We've had 5 fun years with Oliver.  They have both taught me much.  I said I would never abandon them, and now the reality is that this process of giving them up has led to the point of my having to give them to strangers, something that is even harder for me to have peace with than if they were to have died.  But the truth of this story isn't oops, I messed things up or life didn't go as I'd planned, and now I have to take back that promise that I wouldn't abandon you; the truth is closer to:  I misunderstood my power and level of ownership, my control that I had in this relationship.  In giving you away, I am still fulfilling my promise to take care of you, because I am doing as God asks, and he's the ultimate caretaker.  We will be physically apart, and you will probably forget about me someday, but we will remain close in spirit; nothing, no height, no depth, no life, no death, will separate us.  God is the source and goal for all life, and he holds us together.  Not one of us is abandoned.

a must-see/read

Thanks to my brother for sharing this with me.  This man changed my life when he assured me and sang to me (on TV), "You'll never go down the drain."

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/movies/commentaries/2010/mynewhero.html?start=1

http://www.pittsburghinwords.org/tom_junod.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Upm9LnuCBUM

favorites from the day so far - 08/19/10

High-school-age kid walking home with 4-5 Kindergarten-sized kids on a neighborhood street (no sidewalks).  Everybody holding hands, big kid walking slow and looking around, pulling little kids to the side when a car comes - wonderful!

Grandpa's smile and laughter, his telling me he's glad I'm coming early tomorrow, his out-of-the-blue question:
"Are we adults?"
me - "I don't know.  Do we act like adults?"
(laughter) "No!"
"I don't think so, either."

Greater sense of God's presence and love today, and of being more well, more whole.

life 08/19/10

Okay, I've got to get back into writing here more often.  I got lost in the egotistical everything-I-post-has-to-be-Pulitzer-Prize-quality, and I forgot how much it helps me just to get stuff down.

Chester's discovered that he loves cicadas.  They make a great bedtime snack.  He races to the back door when it's time to "go potty" and, at night, noses out the poor, minding-my-own-business creatures, wagging his tail as they buzz buzz buzz before he goes crunch crunch crunch.  Unfortunately for Chester, they're onto him now, and there haven't been any by the door for several days, though you can hear them in the yard.  On one of the first days he did this, I was fascinated to see the cicadas act as a community - he was going after a few on the porch, so several others came down off the house and dive bombed him, trying desperately to save their own.  But Chester's jaws were too much for them, and it ended up being a kamikaze mission.

Was blessed last week while walking the dogs and heard a shouted "Hello!"  Turned to see a neighbor girl we've met waving and smiling at us.

Was setting up Grandpa's birthday cards last week and, on the last one, knocked down a bunch of them in the middle - they went down like dominoes.  I looked at Grandpa, and he cracked up.  When I pulled my hand back to begin picking them up, I knocked down more.  Gpa loved it.

Gpa also got a big kick out of the whipped cream spitting out of the can all over my shirt.  It'd happened before, so this time I just walked over to Gpa and showed him my shirt, smiling but not saying anything.  He cracked up again, and when I told him it was all over the counter too, he said, "Maybe I should tell your mother about this."  (That I'm a klutz.)  She already knows.

Enjoyed a bubbles fight with Gpa - our favorite lady from hospice gave them to him for his b-day (along with a remote-control car that he likes to crash into people).  At one point he said, "You've got the advantage because you're higher."  (I was standing, he was sitting in his chair.)  I considered the odds even, though, since I was getting more of his spit on me than actual bubbles.  On Monday, the hospice lady said Grandpa asked her, "Bring more bubbles."

The other day Grandpa pointed to several wooden models we had put together, and said, "If you drove that sports car you'd probably crash into the helicopter" (which was next to it).  I picked up the car and crashed it into him.  One of my (and other family members') frequent "chores" is to put things where Grandpa wants them and arrange them to his liking.  The day after the "car crash" he pointed to the models again and said, "The sports car is too close to the old car" (Model T or A).  I turned to look, and the cars were as far apart from each other as they could get, brushing up against the models on either side of them.  When I turned back to look at Grandpa, he had a big grin on his face.  I (gently) hit him in the head with a pillow.

I was cutting out a newspaper article for Gpa to save recently, when he said, "Your Royals beat my Yankees."  Once I recovered from the shock, I cheered.  "I knew you'd do that," he said.  I said, "We should cut out and save the article about the baseball game, too!"  "Phooey!" was his response.

Still getting used to the idea of moving and finding other arrangements for the dogs.  Some days it's hard to even begin to think about, on others I know I need to do it.  Who knows what'll happen - I need to stop worrying.

Praying for people all over the world who are homeless, foodless, sick, etc. due to natural disasters or other circumstances.  Praying for them to have peace and strength, and the things they need.  Giving thanks for my own circumstances.

Ps. 23, NJB:
Yahweh is my (our) shepherd, we lack nothing.
In grassy meadows he lets us lie.
By tranquil streams he leads us to restore our spirit.
He guides us in paths of saving justice as befits his name.
Even were we to walk in a ravine as dark as death we should fear no danger, for you are at our side.
Your staff and your crook are there to soothe us.
You prepare a table for us under the eyes of our enemies;
you anoint our heads with oil; our cups brim over.
Kindness and faithful love pursue us every day of our lives.
We make our home in the house of Yahweh for all time to come.