Life These Days

Sabbath Rest

2011-02-27T08:03:00.003-05:00

It's not every day that one's sabbath rest can be done aboard a 60' catamaran, floating and sailing around the British Virgin Islands. However, thanks to my childhood friendg Renee, that is exactly what I've been doing this week, just prior to my turning 45 on March 4th. It feels excessive, indulgent, glorious, and deserved--all at once. I'm finding it difficult to even think too hard, which means blogs posts will likely give a run-down of each day, but writing anything of depth has yet to happen. I'm sure it will, though. Right now, I'm just enjoying having my brain turned off from anything deep or theological, and am reading a good novel rather than a non-fiction, ministry-related book.

Feel free to read what our days have been like. Just don't expect theological reflecting or musing. And because the internet access is very slow, pictures will be added later. W ith that in mind, enjoy experiencing this wonderful gift of sabbath as I prepare to celebrate my 45th birthday. :-)

Travel Day

After a long but easy day of travel on Thursday, Mike and Lori (the Sabore’ crew) met us at the RoadTown ferry landing and we boarded the beautiful Sabore’ about 5pm-- just before dinnertime. After unpacking and settling in, Lori had appetizers all ready for us. They were very welcomed--we had not eaten much on the plane, and that had been around noon, so we were all pretty hungry. Then we headed back into town for dinner at The Dove restaurant. http://www.tortola-beaches.com/Tortola-The-Dove-Restaurant.html It was elegant simplicity—the service was good and the food delicious. Tamara and I were both quite exhausted, partly from the long day and partly because our motion sickness patches were doing their thing. We enjoyed the meal and the company nonetheless, but were quite ready to tuck ourselves in when we got back to the boat. Our first night was spent docked at RoadTown, and we went to be tired, but eager to get underway the next morning.

Day 1

I slept a bit late the first day, and awoke to coffee set up on the outdoor dining table, followed by French toast, fruit, and sausage for breakfast. As soon as our leisurely breakfast was over and cleaned up, we set sail to our first stop, Norman Island. http://www.normanisland.com/ After 30 to 45 minutes of sailing, we anchored, in a quiet little cove, ate lunch, then took our first dip in the water for snorkeling, floating, or just general relaxing. The only other time I’ve been snorkeling was when Joel & I chaperoned a group of high school seniors on a cruise. I was less-than-impressed then, simply because we were so deep that we really couldn’t see much as we floated across the water’s surface. This time, though, we were in waters that were barely 6 feet deep, so we could see lots of brightly-colored fish, interesting coral formations, and hearty plants. After snorkeling, we sunned a bit, got dressed, and boarded the dingy for a ride to the island. We started off with a short hike, then enjoyed a drink at the beach bar, Pirate’s Bight, before heading back to the boat. http://www.piratesbight.com/ A delicious dinner followed our first sunset “at sea,” and we entertained ourselves with laughter-inducing after-dinner conversation and singing before we tucked in for the night.

Day 2

For some reason, I’ve not been sleeping well at all, so on Saturday morning I gave in and got up early—around 6:15, which is 5:15 by my body clock. I poured a cup of coffee, then crept out on deck to see the sunrise. While the sun itself was obscured by a large island land mass, the colors produced as it began to peek up from the horizon were gorgeous. After a breakfast of English muffins, turkey bacon, and fruit, we set sail again, heading to Peter Island for the day and night. http://www.peterisland.com/ Peter is a privately owned island, and is home to a high-end resort and spa. Formerly closed to anyone but paying guests, they have recently opened up for travelers to hike, visit the spa, or enjoy a meal. We dingy’d to the island for a pre-lunch hike and some beach time, then ate at the resort restaurant before heading back to the boat. Afternoon snorkeling was better today because, in addition to many more brightly-colored fish, we saw a huge sea turtle swimming along—a gorgeous and elegant creature, probably slightly larger than your average car tire. Snorkeling was followed by some sunning and reading time, then margaritas and chips served in anticipation of our fajita dinner. This was not your average fajita, though. Delicious beef tenderloin, sautéed with onions and pepper, and served with fresh homemade guacamole and, yes, another margarita. After dinner entertainment was a movie-- The Social Network—on a white “screen” stretched across the stern of the boat, with the image projected from a DVD project. Clever and ingenuous! I didn’t really enjoy the movie as much as I thought I would, and will be disappointed if it earns any awards tonight, Oscar night. It was entertaining for sure, but not deserving of any special awards in my opinion. After the movie, we tucked in for reading and another night of sleep.

That's all for now. Check back for Days 3 and 4 on Tuesday!

Marking Time

2011-01-28T12:23:00.003-05:00

Today I finally went to Batteries Plus with an old watch that belonged to Mom to get the battery replaced. (I've decided to try to start wearing a watch again because I don't want to be further tied to my cell phone just to see what time it is...). I commented to the young woman who helped me that my mom died a year or so ago and it was her watch. Then I smiled and added, "If only I could bring my mom in here for a new battery and everything would run just fine again, yeah?" She commented that she had lost her mom this past year, and it was hard for her too. We talked about how the "missing" just never seems to go away. I said a prayer for my friend Elizabeth who just lost her mom last week...far too soon. I wish I could tell her that it will feel normal once again, but at this point I can't. It is simply not normal, even yet, for me to not have Mom's physical presence here with me. The tears are few and far between, and the aching is gone, but I think I will always long for a hug from her. Always.

Loved and Chosen

2011-01-17T17:38:00.001-05:00

You can read or listen to my recent sermon at Oglethorpe Presbyterian Church here:

http://networkedblogs.com/d6Z4n

Ever-present Absence

2010-11-10T10:02:00.012-05:00

Yesterday afternoon, I spent a few minutes lying in the hammock while Adam jumped on the trampoline. It soothed me to look up into the crystal-clear blue skies through the colorful leaves hanging precariously on the trees above me. I was practicing the art of emptying my mind so that I could hear God’s message to me more clearly. I’m not sure it worked, but it did lead to an interesting conversation with Adam.

“How would you feel if I died, Adam? I mean, other than sad, how would you feel?”

He thought for a bit, then said, “Well, how did you die?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just say…cancer.”

“I’d probably be mad, but then I’d eventually be okay. Why?”

What I was trying to figure out was that if this “missing a mother” thing that I still feel every single day is universal, in general, or if it depends on the age and stage a person is when a mother dies. In other words, all other factors being as equal as possible, does the heart-hole or life-hole that is left when one’s mother dies vary in size, shape, closure (?) time depending on how old a person is when her mother dies? Or is it consistent despite the contributing factors of age and stage in life? Why do I think about things like this? I don’t know, really. But I do know that even now, some 415 days or so past Mom’s death, not a single day goes by that I don’t think about her. Not a single day goes by that I don’t miss her. Most days, I miss her in that bittersweet way that leaves me smiling and warm inside. Some days, I miss her in the heart-wrenching, damn you cancer kind of way that leaves me feeling too vulnerable and too raw.

It’s not that I didn’t expect to outlive Mom. Of course I knew that I would very likely outlive her. But I did not expect to be totally blindsided by her death either. Yes, we had four months to prepare for her death. We were able to walk slowly toward her death, knowing that it was looming. But we were all totally blindsided by her diagnosis. We were all totally blindsided by the reality that she would not live to the ripe old age of 90, as her mother did, or even to the age of 88 as her less healthy sister did. I think we all fully expected to have Mom by our sides when Dad died, and I guess I always thought that somehow, that would make her ultimate death easier. But it was not to be.

This morning, I reached into the coat closet and pulled out a jacket that was Mom's. As I stuck my hands in the pockets and pulled out a glove and a wadded up tissue from each one, I felt that lump rise up in my throat. "Damn--it's one of those days again," I thought. On my way to work, I called Calli and we talked a bit about Thanksgiving and Christmas plans. Towards the end of the conversation, as we both realized that our holiday plans just don’t seem to matter that much to Dad, we both entered a space of missing the presence of Mom’s opinions and excitement about having us all together. Truthfully, they probably don’t matter too much to him because they mattered so much to Mom that he learned to just ride the waves of her twirling and her excitement. Honestly, no one will ever be as excited as she was to have us all in one place—because the hum of family resonance that is almost always present at any family gathering since the beginning of time often overshadows any excitement that any of us might feel for very long. Don’t get me wrong--we all love each other. And we get along better than many families that I know. But we’re all opinionated. We’re all strong-willed. And we all have our own way of doing things. So it can get a bit dicey at times.

But I digress. Calli & I entered that space of the mutual ever-present absence of Mom and we both teared up.

“I love you , Sister.” I said.

“Love you too. Bye.”

As I settled myself in the church space for the morning, I wandered past the two-year-old room. It was just past drop-off time, and the hustle and bustle of activity was beginning to wane as the children settled into their school morning. But there was one little boy who was still quietly sobbing.

“Would you like to play with the truck, Noah?” his teacher asked.

“No, I want my mama,” he cried quietly.

“Would you like to read a book?” she asked.

“No, I want my mama,” he cried quietly.

“We’re going to feather paint today. Do you want to feather paint with us?”

“No, I want my mama,” he cried quietly.

I stood at the door and watched, his tear-filled eyes meeting mine every few seconds until he finally inserted his right thumb in his mouth and started twirling a bit of hair with his left hand. I was taken back to the days when I would drop two-year-old Adam off at Little Folks of Fourth in Greenville. After a few tear-filled drop-off days, his own little soothing routine was to remind both of us that “mommies all call back,” Adam-speak for “Mommies always come back.”

And I always did.

Odds are pretty good that Noah is now happily playing with his friends, and that his mom will come back time and time again, too.

What is it about this thing called mother-love? When we are tiny and vulnerable, it is a mom’s presence that anchors us and helps us feel secure, so when she's not physically present, we are sad. We feel vulnerable and alone. And as we grow, it’s as if we want to resist with everything we have being dependent on that one person who wouldn’t dream of abandoning us. The ever-present presence of a mother can often feel stifling, even controlling or oppressive at times. One of my Emory students even laughed and said, “Well, you can’t have ‘smother’ without ‘mother’!” But when it’s only there in your memory, never again to be felt in the warmth of a hug, the taste of a favorite meal, or the excitement of a request to “tell me all about your (fill in the blank…day, trip, dinner, etc.)!” knowing that she really and truly does want to know all about it, it is the most pervasive, ever-present absence that I have ever felt. And why did I not realize how much I would miss it?

This is life today. If only I could suck my thumb and twirl my hair while I remind myself that mommies always come back, perhaps I would feel better. But alas...

Musings on a Calling

2010-10-28T18:13:00.006-04:00

So this is what I worked for over the span of four years during my graduate studies at Columbia Theological Seminary? This is why I slaved and fretted over ordination exams and MCA’s and CPM paperwork? This is why I juggle two jobs, three sons, and an exponential number of schedules from mid-August to mid-May? To dress up as a witch and go Trick-or-Treating at age 44? To spend a weekend away from my family with 50+ folks (most of whom I don’t know) who hover unpredictably & precariously between adolescence and adulthood? To schlep dinner for twelve up two flights of stairs in the Glenn Education Building and listen to the highs and lows of a very high and low bunch of folks…every week? To plan activities and opportunities for worship, study, or service never knowing who, if anyone, will show up? To work to drum up enough financial support to get us through each year, and to never be sure from one year to the next if the funds will be granted for my own salary? To pay through the nose for parking at Emory, only to walk another “fer piece” to my on-campus office (which is up the aforementioned two flights of stairs, I might add…)? To pick up the tab for anywhere from two to twelve people at Yogurt Tap, Willy’s, Panera, or ChocoLate at any given moment?

You bet it’s what I worked for. It’s why I sat not once (for polity and worship and sacraments), not twice (for polity, theology, and exegesis), but three (for polity alone) times. (Notice a pattern here? Damn you, polity ord!) It’s why I juggle the many aspects of my life so that I can be pastor (and yes, sometimes mother, sometimes sister, sometimes friend) to a group of the greatest young people that I know. To walk with these students on this journey we call life for these precious four years is a gift and a blessing. They challenge me. They support me. They laugh with me…and at me. They are wonderful and amazing. They are inquisitive, they are faithful, and they are committed to finding and following God’s call on their lives. They are respectful of each other, yet hold each other accountable when needed. They are the future. And I promise you, despite all the things that point to the contrary, they will be ready and capable when it’s time to step up to the proverbial plate. Yes they’re still being formed—and there are days when I am grateful that God’s not done with ‘em yet, for sure--but then again, aren’t we all a beautiful, wonderful, work in progress?

Thank you God for calling me to this work of Christian formation. And thank you for the daily reminders that it is all of us—not just our children, youth, and young adults—whom you are forming, shaping, molding to be/come the people you have called us to be.

More Wisdom from Attee

2010-08-26T08:50:00.008-04:00

I have so many blog topics on my list, but in the craziness that is my life, I simply can't find the right combination of time AND creative energy to write them down. Theological musings like "If we believe God is always present, why do we ask God to comfort people and / or be with people in our prayers?" and "Sins of Omission and Sins of Comission--which do you tend to focus on and why?" And another one came to me yesterday, but I have already forgotten it. Perhaps it will return.

But alas, today is not the day when creativity and time have met, so instead, I give you more snippets from Mom's life, this time from her Bible, where I found this little gem tucked. It's from an old "These Days" devotional, dated Sunday, April 30. The referenced scripture is Luke's version of The Good Samaritan, Luke 10:29-37.

Be A Jumper Cable

On one of those frantic, tightly scheduled days, when others were depending on my punctuality all day, the battery in my car barely sparked the engine to start. In haste, I risked continuing. Later, far from home, as I turned the ignition key again, one last, weak, grunt sounded. The battery was dead. I felt like a dead battery, too!

Almost immediately a young "Good Samaritan" stopped to offer help--he even had a jumper cable! As soon as the jumper cable brought power, my car started: the energy transferred enabled my car to go.

I thought of all those people in the world who act as jumper cables--conveying energy, bringing help, carrying services, transferring love, making connections. Try it now; stop a moment and remember kindness people have done for you, those who have served as links between you and a need. Then, think of the times you have been a jumper cable for others, a Good Samaritan--the example immortalized by Jesus of one forever nameless but forever named, a symbol of a person who responde to human need. Good Samaritans are jumper cables, bridging human need!

Prayer: All powerful (God), without you we are as dead batteries. Help us to stay connected with you and to transfer to others your love and energy. In Jesus' name, Amen.

Granted, the metaphor is a bit cheesy, but it does so personify our mother. So my prayer for you this day and always, with a nod to our dear, sweet Attee is this: May each of you BE jumper cables when you are given the chance to be, and may you FIND someone who is jumper cables when you need a bit of energy.

Amen. :-)

For Michael Thomas

2010-07-10T19:44:00.005-04:00

In going through my files on my computer, I came upon this poem that I wrote for our youngest son Michael when he was three. It was just a few months before we moved to Decatur for seminary...

Your Passion
For Michael Thomas, with love from Mom
April 18. 2002

You're the hardest part of my day, yet the joy of my life.
The delicate balance between ecstasy and utter frustration.
From the first stirrings of you in my body...even your conception.
I've felt it from the start, your eagerness, need, to live with passion.

They said that you couldn't be...it was too soon.
But I knew better, as all mothers do. You were there, sure & strong.
Even at eight weeks, your beating heart was screaming for life.
A Soul that you had already claimed, passionately staked for your own.

It was as if you'd picked up the remaining pieces of the one before you,
The one who had not been, whose body was no longer there.
Perhaps there were bits of soul still present, begging for a life.
And like a good brother, you gathered them in, sharing yourself.

You were the hardest to carry, for both body & mind were weary.
And I had little time to rest, as there were other young demands.
Needs to be met, incessant and necessary.
But you were there always, reminding me of your presence.

So eager you were to join our lives that you couldn't wait 'til your time.
Your brothers were late, but you...you were three days ahead of yourself.
Always ahead of yourself, or so you thought. So you think.
You're only three, a mere speck in the hourglass of life.

I wrestle with you, with who you are and the roller coaster you ride.
Up one minute, then plummeting down the next, with no warning, none.
I hurt for you, for the emotions you feel so strongly yet cannot name.
But we're both trying...it's just that there are so many, and it's so hard!

You're only three, too little for reasoning, for big words, or big feelings.
But your feelings ARE big, and they resonate loud & long.
Even when you are back up and the world is good again,
Your frustration, your hurtful actions, linger in my mind, heart, and memory.

Time will help, I tell myself. You'll grow out of it.
But do I want you to? That passion you have, good or bad
Is passion nonetheless. It's a depth of feeling that not everyone has.
But I know you have it because I see myself in your depths.

We'll get through this, you & me, and be better for it.
Your feelings WILL always resonate loud & long for me.
As mine will for you, one of these days. And I will remind you.
Of the days, not so very long ago, when you were my hardest part.

More musings from Mom

2010-07-10T19:38:00.002-04:00

I remember...

...not long after my Grandpa died, I remember an Indian suit I got for Christmas--feathered headdress and all! And it was very special, I thought!

...waking up on cold winter mornings and seeing Daddy light the heaters before the family got up.

...having "tickling fights" with Daddy on Sunday mornings in bed! I LOVED that! And one Sunday morning by the bed there was a new pocket watch somebody had given my daddy and it had writing on the back.

...the stairway in the big old house with a landing where it turned directions. One day I fell from the top step to the landing and I remember being GLAD that stairway turned directions! Just like times when I've been glad when life "turned directions," you know!

I'm grateful for her memories, her voice in my head, even still. But there are still times when all I really want is to feel her arms around my neck and hear her tell me that she loves me.

Sigh.

I Remember...

2010-06-11T07:38:00.002-04:00

More from Mom's "Recollections"

"I remember when Grandpa died and I smiled at people as they went in to pay respects to someone in the downstairs bedroom--was it Nana? I'm not sure, but I know it seemed important for me to smile and be happy because everyone looked so sad!"

May we all be beacons of happiness today for those in our midst who are sad!

Memories from Attee

2010-06-10T07:18:00.004-04:00

I've not had the creative urge to blog much these past few months, but I don't want to just let it go unattended either. Therefore, I've decided to resurrect some of Mom's writings that I have found as we've gone through her things this past year and put them out there for whatever readers I may still have left to enjoy.

I'm not exactly sure the nature of these writings. I suppose she wanted to write things down "for posterity," so that he stories and memories would live on even when she had moved on. There is a yellow legal pad with memories jotted down and dated in the mid- to late-70's, then another notebook that is entitled "My Journal about Hunter" begun in June of 1992, right about the time we found out he was HIV+. That one is a treasure, and I hope to share it in its full form at some point.

I should have posted this one on Tuesday of this week, which would have been Mom & Dad's 60th wedding anniversary, but I had forgotten about this particular entry. The entry is dated 9/6/79, just a few weeks before my sister Calli married her first husband Steve. Since Mom did not title it, I'll do that for her.

How Well I Remember

"How well I remember the day I married Tommy. As usual at 628, there was lots of confusion and much coming and going. That morning a friend brought a box filled with freshly cut gardenias from her garden and said, with a smile, "Happy the bride the sun shines on!" and it was indeed a glorious summer day! I remember th eneed to get away from all the confusion, so I went across the Janye's to rest, but instead of resting, I had a good cry and a heart-to-heart talk with Janye. Only then did she tell me Med had always hoped I'd marry Mem! But then she reassured me and said it was natural to get nervous at the last minute.

"Then as I was dressing to go to the church, I got sick at my stomach just before putting on my wedding gown. But I finally got myself together and with my daddy's help I made it down the aisle. Everyone said the way that Tommy looked at me as I came down the aisle was all the decoration that we needed for the wedding! I've always wished someone had snapped a picture because that would have been so special to keep."

It always troubled me that Mom and Dad's wedding day was so stressful for her. Since her death, I've read some of the letters that she and Dad exchanged in the months leading up to the wedding (which she, by the way, intentionally kept, but also intentionally kept FROM me until "the day she died," as she used to say), and there's no doubt that the love and certainty were there, but I guess as was often the case with Mom, her nervousness outweighed any other emotions that might have been present as well. I know their life together, while filled with ups and downs, was good, and that she had little, if any, regrets about the path their life together took for those fifty-nine years.

As Joel and I approach our 20th anniversary in less than two weeks (June 23rd), I wonder what our lives will look like when the year 2050 rolls around. If we are still on this earth, I will be 84 and he will be 81, very close to Mom's age when she died, and Dad's age now. What hardships will we have endured by then? What celebrations will we have shared together? Will our boys rest in the knowledge that I had little, if any, regrets about the path our life together took?

On these summer days that seem so very full for me, I hope to keep my wits about me and remember that it's no so much about the destination, but about the journey along the way. I'm a pretty good trip planner, but I'm not so sure how good I am as a traveling companion. I think perhaps I'll work on that a bit in the days and weeks ahead...

Full Circle

2010-04-05T20:29:00.005-04:00

For over a year now, I’ve blogged mostly about Mom—her diagnosis and journey to death, and the after effects with which that all left me. But here, on this side of the reality of life without my mother’s hugs, I have been blessed these past few months to be reminded of just what a gift I have in dad. Calli & I have both commented in these recent months that it’s been a joy to re-define our relationship with Dad. Surely those of you that knew our mom have some idea what we mean when we say that. It’s not that Mom hoarded or controlled either of us or our relationship with Dad, but she was so very present in their marriage. She was the personality of their partnership. It’s not that Dad doesn’t HAVE personality, but Mom just had so much, so Dad eventually just let her be the relationship manager. She managed their social life, their family life, and their day-to-day life—just as any good “housewife” of her generation did. And it was all well and good with them. That was their dance for many years, and they had learned to dance it beautifully. But now Dad is without his dancing partner, and so he’s having to learn his own steps. And doing quite well, I have to say.

But I’m chasing a rabbit here. Let me back up. So my musings have been mostly about Mom—the things she taught me, the things she did for me, the ways she mothered me. I know how very blessed the four of us were to have had her as our mother. But we’re fortunate too, to have the father that we have as well. No, neither of them were perfect by any means, but both did the best they knew how to do, and that was pretty darn good.

As I pushed the lawn mower down the street yesterday to mow Dad’s overgrown yard--for some reason, the lawn service had been delayed and it was looking scruffy--I spent some time really thinking about the kind of father that he has been. And I realized that there are things that I know how to do that I am quite sure that Mom did not teach me. Things like how to change a tire or how to check my oil. Things like how to turn a screwdriver or hammer a nail. Things like how to balance a chemical equation or solve for x in a linear one. Things like how to make hummingbird food, or where to put a bluebird house. Things like how to start a lawnmower and how to mow a straight path. As I walked back and forth, back and forth in Dad’s front yard, making sure the tire of the mower was just inside the most recently-mowed strip so I wouldn’t leave any unmowed stalks of grass, I remembered him standing on the curb at 1409 watching me mow the lawn for the first time. He would turn me around after each pass and let me see my weaving path, encouraging me until I could mow a strip as straight as an arrow.

Mom always found it very odd that I love mowing the lawn. It was certainly not a “ladylike” thing to do, and most definitely not anything she had taught me to love. And yet I’ve always enjoyed doing it. True, there is a part of me that likes to do it because, well…because unlike laundry, it stays “done” for a few days. But I think there is also a part of me that has always like it because it makes me feel connected to Dad in some way.

Yesterday, when I had finished mowing, I went inside to get a glass of ice cold water. I sat down on the sofa next to Dad in his chair and together, we watched a few golf holes. I smiled as I remembered the times not too long ago when he would come in after working in the yard and sit down next to me to sip his glass of ice cold water while we watched a golf hole or two together as Mom cooked dinner.

Dad & I never really talked much prior to Mom’s death, and we don’t talk that much now, really. Sure, I see him almost every day, and we talk some, but when we do, it’s usually about when I’m picking him up for a Publix run or a visit to the doctor. He’s never been one for small talk, and that has only been compounded by his difficulty hearing. But no longer do I let the lack of words passing between the two of us disturb me or make me feel like we don’t “have much of a relationship.” We have the kind of relationship that many fathers of his generation had with their children…one formed around shared tasks, understood feelings that need not be spoken, and mutual satisfaction with a job well done.

It’s hard to watch your parents age and die. But as hard as it is, there is a rightness about going full circle that reminds me that it’s the way life was meant to be. My prayer is that I am blessed with many more “full circle” opportunities with my daddy before he, too, leaves this world for the next.

It was a dark and stormy night...

2010-03-03T20:53:00.005-05:00

So every year, almost without exception, on the eve of my birthday, Mom would retell the story of my birth. It went something like this:

"Well, you were supposed to be delivered by C-section a week or so later, but as you know, you came into this world saying 'I'd rather do it myself, Mama!' It became pretty clear that you were about to make your appearance earlier than we'd planned, and on the night of March 3rd, 1966, it was storming and flooding all over middle Georgia! But we knew we had to get to Macon where my doctor was, so we called Mrs. Kay to come stay with the "big kids," and Barbara and George Spicer got in the car with us and we headed up the road. There was no I-16 then, so the typical route to Macon was up Hwy 80, but it was UNDER WATER in places, so we had to go a roundabout way to get there, and Barbara was just sure she was going to have to deliver you in the back seat of the car! But we finally made it there, and you made your appearance at 7:12 the next morning, 'all by yourself.' What a gift you have been, my precious Jill!"

Also, every year, literally without fail, I would receive a birthday greeting similar to the one I got from her this time last year. This is what she wrote:

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my precious Jill!!!!! March 4th, 1966 was most likely the happiesst day if my life, & little did I know just how much I would come to LOVE & depend on you!!! THANK YOU FOR ALL OF THE MANY HAPPY DAYS YOU HAVE GIVEN ME...& for all the happy days we have to look forward to!! I am planning on lots of those!!! Don't ever forget that I LOVE YOU MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

But as hopeful as I was this time last year, I knew it would likely be my last birthday with her here on earth with me. So I've saved that email from March 4, 2009, and will read it every year on my birthday, because, well...because my birthday just wouldn't be the same without my Mama's birthday wishes for me.

Thank you, Mom, for having me. For loving me. For teaching me. And for making me feel so very important, on my birthday and always. I miss you lots tonight.

At the Counter

2010-02-02T16:20:00.004-05:00

Not a day goes by that I don't think of Mom. I guess that's "improvement" from where I was a while ago, at "not an hour goes by that I don't think of Mom." I have discovered that when I was in the "not an hour" phase, the missing was an ache, a pain that usually brought me close to tears. Now that I have "graduated" to the "not a day" phase, my thought of Mom give me more comfort than sadness, more smiles than grief.

How blessed I was to have her for my mother.

This afternoon as Michael sat at the counter doing his homework, I was in the kitchen baking cookies. And just like that, I was back...back at the counter at 1409--the 1970's aqua-colored formica counter with the ceramic square superglued to it to hide the absence-of-formica where I had let the iron warm up face down (oops!) when I was trying to be bigger than I really was. I was back on the dark wood stool that I still sit on whenever I am at my potter's wheel--because I cut the legs down to make it a just-right height since your Decatur house doesn't have a counter. I was back with you there, in the kitchen, asking me about my day and making a snack for me.

If I could sit down at the counter now, with you baking cookies all around me, I would tell you about my day, Mom.

I would tell you that yesterday was hard, but today was better.

I would tell you that Michael has been chosen to be a Board Scholar, just like Daniel was in 5th grade, and that he's also Student of the Month for January.

I would tell you that Daniel is having a harder time than I would like for him to in 7th grade, and that we are considering other options for him next year because we refuse to let Shamrock suck the excitement for school out of him.

I would tell you about how he got in the car yesterday saying he saw one of the greatest things he'd seen in a long time after school at Dad's house. "What was that?" I asked. "Well, Grandad was sitting in his chair and Boyd came up to him and put his paw on Grandad's knee. Grandad smiled the biggest smile I'd seen him smile in a long time and then let Boyd jump up in the chair with him."

I would tell you about how much better Adam is doing in school this semester, and how much better he has gotten with his driving. I would tell you what a good kid he is, and how even though his heart is wrestling with his hormones, his heart usually wins.

I would tell you that I am still madly and deeply in love with Joel, and that I would go to the ends of the earth to support him.

I would tell you how proud we all are of Dad--how he's "getting along just fine," as he so often tells folks. He is cooking for himself, cleaning for himself, and even doing his own laundry. He misses you terribly, but he is doing just fine.

I would tell you that I got an email from Sarah Alice today, and that she sounds happy.

I would tell you about my morning, and how it renewed my faith in God a tiny bit.

I would invite you to come with me to church this Sunday--Church of the New Covenant--where I will be helping with worship by presiding at the Communion Table.

I would ask you if you've talked to Tom about his trip to New York, and we could share how happy we are for him that he's getting to go.

I would talk to you about all of those things if I could sit at the counter while you bake cookies.

But I can't. And I guess that's okay. It's okay because, well...because it has to be. It has to be because today is a big-girl-britches, no-whining kind of day.

But even big girls who have outgrown whining can miss their mamas....can't they?

Can you bake cookies where you are? Are there counters where you are? I'll bet you can even eat cookie dough where you are without having to worry about salmonella, huh?

Well, say hello to folks there, and don't forget that the 4th is Mamur's 110th birthday. I hope you will enjoy being with your own mama on that day, after so many years "without her." Maybe you should bake her a cake. And maybe Hunter can sit at the counter and visit with you while you work.

I kinda like that image.

Things My Mama Taught Me: An Ongoing List

2009-12-17T22:04:00.003-05:00

My mom taught me how to:

make bread
fold an origami bird
make up a bed--hospital corners!
scramble an egg
make spaghetti
knit
make chili
set a table
needlepoint
polish silver
sing alto
be a mom
do counted cross-stitch
be a friend
sew a button on
change a diaper
draw a love knot
weave a potholder
love my family
wrap a present
make a bow

...to be continued...

Emmanuel, God with us

2009-12-17T10:31:00.004-05:00

On December 25th, we celebrate the birth of the one many of us call Savior. Emmanuel, God with us. (That word means so much more to me now that I know Hebrew…)

God with us. It is in the form of a tiny babe, Jesus the Christ, that God came to be WITH us, and that God reminded us yet again that S/He is FOR us. It is that birth that we celebrate on Christmas Day.

For many of us, though, on most days, it’s hard to remember that God-with-us feeling. It’s hard to truly know and believe that God is, indeed with us. It is hard to believe that God does not leave us.

In Christ, God came to be a with-us-God. But then he left—or rather was taken from—this world. Those of us who are professing Christians believe that something pretty amazing happened following his death, and even now, some 2000 years later, we still claim him as Savior, Risen Lord, Prince of Peace. And for some reason, moreso at this time of year than others, Emmanuel.

God with us.

Really?

Sixteenth century mystic, writer, and reformer Teresa of Avila wrote:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

I loved these words the first time I heard them. And I have made it my challenge to BE Christ in the world in this way, as often as I can, and in as many ways as I can, fully acknowledging that on most days I don’t even come close, mind you. But truthfully, in this past year, I’ve simply not had the energy or the strength to even try. It has been all I can do to put one foot in front of the other on some days. Truthfully, even on the best days, I simply manage to hide my anger, frustration, or sadness under a bushel of busy-ness and a maybe a dash of sarcasm or cynicism.

But that doesn’t make Teresa’s words less appealing to me. It doesn’t, because over this past year, so many of YOU have been the hands and feet of Christ to me. You have been God-with-me.

You have sent cards and delivered meals.

You have given hugs and taken me to lunch.

You have stood with me as we celebrated my mom’s life in not one, but two services in which the sanctuary was packed. And you helped feed all those people so that we could visit afterwards.

You have listened to me deeply, allowing me to rant and rave and cry and laugh, maybe even all in a matter of five minutes.

You dedicated a beautiful dance to the memory of my Mom, and featured my lifeline song in it, The Wood Song.

You have shared with us your vacation homes and private retreats, allowing us to take time for our family when we couldn’t have afforded to otherwise.

You have offered gallons of wine and pounds of chocolate.

You have given me gifts to heal my soul and find strength again—a gift certificate to a spa and the gift of live music.

On December 25th, as much of the world celebrates the birth of Christ, I will be marking the sixth month since Mom’s death on June 25th. You have recognized that this Christmas will lack some of its usual merriness for us, and you have understood.

The past year would have been beyond unbearable without you. You know who you are. You have been God-with-me this year. Your eyes have looked upon me with compassion. Your feet have done good for me, your hands have blessed me.

And for that, I thank you.

Joy to the World

2009-12-04T22:18:00.002-05:00

For over forty years, I sang Christmas hymns standing next to my mom's strong, sure alto voice. She was harmony when my range called for melody. She would often sing melody if my harmony was solid. I followed her lead when the alto part was just a bit too hard for me to carry on my own. And I loved it best when we could both sing the alto part confidently together.

Tonight, we sang Joy to the World as the closing song of the Christmas program at Rehoboth. I know the alto part for this hymn. But I couldn't do it tonight. There was no harmony for my melody. And as confident as I was with the harmony, all I could hear was the overwhelming absence of her voice beside me. As everyone around me sang of joy, of heav'n and nature singing, and of the glories of God's righteousness, I stood there silently, with tears streaming down my face.

Is it January yet?

Just Keep Breathing In...

2009-10-20T11:22:00.004-04:00

One of the things I love most about living in Decatur is Eddie's Attic. Great venue, great music, and I often find "new" voices that I love as a result of their opening for an "older," more familiar voice that I have gone to hear and support. Such is the case with Stephen Kellogg. He opened for Dar Williams when Joel & I went to see her this summer as a part of my self-prescribed "concert series to combat grief." We went with Dell & Michael Schenck, and it was, as usual, a great night with good friends.

This song is one of my favorites by Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers. It's called "In Front of the World." I hope you will enjoy it as well. :-)

Well, it’s hard to live in front of the world.
There’s only so much that you can pretend.
Write down what it is you’re thinking.
Take each day as it comes.
You never know what’s hanging ‘round the bend.
And as far from the world as we get,
I can swear that the two of us will always be the same.
Figure out what it is you believe in.
And if you must choose, try not to trade your fortune in for fame.

And you’ll learn, learn, learn.
You’ll wait your turn, turn, turn.
And you’ll get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break your heart against the wind.
But you will just keep breathing in.

Well, if you’re scared to live in front of the world.
I’ve got news for you, you should be then.
When your confidence gets low and you’ve got nowhere to go.
Just remember how you felt about me and our friends.
And we’ll learn, learn, learn.
We’ll wait out turn, turn, turn.
And we’ll get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break out hearts against the wind.
But we will just keep breathing in.

Watch the way you fall in love.
‘Cause if you’re smart, you’ll take it slow.
And don’t ask me about it, cause I don’t know,
‘cause I don’t know, know, know.
But I’m gonna learn, learn, learn.
I’ll take my turn, turn, turn.
If I get sick on the way.
By the things that people say.
It’ll break my heart against the wind.
But I will just keep breathing in.

To all my blog-reading friends out there, you are the best. Thanks for the support, the love, the hugs, and the time. Keep breathing in!

Peace,
Jill

Prizes and Rocky Rides

2009-09-20T03:30:00.009-04:00

On June 8th, Joel & I celebrated my parents' 59th wedding anniversary with them. On that same day, in this blog, I wrote a prayer thanking God for them, and asking that same God to please open The Door for my mom--to greet her with with cooler air, lighter breathing, and open arms. I admitted I was ready for her to be released from the pain and suffering that the stupid, f***ing cancer had brought upon her.

The next day, on June 9th, at the end of a very long and difficult day, I received an email from a dear friend with the subject line "Your Good Fortune." At a time when "good fortune" seemed to be totally contradictory to everything in my life, our good friend Brad indeed offered it to me in the form of great seats for good music with good friends over good food.

On June 25th, sixteen days after that email, my sweet mama walked through death's door and into God's open arms. And tonight, about three months later, that "good fortune" was realized, and I enjoyed an earthly prize for my rocky ride. A 2nd row table with Joel, (aka the love of my life), some treasured family and some great friends at Chastain Park for an Indigo Girls show. Seriously--if you know me, then you know that in this lifetime, the prize cannot get much better. And just because the cake needed some icing, after seeing them countless times in concert, and after years of waiting not-so-patiently, just three songs into their set, they played my favorite song.

"There's no way construction of this tricky plan was built by other than a Greater Hand. With a love that passes all our understanding watching closely over the journey. But what it takes to cross the great divide seems more than all the trouble I can muster up inside. We get to have some answers when we reach the other side. The prize is always worth the rocky ride."

Now this is a beautiful song regardless of where you happen to be when you hear it, but never has a song touched me so at a concert. Tears welled up in my eyes as I sat there with people who had walked alongside me on some very hard life roads these past few months, listening to a song that has assured me for many years now that regardless of the tired wood that is sometimes my life, a Greater Hand is at work making all things new, watching closely over life's journey.

I don't think I realized just how much I needed both the night and the reminder of the presence of God's Greater Hand. Amidst the threat of rain, with friends new and old all around me, I thanked God for both the rocky ride and the promised prize. As Emily reminded us all that "no one gets to miss the storm of what will be...," I realized again for the millionth time that life is indeed a journey; that we are not promised an easy road, but we are assured of that Greater Hand watching closely over us each and every step of the way, showing and giving us what we need, when we need it, despite how hard life might be from time to time.

Despite the fact that the threat of rain loomed over the night, despite the fact that the day (indeed, the week) had not gone so well, despite the fact that I enjoyed a bit too much wine and am paying (and will pay) the price these next few hours, the night was good. The night was good because God was at work. God was at work weaving the threads of my life with deeper relationships and memories that will sustain me when the storm of what will be comes my way again, bringing with it heavy downpours, thunder, lightening, and even flooding. God was at work reminding us all, every one of us there, that if the weather holds, we'll miss the point. God was at work assuring us, assuring me, that no matter how tired our wood gets, She is watching closely over the journey that is life.

And all will be well. TB2G.

A Letter

2009-09-05T07:46:00.003-04:00

Dear Mom,

Sorry it's taken me so long to write, but I just haven't been in the right frame of mind until now. And even now, I'm not sure if I am, but I have the time, a quiet morning, and a cup of coffee, and that combination often beckons me to write. And I know my soul needs it.

I hope you are able to see that while we all miss you terribly, we are doing okay. Dad is managing quite well on his own, and reaping the benefits of the many connections you made and kept through the years with weekly lunch invitations from a variety of folks. Truthfully, I think you'd be real proud of Dad--he has learned to do so much for himself, and although he's not doing things as you would do them, necessarily, he is finding his own way. Just yesterday I commented on how nicely his bed was made up, and he replied, "Well, it's not like Alice does it, but it's okay!" We both miss you in the little things at 2871--your glasses are still on the dresser in the bedroom, your books are still lying around here & there, and the refrigerator magnets are all still right where you left them. It is very much still your house. He's quite comfortable there, mind you, but it's your house.

I miss you in the little things in my day-to-day life. For instance, I need some help / advice on how to turn a shower curtain into a valence for the bathroom. I could probably figure it out, but projects like that were always more fun when we worked on them together. Do you think maybe you can find me somehow and whisper in my ear what to do? I'd really like that.

And Michael's birthday is this week, and we need to go shopping for a present for y'all to give him. You'd be so proud of him these days--his manners, his sense of humor, his swimming. He has matured so much these past few months. I remember how you always lamented that he never had time to "be little," but he's doing just fine. He really is. Pop in some time and watch him for a while if you can, okay?

Daniel misses seeing you each day after school. Dad has been good about making sure he has snacks for him, his favorites, even, but there's no visiting time. Daniel heads straight for the computer, and Dad shares space with him watching TV. I realize it's still time together, but I know he misses telling you about his day. I miss him telling you about his day. Secretly, I know you probably miss him the most, so I'd love it if you could find your own way to hug each other--you know, from here to there. Maybe he and I need to have a talk about how that might work.

Adam is doing well in school, and is a pleasant teenager to have around! His driving is improving, and he is working harder in school this year, out of necessity I suppose. AP World History and Analysis are both kicking his butt. (Sorry--I know you don't like that word, but it's the best way to describe it.) He's a really good kid. You'd be most proud of how sweet it is to Dad. He takes such good care of him, and helps him whenever he's around. I'm looking forward to all of the guys enjoying some football together this fall. If you can, I'd love for you to join me in the kitchen this afternoon as I serve up my first pot of chili today, the first day of college football. Maybe you can slice the pickles?

Oh, and speaking of football--we have new furniture, which I really wish you could see! It makes the "grown up room" in our house look so much more inviting and cozy. It's the perfect space to enjoy some quiet reading, spend time with each other, or watch a movie. There is finally "official" sitting space for at least six people, and the rug and curtains tie it all together. You would love it! Can you see it? I hope you can. I really do.

Maybe while they guys watch the game/s, you could help me a bit, too. I have some letters that need stamping and sealing and addressing. If we could do it together, we'd enjoy the time "visiting," as you would call it. And speaking of letters, I must confess. I know you'll be disappointed, but we have not yet sent all of the thank-you notes for the many things that were done for us in the last few weeks of your life here on earth, and in the weeks following your death. Since you're not here to gently nag me about it, though, it's always "next on the list, after thus-and-so." I need you to be here, Mom, to be with me. I need you to keep holding me accountable to the things you spent 43 years teaching me. Can you do that? I'm just not quite up to the challenge yet.

Yes, we are doing okay. Not great, but okay. I still cry when I look at recent pictures of you, just as I am crying now. I'm still pretty mad at that fucking cancer and all that it took from us. I'm still feeling a bit slighted at being only 43 and not having my mom around. But we're doing okay. I'm doing okay.

The hardest part, though, is on those days that get really hard--when life is coming at me in all directions and I just can't seem to get through it all--I want to call you. I know if I could, you would fret over me, tend to me, and worry a bit too much about me. It kinda bothered me when you were here with us, but now I realizy how much I miss it. Because on those days, what I really need most is just some unconditional love and support. And I know that I'd get that from you. I always did. I think that's probably what I miss the most.

So I'd love to hear from you, Mom, somehow, in some way. I know you probably have a lot going one--you're adjusting to your new surroundings, you are organizing and making friends and making connections with all the people there, and you are probably just now beginning to feel comfortable in the new-ness. But I really need you to come for a visit. Just a short one. I need a hug. I need to know that my mom is still with me, and that she still thinks I'm pretty awesome, and that she still loves and supports me unconditionally.

I just need that.

Love,
Jill

PS - Tell Hunter I said hello, and give him a big hug, okay?

And a PostScript

2009-07-20T23:28:00.003-04:00

Not to intentionally begin any deep theological conversations via this blog, but in light of the post I just wrote, I also wanted to share this as well. The words in the previous post, although they were found among Mom's things and were, I believe, words for us from her, were taken out of their original context. They were, in fact, penned by Henry Scott Holland, but it is important to read them in their original context, because what they say about death OUT of context is very different from what his original intent was. Being trained and schooled on the importance of context during my time in seminary, I feel that I should follow up with those of you who are interested in deeper musings on death. But first, if these words do provide comfort for you in this life that is full of uncertainties and mysteries, I encourage you to consider thinking about them and talking about them. Death is something about which we dance around all too often, afraid to stop and stare it down lest it strike US down. Death is not to be feared, for we believe that the ultimate victor is not death, but a God who loves and creates and ultimately redeems that good creation.

If you'd like to read the words IN context, feel free to do so here:

I found an alternative that is equally comforting, and yet more "theologically sound," if you will. They were written by another theologian, a hymnist by the name of Christopher Idle. Pastorally, Idle doesn't like to use Holland's words at a funeral, because, in his opinion, they "speak things that are not true that need to be unsaid fairly quickly afterwards." And yet pastorally, he doesn't want to refuse to use the words either, because people like them for the comfort they offer, and Idle doesn't want to refuse needed comfort at a difficult time. So in response to Scott Holland's problematic words, Idle has written his own alternative that I now offer to you as well.

Death is sometimes our enemy, sometimes our friend.

As an enemy, it may shatter our lives, cut short our time, diminish our families and circle of friends.
We do not often invite it to come, nor choose the time of its arrival. I
n this world we do have enemies, the Scriptures says death is the last.

Yet for the Christian, even death has lost its sting; Christ has made it a friend in spite of itself. I
ts victory is empty; its triumph will soon pass; it cannot have the last word.
But it may still become our helper; not only a milestone but a signpost. I
t may lead us back to God if we have wandered away, or towards him if we have often been distant.

Death is a time for listening. Listening to friends, reading their words, listening to memories, hearing their music, listening to God in the quiet of my heart.

Death is a time for speaking. Telling the joys, memories past, telling of hopes, partly fulfilled; telling of growing and travelling, learning and finding, laughter and tears, a time for talk and a time for stories.

Death is a time for silence. When the words fail, sitting alone or quiet with my friends, watching or waiting, thinking and looking, the silence of prayer.

Death is a time for loving. Love never fails, love to the end; love all who love me and those who do not; love to heal wounds, love to accept, love to build bridges, love to forgive and know I’m forgiven. Love that is from God; God who is love; God who has first loved me.

Regardless of which words resonate with you, which words comfort you, which words are "closer" to "T/truth," all is still well.

And all is well.

A Word from Mom

2009-07-20T22:47:00.002-04:00

It's been almost four weeks since Mom moved from this life to the next, and life is resuming some sense of normalcy for us all. Dad is doing well, and the three of us (Tom, Calli, & me) are doing our best to attend to him as needed, and even pamper him a bit. He continues to enjoy the cards and phone calls--they give him breaks in the long days and a bit of time to enjoy the relationships that have carried him through these difficult weeks and months. So keep them coming!

I wanted to share the following with each of you. We found these words by Henry Scott Holland paper-clipped to Mom's will as we were cleaning and sorting through "important papers." Clearly she wanted these to be her last earthly words to us. I shared it with folks at the Dublin service, and wanted to share it with each of you now.

Death is Nothing At All

I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort,
Withouth the ghost of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
Somewhere very near, just around the corner.

All is well!

Indeed, my friends. All is well.

The Other Side

2009-07-04T08:51:00.003-04:00

(The picture to the right is of Mom and my brother Hunter, who died on July 11, 1996 due to complications from AIDS. We all take comfort in knowing that they can, once again, share a special embrace.)

It's not that the emotions or the need to pound them out have disappeared now that we are on the "other side" of our journey with Mom. For sure, the need to write, the intensity of the feelings, and the depth of gratitude are all still there in full force. I'm still pondering why I've not felt inclinced to write, honestly. I miss my mom, but I am enjoying my own breath again. I have treasured these past four or so months, indeed the past two years of our daily hugs and visits since they moved to Decatur. But once her health began the rapid decline--in early to mid-May, it was so hard to see Mom unable to enjoy the people and the relationships that have always given her the life, breath, and meaning she loved so much in this life.

We had a beautiful service for Mom in Decatur, with a packed sanctuary--close to 250 people, I'd say. That's amazing to me, given that she & Dad have only been here for less than two years. Granted, there were many folks who were here for Joel & me, as well as for Calli & Tom, but I was still quite shocked at those who came out to celebrate her life and to support us in worship. The Rev. Dr. Todd Speed, a longtime friend of Joel's & mine, conducted a beautiful service, and the women at Rehoboth hosted an amazing reception for us all afterward. The next day, we traveled to Dublin to bury a portion of Mom's ashes, as requested, in Northview Cemetery. There were only immediate family present for the burial, after which we went to Henry Memorial Presbyterian Church for the second memorial service. Again, a packed sanctuary, with an amazing homily by our longtime family friend, Rev. Frank Beall. Proctor Chambless also did a wonderful job with his selection and reading of scripture, as well as his overall pastoral presence. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for those two pastors--who loved Mom as much as the rest of us--to lead the worship service in gratitude for her life, but they did a fantastic job.

We returned home to Decatur after the service, and were treated to a catered dinner by some neighborhood friends, then began to settle, once again, into a new reality.

Dad is doing well, all things considered. The irony of how healthy he now is, given the reason behind their move to Decatur was so that Mom could have some help and support as she cared for HIM, never escapes me. I am grateful for his continued health, and realize in hindsight that he is as healthy as he is due in large part to Mom's wonderful care of him over these 59+ years. In true Tommy fashion, he is busy "taking care of business" in these dark days--changing accounts, checking on insurance, re-titling the car, that kind of thing. It is good for him to have something on which to focus. My brother Tom has been here since Saturday, so that helps with the potential loneliness as well as with the nagging household tasks that still seem so overwhelming to him--watering plants, preparing meals, doing laundry, sweeping floors, etc. Tom leaves on Sunday or Monday, and Calli returns for a few days.

The darkness of the anniversary of Hunter's death on July 11th will be slightly different this year, given that we will be resting in the knowledge that he has our sweet Attee "with him" this year. We will all be here on Sunday the 12th to celebrate Dad's 81st birthday in grand fashion, then I suspect at that point we will begin to live into a "new normal."

It will not be easy, but I daresay that it will be easier knowing that Mom is no longer struggling to breathe, to sleep, to rest, or to love. She is still with us, and will continue to be a part of our lives. Always.

TB2G!

Arrangements

2009-06-25T22:40:00.003-04:00

Definite: Sunday, 2PM at Rehoboth Presbyterian Church, Decatur, GA, reception / visitation following in the church fellowship hall.

Tentative, pending church / staff confirmation: Monday, 11PM at Henry Memorial Presbyterian Church, Dublin, GA, reception / vistation following in the church fellowship hall.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests, at Mom's direction, contributions to either of the above churches, or the charity of your choice.

A Life Well Lived

2009-06-25T16:02:00.003-04:00

And that's an understatement.

Alice "Attee" Adams Hunter Patterson, beloved wife, mother, and friend.
Born: October 7, 1928
Died: June 25,2009

Thank you all for your prayers and support. Keep them coming on behalf of our family and especially on behalf of my sweet daddy, mourning the earthly loss of the love of his life.

Minor Correction

2009-06-24T17:35:00.003-04:00

After some discussion, we have decided that it makes more sense to have the memorial service in Decatur first, then have the memorial and graveside service in Dublin, a few days later. The Hospice nurse came today, and said that she thought it would be at least another three to four days, possibly even five. But we all know that ATTEE is as in control as she always has been, and she has made it clear that she'd like to go on a Sunday. Take that as you will...

Your prayers have lifted and carried me today. Thank you all.

Heavy-hearted

2009-06-24T07:19:00.005-04:00

My heart is very heavy this morning, and my emotions are huge. Mom is no longer communicative, and only slightly responsive. We have all said our goodbyes and shed more tears than I've seen in a lifetime, it seems. I am running out of patience and feeling very short on most of the other "good" internal resources like faith, hope, assurance, trust, etc. This is the hardest thing I have ever done, and today, words just do not do my feelings justice, so I will not try.

In honor of Mom, then, I will move to a more practical note, because that's what she often did when she didn't know what else to do. I want to share with you all the plans that we have made for services, visitation, etc. The funeral will be in Dublin at Henry Memorial Presbyterian Church, with family vistation at the church prior to the service, and a smaller graveside service at Northview Cemetary. Following the graveside service, I expect there will be a lunch at the church for family and out-of-town guests.

There will also be a memorial service in Decatur, a few days after the funeral,at Rehoboth Presbyterian Church, followed by a lunch in the church fellowship hall.

In lieu of flowers, Mom has requested contributions be made to either of the two above churches, or to a charity of your own choosing.

Please continue to keep all of us in your prayers.

Gifts, Journeys, and Shoes

2009-06-22T18:16:00.006-04:00

Before I write, I want to share two books that have been invaluable to both Calli and me on this journey. One is called "Final Gifts," and the other is called "Final Journeys," both by Maggie Callanan. If you or someone you love has this kind of experience in their near future, give them these books now. Seriously. They have been wonderful for us.

David Lamotte sings a song that I love. Well, he sings many songs that I love, actually, but one in particular has found its way into my head these days. It's not one of his originals, & I'm not really quite sure from where it comes, but it's called "Travelin' Shoes." According to David, it is actually a "gospel song from the days of the underground railroad when slaves were being smuggled to freedom in the north." He claims that he "learned from a Texas folksinger Ruthie Foster and it's a code song. It's a song that was actually used to give people information about how and when to run to escape to freedom so the song has very rich history. You listen to a song like that and you tell me you can't change the world, and I say listen to that song. That song changed a lot for a lot of people, and it's just a song. I think we are foolish to think we can't have an impact.''

The lyrics go like this: You know that death came a knockin’ on the mama's door, singin' come on mama, ain't you ready to go. And my mama stooped down, buckled up her shoe, and she moved on down by the Jordan stream. And then she shout "Hallelujah, done, done my duty, got on my travelin' shoes..." It scrolls thru all of the various family members...sister, brother, neighbor, preacher, then finally self. Really, the lyrics aren't particularly creative. However, the song itself is really moving, especially when David weaves the story in among his singing of the song. While I know the song is a a code slave song, it is, on the surface, about death. It is about gettin' ready for the journey. It is about being done with the duties here in this life and moving on to whatever the next life brings.

We have turned a corner. We have begun the slow march with my mom towards that promised land. And while we will all walk with her toward the open door, only she can go through it, at least for now. She's got on her travelin' shoes. We know the road will be long and hard, but we are cheering her on, supporting her, loving on her, and encouraging her every step of the way, just as she has done for Tom, Hunter, Calli, & me, as well as so many others, all these years.

I'm learning so much through this. Even in her dying, Mom continues to have an impact. Even in her dying, she continues to change the world for the better. Even in her dying, she continues to teach us how to love and how to live. What a gift.

A Corner Turned

2009-06-22T14:05:00.003-04:00

I was thinking this morning as I was driving around on few errands that one day I will look back on the summer of 2009 and it will all be a blur. It all just feels very surreal to me still, and I feel as if I am observing my life from above myself, if that makes any sense at all. I literally feel as if I am being carried through the days. Often when I lay my head down at night, I marvel at how I managed, on the good days anyway, to go about the day-to-day routines of my life seemingly without missing a beat. And if I am able to string together coherent thoughts for long enough, I offer a prayer of gratitude for the strength and perseverance that has been granted to me and my family on these difficult days.

Mom has declined quite rapidly for the past week. Just last Thursday, she was able to walk from room to room, albeit very slowly, with the help of a wheeled walker. On Friday, we made the shift to a wheelchair in hopes of conserving more of her energy. And now, just four days later, we have acknowledged that she will pretty much be in bed from this point on. She is too weak to move herself much at all, and it is too painful for her if we try to move her.

(I just re-read that last sentence, and am still utterly amazed at how this horrible thing has taken the life and energy out of my sweet mama--a woman who has never looked or acted anything close to her 80 years until just four months ago.)

Tom has been with us since last Wednesday, but left this morning for a few days at home. Calli arrived yesterday afternoon, and is here "for the duration." The Hospice aide and nurse both came today, and Goldie (the nurse) said that Mom's vitals do indicate that she has turned yet another corner on her journey. Her blood pressure, at 90/60, was lower than it has been, and her heart rate was 100, higher than it has been. Apparently this is an indicator. While no one can accurately predict anything like this, based on Goldie's experience, she estimated that we're looking at 7-10 days.

On February 10th, we were told 3 to 6 months, and thought there was no way it would happen that quickly. We are now at 4 1/2 months, and it's been the longest (and strangely the best) 4 1/2 months I've had in quite a while.

Please keep us all in your prayers. We are in the "home stretch," as they say, and it is not going to be easy on us. However, we have been lifted up through prayers and good thoughts since mid-February, and we know that they will continue to carry us. Thanks to each one of you who continue to love and support us on this very difficult journey.

And thanks to you, sweet mama, for teaching us all to care for others, and for allowing us all to care for you these past few months. As I've told you recently, there is ready-ing to be done on "the other side," and you are free to make your way there whenever you are ready. You will always be with us in spirit, and therefore, while we will miss you, we will be fine.

Traveling mercies, Attee. I love you.

A concert of sorts...

2009-06-18T20:10:00.005-04:00

Today, Daniel spent some one-on-one time with Mom. He enjoyed playing the electric keyboard that a friend let us borrow for a while. Mom enjoyed listening to him. I enjoyed reflecting on the deep love that exists between these two human beings, separated by 68 years, but bound by a special love. And I think this picture is wonderful. I knew Mom wouldn't let me take a picture of HER, so it was pretty sneaky on my part. She looks beautiful to me, though. It was the best hour of my day, and probably of hers as well.

Meal Making

2009-06-14T23:20:00.003-04:00

After their own week in beautiful Costa Rica, Calli and her crew are here in Decatur for a few days. I had told her to be prepared for significant decline in Mom’s overall health since she last saw her just prior to their leaving last Friday. Thankfully, she wasn’t surprised to find that her pain had increased, she has been sleeping more, and her breathing and talking are considerably more labored. I continue to be dumbfounded at how this (insert strong expletive) cancer has sucked the life out of a woman who was so energetic , vibrant, and full of life just last year.

Although Mom had a hard day, it was a good day overall for our family. Adam was excited about heading to Montreat for a church youth conference this morning, and once I got him on his way, we all met at Mom & Dad’s for lunch after church. I grilled burgers and Calli and Dad helped with the rest of the meal, and it was good indeed to have so many of us around the lunch table with Mom. We spent a good bit of the afternoon there, then I headed back up there for dinner while the boys and Joel were at youth group.

Calli fixed a great dinner—I savored the familiar smells from my childhood as I walked in the door. Mmmm….chicken imperial! (I thought it was a Patterson family original, but this is pretty much it.) The sides were scalloped potatoes, a bit of leftover curried rice from Kate Hunter’s Kitchen, and asparagus casserole, another family tradition. The five of us…Mom, Dad, Calli, Ned, and me…sat down to a perfectly set table, napkins and forks on the left, knives on the right, drinks at the top right. We put our napkins in our laps, held hands, and Calli asked for God’s blessing on the food. “For health…and strength…and daily food…we give Thee thanks, O Lord. Amen.”

I had forgotten to get my chicken, so Calli offered to get a piece for me since she was closest to the kitchen. She also served our plates with asparagus, and we passed the other dishes among ourselves. We all enjoyed the meal and the time together immensely, and I silently acknowledged my new appreciation for the simple times with family lately. Calli commented that the chicken wasn’t “true” imperial because we were short on parmesan cheese, but it tasted just perfect to me. We talked about the cream sauce on the asparagus, and how she had made it in the microwave, “Peggy Nelson’s way,” she added. Mom & I nodded because we both knew what that meant. I silently noted that she had added the grated cheese to the sauce, and not sprinkled it on top, like we usually do, and decided it was really better that way. Dad complimented Calli on the meal, and we could tell he really enjoyed it. We have been blessed by countless people bringing us food over these past few months, and while it has been delicious, there was something comforting about having “traditional” Patterson foods for a change—foods that were familiar to our childhood—the chicken, the asparagus, and the potatoes, at least.

As the meal was winding down, I noticed that Mom was unusually quiet. Just as we were beginning to clear the table, she got sick to her stomach and had to excuse herself. Once she had somewhat recovered, she apologized time and time again for “ruining Calli’s nice meal.” Of course we assured her that she had not ruined it, that we were already finished, and that everything was okay. Calli and I worked together to help her get cleaned up and tucked into bed. We watched with tears in our eyes as Dad came back to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.

“I’m sorry I ruined the meal, Tommy,” she whispered.

“You didn’t ruin it,” he assured her. “I love you, Alice,” he said tenderly. “Goodnight.”

“I love you too, Sweetie. Goodnight.”

Calli & I kissed her goodnight too, and I repeated the prayer that she said with me for years when I was little, as has become my habit when I tuck her in at night lately. “Heavenly Father, hear our prayers. Take this child into Thy care. Let the angels pure and bright watch around her through the night. Amen.”

Later tonight as I was pondering our mealtime together, I began to think about her worrying that she had ruined the meal. And as I thought more about it, I realized that not only had she not ruined the meal, but over the 50+ years that she has been our mother, she has made that meal possible.

Because you see, it was Mom who first introduced us to the enticing aroma of chicken imperial when she fixed it “for company” so many times during our childhood.

It was Mom who taught us how to compliment an entrée with coordinating side dishes.

It was Mom who taught us how to set a “proper” table, and Mom who taught us to put our napkins in our laps.

It was Mom who taught us the importance of saying a blessing before every meal.

It was through Mom’s modeling of what it truly means to be a hostess that made it so easy for Calli to offer to get that piece of chicken for me.

It was Mom who taught us how to make chicken imperial and the cream sauce for asparagus casserole.

It was Mom who taught us how to be a family.

My dear sweet Attee, not only did you not ruin tonight’s wonderful meal, but you made it all possible.

Sleep well tonight, Mom. We love you.

Mom and Dad on their 59th!

2009-06-08T22:43:00.003-04:00

We had a great dinner and celebration tonight at 2871, complete with roses, steaks, wine, and delicious lemon pie. It was a wonderful dinner honoring a wonderful couple!

Today's Prayer

2009-06-08T09:59:00.005-04:00

Dear God,

What a beautiful morning it is! I have enjoyed the silence, the birds, the coffee, and the crossword puzzle. I am grateful for the arms that have wrapped around me in comfort today, and for the special-ness that is this day. Fifty-nine years ago THIS DAY, Alice Hunter and Tommy Patterson became husband and wife, beginning the journey of a lifetime for them, and giving my siblings and me life and breath, through You, along the way. Thank you for that union, for their love for one another, and for their love for so many others. They are both wonderful witnesses to the love that You have for us.

Thank you also for allowing me the privilege of caring for my mom these past few weeks. And today, thank you especially for this morning’s gift of helping her take a shower. As You know, it is quite a chore for her, and it was a wonderful thing to be able to help her slough off the yuckiness of life that simply pervades a body after two days. I felt You with me as I sat on standby, just outside the shower, while she bathed herself. Then I did my best to channel Your love for us all as I gently washed her hair, massaged her shoulders, and scrubbed her back before she resumed on her own. As the water flowed over her body, washing her clean, I thanked you for the promises made to her, sealed in her baptism so many years ago. You heard my silent prayer for her as she rested a bit, then continued by drying herself off slowly and deliberately with a fresh towel. You watched and smiled as I rubbed her back and legs with lotion—just like she did with Tom, Hunter, Calli, & me many times when we were babies—and then as I helped her don her housecoat before tucking her in for her morning nap.

Thank you, God, for that woman. For her life, for her example, for her smiles, and for her love. What a gift it is to be one of her many caregivers.

But God, my prayer is bigger than gratitude today. My prayer comes to you with tears streaming down my face, and a giant hole opening up in my heart. Because you see, God, as I felt the humidity in that tiny room swell to an almost unbearable weight on my skin, I longed for my own release from it. I longed for cooler air, for lighter breathing. And I realized, God, that she is there all the time. She lives day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute with that (insert strong expletive here) cancer weighing heavy on her heart, soul, body, and mind. I sat there in that bathroom, God, with the steam from the shower clouding my vision and making it harder and harder for me to breathe. I knew that I could simply open the door and feel immediate relief. But I wanted to feel it—the desperation, the weight, the discomfort. I wanted to feel it so that I could be sure of my prayer today. And now I am.

God, open the door for Mom soon. Open the door for her now. Greet her with cooler air, lighter breathing, and wide open arms. Welcome her alongside the many saints who have gone before her. She is ready, and so am I.

Amen.

A Sermon

2009-06-04T06:06:00.003-04:00

For some reason, I woke up with this sermon on my mind. It was one of my early ones--I think I actually wrote it for preaching class. I also preached it twice...once at at CTS chapel service, and once at Henry Memorial Presbyterian Church in Dublin, the church where my parents were longtime members, and where I grew up. At any rate, the Spirit speaks to me most clearly in the early morning hours, so my posting it here is a Spirit thing.

A Place at the Table

My mom is an amazing woman. She’s one of those people who can make friends with anyone and maintain friendships over decades. She never meets a stranger, and will go out of her way to be friendly and hospitable to everyone. She was the one at our church who would invite the first-time visitors to have lunch with us after worship, not having a clue what we were having or if there would be enough. It was always good, and there always was enough. And most of the time, those spur-of-the-moment invitations blossomed into beautiful friendships and secured wonderful new members for our oftentimes struggling little church.

I grew up the youngest of four children in Dublin, GA, a small town just a couple of hours from here. When I was four years old, my oldest brother went off to college, followed two years later by my other brother Hunter, then another three years later by my sister Calli. My brothers were, as they say, “products of the sixties.” I remember that my oldest brother Tom’s preferred mode of transportation in the early seventies was hitchhiking. Oftentimes we’d never know exactly when to expect him home because it would all depend on whether or not he was able to get rides. And naturally, when he was traveling in his own or another’s car, he would often stop to pick UP hitchhikers. So it wasn’t unusual, when he was traveling home, for him to show up with an extra buddy whom he had picked up and made friends with along the way. My mom would make that extra place at the table, find a place in our house for our guest to sleep, serve our guest breakfast, then see that the “stranger” got out to the interstate for his next day’s ride. Amazing, when you think about it. Yes, it was a different world then, but nevertheless, when I think back on it, I’m amazed that my parents allowed it.

Today’s text is a lesson in hospitality and otherness. Listen as we hear God’s word as found in Luke 7:36-50

One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment. Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, ‘If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.’

Jesus spoke up and said to him, ‘Simon, I have something to say to you.’

Teacher,’ he replied, ‘Speak.’

A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?’

Simon answered, ‘I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.’

And Jesus said to him, ‘You have judged rightly.’ Then turning toward the woman, he said to Simon, ‘Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.’

Then he said to her, ‘Your sins are forgiven.’

But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, ‘Who is this who even forgives sins?’

And he said to the woman, ‘Your faith has saved you; go in peace.’

(end text)

When I skimmed this text initially as our assignments were given out, I thought…Oh, the anointing at Bethany. I mulled on my knowledge of that story for a week or so, then sat down later to read it more carefully. I realized then that it wasn’t exactly the same story that I remembered, so I looked it up in the NT synopsis and realized that it, indeed, is placed parallel with the anointing at Bethany stories found in Matthew, Mark, and John. There’s much discussion surrounding this text…partially because of the similarities and differences it has with the other “parallel” texts in the other three gospels. While most scholars agree that they are from the same source, Luke’s version has a totally different feel to it—a different emphasis. I invite you to take a closer look with me.

Simon the Pharisee has invited Jesus to dinner. We don’t know why… perhaps it was a genuine invitation with no ulterior motive. Perhaps he was curious to find out more about Jesus. Perhaps he wanted to rub elbows with the man who is beginning to cause such a stir throughout the region. Whatever the motivation, Simon makes room at his table for this man called Jesus.

Jesus accepts, and while they are dining a woman from the city, from the streets…a SINNER, came in. Now this was not all THAT unusual in the day…the poor would occasionally pander for food at dinner parties since private dinners were actually quite public. But this was much more than that. This woman was clearly overcome with emotion.

Simon and his guests, including Jesus, were probably reclined for dinner, probably propped up on an elbow, lying on their sides as was the custom in those days. His feet are exposed, and this woman walks in, this woman “from the city,” and begins to cry on his feet and dry them with her hair.

We can’t really blame Simon for being a tad bit upset. Can you imagine? It’s no wonder that the meal was disrupted. Her actions were obviously quite embarrassing to Simon—they could have easily been mistaken for sexual advances.

Simon, the host, was obviously flustered. He said to himself “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.” It is quite clear, by Simon’s behavior, that he is embarrassed and uncomfortable with the woman’s presence and behavior.

Jesus picks up on Simon’s discomfort even though Simon never voices it aloud. A couple of the commentaries made a big deal over the fact that Jesus “read Simon’s mind and therefore indeed must be a prophet.” But come on now…how difficult would that body language be to read?

Jesus then shares with Simon a parable about a moneylender and two debtors, one who owes a great deal and one who only owes a small sum. The lender, upon realizing that neither could pay his debt, canceled them both. Then Jesus asks Simon “Which of the debtors will love more?” Simon replies “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.” “You have judged rightly” says Jesus.

Consider Simon the Pharisee. He is a law-abiding man, no doubt an upstanding citizen in his community. He sets his table and invites his guests. Jesus comes and Simon doesn’t even bother to show him the hospitality common to the day…a washing and anointing of his feet, or a kiss of greeting.

The problem with Simon lies deeper than his lack of hospitality. The problem lies in Simon’s ATTITUDE. Simon the Pharisee views himself as a blameless man. Simon has no clue of his need for forgiveness, and therefore no appreciation for the forgiveness available through Christ, and therefore, little ability to show love. In Jesus’ parable, Simon is the debtor who “owes little”—he loves less because he fails to recognize the magnitude of forgiveness he needs.

Now consider the woman, the sinner. She is a woman of the city—a suggestion that her sins are sexual. Regardless of her sins, however, we she knows that she has been forgiven. Her gratitude for that forgiveness propels her to show Jesus all the hospitality that Simon neglected to show him. She cleaned his feet from the day’s travel, she kissed not just him but his feet—a sign of gratitude for her pardon-- and then she anointed his feet with oil.

Jesus holds up this sinful woman as the model of hospitality for Simon. Shame on you, Simon, for not doing at least as much for me, your guest. As we have seen, though, it is Simon’s failure to recognize his need for forgiveness that keeps him from being able to show love to both Christ and the woman from the streets.

One’s capacity to love is directly related to one’s ability to receive grace and forgiveness.

Simon the Pharisee has set a table. And who is at Simon’s table? Jesus is there. There is a place for him there, but that’s not all that surprising. Jesus was himself a law-abiding Jew, some say even a Pharisee. And Jesus was never one to pass up a meal. Christ was known for dining with anyone…from his loyal disciples to the well-known sinners…anyone.

Chances are there are others there as well…other men…Pharisees and religious leaders. Who else might be there? I’m not sure, but there were definite boundaries and a fixed number of invited guests at Simon’s table, for Simon, the one to whom little is forgiven, loved little.

Simon has set a table. So have we. Who is at our table? One scholar said “unless we see something of ourselves in the character of Simon the Pharisee, we are so blind to our own need that we have failed to hear the story.” But wait…surely we are not as discriminating as Simon. The tables we prepare today have room for many more. Not necessarily or always physical room but symbolic room.

Our guest lists are much more diverse than Simon’s was…or are they? Close your eyes and picture it. Who is at your table? Picture all the guests you have had at your table throughout your life. Hold that image in your mind’s eye. Your family, your friends, perhaps those with whom you have things in common? Think about those who sit at your table, then answer this question: Is Christ at your table? Is he there as an invited guest, or did he just happen to show up? What about that person who offended you just last week, or that person with whom you disagree about some current hot topic?

Jesus said “Inasmuch as you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me.”

Again I ask…who is at your table?

Simon has set a table. We have set a table. Christ has set a table. Who, then, is invited to dine at Christ’s table? Close your eyes and picture it. Or let your eyes drift to or picture the communion table. What is different about it? Lots, yes, but what is the one, obvious physical difference? There are no chairs!!! There are none, for when we set a table with chairs, we are limited as to the number of guests we might seat. Christ’s table is one at which we can all crowd around, regardless of the number of our sins. This table, the table of holy communion, God’s table… has an infinite number of places around it.

As I was preparing for today’s sermon, I remembered a book that my mother recommended to me called “A Place at the Table.” I couldn’t remember the author, so I went to Amazon.com and was not really surprised to find several books with the exact or a similar title. There were books with similar titles that had to do with women’s rights, gay rights, civil rights, the rights of the mentally / physically challenged…each lobbying, if you will, for a spirit of welcome for all God’s children, not just those who meet certain criteria. Each author, in his or her own way, reminds us that not ONE of us deserves a place at Christ’s table. We have all fallen short of God’s grace, just as Simon had, just as the woman had. Jesus said to Simon “Her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love.” The good news is that, though we have all fallen short of God’s grace, we are loved and we are forgiven. Hence…therefore…for this reason…and so…WE are to show great love…to all God’s children.

The great 13th century Eastern mystic and poet Rumi wrote: "Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing , there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn’t make any sense."

For Christians, that field is the Lord's Table, where we meet today for this simple meal. It has been prepared, and it is ready and waiting for us

That marks the end of the sermon. But as I re-read it for the umpteenth time, I began to think anew about that field of Rumi's. I wonder if that is what "heaven," or "the other side," or "paradise," or whatever you wish to call it is like. If so, I think Mom will feel right at home there, don't you?

Saturday morning update

2009-05-30T10:18:00.003-04:00

Just a quick update...the procedure went fine yesterday. It was a bit harder on mom than she was anticipating, but I have promised her that she will feel better by Monday. Let's hope I don't eat those words. She is in pain from the actual surgery--the insertion of a tube INTO her abdomen that has to come OUT OF her skin. That naturally requires some pushing, prodding, cutting, etc. that is painful, and that results in soreness for a few days. However, we are encouraging her to take advantage of pain medication stronger than Advil, and with the troops all gathered over the next week (Tom is here now and leaves Tuesday, Calli arrives Tuesday and leaves Friday...for Costa Rica!), we will make it through this little hurdle and back into the land of relative comfort, which is the goal of Hospice as well as all of you who love our sweet Attee.

I had a good, refreshing cry last night, and feel strengthened for the next few days ahead. This is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I've ever done. But I know that God can and will ultimately use ALL of this for good. I can feel Her hand at work in so many ways.

Keep the cards, flowers, food, and prayers coming, folks. All of your acts of love and support mean more than you can possibly know.

Quick Update

2009-05-29T08:33:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, my wonderful sister-in-law Ellen (Tom's ex-wife, who is still family in the minds of all of us...including Tom) came by 2871 yesterday and brought a CD they had made from an old recording of my brother Hunter talking about St. Catherine's Island. I don't know what all he was going on about--it was over an hour of rambling, which he could easily do. It was both eerie and comforting to hear his voice again after so many years--it was amazingly soothing. He had that way about him. I find it hard to believe that it has been thirteen years. I can easily imagine him simultaneously reassuring and beckoning Mom to the "other side." It's wonderful to know that he will be there to greet her when that day comes.

We head to the hospital again this afternoon for insertion of another catheter, this time in Mom's abdomen. It will function just like the one in her pleural cavity, and will allow us to relieve the fluid buildup that has resulted from the spread of the cancer to (we think) her liver. We're doing it primarily to keep her comfortable, although the control of the fluid will probably give her a bit more time as well. Given that it promises both increased comfort and more time, the decision was fairly easy to make. She's not happy about having another "damn tube" in her, but I think she will be glad to have the relief from all that fluid, and it will be nice to have her more comfortable again.

As always, thanks for the prayers. Keep at it!

Marshmallow Tears

2009-05-26T16:41:00.003-04:00

A staple in our house is marshmallows. This was originally for s'mores--right after we got our fire pit, s'mores were an almost-weekly tradition. At some point along the way, probably when the snack cupboard was a wee bit bare, I taught Adam about my saltine cracker / peanut butter / marshmallow on top afterschool snack. He put his own twist into it, and now microwaves peanut butter with marshmallows, then dips into it with saltines. (Think chips and salsa.) So marshmallows are almost always on hand.

This afternoon, Michael saw a new bag of miniature marshmallows on the counter and asked if he could have "just a few in a cup."

Wow. With his small request, I entered what felt like a time machine.

When I was a mere two years old--maybe even less--Mom would leave me with Rosa (our maid / housekeeper / nanny) while she went grocery shopping. I did not like for my Mama to leave me. At all. So as a "distraction," these two wise women, my Mama and my Rosa, would set me up on our kitchen counter with a small, metal quarter-cup measure that we had, filled with miniature marshmallows. The cup was like a tiny little saucepan, actually--and was exactly one-quarter cup. I knew it was a ploy to get me NOT to focus on my mama leaving me, but I did love those marshmallows. So I would quit crying long enough to enjoy their tiny, fluffy, heavenly goodness. I can still remember the noise they made as I scooped them out of the metal cup. Dry on dry, with an occasional hair-raising scrape if my fingernails were on the long side. I remember the saltiness of the marshmallows as my remaining tears found their way into my toddler mouth along with the tiny puffs of pure sugar. But most of all, I remember what it felt for my mama to leave me. I knew she would come back, but I did not want her to leave me. At all.

I am grown now, with children of my own. But today, as I passed a small cup of marshmallows to my youngest, I ate a handful of them myself. Marshmallows mingled with tears. And I remembered the taste just like it was yesterday.

Thank you, sweet Mama, for the many happy childhood memories that you made for me. I will treasure them always.

Lunch?

2009-05-21T07:51:00.003-04:00

So for weeks now, every time my fingers type the word "lung" when referring to Mom's health, they first type "lunch," then I have to go back and correct it. "Lunch" is an often-typed word in my line of work. I love lunch. Lunch is a pleasant thing. Until recently, I rarely, if ever, had the need to type out the word "lung." My fingers only just now do it correctly, and even so, I have to think very intentionally about it in order not to make the usual typo.

I have no idea what "lunch" cancer might look like, nor do I care to find out.

I do know that "lung" cancer is an awful, terrible thing. Lung cancer has taken the spirit out of my mom. Lung cancer has taken the smile from her face. Lung cancer is my most hated enemy right now.

We've been fighting with a bloated abdomen these past few weeks. We had first assumed it was related to the prednisone, which Mom was taking for pain and breathing both. However, when she stopped taking it, the bloating persisted. Yesterday, we went back to the oncologist for his opinion. Actually, we saw his PA since he's only in the office on Mondays. She confirmed that it was, indeed, fluid buildup, and to our dismay, suggested that it was likely a result of the spread of the cancer to another part of her abdomen. Not what we wanted to hear, but what I suspected. Because she is on Hospice, we won't be doing any scans to determine where it has moved, so we can only surmise. We leave the "healing" up to God, knowing that bodily healing is only possible on the "other side." But we can do things to keep her comfortable on this side. Today she goes for a simple procedure at Emory--draining of the abdominal cavity. We hope it will be much like the initial draining of her lung (I did it again...lunch), where she got immediate relief. At that time, they will decide whether or not to put in a permanent catheter like the one she already has for her right lung. For her sake, I hope this will not be deemed necessary, but if so, we will accept it and move on.

So to those of you who pray, please keep her...us...in yours. The combination of the discomfort, the difficulty breathing, and the cessation of the prednisone (which often causes extreme tiredness) have made for a rough few days at 2871. My sister Calli drove up yesterday and will take Mom for today's procedure while I go to Michael's awards day at school, then take Dad to a dental appointment. We anticipate that she will feel groggy most of today, and then hope for a much better day tomorrow once the abdominal pressure is relieved.

As the three of us...mother, daughter, and daughter...got in the car yesterday, I said, "Okay, let's just pretend now that we are going to a nice ladies' lunch, just the three of us. We're on our way to the Swan Coach House." They didn't really want to play along, but I liked the idea. We got there and were settled in the examining room a bit later, and I said, "Okay, now it's time for dessert. What will you have?" Mom resisted at first, saying didn't want any. I pushed. "Creme brulee," she said. "With raspberries and chocolate?" I asked. "Yes."

As we were checking out, I was taking Calli's dessert order and Mom said she wanted to change hers to Lemon Icebox Pie. Because she's my mom, I allowed it.

But I imagine on that "other side" she can have both Creme Brulee with raspberries and chocolate AND Lemon Icebox Pie. And that both will taste heavenly.

Update from 2871

2009-05-13T10:43:00.002-04:00

We had a wonderful Mother's Day this past weekend, with Calli, Kimble, Clare, and Ned driving up after Ned's graduation from Auburn on Saturday. Dad & I drove down for that, and it was wonderful to be there for such a happy occasion! Ned is headed to grad school in the fall at the University of South Alabama, pursuing a master's degree in chemical engineering. Environmental engineering is still his "concentration," so it will be interesting to see where that takes him. His girlfriend Courtney will be down there to, finishing up her doctor of pharmacy degree, so they will be able to keep each other company. :-)

I wish I could say that Mom is doing well, holding her own, but that's not the case--at least as best I can tell. She continues to have more bad days than good ones, with the good ones getting "less good," the bad ones worse. Medication is a tricky thing, and it takes patience to get the right combination for pain, breathing, fluid retention, alertness, etc. I'm not sure how much of her struggle now is with meds and how much is with cancer, but I can see that she is struggling more and more with each passing day. She is still able to get up and dressed each day, but doing much more than that takes more trouble than it is usually worth, so she pretty much stays home. Occasionally, when I have errands to run, she will ride with me, just to get out, and she seems to appreciate that.

Flowers, cards, and emails are still great ways to stay in touch, as well as brief visits (< 15 minutes) if you happen to be in the neighborhood. And as always, we continue to appreciate the prayers and good thoughts. Keep 'em coming!

All will be well, and all will be well.

Peace to each of you.

Goliath

2009-05-13T10:11:00.004-04:00

The newest roller coaster at Six Flags is aptly named Goliath. It is big, fast, hilly, terrifying and exhilarating.

My life feels like Goliath these days.

I see the hill that is there to be climbed, my heart races as I approach the top, the fall down is scary but I know there is an end to it. I twist and turn, able to see the track ahead of me, yet not knowing exactly what to expect, but knowing that I am safely buckled in and that all will be well.

However, there is one big difference between the Goliath that is the coaster and the Goliath that is my life. The Goliath at Six Flags lasts only about a minute, 90 seconds tops. My life has been like this for, oh, six to nine months now, it seems.

I'm ready for the ride to be over. Seriously.

(For those of you reading this blog for updates on Mom, this has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with life in the church. Another update on her is forthcoming...)

Hoarding God

2009-05-06T05:45:00.004-04:00

Today's Nouwen: The Temptation to Hoard

As fearful people we are inclined to develop a mind-set that makes us say: "There's not enough food for everyone, so I better be sure I save enough for myself in case of emergency," or "There's not enough knowledge for everyone to enjoy; so I'd better keep my knowledge to myself, so no one else will use it" or "There's not enough love to give to everybody, so I'd better keep my friends for myself to prevent others from taking them away from me." This is a scarcity mentality. It involves hoarding whatever we have, fearful that we won't have enough to survive. The tragedy, however, is that what you cling to ends up rotting in your hands.

There are folks that are in my life (well, affecting my life is a more apt description) that are hoarding God. "There's not enough God to be with everybody, so I'd better keep 'my God' for myself to prevent others from taking God away from me."

At the end of the day, though, God cannot be hoarded. At the end of the day, God will not be rotting in anyone's hands. At the end of the day, mean people will no longer be mean. At the end of the day, pain will be no more. At the end of the day, all will be well and all will be well.

Some days I am just so ready for the end of the day to come.

On another note, Monday morning, after a hard rain, I was waiting at North Dekalb Mall for the Cliff shuttle to take me to campus for a meeting. I was the only one at the shuttle stop, and happened to notice a long, wriggly worm in the middle of the parking lot. He was squirming around obviously seeking some dirt, but he was nowhere near any. Being the bleeding heart that I am, I picked him up from the cold, wet pavement and gently tossed him into the nearby bushes. I felt ridiculous, on one hand, trying to save a worm--the same kind of worm that I have pierced with a fishing hook (more times that I can remember) and sacrificed for the sake of simply hoping to experience the joy of catching a bream that is even too small to clean, much less eat. But I knew I couldn't just stand there and watch him squirm when I knew I had the ability to take him to that for which he was desperately searching. And I felt kinda good about helping him.

I went to campus, did my thing, got back in my car from the shuttle stop and headed home. Just as I was rounding the curve after turning into my neighborhood, I noticed a squirrel run across the road. As I watched him make it safely across and bound across a nearby yard, I took my eyes off the road only briefly. And in that split second another squirrel crossed my path.

Too late for me to swerve. Please let him be okay, please let him be okay.

I looked in my rearview mirror with that sick feeling in my stomach, and watched his tail give one last flick on the cold, wet pavement.

Simple words that I write, simple stories that I share. I have no strength to tie up the words or experiences with a nice bow, problem solved, move on. All I can do is just put them out there for what they are. For me, in these days, these simple things that I experience and encounter reach into the depths of my very being and call much about life into question. I see the hard truths of life in the smallest things, so much so that it's frightening, really.

I hope that when all is said and done, I will end up with a beautiful masterpiece of a quilt rather than just a few bits and pieces and scraps of words on a page. I pray that with God's help, I can stitch all of it--the questions, pain, joy, sorrow, laughter--all of it--into a meaningful way of living, being, and doing in the world that leaves peace, love, beauty, and wisdom in its wake.

May it be so.

More Nouwen Wisdom

2009-04-27T14:29:00.004-04:00

Today's words from Henri Nouwen's Bread for the Journey do a great job of summarizing what writing does for me. I have been amazed at the outpouring of support and love from my most recent post here, as well as another soul-baring post on Facebook. What a wonderful community you all are for me and for my family! I am still under a deadline crunch for a few things, but once I have met my responsibilities on that front, life promises to slow down a bit for us, just in time for summer. We have 19 school days left--hooray!

Writing to Save the Day

Writing can be a true spiritual discipline. Writing can help us to concentrate, to get in touch with the deeper stirrings of our hearts, to clarify our minds, to process confusing emotions, to reflect on our experiences, to give artistic expression to what we are living, and to store significant events in our memories. Writing can also be good for others who might read what we write.

Quite often a difficult, painful, or frustrating day can be "redeemed" by writing about it. By writing we can claim what we have lived and thus integrate it more fully into our journeys. Then writing can become lifesaving for us and sometimes for others too.

I continue to be amazed at how pertinent so many of these are to where I am in my own life these days. Blessings & peace to each one of you.

JPT

A Moment of Truth

2009-04-20T04:45:00.003-04:00

In dire need of some quality family time, the five of us watched Marley & Me last night. In this cute Jennifer Aniston / Owen Wilson movie, the adorable puppy who seems to eat everything in his sight enters their life post-marriage / pre-kids. This cutest terror you will ever see is with them through thick and thin of becoming a family, and the movie is simple and heartwarming. While I don't want to spoil the end for you, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that the average dog lives, oh, ten to fifteen years, and the average family lives forever. At one point during the movie's end, in my rough effort to lighten things up a bit, I whispered into our darkened den lit only by the glow of our big-ass (sorry if that offends you...) TV, "Raise your hand if you are NOT crying." No hands went up.

For me, it was like opening the floodgates. I cried tears like I've not cried in years. It didn't take too long for me to realize that the tears moved beyond those sweet tears elicited by Hollywood to real gut-wrenching, life-induced tears after about the first two minutes. I tried to hold them back because I just did not want to deal with them, but I couldn't. So out they came, and with them, a flood of realization.

Let me preface all of this by saying that I know a big whine-fest is forthcoming. It will make me sound spoiled beyond belief to any of you who think I have a "perfect life." Even now as I sit it with it all bubbling up in my heart, eking ever-closer to my head where my feelings will be put into words and make their way out through my fingers and onto this screen, I am telling myself that I am crazy for even considering putting this out there in internet-land. But it's 4:30 in the morning, and God speaks to me most clearly at this time, and she (the God who speaks to me this early in the morning is most-decidedly the female nature of God) has made it quite clear that this is what I am to do, and quite frankly, I am too worn out to argue. I'd lose anyway.

It has just been one of those weekends where I just feel like my life is full of things that are just getting too big, too difficult, too hard. And those few things that I really do enjoy doing are made harder than they used to be because those yucky things take so much of my time. I enjoy caring for my family, including my parents, but that's harder than I want it to be because of soccer practice, writing assignments, and college-student angst. I enjoy spending time with my husband, but that is nigh-unto impossible lately because of the crazy schedules we keep, the pressing need/s of so many folks around us, and our mutual inability to tell the world to stop so that we can enjoy a few moments of time together without interruption. I enjoy hosting friends for dinner, but that was harder than I wanted it to be this weekend because of soccer games, my inability to express to the aforementioned husband what I am feeling or what I need, and his, more often than not, total oblivion to either anyway. I enjoy the 11:00 worship service on Sundays, but that has long been impossible for me these days given congregational politics, dreadfully slow hymns from the Dark Ages, and a resentment because all too often, the hard work that Joel is doing and the sacrifices we, as a family, are making result in misunderstanding and even abuse by a small handful of mean, angry, bitter folk. The things that really make me happy, that I really want to do, the things that I really NEED to do are complicated by things around me that are less fulfilling, less enjoyable, and yet seem to loom larger.

I have got to figure out how to re-focus, how to re-frame life so that the things I enjoy move to the foreground, and the things that make them harder than they need to be move to the background. I fear, however, that I am so mired in that I can't make or find my way out.

My friend Whitney blogs about her own "glimpses of grace." She pulls this from one of my favorite Frederick Buechner quotes: "Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace."

I'm listening, Freddie. I'm listening, God. Speak to me words of life. Speak to me words of grace. Because I'm kinda needing a big dose of both...

Gum and stuff

2009-04-16T18:43:00.002-04:00

So apparently, the sweetener used in the Trident / Orbit / Dentyne sugar free gums is not really good for you. Not only can it cause gas and bloating, but it has also been linked to stomach cancer. Well, in rats, anyway. But it's mainly the gas / bloating thing that has Mom chewing good old-fashioned sugary gum. Wrigley's Doublemint and / or Spearmint. I add this only as a correction to the last post where I suggested possible things she might appreciate from those of you who want to do something for her.

We still seem to be on a steeper incline than we were the first two months after Mom's diagnosis, but we are doing well, all things considered. We met with the Hospice doctor for the first time this week, and that went really well. Dr. Britton is her name, and she was very helpful. She has convinced Mom to give a meds a try for pain, and she reported to me today that she thought it was helping. She is also committed to getting Mom to sleep better at night, and is working on how best to address that with meds too. All in all, it's my opinion that she is getting the best care we could possibly hope for, and that is wonderful.

I have been carefully finding one-on-one time with the boys to make sure that each of them knows the gravity of Mom's illness. With all three, I have generally begun the conversation something like this: "You know Attee probably won't be with us much longer." Both Daniel & Adam nodded stoicly in response, and we continued to talk about the importance of spending as much good time with her as we could.

Yesterday on the way home from Target, I had the conversation with Michael. He simply nodded, grim-faced, and said, "I know. Please don't remind me of that again." So I told him I wouldn't, and we went on to another topic.

If only I could put it out of my own mind that easily.

The Seeds She Has Planted

2009-04-11T07:58:00.004-04:00

My friend Bethany's Facebook status this morning read: "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit."

I've thought a good bit lately about death and fruit-bearing. It is, after all, Easter weekend, and like any "good" pastor-type person, I've been pondering Jesus' path to the cross this week. My friends on Facebook have posted sermons, meditations, frustrations, exhaustions about their Holy Week trials as first-time or solo or harried pastors. (I was reminded earlier in the week why we (the boys & I) have opted to leave town for the past three years during Holy Week. Between the Masters and the Easter preparation, there's been high excitement / stress in our house this week.) The frenetic energy is all over the place. So even though I'm not in parish ministry, I am quite aware of the weight that pastors and their staff feel this week.

Continuing with the theme of life coming from death, my students and I watched a Nooma video on Tuesday night entitled "Tomato." It was about dying to our old self so that we live a life in Christ, and further echoed the passage from John 12:24 above about how in order to have life, death much come. Kind of like the whole Lion King / Circle of Life thing...but I digress.

In the midst of my thinking about the death of Christ so many years ago, and the beautiful lives and promises of life which have sprung from that, I cannot help but think about my mom--about the seeds that she has planted throughout her lifetime, and the beauty those seeds have shown forth these past two months. We have been overwhelmed. The cards continue to pour in, her email inbox is perpetually delivering new messages from far and near (from the east coast to the west coast, and from as far away as Australia), and they get at least one "real," face-to-face visit each day. I have always known that my mom had a special gift for reaching out to people, for showing forth true hospitality, and for loving and welcoming people of all backgrounds and stripes. But knowing that and seeing its fruits are two different thing.

It's as if over the past eighty years she has been carefully preparing one of those instant-garden rolls, adding seeds that she has collected over time to create a beautiful panoply of color for some future date, and now life has necessitated that it is time to lay it down. The beauty, the vibrance, the variety, the sheer magnificence of the life that has sprung forth from those seeds that our sweet Mama has tended all these years is absolutely breathtaking.

But Attee's gardening days are over.

This realization is hard for her, and hard for us as well. But because of the hand life has dealt her here at 80 years of age, her hosting, her hospitality, her ability to tend is ending. She is no longer able to be the energetic, life-giving hostess that she once was. We realize that those of you that come to visit to not come to be hosted, but to thank her for the many years of hospitality, of love, of welcome that she has shown you at some point in your life. And we are grateful for that. But at the same time, those who care for her now feel very protective of her. We see the toll those visits take on her, and we worry about her. We worry when a day with no one "on the books" turns into a day where three or four different people just 'drop in' for a few minutes. We worry when a "quick visit" turns into an hour-long stay. And while we are acutely aware that people want to savor every minute of Alice they can get, we are also acutely aware that Alice has a very hard time with the visits. She wants to be "up" for them, she wants to see those of you that come by, but each visit takes a toll on her. And in true Alice fashion, it is a toll that she does not allow anyone to see. But as her caregivers, we can see what it does to her, and so we struggle to find a balance. We want to balance the hospitality and welcome that she has always shown to everyone who walked through the doors of 1409 Edgewood, who now walks through the doors of 2871 Delcourt. But we know, too, that she needs her downtime, and we want to be sure that she gets the rest & quiet that she needs as well.

So...for those of you that are reading this, here is what we ask. Continue to visit, please! But if at all possible, plan your visit in the morning between 9:00 and noon, or in the late afternoon between 4:00 and 6:00. This gives her a large window during which she can rest and just "be," without having to feel like she needs to entertain or host. (We know that those who visit don't expect to be hosted or entertained, but we simply cannot get the urge for her to do that out of her blood!) And if possible, call a day or two in advance to let them know when you'd like to come. Want to bring something for her? She still loves the flowers that she gets. And Dentyne Ice in the blue / peppermint pack and caffeine-free Cokes (not diet, but caffeine free) are the two things that she requests most from those who are her "grocery fairies." Easy to prepar meals are great for Dad to have, but Mom has very little appetite, and prefers bland food over rich and / or spicy foods.

It's been two months since her initial diagnosis. In February & March, I felts as if we were coasting on a rode with only a shallow incline...downhill, yes, but we were traveling very slowly. We had more good days than bad, almost at a 5 to 1 ratio. Now, almost overnight, it seems that we are having more bad days than good, and I realize that the road we are on is getting steeper, and the car's speed is increasing. It's scary, but we have our seatbelts on (our faith) and we have our friends around us (each of you), so we will be okay. All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.

We have "family in town" this weekend. Calli, Kimble, & Clare are here from Montgomery, Ned drove up from Auburn, and Sarah Alice is here on spring break from her studies in Cairo, Egypt. We will enjoy Easter worship tomorrow at Rehoboth, then have a big spread for dinner at Chez Tolbert here on Delcourt. It promises to be a great day to celebrate life!

My prayer for you this weekend is that each of you will celebrate this LIFE in some way--whether you celebrate the new life that we are promised in Christ, or the new life that is springing forth all around us on the heels of that cleansing rain we got last night--celebrate LIFE, and be at peace. :-)

Today's "Bread for the Journey"

2009-03-30T08:32:00.011-04:00

Here is what the late Henri Nouwen (pictured at the right) tells us today in Smiles Breaking Through Tears. "Dying is a gradual diminishing and final vanishing over the horizon of life. When we watch a sailboat leaving port and moving toward the horizon, it becomes smaller and smaller until we can no longer see it. But we must trust that someone is standing on a faraway shore seeing that same sailboat become larger and larger until it reaches its new harbor. Death is a painful loss. When we return to our homes after a burial, our hearts are in grief. But when we think about the One standing at the other shore eagerly waiting to welcome our beloved friend into a new home, a smile can break through our tears."

Rockin' & Rollin', Steakin' & Shakin'

2009-03-27T07:00:00.007-04:00

Well, this week I was supposed to be deep and heavy into writing. At the end of last year, I signed a contract for my first big contract curriculum writing assignment, and the due date is May 1st. I had hoped to get it done before our Costa Rica trip, but that turned out to be a mere pipedream. In mid-January, I marked off this week and last week on my calendar, reminding myself to leave my days as clear as possible so that I could get the bulk of it done. Last Monday, I sat patiently and began to wait for the writing fairy's visit. You see, she comes every now and then, bringing with her inspiration, motivation, creativity, and blocks of uninterrupted time.

It's the end of my two weeks, and I'm still waiting for her.

The good news, though, is that I've had a really good week of doing other things around the house that needed to get done, and catching up on emails and stuff like that. And I've gotten out for a couple of fun things, too, like this...

If you know me at all, you know that I am quite a fan of the Indigo Girls--for almost twenty years now. They just released yet another CD, and had a CD release show on Tuesday of this week at Criminal Records in Little Five, so Adam & I went with my friend Rachel and her two kiddos. It was great fun...the Girls did not disappoint and the kids all managed to summon up the required amounts of patience. Noah, Adam, & I were right AT the stage, so we got some good shots. Rosie and Rachel hung out a few rows back. The word is that Rosie enjoyed and was sufficiently awed at her first live exposure to the beautiful poetry and tunes of "my" Girls.

On Wednesday, we had a covert visit with Proctor Chambless, Mom & Dad's pastor from Dublin. It was their first time to see him since her diagnosis early last month, and it was a good thing. They spent the better part of the morning together, then he stopped by for a quick visit with me before he headed back down the road. According to him, his report to the Dublin folks will be that "Alice is not dying with cancer, she is LIVING with cancer." That was nice to hear, since that is what we are all aiming for.

Finally, last night, after another day of (not) writing, Mom & Dad suggested we go to Steak 'n' Shake for dinner. Because I had been busy (not) writing all day, I had nothing planned for dinner, and therefore thought was a great idea! Their Frisco melt makes me happy every time. So off we went. I was quite impressed that Mom ordered a double cheeseburger with fries and a small shake, and ATE THE WHOLE THING! I've been worrying about her not eating enough, and have encouraged her to eat protein in hopes that it might help keep her energy level higher. I'm not a doctor, but it seems to make sense to me. Dad ordered a double as well, with fries and a small shake, and he cleaned his plate too....but that's not all that unusual. :-) It was a good night out.

Mom & Dad continue to have a steady stream of visitors, which is truly a blessing, but also sometimes wears her out. It's nice that they have the company, the distraction, and the love that comes with each visit, but then again, it does tire her to have 3 or 4 visitors in one day. We're still trying to figure out the best way to balance the visits with the rest that she really needs each day. I keep thinking the visits will decrease with time, but it's been six weeks now and there's no sign of that. And I must admit that I think it's good for them both to have a reason to get up and moving each day. It is nice, though, when a day rolls around that there are no scheduled visits and no errands for them to run. I can see a big difference in her when she has a full-blown day of rest. The cards, flowers, letters, and emails keep coming, and those are wonderful! Her email address is alicethom1@gmail.com. Drop her a line if you feel so inclined. :-) She is truly loving her little netbook, and I continue to pat myself on the back for thinking of that one, and to be grateful to Dad for agreeing to buy it for her. And kudos and thanks as well to my dear sweet, ever-patient (most-of-the-time) Joel for setting up their wireless network.

All in all, this has been a good week. I realize that I posted the prayer on Sunday night, at the week's beginning. Thanks for those of you that have been in prayer for us. We have, indeed, been uplifted and strengthened by them this week.

We are in for a rainy weekend here in Atlanta. As I listen to the rain coming down, and see the droplets trail down the windows and drip from the trees, I am reminded that with God's "tears," all things can be and are made new. I am eagerly awaiting the profusion of more vibrant colors that I know will come soon.

Peace to each of you, this day and always.

A Prayer for My Mama

2009-03-22T18:11:00.003-04:00

Gracious God, thank you for the warmth I felt just now as I made the short walk home from Mom & Dad's house...for the sunlight and the clear blue sky, for the hint of spring in the air--a reminder that you are at work, making all things new. Thank you for this day and the many things that it has held--for worship this morning, for visits with friends along the way, and for the genine care and concern that those friends have shown for Mom, for me, and for our family, today and in the past few weeks.

Thank you, most of all, though, for Mom...for the mother she has been all these years, and the mother that she continues to be. Help her to know your peace, to feel your comfort, and to rest in the knowledge of your love and your care for her THIS day. Rest her worries and ease her fears about the tomorrows to come, reminding her as she has so often reminded me that she can do ALL things through you, and that her strength will come, as needed, from you. Hold her hand, God, and gently guide her through these next few weeks and months, giving her the strength she needs, the strength she wants, to continue to live her life to the fullest. Give her energy and motivation to share and laugh and reminisce with those who come to visit.

She is brokenhearted, God. Her heart aches for the things the she thinks she will miss in the years to come. Heal her heart, and help her to trust that you are greater than time and space. When her mind insists on thinking about the future, give her the courage, the excitment, even to begin to embrace the great unknown parts of death that so many fear. Keep her sure in the knowledge that YOU, not death, will have the final say, and that the final say is abundant, eternal Life. While we don't have any idea what that will look like, help us, help Mom, to trust in that great promise even though it is beyond mysterious to us.

Death will not come today or tomorrow, or even next week for Mom, God, so help her to keep her eyes and her heart focused on the here & now. Keep her ever-mindful of the many people whose lives she has touched over the years, and help her to be at peace with those many people being present with and for HER now. Help her realize that by allowing others to "do" for her, she is giving them a great gift....the gift of being pray-ers and card-writers and caregivers and friends.

And finally, Lord, be with those who continue to pray for and support us, both near and far. Help them to know that their prayers mean a great deal to us, that their prayers keep us going on days when we don't think we can take another step down this awful, dreadful road. Give them strength to continue the prayers, the gentle reminders of their love and support. It is the threads of those people that have formed the net that is below us--the net that will catch us when we fall, and thrust us even higher and closer to you.

This is a big prayer, but I pray it with boldness and with confidence that you are listening, and that you can, that you WILL, send the peace that passes all understanding to my sweet Mama now and in the days ahead.

It is in the name of your Son that this daughter prays....Amen.

Quick Update on Mom

2009-03-19T10:34:00.002-04:00

Mom continues to be doing well. Tom and Calli both spent time here this last week while I was gone, and that was good. It gave them a chance to both visit with her and help with a few things around the house. We have all met Goldie, the Hospice nurse. She is wonderful, and has a great way with Mom. At this point, she will come once a week, on Mondays, to talk about any health-related issues that Mom wants to discuss, and to drain her pleural cavity. I continue to drain once mid-week, and on Saturday. We are still hoping that the need for the catheter will go away, but only time will tell.

Emotionally, she seems to be doing well. She gets very tired when she has more than one visitor a day, but then has a hard time saying no also. We have to figure out a balance there--how to keep her going without pushing her too hard, and how to be respectful and appreciative to all of the folks that want to come by for a visit. She continues to tire VERY easily, and I suspect it's just as much emotional tiredness as it is physical. But all in all, things are well. With the help of her family, Hospice, and her many friends, she is LIVING, not dying, and it is a lesson for us all.

Thanks, Mom.

Time Out for Thanks...

2009-03-19T09:23:00.003-04:00

The fabric of my life has been woven with so many wonderful memories and meaningful relationships. Oftentimes, I get so caught up in the beauty and simplicity of times past that I have a hard time appreciating the present. Growing older…well, just life in general…can somehow makes things seems less beautiful and less simple. But thank goodness the memories remain. And when a glimpse of the past peeks into my life and jars my sensory memory, I feel a swell of gratitude, both for the time from which the memory comes, and the present moment that is allowing the memory to permeate my senses.

As I drove down Sunset Drive on Saturday, with Steve Winwood crooning, “It used to seem to me that my life went on too fast, but you have to take it slowly just to make the good parts last,” I am taken back to my senior year in college, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the Alpha Gam lodge with Faith, Jenny, Noreen, Stacy, Karol, Diane, and countless others, watching the slide show that Greg Howard put together for us, recapping the fun we had that year. And at the same time, I am able to see myself as a part of the memory-making for “my” students now, the PCMers at Emory, I and hope beyond all hopes that when they are in their 40’s, listening to songs from their college days, they remember their friends, and maybe even me, and smile.

As we listened to “Love You Down” by RFTW, I shared with my students the memory of my first dance with Joel in the Pi Kapp lodge at Mercer. It was to that song, and we talked about getting married even then, that very night, before we had dated, before we even knew each other very well. Yet somehow we knew. And I told them how very fortunate I feel to still be in love with my husband after almost 20 years. I shared with them that those 20 years had not always been easy, but that good, true relationships are not always easy, and that the work has been so very hard, while at the same time so very worth it. And as I see “my” girls struggling with their dating / boyfriend / relationship issues and questions, I am reminded of what it felt like to be young and in love, or young and wondering & waiting & questioning, and I smile. I’m grateful for those who traveled that road with me too, and I hope that when these girls are in their forties, they can look back on their dating experiences and be thankful for the way they helped them grown and learn more about themselves and about life in general.

As I talk with my seniors about their life post-graduation in May, I remember my first few years of "adulthood" after my own graduation from Mercer in 1988. It was then that I fell into my first vocation, that of a classroom teacher. It was a true calling, and I loved every minute of it...well, almost. I am grateful for the students I had in the classroom during my years of teaching math, whether at Mount de Sales, Montgomery Catholic, or Saint James. They taught me more about parenting teenagers than I realized at the time, and I think of them so often as we wade through the parenting of our own three sons, ages 10, 12, and 14. And the words of gratitude and remembering they have shared with me on Facebook in the past few months has been a wonderful affirmation for me during some hard times. It is a beautiful thing when former students, now in their early thirties, write to me things like this: "(My sister) and I were talking about the best teachers we ever had and you were on the top of my list. I really appreciate you, you were there for me during a very had time in my life." I don't think I fully appreciated the opportunity that being a classroom teacher gave me to touch the lives of students in deeply significant and permanent ways, and if I had realized the impact that I could potentially have, it might have scared me off, honestly. But as I continue to strive to do what I am called to do in this life, I am so very grateful for that first vocational call in the classroom, and the beautiful relationships that have grown out of that. I hope & pray that my graduating seniors are able to find jobs that aren't simply work for them, but rather are true callings, full of challenges and opportunities that they enjoy as much as I did my time in the classroom.

As I stood in the kitchen of Richard and Elizabeth Deibert with my students on Friday night, holding hands and asking God’s blessing on the wonderfully delicious meal, Richard’s prayer enveloped me with warmth. The comfort elicited by his soothing words and his familiar voice settled in all around me in a totally unexpected way. I was taken back…back to a time when my faith was a mere bud of a blossom…back to Immanuel Presbyterian Church in Mongtomgery. It was then that Joel & I began to learn what it meant to read Scripture in its own context, and what it meant to wrestle with a text. As I look where I am today in my faith life and in my ever-growing understanding of what it means to believe that God is constantly at work in this world, I hope beyond all hopes that when my students are in their 40’s, something might jar their sensory memory and they might remember the times we wrestled with a text or with a difficult question and smile, grateful for the small part that I and our small group played in their journey of faith.

Many of you reading this blog now are threads in the fabric that is my life. You check in every now and then to keep up with Mom’s health and you leave comments, so I know you are reading. But this post is much more about you and me than it is about Mom. You should know who you are, but in case you are not sure, I’ll remind you. If you shared good times and bad times with me during my childhood and teenage years in Dublin, I thank you for being a part of my life. If we hung out at Mercer during our college years, if you helped me learn more about “me” during those times, I thank you for being a part of my life. If you were in one of my classes during my years of teaching, either at Mount de Sales in Macon, or at Saint James in Montgomery, I thank you for being a part of my life. If you have talked about the difficult issues of faith and life with me, either at Immanuel, Fourth, or since we’ve been in Decatur, I thank you for being a part of my life. If you have read between the lines these past few weeks and seen the exhaustion on my face or heard it in my voice, and have offered to have the boys over for a few hours, or take them out for a few hours, I thank you for being a part of my life. Each of you has played a part in giving me the strength that I now have as a mother, daughter, wife, friend, pastor, child of God, person of faith. And I thank you for the ways you have walked with me, especially lately, on this continued journey we call life.

Traveling--to Florida and through time...

2009-03-19T09:17:00.002-04:00

(This was written this past Saturday while I ws still in Florida with my students, but due to limited internet access while we were there, I'm just now posting it....)

It’s been a few days since I’ve blogged—I’ve been working. (Well, if you consider being in Florida on spring break with college students work…!) Six of my PCM students and I drove down to Sarasota, Florida on Wednesday for an alternative spring break. Thursday we visited Beth-el Farmworkers Ministry in Wimauma, near Bradenton, where we did a good bit of volunteering—cleaning a patch of heavy brush from a soon-to-be parking lot, dividing several fifty-pound bags of flour into 2 ½ pound bags for distribution in their food pantry, and sorting through bags and bags of clothes for their clothes closet. Friday we drove to Immokalee, a little town near Naples, where we toured and learned about the Coalition of Immokalee Workers and their struggle for better working conditions for Florida’s migrant workers. Finally, we spent the better part of Saturday at Siesta Key Beach, enjoyed a sunset at Turtle Beach, and ended our third and final day, our day of rest and play, at Phillipi Creek Oyster Bar and Restaurant for a great meal. It’s been a wonderful few days—a perfect balance of work, play, worship, education, and fellowship. Fun times.

It’s been hard for me to be here, though, in several ways. Being back on the coast makes me realize that my heart still aches for Costa Rica. For the beauty of God’s creation there, for its simplicity, and its freedom from distractions and superficiality. Joel took us back there briefly in his sermon last week, and just the vivid memory of it literally brought me to tears.

Then today, on the way home from the beach, I pulled out an old cassette tape from my college days. The van we’re traveling in only has a cassette player, so I brought along my old cassette case and have pulled out a few here and there. I don’t know what prompted me to pop Steve Winwood in the player, but I did, and as he sung “Back in the High Life” and “Finer Things,” I was immediately transported back to my own college days--the rich promises that felt so alive for me when I was that age, and friendships with which I was so blessed. It was almost more than I could take when we traded Steve Winwood for the soundtrack from Dirty Dancing and “I’ve Had the Time of My Life.” Wow. (Sidenote: Even Patrick Swayze has cancer—pancreatic. Damn that cancer…) As I look back on those days, I realize that life was so much simpler then. And a part of me misses them terribly right now. The complexity of my own life these past few months, and my spending the past four days, 24/7, with my Emory students makes me long for those times again.

But there’s no going back, is there? And if we could, would we truly want to? More later...

Weekend Update

2009-03-08T21:11:00.002-04:00

Just a quick update to let you all know that as of this afternoon, Mom is now under care of Hospice Atlanta. While we expect to have her with us for a good bit longer, this is a good thing because she can get all the medical care that she needs right at home. That means we won't have to spend our time trekking up and down North Decatur Road to Emory. And it means that a nurse can help her with the draining procedure every now and then, and she will have folks who care about her and those of us who are her family caregivers who know about this whole cancer process checking on her (and on us), helping her figure out the right pain medication, etc. She will have a health professional that is available for her 24 hours a day, whenever she has a problem or a question or just needs someone to talk to.

The hard part for me is that it also is a real, concrete acknowledgement that my mom is dying. It is admission that she will not get better, but rather worse, as time goes on. But we continue to strive to enjoy the day...this day...and not worry about tomorrow. It is, indeed, a good lesson for us all.

Continued gratitude for your prayers and other signs of love and support--cards, flowers, meals, etc. All of that helps more than you can ever know.

Why Hospitality House?

2009-03-06T17:11:00.003-05:00

So a couple of years ago when I started this blog, I chose the name "hospitality house" mainly because that is what I hope Joel & I have always had, and what those of you who have visited us over the past almost twenty years have felt when you were in our home. Whether it was Saint James students for brownies and Risk on the weekends (in the early days) or a whirlwind trip to Atlanta (in the more recent days), renegals from far and near for a bit of southern charm and hospitality, Greenville friends visiting us in Decatur, or seminary friends sleeping on our couch or on the floor, we have always tried to have a house that is warm and welcoming regardless of who visits. No promise of it being chaos-free, but there's always food on the table (or in the fridge) and a cold or hot beverage for anyone who comes by. :-)

Well, I receive a daily devotional from the Henri Nouwen Society that has been unusually timely during these recent difficult days. The one I received this morning is an apt description of why this blog is named what it is. Read on...

True Hospitality

Every good relationship between two or more people, whether it is friendship, marriage, or community, creates space where strangers can enter and become friends. Good relationships are hospitable. When we enter into a home and feel warmly welcomed, we will soon realise that the love among those who live in that home is what makes that welcome possible.

When there is conflict in the home, the guest is soon forced to choose sides. "Are you for him or for her?" "Do you agree with them or with us?" "Do you like him more than you do me?" These questions prevent true hospitality - that is, an opportunity for the stranger to feel safe and discover his or her own gifts. Hospitality is more than an expression of love for the guest. It is also and foremost an expression of love between the hosts.

It is this kind of hospitality that I strive to maintain in our home. And any of you who know Mom know that it is Mom who taught this to me. Those of you who know her know that there was ALWAYS an extra place at the table for anyone who showed up--from hitchhikers that my brothers picked up on their way home from God-only-knows-where, to the guest preacher of the day at HMPC, there was always room for one more. And it is because of that trait in Mom--her ability to make friends with anyone, and to make everyone feel welcome in their home--that we have been inundated with love, support, cards, and concern these past few weeks. It has been a true blessing, and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts!

This week has been quite a whirlwind for us, but we have survived, indeed prevailed, I'd say. We've had only the one doctor's appointment on Monday, and have "rested easy" since then. I am getting better and better in my role as "nurse" when it's time to drain the excess fluid, and Mom is getting better and better in her role as patient. As you all might expect, receiving care is not easy for one who has done the caring so much of her life--but she is learning. :-) Dad, too, is learning--learning more than he ever cared to know about running a household! And he has been a champion about it. All in all, life is good.

So we plod along in this strange new space, with greater appreciation for each day and for the blessings that we have among us and around us. All in all, life is good. Thanks be to God!

A Woman's Prerogative

2009-03-03T08:14:00.005-05:00

Tom, Calli, & I received this email from Mom this morning, and I share it here with her permission. The subject line read: Change of Mind.

"Last night I went to bed shortly after Ned got here & slept til 4:30 without even waking up. That was a gift!! Then I began re-thinking my decision to take the Tarceva. I prayed about it & prayed about it & thought about all of the ramifications. They really don't know how it will work for me, they say I will be tired & have diahrreah & can't go around anybody who is sick etc, etc, & they don't know how much time it will buy for me. SO I HAVE DECIDED TO JUST RIDE OUT THIS CANCER & "treat the symptoms" as they say. I believe my quality of life will be just as good if not better doing it this way. And who knows...I might live just as long & have a better quality of life leaving off that poison!!! I have not told your dad yet, but I think he will be just fine with this decision. I will get the pain medicine filled because I think I will need that down the road. It just sounded more & more like it would be doing something that would in the long road not make my life any better. I have lived 80 wonderful years, I want the last years to be as good as possible, with my knowing what is going on as long as possible.
So there is my FINAL DECISION!! Jill you can stop the wheels from turning about the insurance coverage...how ever you need to do that!! And we will just enjoy the time we have to the fullest...all of us!!!
The birds are singing outside & I take that as affirmation!!!
God bless you everyone!!! "

I have hardly stopped crying since I read it about an hour ago--a wild mix of tears of sadness, relief, assurance, fear, respect, and selfishness. We have said all along, the three of us, that this is Mom's cancer and that it's Mom's decision--one we would respect wholeheartedly no matter what she decided. And we do. But that doesn't make it any easier.

With treatment of some kind, we were given the hope of a year or two, maybe even three. Without treatment, all signs point to months rather than years.

As I was sitting at the counter just now, working the Tuesday crossword through my intermittent tears, Daniel, unaware that I was upset, said "Happy Early Birthday, Mom!" I thanked him and said that I thought it would be a sad one this year. He came over and gave me a hug and said, "I know." I explained to him that Attee had decided to forego treatment, and that she would likely not be here for my next birthday. "I know, Mom. We just have to enjoy the time that we do have with her now."

He's twelve. He's wise. He's right.

So let's all do that, shall we? And who knows? The prayers of many and the strength of one spunky 80 year old lady just might be stronger than any cancer drug out there. I pray so.

A Brief Update

2009-03-02T16:13:00.002-05:00

Those of you that have been keeping up with Mom's health via this site probably know that we had an oncology visit this morning. Things went well, and Mom decided that she would like to give the treatment option Tarceva a try. Briefly, we hope this will slow the growth of the cancer without the difficulty or side effects that are so common with traditional chemotherapy. If you really want to read more about it, visit the drug's website--she has "advanced non-small cell lung cancer." The doctor also wrote a prescription for a mild painkiller which will be nice since she is beginning to complain of pain that I suspect is related to the cancer in her bones. Mom tends to be very wary of painkillers, so I do hope she will at least give this a try. It's important for her to get good rest, and she can do that best when the pain is under control.

The appointment this morning was long--it was at 11:00, and we got home around 2:00--but the nurses and doctor took a great deal of time with us, and were wonderful. They answered all of our questions, and generally were as supportive as they could possibly be. We are so grateful to be so close to Emory! It is literally a 15-minute drive for us from door to door.

Mom's spirits were a bit low after the appointment--it was draining both emotionally and physically for us all--but a haircut for her on the way home perked her up a bit. She is showering for the first time in a week as I type, and when I finish this update, I will go drain her pleural cavity again, so by the end of the day she will be in good shape--squeaky clean and breathing well! :-) We have a wonderful woman from our church bringing us dinner--she mentioned pork, chicken, twice-baked potatoes, sweet potatoes, turnips, corn pudding, and green beans. That will be great, especially after our long appointment this morning / afternoon.

Dad is doing well, all things considered. He is learning about doing laundry, cooking, and using the microwave. And they occasionlly bicker back and forth as usual, which is oddly refreshing. He is sad, though, and all of this is incredibly hard on him. However, in true "Tommy" fashion, he is holding lots of it inside. I can tell, though, that his heart is breaking for his sweet girlfriend of 60+ years, and he is sad about the thought of life without her--something I daresay he never thought he would experience. So cards for him are greatly appreciated as well. He needs TLC just as much as Mom, if not moreso.

As usual, thank you all for the prayers and support. They continue to lift us all up and give us strength.

Sandwiches and Peace

2009-03-01T07:52:00.004-05:00

According to Wikipedia, the source of common knowledge for all things, except maybe God, the term "sandwich generation" is used to describe the generation of people who are caring for their aging parents while simultaneously supporting their own children. There is even a website by that name, designed to connect, nurture, and support those of us who are in that category. Many people may consider it a burden to be caring both up (for parents) and down (for children) simultaneously. However, I consider it a great blessing to have two wonderful parents and three terrific sons, and there are few greater privileges than to walk beside them in this life--laughing and crying with them, loving and caring for them. To have a loving, supportive spouse that willingly and patiently travels this road with us all is mere icing on the cake.

The gospel writer Mark often uses a "sandwiching" style in his writing. A "Markan sandwich" is a literary technique whereby the gospel writer interrupts a story with what appears to be an unrelated story. A classic example can be found in Chapter 5--the healing of Jairus' daughter is interrupted by the healing of the hemorrhaging woman. Anyone who has studied this, or others of Mark's "sandwich" stories knows that the interrupted story and the middle story are far from unrelated, although they may appear to be at first glance.

Yesterday, I began my day by leading the youth of Decatur Presbyterian Church, in which 2 or our 3 sons are participants, in their "break fast" service of communion from their 30-hour famine lock-in. While I did not observe the fast, I do know that starting the day with the Lord's Supper at 7AM was a rare blessing--a wonderful way to begin the day. (I must confess, however, that I did drink my coffee before I partook of the elements. Priorities, my friend, priorities!) And I ended my day in a similar way, leading the youth of Columbia Presbyterian Church in their "break fast" service of communion at 5:30 in the afternoon.

And in between, I cared for my mother. Since she cannot yet shower because of her recent medical procedure, I washed her hair for her in the kitchen sink, as she did for me on countless Saturday nights when I was a little girl. Then I carefully and deliberately followed the step-by-step instructions for draining the fluid from her pleural cavity for the third time--a procedure we currently have to do every other day. As she recovered from the pain that ensues each time we do that, I held her and stroked her hair. I reminded her of all the years she spent caring for me when I was a child, and assured her that it was, it is, indeed, a privilege to be able to care for her now, even as she continues to take care of me as well.

Just like a Markan sandwich, at first glance, those two "stories" may seem unrelated. It may seem a bit odd that my services of "breaking fast" were "interrupted" by my caring for my mother. But the meal that God gave us is a meal that provides strength and sustenance--bread for the journey of life, if you will. And the double reminder, those two meals of strength, sustencance, and nurture with which I was blessed yesterday, were reminders of the bond we share as Christ-followers--when we are at that table, and when we are out and about doing the work to which God calls us.

God called me to be both a daughter and a mother. And God, and God alone, can and will give me the strength, patience, and endurance that I need to live into those callings each and every day. There will be good days and bad days, I know. And while I'd still rather put this piece of chocolate in the nearest trash can rather than to claim it as "my piece," there is nothing more important to me right now than being present with and for my family--both up, down, and sideways. (That's you, Joel, as well as Calli & Tom...)

I continue to be overwhelmed with gratitude for the many prayers that are being offered on our behalf--for me, for my mom & dad, for my siblings, and for Joel & our boys. I can truly say that for the first time in my life, I am experiencing a peace that passes all understanding.

Thanks be to God for both sandwiches and peace!

Thursday's Update

2009-02-26T20:16:00.004-05:00

The fluid in Mom’s pleural cavity was filling up rather quickly, so something needed to be done to control it. After much deliberation, and even a change of plans, we opted to have a PleurX catheter inserted so that we could drain the fluid ourselves every few days. It should alleviate her coughing almost entirely, making it easier to talk on the phone or just have a normal conversation, not to mention making her breathing easier, hopefully giving her more energy.

So the procedure on Tuesday went fine. It was a bit more painful than we expected, but then again, it did involve a lot--cutting a hole under her right armpit, placing a tube about 18 inches long into her body, half of it under the skin poking through muscle and tissue into her pleural cavity, and the other half sticking out of the front of her body so that we can attach a vacuum-bottle every other day and drain the fluid. So not exactly a cake-walk.

When the catheter was inserted, they had Dad & me go back with Mom for me to do the first draining under nurse supervision. It is a simple enough procedure, but the sterility of it all is a bit rattling for me. And the combination of the heat in the room, the lack of food on my stomach, the reality of what I was actually doing, and the pain it was causing her was more than I could handle. I didn't faint, but I did have to sit down with my head between my knees, breathing deeply for a few minutes. I regained my composure and we finished up, draining a full liter from her. The pain was excruciating as the lung reinflated, but after about 15 minutes, it began to subside, and within another hour, we were headed home. Much better than 2 nights in the hospital that the other procedure would have required.

All day Tuesday, Mom was a bit uncomfortable, but was better by Wednesday afternoon, and even better today. We had to drain it for the first time on our own this morning, and it went relatively smoothly. It was still a bit painful, but only for 2 or 3 minutes. And I got light-headed again, but regained composure fairly quickly. I think I did it all just right, and we drained about 400cc from her, a difference she said she could definitely feel. So, all in all, that was good.

But I'd still rather not have this piece of chocolate.

When we were finished with "the procedure" and had made our way back to the den, I hugged Mom as tightly as I could without hurting her, then I crawled in my daddy's lap for a few minutes. I couldn't help but think how nice it would be to be a child again--carefree and unaware of the harsh realities of life.

But I'm not.

The prayers you all are praying continue to lift us all up in amazing ways. I know the strength that I feel is not my own, and the sense of peace that I feel is not coming from within me. Mom gets 4 or 5 cards in the mail every day, and loves the flowers that people are sending. Those of you that remember Dad with a card or note are wonderful to realize that this is just as hard on him as it is on her. But he is learning how to negotiate household responsibilities, and Mom is learning how to let him. He has gotten pretty good in the kitchen, and today I taught him how to start the washing machine. They had enough food in the fridge tonight to have the five of us down there for dinner, which was really nice.

I said to Mom earlier today that I really never understood the comment that someone has "good days and bad days" before, until now. But it's very true. Cancer brings with it good days and bad days. And we are learning to savor the good, and patiently endure the bad ones, trusting that the sun will shine again, and that all will be well.

Peace, friends.

Wisdom from Forrest Gump

2009-02-26T20:10:00.002-05:00

Remember the movie Forrest Gump? I loved that movie. It has been said that the world will never be the same once you have seen it through the eyes of Forrest Gump. And how true that is!

A couple of nights ago, Joel reminded me of one of one of the lines from that movie. Forrest’s mama, played by Sally Fields, is on her deathbed, dying of cancer. She has a conversation with her son Forrest, a mentally challenged adult, played by Tom Hanks. She is doing her best to explain to him that she is dying.

Forrest Gump: What's the matter, Momma?
Mama Gump: I'm dyin', Forrest. Come on in, sit down over here.
Forrest Gump: Why are you dyin', Momma?
Mama Gump: It's my time. It's just my time. Oh, now, don't you be afraid, sweetheart. Death is just a part of life. It's something we're all destined to do. I didn't know it, but I was destined to be your momma. I did the best I could.
Forrest Gump: You did good, Momma.

Good stuff, indeed, but the conversation didn’t stop there.

Mama Gump: Well, I happened to believe you make your own destiny. You have to do the best with what God gave you.
Forrest Gump: What's my destiny, Momma?
Mama Gump: You're gonna have to figure that out for yourself. Life is a box of chocolates, Forrest. You never know what you're gonna get.

I guess in many ways like a box of chocolates. But there’s just one thing. When I am fortunate enough to be the recipient of a box of chocolates, I might take a bite of one and realize that what I’ve selected does not really appeal to me. So I can simply throw it away.

But not this time. Life has given me one of those chocolates that I don’t really care for…you know, like those hard, chewy pink- or orange-centered chocolates. I’d just as soon put it back for someone else, or better yet, throw it away so that no one else has to eat it.

But that’s not an option this time, is it?

Tuesday Morning update

2009-02-24T09:33:00.000-05:00

Just wanted to let you all know that there has been a slight change of plans. After some additional information and a family discussion last night, we opted for another way to manage the fluid in the lungs, called PleurX. It is a catheter that will allow Mom to drain the fluid from the pleural cavity on her on, as needed. It is a simpler process, and will not require an overnight stay, as it is an outpatient procedure. We are having it done this morning, and should be home by early afternoon.

Thanks for the continued prayers and support. They mean the world to all of us.

Update on Mom

2009-02-23T21:11:00.003-05:00

I know there are a few folks who read this blog for the latest news on Mom's health, so I wanted to post an update today after our latest round of appointments.

She had her first visit with the oncologist last week, and that went fine. It was essentially just a typical "first visit," so nothing was decided--the doctor just went over what they knew at that point, and ordered a bone scan, which was done on Friday. The cancer seems to have originated in the lung, and had metastasized to her lymph nodes by the time of her intial diagnosis. And now, the results of the bone scan show that the cancer has, as we had feared, metastasized to her bones. The results of the scan showed "4 areas of uptake" in her ribcage, which essentially means it is present in 4 areas in her ribs. There is also cancer present in her spine--thorax, lumbar, and cervical bones.

We had an appointment with a pulmonologist today to discuss palliative treatment to control the fluid that will continue to build up in her pleural space due to the cancer in the lung. She goes into the hospital (Emory) tomorrow for a procedure that will require a 1 to 2 night stay--flowers would certainly cheer up the room, if anyone feels so inclined! She will first have an ultrasound to verify the presence of fluid, then have the fluid drained. After that, they will inject a talc inside the the cavity around her lung that will cover the exterior of the lung, creating an adhesive-like substance. This then creates a seal in the pleural space so that the fluid cannot accumulate, thereby keeping the lung from losing its "space" in the pleural cavity. The procedure is call a "pleuraldesis."

I keep hoping that one of these apointments will bring a ray of hope, but that's not happening. I am trying to keep my spirits up so that she will stay positive and strong, enjoying the time that she does have left. She wasn't having a good morning at all when I picked her up, and the bad news from the appointment about did her in. She was very down and sad. However, I went by around 2:00, and she seemed to be in a better place emotionally, and possibly even a bit better physically. I think for her, those two are very definitely connected. If we can keep her positive, enjoying the now, and as busy as she is comfortable being, then she will feel better and enjoy what time she has left more.

Prayers are continued to be appreciated, as are cards and other reminders that we are all holding her close in our hearts.

For Better...Indeed.

2009-02-15T17:50:00.001-05:00

One of the things that I have learned about myself in my almost 43 years is that the depth of my emotions often, if not always, exceeds my ability to express them verbally. Perhaps if I had a running recorder at all times, then I could fully convey the depth of things I feel using words at the exact time that I feel them. Then again, I don’t even know if that would help.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as frustrated with that part of myself as I am now.

Another thing that I have learned is that my memory of how something feels, even though I cannot express those feelings verbally, far exceeds my memory of other things that have happened or that I have encountered in my past. Things like names, dates, facts—even stories or events. I suppose the running recorder would help that as well, for those times when I meet someone and want to remember a story or name or fact that person tells me for some reason—to include in a sermon, to blog about later, or even to recall it for practical purposes, such as a phone number, website, or email address. That is partially why I have begun carrying around a small, leather-bound book with blank pages, in which I can record such things. I can’t seem to remember the actual words that accompany the information or experience, but I can remember how it FELT to be in my skin at that very time, even years later.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as grateful for this part of myself as I am now.

This trip, this experience of being in this place, in Costa Rica, has brought up so many emotions, so many feelings, so many memories. In the past 24 hours, I have seen, heard, and smelled the same things that I did when I was on this same plot of land in 1978, at age 12 with my brother Hunter, who died 18 years later. And in the past week, as I have begun to live into this new reality of my mom’s cancer diagnosis, I am acutely reminded of how it truly felt to live into the reality of Hunter’s death when it seemed more imminent than ever on those hot summer days in Atlanta in 1996.

I don’t yet understand how those memories are connected, really. But I do know that I have experienced these same feelings only once before. And being a “Feeler” on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, I find comfort in the familiarity of the feelings. In other words, I am not afraid of them because I know them. I know them intimately.

For better or for worse, these feelings are my long lost friends.

The difference this time is that because I know them, I know that I can actually choose “better” or “worse.” The first time they walked through my door, I had no idea what the gaping hole that Hunter’s death would bring might feel like. I was afraid of it. I did not know it. I did not know a death that would reach down and grab my very heart and soul and wrench it time and time again. And it scared me.

But this time I do, and I am not afraid. This time, I know that the death of a loved one’s body does not have anything to do with the relationship we have with that loved one. My brother Hunter, whom I adored, and whom I am told adored me even more, is still a very real part of my life. I have never been as sure of that as I am now, experiencing this country he loved among people he loved, taking in sights and sounds and smells that he loved. I realize that Hunter is just as much as part of my life now as he was when we rode those horses together on this very beach all those years ago. He is just as much a part of my life now as he was when we laughed at the antics of a friendly monkey, or when we explored the jetties and tidepools of this beautiful paradise searching for ocean treasures. Hunter & I were and still are connected in a way that I never understood, and have given up trying to understand. Our still-very-much-alive bond has become just another one of those parts of my life. I gave up trying to figure it out long ago, and have come to accept it as it is.

And I thank God for it.

In a way that I still do not understand, Hunter is as much a part of my life now as he was when he was alive. A part of me is sad that he is not here to be a real presence, a real part of the boys’ lives, because he was such an amazing person, and they would love him and he would adore them. But the gaping hole that I thought his death would leave is constantly filled abundantly and beyond with memories of him. The absence that I thought would be painful forever overflows with the memories I have of our times together, and with the sure knowledge that we are still connected. We are connected, and so he is still very much with me, a part of me.

So as I live into this new reality that brings along with it feelings that are not so new, I am not afraid. I choose “for better” rather than “for worse,” because I know them. I know the road ahead will not be easy. But I choose this day to do it in full faith and trust that God will be with us every step of the way, I choose to travel this road cloaked in the knowledge that death is not to be feared, because nothing in life or in death can separate us from the love of God...or the love we have for another.

My Sweet Mama...

2009-02-11T19:26:00.001-05:00

We got the preliminary pathology results back yesterday on the fluid that was drained from her lungs, and the news is not good. The initial results suggest that it's advanced stage 3, probably stage 4, and that agressive treatment would be the only option. Obviously, any "treatment" would be palliative, not curative. Mom has initially said that she did NOT want treatment that would make her feel worse than the cancer does, so I'm guessing she will opt out. But we will wait to see what the oncologist says before we decide for sure. I'm sure the family will honor her wish, regardless of what it is.

My GUESS, based on knowledge of her history and reading between the lines when I was listening to the doctor, is that the initial cancer diagnosis will stem from somewhere else, and that it has metastasized to the lung. Not that it really matters at this point, but we should know more about that when we see the oncologist. Hopefully that will be late this week or early next week.

I am literally in shock. Please keep us in your prayers. Regardless of what we find out, and what she decides about treatment, the road ahead will be rough. The boys know she has cancer, but not the extent of it. We don't see any benefit to telling them how bad the prognosis is--we're just going to encourage them to treasure along with us the time we have left with her.

We still plan to leave for Costa Rica on Friday, and I pray it will be restful, restorative, and centering for all of us. It seems will we need it more than ever in the weeks and months ahead. I've been worried about from where the strength would come, but I am finding it through God's grace and the prayers of many. Thank you all.

To quote an old Tom Petty song...

2009-02-09T15:50:00.003-05:00

The waiting is the hardest part.

In case anyone is actually reading this blog to find out about Mom, I wanted to give a quick update after meeting with her primary doctor this morning. Providentially, it was an appointment that she's had for a couple of weeks, but it gave us a chance to ask the several questions that have arisen since we learned of this new diagnosis.

The hard part is that we don't really know anything more after talking with her, but I would say that we might feel a bit more hopeful. Dr. Black did refer to it definitively as lung cancer, but we still won't know what kind or where else it might be until the pathology results from the lung fluid come back. Then, depending on those results, they might opt to do a brachioscopy--which is essentially taking a small piece of the lung out and looking more closely at it to determine what kind we're dealing with.

All of this should take place in the next week or two, since, according to Dr. Black, they "don't mess around with cancer," and do whatever it takes to get things moving as fast as possible. That's reassuring as well. But I still feel like we are in a "hurry up and wait" kind of mode, and that pretty much stinks. I guess I've gotten pretty good at it over the past few years, but it's definitely not any easier!

So that's it. Again, thanks for all the words of comfort and the promises of prayer. We can truly feel the love and support. :-)

If only...

2009-02-08T07:27:00.005-05:00

We've just learned that my mom has cancer.

If you know my mom, if you've been around my mom in the last few years, if you love my mom like so many people do, then I imagine you felt that same sense of shock that I did when we received the news on Friday. Perhaps, like mine, your heart already feels a bit of its brokenness because of the looming questions and decisions that we must face. Or maybe you feel a sharp pain in your gut that I'm sure is some primal instinct we get when we want to turn tail and run, but realize we are trapped. But I pray that you also feel God's calming, soothing presence surrounding you, as I did while we listened carefully to the doctor's words.

If only it had been "just" pneumonia.

We don't know much, but already we do know that the next few weeks will likely be full of anxiety, questions, uncertainties, and decisions. The first round of test results is due back early this week, hopefully Tuesday. At that point, we will begin to discern the best way forward. I suppose the best way to keep folks abreast of all that is going on is via this blog, at least for now, so that's what I will do. In the meantime, we ask for your prayers and your support. I believe both can make an impossible situation bearable, both are powerful witnesses to our common bond in life and faith, and both are gifts we can share.

I receive a daily devotional from the Henri Nouwen Society , then send it out to my Emory students. They are always good, and occasionally seem eerily appropriate. Such was the case today.

Care, the Source of All Cure

Care is something other than cure. Cure means "change." A doctor, a lawyer, a minister, a social worker-they all want to use their professional skills to bring about changes in people's lives. They get paid for whatever kind of cure they can bring about. But cure, desirable as it may be, can easily become violent, manipulative, and even destructive if it does not grow out of care. Care is being with, crying out with, suffering with, feeling with.

Care is compassion. It is claiming the truth that the other person is my brother or sister, human, mortal, vulnerable, like I am.When care is our first concern, cure can be received as a gift. Often we are not able to cure, but we are always able to care. To care is to be human.

Friends, may we all learn the gift of CARING first, and may the cures we seek--as daughters, doctors, earth-lovers, teachers, friends, ministers, relatives, counselors, writers, and people-lovers--may they grow out of the deep care that we have for one another.

God bless each of you, now and always.

Why I Am Giddy These Days...

2009-01-23T13:14:00.000-05:00

Today, when I posted a Facebook status that said I was "giddy," I had a friend ask me why. I responded by saying that it was all about our new president. I wrote, "Everytime I hear anything about what he's doing or thinking or deciding, I am overwhelmed with happiness for our country and our future. It is wonderful to have someone in office who holds values so similar to my own!" She responded: "I saw your post, and I would be interested in hearing what values he has that you share. People are on such opposite ends of the spectrum on this guy that I would be interested to hear your position." So I sat down and composed the following response, which I thought was blog-worthy. Feel free to comment...respectfully, or not at all. :-)

First and foremost, I respect most of all his committment to the Christian faith, but also his genuine respect for other faith traditions. We Christians tend to think that we have it right, that we have God figured out, and that non-Christians are in dire need of conversion to our way of seeing / thinking. While I do believe that Christianity is (for me) the clearest path towards what God intended for us, I also believe that God can and does work outside the bounds of Christianity, and can save whomever He so chooses. (That is very reformed, very Presbyterian...!) I also believe very firmly that salvation is first and foremost about God, not about us, and that it is not our place to judge. All of these things seem to be in line with what I have come to know about Obama, and it is these beliefs on which I stake my life, so this is very important to me.

I am ecstatic about all of the things he has done just the past few days. The closing of Guantanamo suggests to me that he respects the humanity of all of God's people, regardless of their sinful behavior. We should not be allowed to inflict any harm on foreign prisoners that is not allowed on our own military personnel during interrogation.

His committment to get us out of this war as fast as reasonably and responsibly possible thrills me. I have been against the war from the start (but I border on being pacifist...), and think it's about time we regain some of our international credibility by admitting that we've made countless mistakes in the Middle East and actually DOING something about correcting those mistakes.

The appointment of George Mitchell to be his Middle East envoy impresses me as well. Mitchell's record of pursuing peace in Northern Ireland with both patience and courage is impressive, as is his way of building trust of him among / between all parties, and then carrying that trust to the table for peace negoatiations. He has proven that he can negotiate talks between the most conflicted groups and find resolution. For the first time in years, I have hope for actually seeing the situation there get better over time rather than worse.

His support of same-sex relationships is in line with my own--in favor of civil unions and working towards (if you read between the lines of what he says) a time when gay marriages are legal, although we both agree that now is not that time. Also, his views on abortion and personal freedom are closer to mine. And yet his willingness to include those whose opinions differ from him, not only in his campaign and conversations, but in his inauguration ceremony, says that he is not only willing, but able, to reach across the lines of division that have so long stymied us from living into the real relationships and dialogue to which God calls us for healing and wholeness.
He seems to be in support of capital punishment, but only when tightly regulated and as a very last resort. I am totally opposed to capital punishment, so we differ on this, but at least he acknowledges that it actually does little to deter crime, and that it should only be used for the most heinous criminals.

His limitations on conflicting interests with his staff and lobbyist groups is long overdue with regard to the office of president, or any government official, in my opinion. Also, the salary cap of $100K that he has put on White House aides is long overdue as well.

Just as we teach our children to work through their problems using words and not violence, just as we teach our children to admit their mistakes, apologize, and do what they can to make it right, I think we should expect, indeed demand, the same behavior from our president. Just as we teach our children not to be greedy, to respect and care for each other no matter what differences we may have with those around us, I think we should expect, indeed demand, the same behavior from our president.

I was an Obama supporter from Day 1, and for the first time in my life, I actually gave money to political campaign and put a political candidate's sticker on my car. And even though Joel & I don't always agree on political candidates, he voted for Obama as well, believing the he was more in line with his own ideologies (especially fiscal responsibility) than Bush has been or McCain would be.

I know that no candidate is perfect, and I do not expect Obama to be the 21st century Messiah. There is only one Messiah, and it is on him that I ultimately lean, and it is his return that I ultimately await. But for the time being, while we wait for Lord's Day, I am thrilled to have someone like Barack Obama leading this country into the future.

Listen for It!

2009-01-18T08:35:00.000-05:00

A sermon written and preached for Emory Presbyterian Church, January 18, 2008.

Hundreds of years ago, there lived a man named Eli. We don’t know much about Eli—he appears only for a few chapters here in 1st Samuel. But this is a familiar passage, and so Eli is a familiar player in the Biblical narrative.

Eli was serving as priest in the city of Shiloh, what was then the religious capital of Israel. And as tradition would have it, his sons would typically be next in line for the office of priest. However, Eli’s sons had become scoundrels, we are told in ch. 2, v. 12. They had lost respect for the office of priest. They had grown stingy, and regularly dishonored not only their father, but all of Israel by their selfish ways. As saddened as Eli was by his sons’ behavior, he knew that his family had lost favor with God. God speaks to Eli in chapter 2, beginning with verse 27. “A time is coming when I will cut off your strength and the strength of your ancestor’s family…no one in your family shall ever live to old age…and I will raise up for myself a faithful priest, who shall do according to what is in my heart and in my mind.”

There also lived a young boy named Samuel. Samuel had been promised to God by his mother Hannah before he was even born, and had therefore been serving God under Eli’s watch for quite some time. But he was still young. We will read in today’s text that Samuel “did not yet know the Lord,” that God’s word “had not yet been revealed to him.” But Samuel was faithful. Samuel loved and trusted Eli, and was being taught by Eli to love and serve God.

As we will soon see, God’s new agenda becomes clear to Eli. God’s favor is coming to rest not only upon the next generation, but upon a “new house” in this next generation. God’s favor, God’s call, comes to young Samuel.

Listen as we read a portion of their story…from 1 Samuel, 3:1-20.

1Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.
2At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; 3the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. 4Then the Lord called, "Samuel! Samuel!" and he said, "Here I am!" 5and ran to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call; lie down again." So he went and lay down. 6The Lord called again, "Samuel!" Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call, my son; lie down again." 7Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. 8The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. 9Therefore Eli said to Samuel, "Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, 'Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.'" So Samuel went and lay down in his place.
10Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, "Samuel! Samuel!" And Samuel said, "Speak, for your servant is listening." 11Then the Lord said to Samuel, "See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. 12On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. 13For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. 14Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli's house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever."
15Samuel lay there until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the Lord. Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. 16But Eli called Samuel and said, "Samuel, my son." He said, "Here I am." 17Eli said, "What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you." 18So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. Then he said, "It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him." 19As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. 20And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord.

Ahhh, young Samuel. One minute, he lay on the temple floor, snuggled under the covers, perhaps even asleep. And out of nowhere comes this voice. Upon hearing it, Samuel dutifully got up and went to Eli, as any good student would. “You called for me, Sir?” Eli replied, “No, I did not call you. Go back to bed.” So Samuel trudges back to bed, slightly confused. Again, the voice calls, and again Samuel runs to Eli. “Nope, son, not me. Go back to bed.” And yet again a third time, until finally old Eli has that a-ha moment. “It must be God calling young Samuel!” So Eli instructs him accordingly on how to respond when he hears this call again.

Samuel is indeed faithful—a dedicated student who is learning the ways of the temple from wise old Eli. But we realize in this narrative that Samuel is unable to discern this call on his own. Was it because he was young, inexperienced? Was it simply because “the word had not yet been revealed to him? Was it because he was in a sleep-induced fog? We don’t know. But we do know that three times, God called, and three times, Samuel misunderstood that call to be someone else.

God’s call is often misunderstood.

We each have our own ideas of what God is, of what it is that God does. God is wise. God loves. God is sovereign. God judges. God is faithful. God comforts. And while God is, indeed, all of these things and more, why is it so hard for us to remember that God also calls?

Why is it so hard to realize, to recognize, that the God we worship and serve does love, and is faithful, and is wise, but also calls out to us—that the God we worship is a calling God?

I forget it sometimes too. I know that God has called me to particular roles and jobs in my life, and yet I forget it on a daily basis. This notion of calling is not a new thing for God. It is this God that Samuel encounters in today’s text. It is this calling God that Eli realizes is speaking to Samuel. It is this calling God that is at work in this narrative.

On January 2nd of this year, over 1000 college students were summoned by this calling God to Montreat-- to learn more about how this God who calls is at work in their lives. There, we gathered together with others--Eagles, Bulldogs, Wildcats, Gamecocks, Seminoles, Yellow Jackets, Volunteers, Rebels, Hokies, Scotties, Gators, Commodores, and many others, from all over the Southeast. We worshipped alongside other energetic and enthusiastic college students, each of whom were eager to hear and discern how God is calling them to life.

We were surrounded by hundreds of young Christians, sharing their stories of “Outrageous Generosity,” which was the conference theme. We heard Tony Campolo, noted Christian speaker and author, speak of the difference between power and authority.

We listened with rapt attention as Representative John Lewis told his story of responding to God’s call and leading alongside many others in a movement that changed our nation.

I had the privilege of leading a small group discussion as they shared and wrestled with what it meant to “represent Christ well” on their campuses, in this nation, and in this world. I am so very blessed to be able to work with such a promising generation of leaders—not only for our country--in science, medicine, law, and business--but as Christians, leaders in the Body of Christ. It is a huge responsibility, yes, but an honor as well to be ministering with and to college students as they are beginning to find themselves and as they continue developing their own faith identity.

I am grateful for God’s call to me—to ordained ministry, and more specifically, to campus ministry—in this time and in this place. It is an awesome thing to walk alongside this next generation—one so full of energy and excitement for the things that God is calling them to do.

And if I had to narrow it down, I would have to stay that the part of my call that I take most seriously—the one that rises above all the rest—is the role that I play as one who walks with and guides them in their discernment of God’s call on their lives.

Most of you know that my husband and I are both second-career clergy. We had a “real life” for twelve years prior to beginning our seminary journey and consequently our ministries. In fact, it was a mere seven years ago this month—in January of 2002—when we turned the proverbial corner and committed to moving to Decatur for seminary. And over the past seven years, I have learned lots. But one thing that stands out is this…I have truly come to hold a deeper respect for and understanding of this calling God that we worship and serve.

You see, this whole business of “calling” is something God has been doing for eons. There are countless stories here in these pages that tell of this calling God speaking to various folks over time. Abraham, Moses, Samuel, Jeremiah, Isaiah…Mary, Elizabeth, John, Peter, Paul. And just as each of them have unique encounters with this calling God, so I, too, have my own stories about how and when and where God has called me.

But there is a serious problem with this notion of a calling God. You see, I fear that most folks reserve the call of God for people like me—folks who have been “called” into ordained ministry.
In seminary, we are often asked to “share our call story.” Ad nauseum. It’s as if we each have only one “call story,” and that the story only exists in the context of our decision to pursue ordained ministry. That is simply not true. God calls into ministry, but more importantly, God calls into LIFE, to abundant, meaningful LIFE. And that is a call that God makes to each and every one of us, each and every day.

We are—each of us, Samuels. We hear a voice, and we misunderstand. God calls to us, and we think it is someone or something else. You see, each of us, each of you sitting here today has been called--called to this place, for this time. We have been called, are being called, to specific tasks in our personal and professional lives in this crazy, mixed-up world. We have been called, are being called to follow—to follow the baby in the manger, Jesus the Christ. We have been called, are being called not simply to believe, but to become disciples.

The call comes, each and every day. Listen for it, my friends. Listen for it and follow. It will not disappoint.

We are, each of us, Eli’s as well. You see, this story is not just about Samuel. Eli’s role in this call story is crucial. Eli was there…Eli was there to help Samuel hear God’s call, to help Samuel listen for it, and to instruct Samuel how to respond. As the host congregation for PCM@Emory, you are Eli for us, supporting us as we listen for God’s call for ourselves and each other. You are Eli for others in your life as well, helping others to discern and respond to God’s call—your co-workers, your children, your neighbors, your bridge or tennis partners, your friends. Being an Eli for others is a daunting task, yet an amazing privilege.

God is calling us to be both Samuel and Eli—to listen for the call of God. Listen for it! For ourselves and for each other.

And remember…God’s call is not a one-time thing. The call of God is ongoing, constant. That’s what it means to be in relationship with God—to be in conversation with God.

Like Samuel, we often mistake God’s call for the call of the world. But if we surround ourselves with others—others like Eli--who are also listening for God’s call, then we are much less likely to miss it. Sure, it might take two or three times before we wake up and realize, “Hey, that just might be God calling me!” But the good news is that God does call, and God continues to call, whether we hear it on God’s first attempt, or God’s 41st attempt.

Listen for it, my friends. Listen for it and follow it. For it is in following God’s call that you will find peace.

Amen.

Reality Check

2008-11-29T16:53:00.000-05:00

This past Monday afternoon around 1:30, I walked into our house after volunteering in the art room at Michael's school to discover that we had been burglarized, sometime between 10:30 AM and 1:30 PM. The first sign was the hardest one--the 40" flatscreen Sony TV that Joel had been wanting several years--the one he took an extra job as a TA (Teaching Assistant) for the semester at Emory's theology school to pay for--was gone. I walked out of the house (as one is "supposed" to do when an intruder as been in, just on the off chance that s/he is still there) and called Joel immediately, then the police, but was able to tell by looking through the window that both of our laptops were also gone. When Joel got here (note: faster than he did when I called him almost 12 years ago to tell him I was in labor with Daniel...!), we walked through together and realized they had gone through all of our drawers and stolen all jewelry of value as well, in addition to the Wii and all controllers. Apparently one person (assumed) came in through the back door (not very secure, and perhaps even unlocked, although there were signs that pointed to a possible forced entry) emptied out Adam's soccer bag, and loaded it full of our stuff, then called an accomplice to come for a quick load up. The house behind us is vacant, so we think they may have even taken the stuff out through the back door and over the fence. They could have taken so much more, but they didn't. Either didn't have time, or didn't want to bother with sterling silver or anything that wasn't a guaranteed quick, easy sale. But still...what a pain.

It's been long enough now where the sense of violation is beginning to wear off and the anger is settling in. I'm finally sleeping at night, and we have begun to replace a few things. Thankfully, most of it is either a) replaceable, or b) won't really be missed. The only thing that was hard to lose was Joel's mom's wedding ring. It was fairly valuable as well--18K and some fancy kind of etching on it. Has a name, but I'm not sure what it is. He would occasionally wear it around his neck on a thick, gold chain that was my grandmother's. We lost all of our gold jewelry, which I never wear anymore anyway, but much of it was my grandmother's, so that is a bit of a blow. The ironic thing was that my engagement ring was in the kitchen window because I had been baking bread that morning, and then went to the school to do art, so I just left the ring there. Thankfully, it was still there. Had they taken it, it would have exceeded our insurance limits on jewelry AND we would have wanted to replace it. As it is now, we can take the money we get for the jewelry and use it for a couple of much-needed home repairs / improvements, including a security system, which is the silver lining in this dark cloud.

Friends have been wonderful, offering all types of support, from prayer to computer loans to cash gifts. So as I've reflected on it, it's been a nice reminder of what really is important in life. I've missed my laptop the most, as expected. Sharing one desktop between five computer junkies is not exactly fun or easy! Computer time is rare and frustrating at the same time. I tried to replace my laptop at Best Buy on Wednesday, but realized the hard way that if you buy a Dell through Best Buy, you don't get the awesome Dell customer service. You get the crappy Geek Squad techies. There were issues at startup, and when the customer service nightmare began, I just packed the thing up and ordered from dell.com. I've already returned the one to Best Buy, narrowly winning the argument about whether or not I was obligated to pay the 15% restocking fee, and happily await my new, blazing fast, mocha brown beauty to arrive from Dell later this week.

We've also already replaced the Wii in the event that they become a "hard to find" item this Christmas as well. That made the boys happy. We're waiting on the TV until we are able to secure the house a bit better and install a security system. Typically our dog Shadow is a security system, but she had thrown up that morning, and I had crated her so she wouldn't get sick all over the house. Poor baby--I know she was going crazy--locked in her crate with a stranger going through our things. She's much more stranger-wary now than she was, and goes NUTS when anyone comes to the door. Hopefully that will subside. She's been a good watchdog for sure, but I've noticed she seems more on edge now than before. I'm just so very thankful that nothing happened to her. That would have devastated all of us.

We are recovering rather quickly, all things considered. None of us have had any feelings of being unsafe in our home, because we know that the theft was about our stuff, not about us. None of us have difficulty going to sleep at night, but if I wake up in the night, getting back to sleep as been hard because I start thinking about it and get really, really angry. But even that is finally subsiding, and life is resuming normalcy for us. All in all, we are thankful. Thankful that we are all okay. Thankful that we did have insurance that will cover most of it. And more grateful than ever for the love and support of good friends. Life goes on!

Because she hasn't had the baby yet...

2008-10-08T20:25:00.000-04:00

Rachel, that is. My friend Rachel, who is thirty-eight and a bajillion weeks pregnant with child #2, a girl. She "tagged" me to do this thing where I'm supposed to blog about "six uninteresting things about me." It's called a meme. To quote my very pregnant friend, "For those of you who don’t know what a meme is, you can read this site that explains it in detail. Or I’ll just tell you: it’s a bunch of questions someone with a blog answers and then tags some other people with blogs and they answer the same questions and so on and so forth."

So here goes...

1. I was the third top seller of wrapping paper in our band fundraiser when I was in 7th grade. The prize was $25. I think my mom would have preferred to just give me the $25. Now that I'm a mom of fundraisers, I know how she felt.

2. I had a horse named Montana when I was 15. I boarded him with another horse, who was older than dirt, named Rebel, and used to take friends horseback riding after school & in the early morning during the summer. I sold Montana when I was a freshman in college.

3. My favorite movie of all time is St. Elmo's Fire, not so much because it was great acting, but because I just loved the movie.

4. My favorite number is 8--symmetry and all that.

5. I was one of the two drum majors of our 150 member band in high school, the Dublin High School Fighting Irish Band. I did this my junior and senior years.

6. My handiest skill is my ability to power nap. I do it best while watching afternoon PBS. I can be dead tired at 3:30, lie down on the sofa to watch some PBSKids, and be totally refreshed by 4:00. I often watch PBSKids without the kids around just so that I can nap. Some people find that odd. I don't. They are really good shows, especially Arthur, Fetch, and Cyberchase.

I am tagging Joel, David, and Marci. I don't know if they will participate or not, but I'm giving it a shot. Hope they don't let me down!

I did it.

2008-09-07T07:29:00.001-04:00

I actually did it. I scraped the "Life is good" sticker off the back of the mom mobile. I scraped David's "God bless the people of EVERY nation" off from below my "COEXIST" sticker. (Sorry David. Maybe you can send me a new one post Nov 4th? ;-) And removed the READ sticker from Decatur's Little Shop of Stories. And I put my first EVER sticker endorsing a political candidate on my car. Obama '08.

Those who know my own personal leanings might not think that's so unusual. However, those who know the history of the political discussions in our marriage totally understand.

It is a monumental thing.

For the first few years of our marriage, it was because we often (always?) disagreed politically. And I didn't put a sticker for Clinton on my car the first time because I didn't want to ride in his car with a sticker for the opposing candidate on it. (Let it be said that I would not have put a sticker for Clinton on my car for his second term...I remember abstaining that year. Joel says I voted for him. Either way, we lived in SC at the time, so if I did vote for him, I knew it was a token vote, and that it would make no difference in the long run.) So we just agreed that stickers supporting particular candidates were off limits. Over the past few years, however, I have put "political" stickers on my car, just not any supporting candidates. It's been quite clear which way I lean. But they have been stickers that proclaim messages on which we agree, so it's been fine.

And we might agree on this upcoming election--I suspect we will. But Joel will still not openly declare who has his vote--not even to me--and given his position as pastor at Rehoboth, that's probably a good thing. He wants to see the candidates go head to head in debate and listen to what each has to say about the issues. And I respect that. He's a Myers Briggs ENTJ, and that's the way he rolls. I, on the other hand, am an ISFJ, and I roll differently. John McCain seems rather desperate, and I hated the way that he ended his speech the other night with "Fight, fight, fight, fight..." ad nauseum. (Uh, John--have you ever heard of Jesus? Put down your sword, Peter?) Sarah Palin reminds me of a south Georgia redneck, only she's dresses nicer and sounds different. My gut tells me that we differ dramatically when it comes to ideologies, and I don't need to hear them go head to head with my community organizer of choice, Barack Obama. I've supported him from day one, because I like what he says and I like how he says it. I like how he presents himself, and I trust that four years of Obama will be far better for our country than four years of McCain. It's as simple as that.

I sent for a "free one" from MoveOn.org, and it sat on the table in our kitchen for a while. (I cut the little "moveon" tagline off the bottom because I do know and respect that Joel doesn't care for that group.) Then I casually asked him if he'd be okay with my putting it on the van. He seemed nonplussed by it, and muttered something like "Sure." And it sat there through both conventions, just as I sat through both candidates' speeches. And when the balloons and confetti were all swept away, when I had heard bits and pieces of both conventions, and listened in full to both Obama and McCain, I did it.

I put the Obama sticker on the van. And it feels good.

Parenting 201

2008-09-01T14:31:00.000-04:00

I'm not a perfect parent. Let me just say that up front. And I know that Joel & I can do the best job that we are capable of doing, and yet our sons might make poor choices that lead them down a destructive or harmful path. We don't always give them the time that they need or deserve, and we often put our own needs before theirs. But at least 350 days out of the year, they know, without a doubt, that one of us will tuck them into bed at night. They know that one of us will be there to get them off to school. They know that one of us will be there to share the evening meal with them. And they know that either of us is there at a moment's notice if they have emergency or a need that simply cannot wait. They know that. And we live that. I pray that the job we are doing has been / will be enough to keep them safe and on the "right track," and lead them into a satisfying adult life in which they find meaning in what they do, and happiness with the one/s whom they share their life.

With that said, I now quote Republican Vice-Presidential Nominee Sarah Palin: "Our beautiful daughter Bristol came to us with news that as parents we knew would make her grow up faster than we had ever planned. We're proud of Bristol's decision to have her baby and even prouder to become grandparents," Sarah and Todd Palin said in the brief statement. "Bristol and the young man she will marry are going to realize very quickly the difficulties of raising a child, which is why they will have the love and support of our entire family," they added.

Bristol Palin is 17 years old, and pregnant. Not really a newsworthy thing in today's world...unless your mother is the token female conservative on the Republican's presidential ticket. Then it's on every news website. I found out from a facebook status message.

My first thought is that I feel sorry for this young, soon-to-be-wed mother and her soon-to-be-husband. I have had friends and family members who have begun their families in a similar way, and it's not easy. And while I know that the parents are not to blame for the indiscretions of their children, I can't help but wonder what this child's life has been like for the past few years. Who has been home for her, listening to her talk about her day and sharing laughs with her as they make snacks together? Who has tucked her in at night? Who has been signing the test papers and report cards that come home from school? Who has helped her deliver fundraising purchases for her school? Who has taken her back-to-school shopping? Who has tucked her in at night? Who has picked her up from school when the nurse has called saying she's not feeling well?

Maybe the vice-presidential nominee has done all this with her daughter--who knows? But if she has indeed done all (or even some) of the above, as well as run a state government, and stayed up-to-date on world and national politics and situations, then she is, indeed, Wonder Woman.

But I doubt it.

Or maybe Todd Palin, her dad has done this...in between his training and racing in the Iron Dog snowmobiling race (as well as recovering from injuries sustained in said races), and supposedly "taking care of the kids."

I know I might get lambasted for suggesting this, but I wonder...if Sarah Palin had not been so invested in her political career, and Todd Palin not so invested in his snowmobiling (he's the reigning co-champion of the Iron Dog) would things have been different for this young, unwed mother?

When people make a decision to have children, it often means making hard choices. Having one child is hard, having three is harder, and having five, including one with Down's Syndrome, must be even harder. And while I certainly don't believe that one's decision to marry and / or become a parent means that one must surrender all of his or her own dreams or goals, neither do I believe that when once decides to marry and / or become a parent she can continue to pursue individual goals and dreams in the same way that one can as a single person. Entering into a relationship of any kind means compromise and often sacrifice--it's just as simple as that. it doesn't mean LOSING ONE'S SELF, but it does mean working together for the good of the whole--which is often not what feels best to the individual.

I find it terribly disheartening that while Sarah Palin was off pursuing a high-profile political career and promoting her socially conservative agenda (which, I'm sure, includes abstinence-only sex education), and Todd Palin was off being the champion for Alaska's blue collar workers, or off definding his Iron Dog champion title on his snowmobile, their daughter Bristol turned to her boyfriend Levi for companionship, which led to intimacy, which will now lead to marriage at seventeen (because I suspect her parents didn't present her with any other choices...), and I sadly the end, or at least the significant delay, of many of her own hopes and dreams.

Even if Palin were the Democratic VP Candidate, I'd have a really hard time voting for her because I, as a mother myself, want to put the welfare of her 17 year-old daughter over my own political leanings.

But then again...who am I to judge? I just ache for Bristol. Because a road that would have been hard enough without the media attention has been made more difficult because of Sarah Palin's choices to pursue national political service. I pray that Obama and Biden have the decency to downplay this as much as possible. It has enough damaging power on its own without them mentioning it at all.

By the way, with the DNC behind us, middle son Daniel is supporting Obama-Biden with full force now. Thank you, God!

Take Heart!

2008-08-10T14:16:00.000-04:00

I had the honor and privilege of leading worship and preaching at North Decatur Presbyterian Church today, and thought I'd post my sermon text. I'd love any comments that readers feel inclined to leave!

"Take heart. Do not be afraid!"

Preached at N. Decatur Presbyterian Church on August 10, 2008

I spent a great deal of time at our neighborhood pool this summer. We’ve always been fortunate enough to have a place to swim in the summers, from the time our boys were tiny until now. And one of my favorite things to watch is the dance that parents do with toddlers as they try to get the comfortable in the water.

Some of them are like Adam, our oldest was. Eager to get in, but cautious. Cautious, but very trusting of Joel or me. He would stand on the edge of the water and we would hold our hands out and he would jump. Just like that. He knew he couldn’t do it alone, but he was confident that we wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He trusted us.

Some of the toddlers that I’ve watched over the years are more like our middle child, Daniel. Daniel is much more of a land creature than a water creature. As a toddler, he was always happier playing around the water, or at most, in the baby pool, than he was in the overwhelming expanse of the big pool.

He needed to feel the pool bottom under his feet while his head was still above water. Daniel was less confident in his own ability to stay afloat, and less trusting that we would keep him from going underwater when we were with him in the “big pool.” His trust in us was, I suspect, overshadowed by his own insecurity in the water.

And then there are those kids who are more like Michael, our youngest. Michael is, I am quite certain, part fish. From the time he could walk, I could not keep him away from the water. The summer before he turned two, he was forever wandering away to the big pool, leaving me frantically chasing after him, abandoning his brothers, then 3 and 5, who were happily playing in the kiddie pool.

We finally had to get one of those bathing suits with the floaties built IN so that I could manage them all around the water by myself on those hot summer days at our neighborhood pool in Greenville, SC. I realized he could swim one summer at the beach when he jumped into the water before we had a chance to get his suit on. Splash…brief moment of parental panic…wait & see.....Hey! He’s doing it!

He was so comfortable in the water that he didn’t even need to trust us. He just reveled in the refreshing freedom of being in the water.

We all have our own different comfort levels with the water, don’t we? It’s an amazing thing. Too much of water can lead to fear, uncertainty, even tragedy. Not enough water can lead to thirst, desperation, even death.

Todays’ text takes us to the water…to the rough water of the Sea of Galilee.

Matthew 14:22-33
22Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. 23And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, 24but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. 25And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. 26But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, "It is a ghost!" And they cried out in fear. 27But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."

28Peter answered him, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." 29He said, "Come." So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. 30But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!" 31Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, " You of little faith, why did you doubt?" 32When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. 33And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God."

The story of Jesus calming a storm is a familiar gospel story, found in some form in all four gospels. And if you follow the larger denominational news, you are aware that this “boat” analogy has been used several times over the past few years as various people attempt to speak to those of us in the pews.

Former moderator Rick Ufford-Chase told us, in 2004: "We are invited to get in the (water) with Jesus, like those disciples.” He continued by adding, "I want to be part of a church that says 'Yes' and gets into that (water) with Jesus."

In a recent open letter to congregations after the actions of the 218th General Assembly, stated clerk Gradye Parsons told us: “Get into the boat. Go across the lake. There will be a storm. You will not die."

For many, the story IS a familiar one. Perhaps even a bit overused. But Jesus calming a storm is in all four of the gospels in some form, so there must be something to it!

Three of the versions of this story—John’s, Mark’s, and here in Matthew-- acknowledge the power of Jesus to transcend the physical by walking on the water. And all four gospels tell of Jesus’ ability to direct the forces of nature by calming the storm. Likewise, all four storm accounts place Jesus in the water with his disciples, reminding us that Christ, the ultimate storm-calmer, is indeed in our midst—in the water with US.

But the account of Peter stepping out into the water found in today’s narrative is characteristic only of Matthew. So that’s what I was drawn to look at today. What is it that we can glean from Matthew’s version of this story for our lives in this time and place?

Peter and the disciples find themselves adrift in a boat, amidst rough waters.
It is nighttime.
There are waves crashing around them.
They have drifted away from the shore.
They had gotten in the boat as Jesus had commanded them in v. 22, and then he had left them.
Left them alone to go pray, of all things.

The disciples see a figure walking toward them, seemingly on the water. Jesus senses their fear and says to them, “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

Now, Peter, uncertain that the ghost-like figure walking toward them on the water is, in fact, Jesus, speaks up: “Lord, IF it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

IF it is you. IF. If suggests disbelief, uncertainty. Peter’s not sure that it’s really Jesus out there. But he’s willing to consider that it might be.

Peter has enough faith to know, at least initially, that if Jesus commands him to, he can walk on water.

Jesus commands him, “Come!” So Peter steps out in faith and begins to walk toward him.

But, like all disciple, Peter got distracted. He got distracted by the rough water around him, and doubt crept in.

As the doubt overcame him, he began to sink. And as sank, he called out in faith to Jesus, who caught him and got into the boat with him.

Now…we know that Peter has been marked as one of Jesus’ disciples. Peter has devoted his life to following Jesus.

Peter got INTO the boat because Jesus told him to. Peter stepped OUT on the water because Jesus told him to. In so doing, Peter is simultaneously reminded of both his own weakness, as well as God’s almighty power.

For me, at least, Peter “becomes a mirror in which (we) disciples, ancient and modern, are able to see (our)selves and take heart.” Faith requires stepping out, taking risks, yes.

But we will, from time to time, get distracted by the storm, become frightened, and begin to sink. Matthew reminds us that when that happens, God in Christ is there to catch us and remind us. To remind us who we are—doubters of little faith—and to remind us who HE is--truly the Son of God.

Matthew’s inclusion of Peter in this story provides an understanding for us of what it means to be a disciple of Christ, caught in the gap between faith and doubt. Matthew reassures us that the cycle of faith and doubt is part of what it means to be in the waters with Jesus.

Like Peter, we, too, have been marked as disciples of Christ.
We, too, have been called into the water with Jesus.
We, too, have been marked as God’s own in the waters of baptism.

In this water, we are reminded that Christ is in the midst of us. In this water, we are called to keep our sights, our focus, on Jesus Christ, the Living Word, amidst the storm of life.

In this water of baptism, we are called to trust. We are equipped with all we need to take the risks that come with stepping out in faith.

But like Peter, we doubt. We may take a few tentative steps out of the boat, in faith, but life overwhelms us. Doubt creeps in, and our faith wavers. We call out to Christ for help. And he does. He catches us and calms the storm.

And we profess our faith and our belief once again…until the storm rages again.
And we step out in faith…again.
And we doubt…again.
And we call out…again.
And Christ comes…again.
And we profess…again.

But just how comfortable are we, really, with this cycle of faith and doubt? How comfortable are we, really, with this water—the water of our baptism?

Just as toddlers do with water at the pool in the summertime, so we too react differently to this water—the water of our baptism.

Some of us are cautious but trusting. Some of us are more comfortable relying on our own devices rather than placing our trust elsewhere. And some of us revel in the refreshing freedom that we find in our baptism.

Just how comfortable are we being in the water with Jesus? How comfortable are we stepping OUT in faith, trusting that Christ is in our midst? How comfortable are we in the midst of the storm with our focus honed on Jesus the Christ?

Wherever you find yourself this morning, remember that Christ is present.

Christ is present here in this denomination as we struggle with living into who God is calling us to be, and how God might make us One in Christ.

Christ is present here in this church family amidst the storms of transition and uncertainty.

Christ is present with each of us as we weather the various storms of life—transitions, disappointments, worries, fears, joys, sorrows, losses, illnesses… Christ is here, in the boat with us.

Jesus Christ, Immanuel, God WITH us is here in the water with us.

Christ is with us in the water, and promises to deliver us safely to our destination.

We are in water with Jesus.
We will reach our destination.
There will be a storm.
We will not die.

And he says to us, “Take heart. Do not be afraid!”

Thanks be to GOD for the waters of our baptism that mark us as belonging to God and call us to faith in God and God alone.

As we move forward from this place today, we go knowing that storms may come. But we also go knowing that our confidence and trust is in the one who both calms the storms and leads us into God’s future with hope.

July 11, 1996

2008-07-11T10:32:00.000-04:00

No, that’s not a typo. Twelve years ago today, the world lost (in bodily form, anyway) one if its most quirky, witty, and caring members. I’m thinking of you today, Hunter, and need you to know that.

Although your death was imminent that hot summer day in 1996, it still felt like the ground had been knocked out from underneath me when the nurse told me over the phone. Mom and Dad had gone home for an overnight to get haircuts and some fresh clothes—preparing for the influx of Atlanta Olympic athletes and fans soon to hit the city. The nurse’s station had to call Ellen for the name of another family member, but wouldn’t tell her what was going on. In retrospect, I’m sure she knew, but she called me at home to tell me that I needed to call the nurse’s station. “Mr. Patterson expired in his sleep last night.”

Deep breath. Not enough air. Another deep breath. I can’t breathe. God help me.

I called Joel for strength, then called Tom and Calli to let them know they should check in with Mom and Dad soon. And then I called and told my parents that you were gone--probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my 42 years.

But you aren’t gone, and you never will be. Even now, twelve years later, I know you are “with” us. Soaring by on the wings of the neighborhood hawk at times when we need it most, or even just to say hello on an ordinary day—reminding us to stop and enjoy the life that is now. You gave much to us when you were with us, and continue to give to us even now, entering into our daily conversations and our family gatherings, your absence louder than your presence, if that’s possible.

The only lingering, overwhelming sadness that I have now, twelve years later, is that our children—your nieces and nephews—don’t have you in their lives like we wish they did. I know in my heart of hearts that you can see them, and that you know them. But as hard as I have tried to keep you alive for them, I cannot. On the rare occasions they do speak of you, it’s as if you were some oversized, historic figure, not the uncle that I know you wish you could be. There are many reasons why your death seemed unfair, but that one hurts the most.

I wish I could hear you tell me what life is like on the other side. I’m sure it’s far bigger than we can possibly imagine. I wish I knew for sure that we’ll be together again—that our children will have the chance to really know you. But I don’t. While I do know and trust that all is well, and that all WILL be well, I don’t dare imagine death in my mind, lest I limit it to worldly knowledge. But I think I do know, deep within me, that you are still with us. You live on in us—in our memories, in our hearts, and in our lives. Not only through Mom and Dad and Tom and Calli and me, but through the countless number of people whose lives you touched.

You live on in and through and around us. But I sure do wish you were still here. I miss you, brother. See you on the flip side.

Love,
Your Baby Sister

A Postscript to "Parental Failure"

2008-06-08T20:31:00.001-04:00

For what it's worth, Daniel seemed to be very excited that Obama has clinched the nomination. I'm not sure who he'll eventually support, but I must say that I am rather glad he is only 11 and will therefore not be able to vote. At least we have a few more years to educate him on how to make the best choice...!

Be Still and Know...

2008-06-08T20:07:00.000-04:00

Today I was honored to preach and lead worship at Midway Presbyterian Church. http://www.midwaychurch.net/ It was a wonderful experience, and allowed me to realize how far I have come, how much I have grown, in my pastoral life these past few years, thanks in large part to my role as pastor's wife, not pastor.

The congregation was made up of 31 older white congregants, probably only slightly more women than men. The youngest person there, aside from myself, was probably early to mid-50's. Most of the men wore American flag lapel pens, and those who had served in the armed forces wore their appropriate pins as well. The pew Bible was the NIV, and the hymnbook was not the PCUSA one. The assurance of pardon made some reference to "all who confess their sins will be saved," rather than forgiven. And the comments after my sermon were about 50/50. Half of the folks (men and women) thanked me for the wonderful message. The other half told me just how cute I was. A few people combined those two comments. I was thrilled to hear them all, not because I particularly like to be called "cute" after I preach the Good News, but because each of the comments, whether about my sermon or my looks, were genuine and sincere. I felt very warmly received, and everyone there showed me the love of Christ in the way he or she best knew how.

Had I preached there three years ago, prior to Rehoboth, prior to living with and walking alongside my husband, who has taught me much, these past three years, I would have cringed. Cringed at the overt patriotism in a house of worship, cringed at the choices of worship resources (translation and hymnbook), cringed at the men who called me cute, and been equally offended and put off with the women who did. I would not have hung around and mingled with folks after worship, nor would I have been excited at the prospect of returning, as many encouraged me to do. But thankfully, over the past three years, God has shown me a love for her people that is more open and accepting. She has shown me a love that is less judgmental and more eager to share the love that I have come to know in her with those whom I encounter.

For all of these things, I am grateful. My prayer is that all of God's people will come closer and closer to a love for others that more closely resembles the love Christ has for us. Not just for those that are like we are, but for all of his beloved.

The Sermon: "Be Still and Know"

Psalm 46:1-11

1God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
2Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
3though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
4There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High.
5God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns.
6The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.
7The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.
8Come, behold the works of the LORD; see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
9He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.
10"Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth."
11The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Date: September 11, 2001:

A hijacked passenger jet out of Boston crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center, tearing a gaping hole in the building and setting it afire.

Minutes later, a second hijacked airliner from Boston, crashed into the south tower of the World Trade Center and exploded.

An hour later, yet another airliner crashed into the Pentagon, sending up a huge plume of smoke. Evacuation began immediately.

Less than three hours after the first attack, a fourth hijacked jet crashed in Somerset County, Pennsylvania, southeast of Pittsburgh.

“Be STILL, and know that I am God.”

Date: March 19, 2003, quoting George W. Bush:

“My fellow citizens, at this hour American and coalition forces are in the early stages of military operations to disarm Iraq, to free its people and to defend the world from grave danger. On my orders, coalition forces have begun striking selected targets of military importance to undermine Saddam Hussein's ability to wage war. These are opening stages of what will be a broad and concerted campaign.”

“Be still, and know that I am God!”

Date: January 15, 2004

They had recently picked up and moved from their home to a new job for him. It was a hard time to move—the boys were 1 and 3, and she was just beginning to feel like she had her body back after giving birth. And then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, and tells her that he is leaving them. Apparently he “no longer wants to be married.” So she finds herself in a new city, among new friends--away from home and family, with no way to pay rent or buy food. It’s as if the earth changed right under her feet, and it was terrifying. What was she going to do?

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Date: July 11, 2005

The storm was already beginning to move in, so she wasn’t surprised when their children wanted her to sleep downstairs with them. She let John know that she would join him as soon as they were asleep, and she crawled in bed with their daughter. It had been a long day, and she fell asleep, but was soon awoken by the loudest noise and most jarring feeling of her life. The rafters shook and she trembled as the debris continued to fall. Then all was quiet. Deathly quiet. She ran upstairs and found that the old tree—the one that they had been meaning to cut—had fallen right on their house, right onto their bed where her husband lay. The reality of what had happened hit her like a ton of bricks, and she knew that her life and the lives of their children were forever changed. Her foundation had been shaken to its core. Would she…could she recover?

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Date: December 8, 2007

Her dad was doing better after the surgery to clear the arterial blockages. It was really scary for a while there. Aneurysm on top of emphysema made for a very delicate health situation. But then her brother Bill was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and the prognosis was not good. It seemed that avoiding the doctor all of these years might have caught up with him. And on top of all that, another brother has been diagnosed with yet another form of cancer. Amidst already difficult family relationships, health issues compound the delicate balance. The waters seem to just continue to roar and foam around her…

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Date: January 8, 2008

She didn’t mind hiking alone, and perhaps her green belt in judo gave her parents a bit of peace when she struck out with only her beloved dog at her side. But when she didn’t return that day, and there was no word from her for the next few days, we all began to suspect the worst. Investigators concluded that hiker Meredith Emerson was abducted by Gary Michael Hilton while hiking with her dog in the mountains of North Georgia. Her body was found less than a week later, and Hilton has been sentenced to life in prison for her death. Later findings revealed he was connected to several other murders in the southeast.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Date: March 15, 2008

A tornado hit downtown Atlanta at approximately 9:40 PM, while basketball fans gathered in the Georgia Dome watching the Alabama / Mississippi State playoff game. Thousands were out and about downtown on this Friday night.

Waves of severe thunderstorms streaked through hours after the tornado left a trail of destruction through the heart of the city. Yet in the midst of the city, thousands felt God’s presence. As the morning dawned, we began to realize that while there were many injuries, there were no reported fatalities in downtown Atlanta.

“Be still, and know that I am God!”

Date: May 2nd, 2008

A cyclone tore through Myanmar (Burma) with unexpected fury, causing a tidal surge that swept inland and devastated Myanmar's most populated regions, leaving homes and businesses flattened and families forever changed.

Knocked over by a six-metre wave, a young Burmese woman climbed a tree backwards to protect her eight-month fetus. She held onto a branch for 12 hours, praying to God, until the sunrise shed light on her dead husband, 1-year old child, and dozens of relatives.[1]

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Date: May 13, 2008

A powerful earthquake toppled buildings, schools and chemical plants today in central China, killing about 10,000 people and trapping untold numbers in mounds of concrete, steel and earth in the country's worst quake in three decades.

Five days after the earthquake, a group of rescue workers found the body of a young woman inside rubble. She was in the kneeling position. Her back hunched over supporting the crumbled ceiling, her arms stretched forward, her hands thrust firmly into the muddy earth. There was no life in her. [2]

“Be still, and know that I am God. “

Cancerous tumors, failed marriages, falling trees, and human pain. Raining bullets, lost lives, nations in uproar, and human loss. Tidal surges, flattened structures, toppled buildings, and human loss. Nations in uproar, kingdoms that totter, a melting earth, and abounding wars.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

It’s often far too easy to remove ourselves from the natural disasters, the human atrocities, and the individual pain that many have endured and are enduring. And so…while we understand the need for the lesson found in these particular verses, we might even experience a twinge of guilt because maybe we have been UNaffected by such tragedies.

Or maybe we understand all too well the need for the lesson found in these verses, and we don’t want to hear it because its message hits too close to home. There may be, right now, foundation-shaking things that are happening within the lives of some of us. Perhaps you feel as if you are being overpowered by roaring, foaming waters. Maybe someone you love feels like the rug has just been pulled out from under her.

If your life is smooth sailing right now, or if your life waters are tossing you to and fro, there is a word for us to be found in today’s psalm.

The response of many, when bad things happen, is to question God. Why is God doing this to me, to her, to us? And that’s a question with which I continue to struggle. But I have found comfort in the words of the late Shirley Guthrie, theologian and professor at Columbia Seminary. He tells us in his book Christian Doctrine that God does not cause bad things to happen. Rather, when bad things do happen, “we look for and expect God’s presence (to) work indirectly in and through—and sometimes despite—the natural processes that affect our lives.”

There are times when it does seem that our world is falling apart all around us. Maybe we’re not touched directly by the chaos, but each of us is, in some way, affected. Much may fall apart around us, but we are not finally in jeopardy. The Lord God is sovereign. God is faithful. God is with us. God will not fail us.

God is, indeed, our refuge and strength, our help in times of trouble. This does not mean that bad things will NOT happen to us—they likely will if we live long enough. But it does mean that God will be with us during those difficult times, working in and through those moments of crisis and pain, to somehow bring good out of chaos. As the scholar writes, this text is “a profound assurance when life becomes unglued!”[3]

Let’s go back to China. Remember the body of the young woman found kneeling and hunched over? I’d like to share with you the rest of the story.

“As the rescue workers walked away (from her body), suddenly, the team leader seemed to understand something. He hurried back to the woman’s side and reached underneath her body. There, in the tiny shelter that the young woman created by using her body as protective shield, was a baby, about 3 months old, alive, unhurt and sleeping soundly still. Inside baby’s clothing, he found also a cell phone. On it was a message. “My dear baby: if you’re alive, remember, I love you.” People soon gathered about them and there was not a dry eye in the crowd.[4]

The closest thing to understanding God’s love of and care for us is the love of parent for child. It has been said that “the unconditional love of a parent is the greatest thing a child ever receives.” Sadly, many children never experience such love from their parents. Even for those that are fortunate enough to experience it, the unconditional love of God is greater still.

“In a time, when the world (seems to) crumble(s) all around (us), when the earth (seems to) swallow everything in sight, when all the hope seems to fade, God holds up the falling sky and says to us. ‘Be still, and know that I am God. I am here. Everything will be all right.’” [5]

To God be all the glory, and honor, and power. Now & forevermore. Amen.

[1] http://www.thestar.com/News/World/article/439073 (Toronto, Canada)
[2] http://www.useless-knowledge.com/1234/08june/article004.html
[3] Brueggemann, Walter in Text for Preaching, Year A, p. 348-9.
[4] http://www.useless-knowledge.com/1234/08june/article004.html
[5] http://www.useless-knowledge.com/1234/08june/article004.html

A Momentary Distraction

2008-04-21T13:31:00.000-04:00

So we're having a neighborhood yard sale this Saturday, which has gotten me in a major cleaning-out mode. I've had a huge pile of castaway items stacking up in our basement for almost a year now, and am making one final swoop through the house before the Big Day. In the process, I happened upon some articles, etc. that I had photocopied or torn out and set aside as "important" to me at some point in the past 8 or 10 years.

Here's one that I distinctly remember copying because it seemed so very accurate to my life at the time. As I ran across it again, at least seven years later, as much as I resist being pigeon-hold into gender stereotypes or worse yet, excusing my behavior because of hormones (okay, well maybe I don't really resist that...!), it still resonates with me. I didn't write down any information about the book from which I copied it, but I am assuming it was from some type of daily devotional for women. The title of the book is "Joy for the Journey," but when I google that title, I can't find any information about the actual book. (I am, however, directed to a website of a young evangelist who looks to be about sixteen...!) So I find myself wondering if it does with any other women out there who very clearly ride that monthly "hormonal roller coaster" as I do. I'd love to hear feedback!

"Understanding Your Emotions" by Kathy Babbitt, Habits of the Heart, as found in "Joy for the Journey," p. 19.

"The difference in estrogen levels in a woman's body during various times of the month correlates to a predictable pattern of behaviors and emotions. In general, during the first week of her cycle she is outgoing, ambitious, optimistic, and self-confident. (FYI, this is where I am now...) During the second week she is hopeful, easygoing, creative,...and has inner strength and a sense of well-being.... The third week she lacks coordination, longs for peace,...is impatient,...and gloomy. The fourth week she is very irritable, touchy, withdrawn,...and lacks self-confidence.

(still quoting) "Whew! Is it any wonder that interpersonal conflicts sometimes seem to come from nowhere? Naturally, these characteristics are not true for all women, and some women struggle with them more than others. Maybe you need to tell yourself, 'Tomorrow or next week will be better' or 'It will soon pass, just hang in there!'" (end quote)

I sometimes walk a fine line between wanting to scream to those around me--especially those who seem to have "issues" with me--"This is me, love me or leave me!" and looking in the mirror and thinking "I don't like you so much today, and it's no wonder others don't either! Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?" And sometimes, I really feel like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But when I really pay attention to my life, my moods, and my hormonal cycle, this truly seems to make sense to me. Speaking for my husband (albeit without his consent), I think he really loves being married to me during weeks one and two, and could live without me during that third week, and would just as soon leave me during that fourth week. (Feel free to weigh in on this, honey...!)

So anyone, for those of you reading this, what do you think? Am I just crazy, or trying to figure out something for which there is no predictable pattern? Is unpredictability really a GOOD thing, one to be embraced? Or is there something to learning who we are as women, and how we operate physically, chemically, and emotionally that will help us live a richer, fuller, more God-centered life?

Parental Failure??

2008-02-25T09:39:00.000-05:00

I'm not quite sure where our middle child is getting his political influence, but it seems he is supporting McCain. His homeroom teacher is former military, so that could be it. I know it's not coming from his dad because he has yet to declare an allegiance to anyone, plus he doesn't talk politics with them very much. At any rate, I wasn't too disturbed by it at first, although I did give my dear son a few of my own reasons for supporting Obama over McCain, namely immigration, gay rights, and women's issues. However, when I was going thru his weekly papers this morning, I discovered this. Perhaps I will need some help in the future putting him on a different track.

The assignment was to "draw an editorial cartoon featuring a candidate on a view or an issue," and to "write an editorial to go with your cartoon." Here is what he wrote:

"Vote McCain '08 for a kind of Bush again. Are you bummed that Bush can't run? Well don't be! McCain's following in his footsteps. This presidential election has McCain all over it. With your help, he'll get there. So vote McCain for a kind of Bush again."

Big, heavy sigh. Have I failed as a parent??!! Am I raising a Republican? Worse yet, am I raising a Bush supporter? Dear God, please no!!

Seriously, the problem is that with Daniel, once he commits to something, he has a really hard time changing his mind because it's so important to him to be RIGHT. (No snide comments here about apples falling from treese or anything, people...!) Perhaps when Obama wins in November, Daniel will see the proverbial light and straighten himself up. :-) In the meantime, your prayers are appreciated!

How to Beat the Winter Doldrums

2008-02-05T21:38:00.000-05:00

Two adjoining rooms in a NC hotel for two nights - $230

Gas to and from above NC hotel - $100

Two days of skiing / snowboarding, one day in the rain, one day in the springlike weather - $340

Food for two days for five people - $150

Piles of cold, wet clothes and a 4-hour drive home after a full day on the slopes – N/C

Two days away from it ALL, for amazing fun together as a family – Priceless

Those of you who know us know that our family often leads a crazy, mixed-up life. It’s true. Joel is essentially “on call” 24/7, and rare is the 24 hour period when he doesn’t think or do church at all. Granted, my job as a campus minister is not anywhere close to being as demanding as his job as a solo pastor is, but my hours are odd and often prevent us from doing things together as a family that we relied on heavily prior to my graduation—namely worshipping together and eating lunch together afterwards. And in between Tuesday night Bible studies and Sunday morning chaos, I try to find time to sit at my wheel, read to Michael’s 3rd grade class, let the boys have occasional sleepovers, and help Adam with his algebra homework. So our days are full—very full. And our lives are busy—very busy. But one of the very smartest things we, as parents and partners, have done for the last four years is to take the family on a “winter doldrums” getaway trip. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve held onto it like a terrier, refusing to let it go. We save for a few months, chinking away here and there, and put any money we receive at Christmas in our vacation budget. Then we pick a long weekend in late January or early February, avoiding typical holiday weekends, and just let the boys skip school so we can enjoy our time together with little or no crowds. This was a real stretch our first year, back in 2005. We were both in seminary, and our savings had dwindled to very little. But something told me that it would be an important thing to do. And I wanted to let the boys experience snow skiing while they were all still young enough to remain undaunted by the challenge of it. So I looked into our nearby options and settled on Cataloochee ski resort, just outside of Maggie Valley, NC. It was less than four hours from Atlanta, and appeared to have relatively inexpensive weekday rates, with a “kids ski free” option if you stayed at certain hotels. So we booked it.

That January night in 2005, we arrived to temperatures well below freezing, and snow was falling the next day as we skiied. It was a huge success, and was great for our family. Our first ski experience was so successful that we made a return trip to Cataloochee the next year, in 2006. The weather was not quite as cooperative that year, but we still had a great time. The year 2007 had long been set aside as a year for our third trip to Disney World, so we took a break from skiing and headed south for a few days in late January. (NB: We made it a “budget trip” by agreeing to listen to a spiel on Marriott timeshares, which was not as annoying as it might sound.) Again, it was just the thing we needed after Joel’s first full year in solo parish ministry, and I was nearing the home stretch of my time in seminary, eyeing graduation in May.
This year, however, we were all eager to return to the slopes. I had hoped it would be feasible to step it up a bit and ski Snowshoe, WV, but alas, our finances dictated that we should simply return to Cataloochee, and the boys were totally fine with that. So off we went this past Sunday, immediately after Rehoboth’s annual congregational meeting where Joel’s terms of call were reviewed and approved.

We arrived at our hotel Sunday night just in time for the Super Bowl kickoff, so Joel got to watch it in peace & quiet while I took the boys to the indoor pool and hot tub. At the half, we headed up for pj’s , pizza, and tucking in so we would be ready for our first day on the slopes. The weather called for rain, but after a lazy morning, we decided we’d head up the mountain anyway. After all, we’d made the trip so that we could ski, and we decided a bit of rain wasn’t going to stop us. (I must admit, though, that I was a bit sick to my stomach when it began to rain almost immediately after we charged $170 to the credit card, with the big “NO REFUND” sign staring at me.) Joel & Adam were determined to snow board, so they headed off on their own, while Daniel, Michael, & I hit the easy slope to remind our bodies how to ski.

After a few runs together, the boys were doing well enough for me to retreat inside for a cup of coffee. They didn’t seem to mind skiing in the rain. However, had it not been for their sheer happiness, I would have been miserable. (Interesting sidenote: I quickly learned that the Mardi Gras tradition for many N’Awlins Cajuns is to head north for skiing. While the resort was far from crowded, there were definitely more people there this time than either of our other two previous times, and I would say well over half of the folks on the slopes were from the New Orleans area. I loved their Cajun drawl and their genuine friendliness.) I wandered in & out for a couple of hours, depending on how fat the rain drops were, either skiing or taking videos / pictures. Michael gave out around 3PM, so I took him back to the hotel for a warm bath, then went back to pick the others up at 4:30.

After another lazy night of swimming and hot tubbing, we were at it again today. The weather was beautiful--hardly ski weather, though. By the end of the day I had shed everything but my ski pants and my David Lamotte “Change” t-shirt. The good thing about only ever experiencing North Carolina skiing is that the standards for “good skiing” conditions are not terribly high. I, for one, was just glad to be dry! It was a great day, and we stayed on the slopes as long as we could before piling in the car and heading home. Our dinner at Huddle House in Dillsboro, NC was a perfect finish to a great family mini-vacation.

We’re headed south on 441 as I type, listening to music together and just reveling in being together for these last few hours. The madness, the chaos, the busy-ness will start back up tomorrow as Joel & I both prepare for our own Ash Wednesday services, the boys head back to school, and we resume “normal” life once again. And soccer x 3 starts up full force this coming Monday. Ay-yi-yi! But this time…these precious few days with each other, with our only task being to have fun—this time will last us a good, long while. Hopefully until this time next year, when we head to Costa Rica for our biggest family vacation EVER, and one for which we’ve already been planning and saving for more than a year. Joel will turn 40 while we’re there, and I wanted it to be a special celebration for him as well as for us. We’ve been graciously given gratis accommodations at Hacienda Pinilla, and look forward to horseback riding, experiencing the Pacific coast, meeting Costa Rican families, hopefully touring a school or two, and just enjoying the beauty of another country. Until then, we will continue to steal pockets of treasured together time when we can get them. And when we don’t think we can make it another day, we will let our minds take us ahead, on to Costa Rica, and dream of what it will be like to spend not just a few days, but a whole week together, laughing & playing & relaxing, with our only task being to have fun.

The “winter doldrums getaway.” I highly recommend it for every family—but especially for families who are in ministry together. Make it a priority. You will find a million reasons why you can’t do it. “There’s not enough money.” “There’s too much to do!” “The timing just isn’t right!” “The kids have school.” “It’s too hard to plan.” But don’t let the excuses win. Find a way to do it. Make a way to do it. It doesn’t have to be an expensive getaway and trust me…those things to do will still be there when you get back. Also, YOU are the parents, not the school. Those of us in ministry don’t get the luxury of “family weekends” that many folks get. And planning? It doesn’t take much, and it can be part of the fun. Don’t let the excuses win. I know it does amazing things for our family’s health and wellbeing, and I imagine it would be wonderful for yours as well. And by the way, if / when you do it, I’d love for you to write me and tell me all about it.

PS - Pictures and videos will soon follow, I hope!

My Own Brief Statement of Faith

2008-01-24T06:06:00.000-05:00

Seminary has been an amazing journey for me, and while I am still, in many ways, the same person I was six years ago, I have also learned much about my faith and the God we worship & serve. While I do believe that the path of Christianity down which I am wandering is the right path for me, I am not arrogant enough to believe that God's plan can be limited by the ways of this world. God loves each and every one of us, and has a desire to be with each of us for eternity--whatever that may look like. I do believe that God can and will accomplish this as only God can. I continue to believe that God's church is for all, and that ordination should be open to all persons whom God calls and who have the support of their local governing body--church or presbytery. I believe that faith is, first and foremost, a gift, and that all of our lives should be lived in gratitude for all that God has done for us. I believe in a loving, merciful God who is pained by the injustices in the world, rejoices with each of us as we rejoice, and weeps with each of us as we weep. It is in service to this God that I am to be ordained, it is this God to whom I give thanks for the many blessings in my life, and it is this God whom I strive to love and worship every day.

Heaven on Earth

2008-01-20T21:25:00.000-05:00

Do you ever just have one of those days? Not one of those days where you wish you'd never gotten up, but one of those days that you're so very GLAD to be up and alive? That's what yesterday was for me. It was pure bliss! What made it so great, you ask? Well, let me tell you...

First, I woke up and lay in bed reading some more of my new favorite book, Eat, Pray, Love. http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm. I drank coffee and read the paper as I listened to the rain turn to sleet. I piled the boys in the car to pick Adam up from a sleepover. Traffic was very light, and the snow started to fall on our way over. I visited with the sleepover mom and enjoyed chatting with someone new.

We ate lunch with my parents, then came home and I spent two hours at my wheel, crafting six new mugs, a vase, and a bowl as the Indigo Girls serenaded me from their 1200 Curfews CD. http://www.indigogirls.com/discographyandlyrics/1200curfews.html. Joel made it home just in time for dinner--Chinese delivery--at my folks' house. They'd never had anything delivered to their house except pizza, and were quite taken with the notion. I love sharing the little joys of sub/urban living with them. :-) We packed up some leftovers and headed home, enjoying the cold crisp air and the snowmen and women we met along the way. I tucked the boys in, then tucked myself in with more reading. I fell asleep with a book in my hands, and a heart full of gratitude.

Yesterday will carry me for quite a long time, I think.

Sermon: Hope Has a Voice

2008-01-13T21:04:00.000-05:00

A sermon preached today, January 13th 2007, at the church of my childhood, Henry Memorial Presbyterian, in Dublin, GA. Comments and feedback are welcomed and appreciated!

Isaiah 42:1-9
1Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. 2He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; 3a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice. 4He will not grow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands wait for his teaching.
5Thus says God, the LORD, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what comes from it, who gives breath to the people upon it and spirit to those who walk in it: 6I am the LORD, I have called you in righteousness, I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, 7to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness. 8I am the LORD, that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to idols. 9See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare; before they spring forth, I tell you of them.

Matthew 3:13-4:1
13Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14John would have prevented him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" 15But Jesus answered him, "Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." Then he consented. 16And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased." Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.

It’s good to be back here, as always. Since my graduation from seminary, I have enjoyed a luxurious summer being “just a mom,” and in August, began my job as the Presbyterian campus minister at Emory University. We have a small, but faithful group of students who gather for worship each Sunday at Emory Presbyterian Church, and for Bible study and fellowship every Tuesday night.

Our ministry strives to be one that is inclusive, faithful, challenging, and comforting. Together, we seek to discover what God is saying to us and might be doing through us in the here & now. I love it.

My call to campus ministry took me to heaven’s gate last weekend…to Montreat, NC where more than 800 college students gathered together for the annual collegiate conference. I must admit—being there as a campus minister was wonderful. I had the best of both worlds—the energy and passion of youth, without the responsibilities of knowing their whereabouts at every given moment.

We stayed at the mountain home of a dear friend, and enjoyed our time together –preparing and sharing meals and playing games, as well as our time in small groups and larger sessions. The conference theme was Hope Has a Voice, and building on today’s text as well as my experience in Montreat, I have also chosen that as the title of my sermon today.

The lectionary has us at the baptism of Jesus. It’s a puzzling text for many, just as it was a puzzling event for John. Imagine it. John is preaching, doing his thing, by the Jordan River.
We’ve just heard, at the beginning of chapter 3, about John’s unusual wardrobe and diet…camel’s hair and locusts. I can just picture him, can’t you? Lumbering around, his mumblings increasing in volume as he proclaims, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near!”

Preaching a gospel of social consciousness, he urges those listening to bear fruit worthy of repentance, cautioning that those trees which do not bear good fruit will be cut down and burned. “I baptize you with water…but the one coming after me is greater. I am not worthy to carry his sandals. HE will baptize you with the Holy Spirit, and with fire!”

And then…and then…the greater one comes. The greater one comes and asks that John baptize him. John objects. “I’m the one who needs to be baptized, not you!” [1]
And we get that. We get John’s objection. Because here is this man Jesus, the SON OF GOD, for pete’s sake. We would daresay that this man, this Savior, would not even NEED baptism, much less by someone like John.

Jesus insists. “Do it. God’s work, putting things right all these centuries, is coming together right now in this baptism.” So John did it. And the heavens opened up, and the dove-like spirit came down, and God spoke. “This is my Son, chosen and marked by my love, delight of my life.”

Then Jesus went into the wilderness to be tempted.

Going into the wilderness to be tempted. That phrase has new meaning for me as I minister with and among college students, away from home and the hawk-like parental supervision that most of their parents have doled out.

For you see, as someone who was IN college at one time—for all of the good things that college is—the chance to spread ones wings, the chance to make ones own decisions about many things, the chance to live with and among friends 24/7—for all the good things that it is, it is very much like going into the wilderness to be tempted.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…and ahead of the text.

Baptism. In our tradition, we typically administer the sacrament of baptism in infancy—signifying that we believe God’s call on our lives happens long before we can say yes to God. The “decision” for God, if you can call it that, is typically made by one’s parents. But its not really a “decision” for God as much as it is an awareness of God’s grace and an acknowledgement of what God has already done for us.

And so we baptize infants.

We baptize infants before they are old enough to understand, vowing to nurture them along the way as a community of believers.

We baptize infants and bring them to church as often as we can. We teach them in VBS, we chair committees that oversee their activities, and we marvel as they grow right before our very eyes in the weeks between each children’s moment.

We baptize infants and then send them off to church camp or Montreat when they are in middle and high school, and they have mountaintop experiences.

We baptize infants and then ask them to assume positions of church leadership…youth elder, or serving as a representative on the nominating committee.

We baptize infants, and then send them off to college…to the wilderness to be tempted…where our campus ministries, if they are even present, are suffering—underfunded and all but ignored.

Whether you are consciously aware of it or not, when we take part in a baptism, we are vowing to nurture that child in his or her faith life for years to come. I daresay that when ANY church baptizes an infant, that church is taking a vow on behalf of the whole body of Christ to nurture that child into a life of faith.

And yet…and yet…when they graduate high school and leave the safety and comfort of their back-home family of faith, we provide little or nothing for them.

There’s just something wrong with that.

Now I know that now is not the time for a soapbox rant, but I can’t pass up the chance to put in a plug for our forgotten college students. Because last weekend, as I sat in the middle of Anderson Auditorium in Montreat, surround by 18 to 22 year olds, feeling simultaneously very old and very young, I was amazed at what I was a part of.

We were all captivated by a student group from Virginia Tech as they shared with us some of their memories and experiences from last April when a lone gunman went on a shooting rampage on their campus.

We heard from Heidi, a young woman who had been shot three times in the leg. She shared with us her journey of pain and recovery. Every day, she wore a t-shirt emblazoned with the word “hope.” She became the embodiment of hope for many of us.

We heard from Shane Claiborne, a young adult who has ventured into a way of life that is beyond alternative in today’s culture. Ten years ago, at the age of 21, he and several of his friends founded an alternative community in inner city Philadelphia known as The Simple Way.
Here, he lives communally with others, working side by side to embody the gospel for those whom many people would just as soon forget. The students at the conference loved him.

We heard from Ishmael Beah, author of the NY Times bestseller A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier. In his book, Beah, now twenty-seven years old, tells his story. “At the age of twelve, he fled attacking rebels and wandered his homeland, rendered unrecognizable by violence. By thirteen, he’d been picked up by the government army. Beah, at heart a gentle boy, found that he was capable of truly terrible acts. Eventually released by the army and sent to a UNICEF rehabilitation center, he struggled to regain his humanity and to reenter the world of civilians, who viewed him with fear and suspicion. His story is an amazing one of redemption and hope.” [2]

The students listened in awe and amazement as he closed his address to them with these words. “We are all capable of becoming monsters if the circumstances are there. Likewise, we are all capable of doing good. When the good in a person is nurtured, we can do amazing things.”

Part of what we promise to do each and every time we baptize an infant—or an adult, for that matter-- is to nurture that person. To love, support, and nurture that which is good in that person. It is our job as the body of Christ to do that for one another.

Jesus was baptized, then went into the wilderness to be tempted. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never worried too much about Jesus giving in to temptation. I mean, sure, hindsight is 20/20, but even if I didn’t know how the temptation story ended, I wouldn’t worry too much. After all, he is the God with Us, our Creator God incarnate. Stronger than any temptor’s snare.

We’ve been baptized, just like Jesus was. And just like Jesus, we are tempted in the wilderness. We leave the quiet, calm of our places of our baptisms each Sunday and enter the wilderness that is our violent, hopeless, power-hungry, mixed-up world to be tempted.

We are tempted to lust for power.
We are tempted to desire what others have.
We are tempted by hopelessness and apathy.
We are tempted to respond to injustice in violent ways.
We are tempted to live by society’s values rather than God’s values.
We are tempted to shun those who are different from us.
We are tempted to believe that the problems “out there” are not “our” problems.

But we forget. We forget that we have been baptized into a community of believers. We have been marked as God’s own. We forget that at our baptism, God looked on and said, “This is my child, chosen and marked by my love, the delight of my life.”

Isaiah reminds us what God said and continues to say to God’s chosen & beloved:
6I am the LORD, I have called you in righteousness, I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, 7to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness.

We are baptized and we are tempted, yes. But we have been called in righteousness. God has taken our hand, and has promised to keep us.

What I saw in the eyes and hearts of those 800 college students was the desire to live as if that made a DIFFERENCE in their lives. I saw a renewed passion to live a life of hope, to be a voice of hope. The conversations I heard as I wandered around towards the end of our weekend were things like, “I thought I knew what I wanted to do with my life, but now I’m having to rethink it all.” “I still want to be a (fill in the blank), but I want to find a way for what I do to make a difference in the world.”

Those students left that mountaintop gathering eager to be a light to all the nations. They left desiring to open the eyes of the blind. They left committed to bring the prisoners out from the dungeon. They left with the firm and certain knowledge that hope DOES have a voice, and that the voice of hope is them. The voice of hope is us.

We have been baptized.

We have been and will be tempted.

We have been called in righteousness.

God has taken us by the hand, and has promised to keep us.

We are the voice of hope in this broken and fearful world in which we live.

We are God’s people, Christ’s body, here on earth.

We are God’s children, chosen and marked by God. We—you & I—are the ones in whom God delights.

We are.

The question is…What difference does it make?

Does it make any difference at all?

I pray that it does.

Amen.

[1] The Message
[2] www.alongwaygone.com

Where the sacred meets the secular...a rambling.

2007-12-04T23:06:00.000-05:00

For the past few weeks in our weekly PCM Bible study (Break@8), we've been sharing song lyrics that have significance to us--particularly theological significance. I brought one in first, just to sort of set the tone and expectations. Yes, it was an Indigo Girls song...The Wood Song. Oddly, it's my favorite song, and I have yet to hear it live. Sad. Anyway, it's been fun to share the songs together, to delve deeply into the lyrics with each other and see where the secular might intersect with the sacred. We've had Coldplay, Jars of Clay, U2, and Switchfoot. It's an exercise that has reminded me of the uncertainty of youth, and the search for answers that, when you are a young adult, you think will eventually come. But they don't. What happens, I think, is that if you're lucky, you get comfortable with the fact that there are very few, if any, real answers to the questions that matter most. I don't think life is about finding "the answer." Life is about the conversations that we have along the way as we search for it, knowing that we'll never really find "it." And being okay with that.

I heard a preacher (I think it was Vic Pentz) criticize the ancient fable about the blind men and the elephant. You know the one. It is the story of six blind men who visit the palace of the Rajah and encounter an elephant for the first time.

The first blind man put out his hand and touched the side of the elephant. "How smooth! An elephant is like a wall." The second blind man put out his hand and touched the trunk of the elephant. "How round! An elephant is like a snake." The third blind man put out his hand and touched the tusk of the elephant. "How sharp! An elephant is like a spear." The fourth blind man put out his hand and touched the leg of the elephant. "How tall! An elephant is like a tree." The fifth blind man reached out his hand and touched the ear of the elephant. "How wide! An elephant is like a fan." The sixth blind man put out his hand and touched the tail of the elephant. "How thin! An elephant is like a rope."

An argument ensued, each blind man thinking his own perception of the elephant was correct. The Rajah, awakened by the commotion, called out from the balcony. "The elephant is big," he said. "Each man touched only one part. You must put all parts together to find out what an elephant is like."

This pastor made a formidable argument against using that analogy for God. Likewise, "serious problems" with the elephant argument can be found here as well: http://www.ptm.org/98PT/SepOct/Elephant.htm But I still like to think of God's Truth as an elephant. We are each holding on for dear life to the part of God that we've been given, the part that is more proximal to us, or just the part that someone else showed us a long time ago. And the part that we're holding onto is comfortable, and we feel as if we know it. But that's not all there is to the beast. I don't know about you, but I'm glad that I don't know all there is to know about God. The God I worship is living and dynamic. Stable yet fluid. Incomprehensible yet personal. Mysterious yet certain. The ultimate paradox.

I fear that many young adults today see religion, and Christianity in particular, as a way of life that limits one's intellectual self, as if one must choose between being an intellectual and being a person of faith. And truthfully, for too many years, Christians were guilty of believing they possessed the truth, that they fully knew God, and even owned God. But thanks to brilliant minds who asked and addressed really tough questions, our view of God is wider and bigger than it was a century ago. And thanks to brilliant minds who continue to ask and address really tough questions, our view of God GETS wider and bigger with each passing day.

Our challenge is not an easy one. We Christians have dug quite a hole for ourselves. But I've got my shovel and I'm going to work, one scoop at a time, until the hole is filled. I pray that one day, we will ALL be able to look around us and see the fullness of the world that God created, and all the many gifts of wonder and diversity that it has to offer.

And so as I work among these college students, I hope to share with them ways that I see God at work in places where we might least expect it. I hope to share with them how they can see God at work in the simple moments of each day if we but keep our eyes open and our minds willing. I hope to share with them how God can use people even when they are not believers, or even when their personal intent is somehow different. I hope I can impress upon them that God really is bigger than any labels or any faith tradition. And I hope, most of all, that can help them be at peace with the fact that there really aren't any always-reliable, always-right answers to life's greatest questions. God just IS, and that's okay.

Conundrum

2007-10-24T09:02:00.000-04:00

I truly love the concept of blogging. It helps me to keep my eyes open to those "glimpses of grace" (http://glimpses-of-grace.blogspot.com/ is my friend Whitney's blog...it's one of my favorites) in my day to day life. The problem is that while I see these glimpses of grace everywhere, my life is not conducive to writing them down as often as I would like.

For instance, yesterday as I was leaving Java Monkey from a wonderful lunch / break with my friend Wendy (http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=713636122&ref=ts), I encountered a young man who was apparently blind, learning how to use his cane. He was maybe 10 or 12, lean, with chocolate brown skin. There was a thirty or forty-something year old gentleman, obvioulsy sighted, giving the young man instruction. It was a beautiful sight. As I watched I couldn't help but think about the way we help each other navigate our faith life. There are people in my life, as I'm sure there are in yours as well, who watch me flounder around with my cane, learning my way, correcting me gently when I make a misstep. As is said in seminary, "That will preach." One day.

However, it's not always glimpses of grace that strike me, but sometimes it's "periods of panic." Like seeing the back of my son's Georgia History teacher's truck.

I knew early on that we would have "issues" with him. It's inevitable that you will have issues with at least one teacher when you have a 13-year-old son who can be both adorable and a real jerk simultaneously. I love Adam, but...well...he's thirteen. Very Thirteen. Anyway, those who know me well know that I love bumper sticker theology. You can pretty much tell which way I lean just by examining the back of my van..."God bless the people of every nation," "COEXIST," and the HRC flag adorn my back window, along with a Rehoboth / PCUSA sticker, a "Life is good" sticker and a sticker of a coffee cup. So I pay attention to people's bumper stickers. Here is what I discovered on the back of Mr. Chambers truck.

"George Bush is saving your ass whether you like it or not."
"I'd rather hunt with Dick Cheney than drive with Ted Kennedy."
"Cats--the other white meat"
"National Rifle Association"
"University of Georgia" (Okay, so I have no problem with that one...)

Now, what I really want to do is make my own sticker and sneak it onto the back of his car. It would say "Dear Friend, Jesus Christ saved my ass two thousand years ago. George Bush is not saving asses--he's making an ass of himself."

But then, I went to his teacher website and realized that I'd be fighting a losing battle. http://fc.dekalb.k12.ga.us/~CHRISTOPHER_S_CHAMBERS/. Sigh. I guess we'll just have to endure. He's just such a far cry from his last year's social studies teacher, Thomas Bodnar. (He is Diane Thorne's son, for those of you in the CTS community. http://fc.dekalb.k12.ga.us/~THOMAS_R_BODNAR/ All last year, Adam was excited about religion, politics, and all things related. It was a wonderful year. Sigh. I miss Mr. Bodnar.

And while I'm on the topic of bumper stickers, another one I saw in the middle school parking lot said: "Directions to heaven--Turn right and stay together." Does "turn right" mean "repent?" Does it mean "right" as in right-left / conservative-liberal? And what's with "stay together?" I'm not so sure I like the theology of that--as if we should just be a huddled mass as we travel the road to heaven. Whatever. There was another sticker on that car, but I wasn't able to read it. I'm dying to know what it said. Maybe I can find the car again and report on it.

So anyway, glimpses of grace...periods of panic. I don't know about you, but I suppose I am grateful for them both, for each one, I believe, makes me a better person. Each one encourages me to reflect on my life and the lives of those around me. And that's always a good thing. Just ask my new friend, the Dalai Lama.

Resolution

2007-10-15T09:04:00.000-04:00

If he were a garbage collector or a construction worker, then he wouldn't be the same Joel that I've known and loved for all these years. With that said, I'm glad he does what he does. It's even better that God has called him to a place where he works amidst many loving, supportive, encouraging, grateful folks who appreciate who he is and the work God is doing through them at the church they serve. It's time for me to focus HARD on the positive and not let the negative get me down. I'm letting go of it, because I've realized that I just can't carry it around with me anymore. It's just too self-destructive.

Here's to a better day!

Lamentation

2007-10-13T14:00:00.000-04:00

So I'm beginning to wish I were married to a garbage collector...or a contstruction worker...or someone who did something rather mundane that could be a 9 to 5 job. I'll bet the hourly pay would be much better, and I wouldn't be surprised if the overall salary were better either. And I can't imagine that talk of garbage or construction would dominate our lives, or that people would come up with such a variety of creative excuses for missing work (and if they did, well...who cares?!), or that the system in place would bow to the whims and wishes of one half-crazy employee, just because he or she has "always been like that." A garbage collector's Thursday work probably wouldn't be interrupted, forcing him to go back on Saturday afternoon--his day off--to finish the job that the garbage wouldn't let him finish on Thursday. A construction worker's day off on Friday wouldn't have to be traded for working on Saturday, but would really and truly be a day off--or if it did, he'd at least make overtime pay for the work. And his vacation days that were "left over" at the end of the year wouldn't just disappear, but might be bought back, or possibly carry over. After all, what's the point of taking vacation at all when you're always on call anyway? If I were married to a garbage collector or a construction worker, I'll bet we could even sleep in on Sunday mornings if we really needed or wanted to, or have an occasional weekend getaway like a "normal" family. We could enjoy lazy Sunday afternoons at home, and have Sunday supper together before the week begins again. If only he were a garbage collector or a construction worker.

Then again, I guess the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. I probably would be miserable as the wife of a garbage collector or construction worker. I doubt life would be any easier, and probably even harder. I'm just really caught up on how incredibly stuck I feel on THIS side of the fence today, that's all.

I hope it's okay to curse God, to be really angry at God, because right now I am. Damn this call.

My new friend

2007-10-10T10:22:00.001-04:00

Today I went up to the boys' elementary school to help corral the kids for school pictures. I was not looking forward to it, but have been wanting to help out more at school this year, and the timing was right for my schedule. So I agreed to do it.

It was a rather mundane task, for the most part except for one student. He's my newest friend. His name is Reggie, and he is visually impaired. I'm guessing he's probably 11 or 12 years old, and is the most amazing kid. All smiles, great personality, and handsome to boot. He uses his cane with such proficiency, and has a great attitude towards others and was a wonderful friend. We chatted as we walked down the hall together, and I told him how impressed I was with the way he could get around.

"I've been here a long time!" he told me. "But I'm going to a new school on the 16th."

"Oh really?" I asked. "Where?"

"In Macon," he replied.

"Wow! Are you excited?"

"Yeah, but I can only come home on the weekends, so I'll miss my friends."

We continued to make our way down the hall, then got to the picture room. His hand grazed my travel mug as he made his way to the waiting chairs. "Someone has coffee," he said.

I was amazed. I guess he could smell it. "Yep, that's my coffee," I told him.

"Can I have some?" he asked, grinning beautifully.

"Oooooh, Reggie--I'm pretty selfish with my coffee." He laughed.

A few minutes later, I needed to go get another class, so I bid Reggie farewell. "Smile big for your picture now, Reggie. I'm leaving my coffee here--don't you go drinking it!"

My new friend laughed. "I'm gonna eat it all up!" he said with a big grin.

What a cool kid. What a wonderful morning.

My success for the day

2007-10-10T00:11:00.000-04:00

Today was the day I taught the Jonah lesson at DPC. It went really well, and it further convinces me that we really do need to work harder at our adult Christian Education. The paper I wrote for the Abdullah award at graduation was all about making the church school hour more interesting. (It was actually supposed to be titled "How to Make the Sunday School Hour the Most Interesting Hour of the Week," although I altered it to be the "Adult Sunday School Hour." And honest to God, it was the ONLY award whose title drew snickers from those attending graduation as it was read aloud. Now on one hand, that didn't bother me one bit because it was a 500 cash prize, therefore making it worth a few snickers. But on a higher level it did, because what does that say about the seriousness with which we take Christian education? Anyway...)

Anyway, today I went out on a limb with this lesson and taught in a way that included learning styles other than the typical verbal and auditory to which most adults are accustomed. There were about 60 women there, mostly age 60+. After going thru the five main learning styles very briefly, I made my case for doing more than just talking at them. I handed out a coloring picture of Jonah, and as expected, they looked at me like I was crazy. "You want us to color??" one of them asked. I smiled and replied, "If you'd like to." I had left a few crayons on each table, then went about the business of "interpreting the lesson," which is what they call it. We talked about much of what I wrote in the previous Jonah post, then I closed with having them cut out pre-made heart chains (think old-fashioned paper dolls) that I had tucked into construction paper whales. The four heart of the chain bore the words "God's love and grace," to hopefully remind them that the story of Jonah is about more than a fish and a man. It's about God's amazing love and grace that reaches far beyond where we might expect. The women loved the cut-out activity. They loved the lesson and many of them asked questions or made comments to me afterwards. It was great! But the best part was that the fact that when the lesson was over, there were quite a few pictures of Jonah scattered among the tables, colored by grandmothers who had probably not colored in years. And I'll bet...I'll just bet...that it's a lesson and a story they won't soon forget. I'd call it a success.

A stupid little thing...

2007-10-05T22:11:00.001-04:00

Okay, this is a really stupid thing to write in a blog about, but I decided I needed a "lighter" post tonight. Besides, if Adam Walker Cleveland (http://www.pomomusings.com/) can get away with some of the stuff he writes in his blog, then surely I can write about this. The reference to the Mexican restaurant in the previous post made me crave a trip to Los Bravos, so Joel and I went there for lunch today. They have very nice bathrooms. Today, I noticed that they had a new paper towel dispenser. It's a cool little contraption, not at all annoying like those stupid motion sensor things which I can never get to work. (I understand they are "more sanitary," and that they "consume less," but the darn things just don't work very well.) Anyway, the (apparently new) one in the ladies room at Los Bravos is by a company called Tork. I tried to find it on their website, but it's not listed, so maybe it's a new product. At any rate, if you are a woman in the Decatur area, check it out the next time you're in there. It gets two thumbs up from me! And if you, by some odd chance, are in need of an institutional paper towel dispenser, I highly recommend this one for ease of use and customer satisfaction.

Just another fish story?

2007-10-04T14:59:00.000-04:00

So I'm the "Bible interpreter" for the October circle meetings for the Presbyterian Women of Decatur Pres this coming Tuesday. I went last month to hear Todd Speed "introduce" the year's study on Jonah and Ruth, and I did a loose "textual study" with the Emory PCM students for our weekly Bible study, Break@8, one Tuesday night a couple of weeks ago. And as I do when I preach, I've spent pockets of time here & there giving thought to the whole Jonah story in preparation for this lesson next week. Finally, this morning I sat down to study the actual lesson and begin my final preparation.

The writer of the lesson suggests that the story of Jonah in / was intended to be parody--that there is great humor lace throughout that, while it might not be obvious today, would be glaring in the time of its origin. For instance--Jonah does not meet his "call" to prophecy in the "expected" way. He does not humbly and quietly respond "Who me, Lord? Who am I but a small boy / girl, and of what use can I be to you?" As a matter of fact, Jonah doesn't SAY anything at all. he just merely walks away--heading in the other direction as fast as he can. Now, I guess I can see where this might be humorous. But as a second career seminarian, married to a second career seminarian, I guess this might just hit too close to home to be humorous...this response that is decidedly closed-mouth that sends Jonah running in the OTHER direction. Been there, done that. And yes, I did eventually go to Ninevah, kicking and screaming and dragging my heels all th way. But perhaps I'm just not far enough into my story to see the humor yet. Whatever...

Then there's the matter of the sailors, the supposedly "pious" sailors. Surely you have heard the phrase "curse like a sailor?" Well, sailors in Jonah's day were of the same reptuation. One did not typically use the adjective "pious" to describe sailors. So that's the other humorous bit, according to the writer of this lesson--the enounter Jonah has with the pious sailors is something that would obviously NOT happen in Jonah's day. And the fact that the write talks of pious sailors would have been hilarious to early readers. Well, okay...

But what struck me as most humorous is not the irony that might be found in the story itself, but the fact that, in more recent days, MUCH effort has gone into attempting to prove that a fish large enough to swallow a man could have actually existed. Seriously. If you doubt, here are just a couple of references to check out.
^ The Scientific Monthly, March, 1940, p. 227
^ "Essays of an Atheist," Woolsey Teller. Copyright 1945, The Truth Seeker Company, Inc.,

Surely others find that humorous, yes? Much like the quest for the historical Jesus, this grasping for scientific proof of the plausibility of a story found in the Bible is so far off the mark, in my opinion. I find myself time and time again returning to Barth's "I couldn't care less if snakes could talk. What I'm interested in is what the snake said" anecdote which I first heard in Brueggemann's OT Survey class in the Fall of 2002. But then I'm reminded of what Rodger used to tell us in CE classes when we studied developmental theory with him--that most people NEVER reach Piaget's formal operational stage of development. Hmmmm...

So where does that leave us? Are those of us who are willing to wrestle and struggle with the text on a less literal level destined to forever be at odds with those who consider the Bible to be THE Word of God, giving it even more authority than the Living, Walking, Breathing Word of God that we see in Christ himself? What do we do with the person who holds up the Bible and claims that "This is the only one I answer to!" as if the words alone on those pages hold any contextual relevance for us today all by themselves? Not that they are insignficant, mind you. But the words alone--apart from the God we continue to come to know on a daily basis, both through studying about the life of Jesus Christ and through faithful conversations about those "insignificant" words found on the pages of the Bible with fellow believers--have little or no meaning or relevancy to most folks today.

So those literalists can go on about their business of trying to prove that one could actually be swallowed by a whale, survive for 72 hours in his belly, then be vomited out. But as for me, I am far more concerned about what went on in Jonah's head while he was in that fish's belly. I am far more curious about what God said to Jonah while he languished amongst that whale's entrails. And finally, I am far more amazed at how God can, will, and does use a variety of nasty, dirty, smelly, disgusting, yucky "fish bellies" today to give us thick-headed humans time to reflect on God's call to us, and dare I say, interact with God's very self.

So okay, yes, I understand that time in the bellies of fish can be a good thing...an experience that strengthens one's faith and bolsters one's witness. But please, God, if I promise that I can reflect on and interact with you in a Mexican restaurant just as well, couldn't you send me there for spell instead? I'm growing a bit weary of fish bellies.

Centering

2007-10-02T14:16:00.000-04:00

I was angry this morning. Surely you could tell by reading that last post. After stewing around and huffing and puffing and ranting and raving, I was still angry after lunch. I headed down to my "studio," which is actually our garage that houses my wheel, kiln, clay, etc. and busied myself by making a few coffee mugs. (I'm making them to sell at a friend's coffee shop.) I made three fairly quickly, and sat staring at another lump of clay.

For anyone who has never thrown on a wheel, or hasn't heard me talk about the therapeutic benefits of it, just know that it can be a healing process. When I sit at a wheel, time seems to stop. I am immersed in the act of creating--of readying, centering, opening, raising, and shaping a lump of clay into a beautiful vessel. It is a wonderful thing for me.

So anyway, the lump of clay and I just sat there, looking at one another. "What do you want to be?" I asked it. With anger still welling up in my heart, the word "healing" popped into my mind, and the clay and I decided it should be a chalice. I'm not great at making communion plates, but I've gotten pretty good at making chalices. So I quickly whipped up a chalice top--the part the wine / juice goes into. Then I began to craft the bottom, or the stem. This is really only slightly harder to do, mainly because the natural inclination, for me anyway, is to pull the clay outward so that it begins to resemble a bowl. But with the stem of a chalice, it must be bigger at the bottom, and go inward as it rises. There are tricks to make it do that, and since I'm not yet good enough to do it easily, I rely on those tricks. Usually they work for me. But today I bombed. I can usually salvage my mistakes, but today I gave up on not one, but two chalice bottoms. See, the key is that when you make a chalice, you have to make the bottom and top in one sitting, or else it's a hassle to make sure they dry at the same rate and are ready to assemble at the same time. So NOT making one is not an option I usually give myself. Finally, on my third attempt, I got the message the clay (?) was sending me. I made a stem for this chalice that was / is far from perfect. It twists grotesquely from bottom to top, and looks as if it was forced into its shape rather than gradually and carefully coerced and cajoled into its shape. Hmmmm...

I don't know what this experience means for me and my anger right now--I'm still pondering it. But I do know that I look forward to assembling the chalice, with its beautiful top and grotesque-looking stem. Perhaps I will glaze it and keep it nearby as a reminder. There's something there about the power of a heavy hand and the way that it can hinder creation, reconciliation, growth, healing, and wholeness. I'm still pondering...

Classes for Wives

2007-10-02T09:16:00.000-04:00

Okay, so recently when the AJC had an article about the "classes" for pastors' wives at a denominational seminary which shall remain nameless, I scoffed...as did I'm sure most of you. And I was angry. Livid. Then I got on with my life. But as I've lived through my husband's first two years of ministry, I have decided that there are some classes from which I would have benefitted. Here are some examples:

* How to be Carrie Underwood / Tammy Wynette and Still Maintain Your Independence (you know...Stand by Your Man!)
* The Pastor's (or in our case Pastors') Night Out (I've discovered what works best often reminds me of a Jimmy Buffet song, which I cannot name here because, well, I am the pastor's wife...)
* How to Teach your Children to Respect their Elders when the Elders (as in older people, not church leaders) Don't Always Show Respect to Others
* How To Love In Spite Of...
* How to Flick Someone Off Without Being Noticed
* How to Make a Casserole in Under Ten Minutes
* How to Look Like All is Well Even When It's So Very Far From It
* How to Make the Fat Lady Sing (you know, so it will be over, already!)
* How to State Your Mind without Opening Your Mouth (bumper stickers work for me...)
* How to Make Sure Church Remains Safe and Fun for your Kids In Spite of the Evil Within(this is a serious one...)
* What to Say When People Think Your Spouse Does it for the Money

So that's it for now. I'm sure I will think of more as the days go by, and will add them as I am able. Until then, your suggestions for teachers or teaching tips are much appreciated!

Life These Days

2006-11-11T22:31:00.000-05:00

November 2006
It's weird, this blogging thing. I sit here at the computer, late at night, and get to know people. People I see almost every day, but rarely, if ever take the time to really talk to. And I read their blogs and think...Gee, this person's really neat. I wish I knew him or her better. And I wonder...do people think the same about me? Do they look at me and see a person, or do they look at me and see a wife, mom, and student? Do people think that just because I am in a different season of my life now than they might be, we would have nothing in common? I'm grateful for people like Meg, Rachel, Griselda, Lizzie, Rob, Kate, Chris, Kathryn, and all the others who don't let our different ages, stages, or contexts separate us. I will leave CTS with many friends, but will have missed out on so many as well, just because our paths don't cross at the right time of day or our lives are "too different." But really...are they?