An Extra-ordinary Day

Most days are ordinary—I think that’s true for most people.  You get up in the morning and go about your usual activities, whatever those may be.  And then, ever so often, one day stands out as special.  This was true for me on Saturday.  I participated in two events, both related to social justice issues.

I helped organize a small event at my church to uplift the concerns of reconciling ministers in our connectional church while our General Conference met in Florida.  The Conference included delegates from all over the world.  Specifically, we want our church to change its policies and lovingly include GLBT people—as equals, as pastors, as people free to choose whom they love.  We shared breakfast, prayer, a video, liturgy, and conversation.  We didn’t know what to expect—what we got was amazing.  Our group included members of the GLBT community.  The honest sharing and trust, the love in the room—it was truly moving.  Clearly this is just a beginning for our congregation. We are learning what can happen when we are open to God’s love and choose to reflect that love.

The second event was a local march to end the War on Women, sponsored by a local grassroots organization and pulled together at the last minute to coincide with other marches across the country.  About 100 people, including my husband and me, gathered at the Anne Frank Memorial and walked with police escort to the steps of our state capitol building.  Along the way we chanted “Not the church, not the state, women must decide their fate,” “We will remember in November” (the favorite) and many more.  The group included all ages, from children to senior citizens, although it seems there were more older women.  Perhaps that is because we’ve been around long enough to know what we stand to lose—and we can’t believe we are fighting the same battles again.  As we stood together at the capitol, we heard some inspiring speakers.  In addition, a young girl around age 10 asked to share her perspective and eloquently told us how this matters to her generation.  I think we all went home with a renewed determination to fight for women’s rights, to fight for equality.  We will NOT go backwards.

I shared my activities on Facebook and received appreciation and compliments.  However, I really don’t feel I should expect any pats on the back.  I believe I need to work for social justice. . . as a woman, as a Christian, and simply as a human being.  Martin Luther King, Jr. said “Injustice to one is injustice to everyone.”  I could not agree more.

In Memory of Mandy

One month ago today would have been our cat Mandy’s 19^th birthday.  Unfortunately she didn’t live that long.  Mandy died on November 6 of last year.  I still miss her.

Mandy lived with us for over 18 ½ years, longer than our two daughters.  Our girls were young when we picked her up at the Humane Society.  Mandy (named by the girls) was only 6 weeks old and was so tiny that she could fit through the spaces in our cyclone fence.  I wouldn’t let her out alone at first, afraid a fox would get her.  Once she could no longer fit through the fence, she had the run of the fenced area—and after a while, our entire large yard.

Mandy loved to spend many hours exploring our acre, watching and hunting.  She brought us her prizes, dead or alive—our girls became adept at catching live birds in our house.  Sometimes there were small snakes.  She was never particularly interested in eating her prey—apparently it was all about the hunt.  There was a trail blazed through the lawn where she ran to the irrigation pump in our stream and took her drinks.  When I put the hose in the ditches of my vegetable garden, Mandy would be there to lap up the water.  I don’t think there was one inch of our yard that she didn’t explore.  I can still see her walking along the cattails in our stream, checking everything out.  Mandy spent countless hours soaking up the sun on our deck and patio –or sometimes from the inside of the house, through the windows.

The inside of our house was also Mandy’s domain—she was queen of the house and everybody knew it.  (Our dog, Kozmo, once crawled under a table to keep out of her reach.)  If we brought something new into the house, Mandy was instantly on it or in it—she didn’t miss anything.  When Mandy was small, we taught her to drink out of the sink.  Well, actually, I’m not sure who taught who because we all soon learned to turn on the water when she wanted it.  She didn’t just drink the water—often she simply wanted to wash her paws or her face.  Mandy had a very loud voice which she used to tell us what she wanted.  She went in and out many times a day.  We were very well trained.

Mandy was an amazingly tolerant cat.  She put up with our young daughters’ sometimes exuberant love.  They were always picking her up and carrying her around.  She never bit or scratched us on purpose, even when we were giving her medicine. Mandy was not a particularly cuddly cat but she did enjoy sitting on our laps.  I have many photos of her stretched out on somebody’s lap.  When we returned home from a trip, she was a lot more vocal and demanding—her attempt to make up for our absence.

Mandy developed a couple health problems in the last years of her life.  She began to lose weight and we learned she had hyperthyroidism, a common problem in older cats.  We began feeding her whatever she would eat and would mash up her pills in her favorite food.  Mandy also developed skin cancer on her nose.  The bleeding got so bad at one point that we broke down and let the vet do surgery on our then 17-year-old cat.  The nose was better but the vet could never get it all and the cancer eventually came back worse than before.  Mandy got even skinnier—I think our girls were rather shocked when they saw her last summer.

Mandy continued to have an amazing will to live and explore her world, even as we watched her fade away.  In fact, even after she had stopped eating, a few days before she died, she walked around the yard as she always did.  Gradually she became so weak that she couldn’t walk straight and would cry out for me.  I held her a lot in those last days.  The morning before the day she died, Mandy put her paws up on the bed and meowed—she could no longer jump—so I picked her up and held her.  That night I knew the end was near when I put her on a blanket on the floor near our bed.  It was too quiet when I awoke the next morning—she had died during the night, having crawled up right next to the bed.

Mandy was a dear family member and our house still feels so empty without her.  She will remain in my heart forever.

Lost

I am lost

Thinking in circles

Stuck in a pattern

Unable to get out

Two jobs lost

Bored with the first

and unhappy with the second

and seeking more of the same

I am lost

How do I think outside the box?

Get off my cow path?

Leave behind what I know

Take a chance at change

I am afraid

I am lost

If I close my eyes

Imagine what can be

What to be when I grow up

I am long grown up

Never having answered the question

Perhaps I’ve always been lost

Where is creativity?

Where is my courage?

The value of my college degree?

I am smart but so what?

I am lost

What do I want?

To be useful

To be creative

To be valued and respected

To be excited to get up each day

To be paid what I’m worth

To use my brain and be challenged

To do something that matters in this world

To spread love and not hate

That’s it—that’s all

What do I want?

To be able to say

I am no longer lost

The Sacred Physical

In my quiet time on retreat I read a theological book that suggests we need to be more aware of our bodies.  This idea really struck me.  Christians do tend to ignore the physical—things of the Spirit are good and things of the flesh are bad.  The author points out that Jesus spent his last night on earth sharing supper or washing feet (depending on which Gospel you read).  He did not give them something to think about but instead he gave them something to do.

I belong to a denomination which is very cerebral—we pride ourselves on being thinkers.  As I age and my physical problems bother me more, I tend to try to ignore my body and how it feels.  I pull more inside my head.  Perhaps I am tuning out things I should notice.

I have always loved being in the outdoors, experiencing nature.  These are the times that I feel closest to God.  It’s not enough to watch it from a window.  It’s important to be out in it—to feel the sunshine on my back and the wind in my face.  I need to hear the birds singing and watch the squirrels scurry in the trees above me.  As I walk up a trail I feel the rocks beneath my boots and hear the crunch of the twigs.  I stop to catch my breath and look out at the vista below.  Although this can be a spiritual experience, it is also very much a physical experience.

As God moves through us and among us, I think we shouldn’t ignore the importance of human touch—God connects us all.  When we lay hands on each other and pray for healing, we can feel the warmth of God’s healing energy.  On a human level, there is a special bond between the person praying and the one receiving the prayers.  It is wonderful to be prayed for and feel the love.  God gave us bodies that are not only receptive to the touch of others but need that touch.  Babies who are not touched and loved do not thrive.  When we are hurting, the hugs from friends and family are important in our healing process.  We Christians have huge issues with sexual relationships—they may be described as “sins of the flesh.”  However, there is nothing more beautiful than the bond between two people who truly love each other and physical expression of that love is part of it.  Isn’t God a part of this love too?

We can use our bodies to express sorrow or joy and to praise God.  Sometimes words are not only unnecessary, but they can get in the way.  To me, one of the most beautiful ways to express feelings is through dance.  A good choreographer and talented dancers can tell a story that moves me to tears.  And what better way to express joy than through dance?  Unfortunately, too many Christian worship services inhibit their congregants from dancing.  What a great way to praise God when the Spirit moves among us!  We need to use the wonderful bodies that we were given.

A Glimpse of Monastery Life

Recently, my husband and I spent a couple days at a Bed and Breakfast run by nuns at a Benedictine monastery.  This was a gift from friends and provided some much needed reflective time.  This inn has only four rooms/suites and since we were the only guests, we got lots of attention.

In the morning we had the choice of eating in the inn or going over to the monastery dining room.  We chose the dining room.  Since the sisters eat in silence during breakfast on weekdays, the sister took us to another small dining room where we could talk.  The nice part about it was that she joined us.  In the evening delicious desserts were brought over to us and once again the sister stayed and chatted with us.

The first morning we joined the sisters for morning prayer at 8:30 a.m. in their beautiful chapel.  This was a serene way to begin our day.  We could have also joined them for mass later in the morning, but opted instead to do our own reading in our suite.  In the early afternoon there was a special concert given by 98 junior high students who were traveling north—what a delightful surprise they were.  After the concert we decided to explore the monastery’s nature trails, beginning with the 14 Stations of the Cross which led to their cemetery.  Even though there was a light rain and the uphill sections were a bit steep, we enjoyed our hike through the forest and meadows.

During our conversations with the two sisters who hosted us, we learned a lot about their lives.  They grew up in the area and joined the community as teenagers—that was 58 years ago for one of them.  However, these women have not been separated from the world.  Looking at them, you would not guess that they are nuns since they no longer wear a habit or veil.  Both of these women have advanced degrees; they had to leave the monastery’s rural community to accomplish this.  One worked as an RN then as a chaplain; she lived away from the community for 14 years.  The other nun taught and travelled all over the country either studying or working for the church; she’s had an interesting life.

Currently 43 sisters live at the monastery and another dozen live outside the community.  The majority of them are senior citizens.  Years ago they were totally self-sufficient.  They still have their gardens but now hire cooks.  In the past when a skill was needed in the community, one of them would go out and learn it.  For example, when they stopped wearing habits and veils, they needed to pay attention to their hair so one of the sisters went out and got training in cosmetology.

This Benedictine community is based on prayer, faith, justice, peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  They embrace hospitality as one of their core values.  We felt their love and hospitality during our visit and left refreshed and rested.

Summer Days in the Country

“Red rover, red rover, send Davy right over.”  We gripped each other’s hands as tightly as possible, but being older and bigger, my cousin, Davy, almost always broke through our line.  It was a million years ago. . . or maybe just yesterday that my three cousins, my brother, sister, and I would play in the grass in front of our grandparents’ home.  The summer heat would only slow us down for a moment, and then we’d be off doing something else.  Cops and robbers (or cowboys and Indians) was always exciting—you never knew when the other side would jump out at you.  My grandparents lived in the country and there were so many places to run and hide.  I looked forward to our week at my grandparents’ place—the warm sun on my back; running around with the cousins (although we were never barefoot like them); picking blackberries for my grandma’s pies; cats everywhere; chasing the geese and the geese chasing us; my grandpa calling his cows; watching the pigs; feeding the (somewhat) tame raccoon M&Ms; fishing in the pond with my dad; presenting our plays on the front porch for family; the shed with old clothes, antiques, and lots of spiders; sharing a big bed with my sister and several dogs and cats; the family gathered on the front lawn on July 4^th watching my uncle set off small fireworks. . . Ah, such great memories!  It almost makes me want to head outside and run barefoot through the grass. . . but maybe I’ll just wait until I can make a blackberry pie instead.

Shadows of Redemptive Violence

Redemptive violence

Myth of Christianity

Entwined in teachings

Myth that eclipses

Jesus’ loving example

A nonviolent life

Is peace through war right?

And security through strength?

What would Jesus do?

We kill those who kill

Hit children to teach it’s wrong

Where is compassion?

Did a loving God

Require a blood sacrifice

To pay for our sins?

Jesus taught God’s love

Face of God in human form

A new covenant

Daffodils and Sunshine

There are daffodils blooming in my front yard.  They were there to greet me when I arrived home from Florida—the first flowers that I saw.  When I awoke the next morning and looked out my window, I noticed that the forsythia and quince were also blooming, a sure sign that spring had arrived in Boise.  Finally.  However, after enjoying the warm Florida weather, the temperatures in Boise were not quite what I wanted.  Yes, we did have a few days that passed 70 degrees, but mostly it was much colder and cloudy.

Somehow spring seemed to blossom on Easter morning.  Oh, it started out cold, 35 degrees Fahrenheit, but it was sunny and the temperature eventually reached high 70s.  A beautiful day.  Was it just the weather that affected my spring mood?  The end of the week was especially gloomy.  On Thursday, a church friend, somebody I had prayed with, died unexpectedly.  Sadness overwhelmed me—such a loss.  On Good Friday I participated in the service at my church.  Stories were told from the perspective of the people who loved Jesus—powerful and moving.  Three other women and I were the friends of Mary who went to the cross.  We moved to music—no words.  “Mary” was grief-stricken and collapsed at the foot of the cross—we supported her.  This was so emotional, affecting both us and the people gathered in the sanctuary.

What a contrast Easter Sunday was!  Joy filled our sanctuary; the Spirit moved among us.  I think we carried it out the doors with us (which is the way it should be).  Easter gives us hope, just as spring does.  It’s a time of rebirth.  I look at my yard, just beginning to come to life and I see possibilities.  Color punctuates the once gray landscape.  In the sunshine and color, I find renewed energy.  Now, if I can just apply this new hope to my life, I too can begin to blossom.

Random Haiku

Random thoughts abound

So many things cloud my mind

How to write my blog?

Statehouse is quiet

Thank God they have all gone home

Prepare for next year

Florida was fun

Big party for Uncle Ray

At ninety years young

Dipped toes in ocean

Ron Jon Surf Shop, Cocoa Beach

Cool new sunglasses

Bob’s mom in wheelchair

Disney’s Animal Kingdom

Sunshine and photos

Coughing continues

Seek relief from my doctor

Antibiotics

Supreme Court ponders

Will my daughter have healthcare?

What if she doesn’t?

Back to the job search

The pickings are slim these days

What am I to do?

Holy Week begins

And Lenten reflections end

What do I believe?

Jesus, executed

For his radical beliefs

Can I follow him?

Jesus, example

Of how God wants me to live

Lord, give me courage

Darkness descended

But God’s love reigns over all

Easter gives me hope