Happy New Year

The snow falling outside is beautiful--huge flakes--and once again all the world looks pure and clean, at least here in mid-Michigan.

I have to take my dog to the vet this morning, which means fasting. She doesn't understand why she can't have her breakfast and I feel like a big rat! Am hoping we can find out why she's having seizures or at least find something to mitigate them.


It's New Year's Eve. I always wonder about all the hoop-la. For me, it seems more a time for reflection, maybe a bit of melancholy. And then tomorrow? Another new beginning and high hopes.

My most unusual New Year was spent in Los Angeles in 1965-66, when Norris was assigned to cover the MSU Spartans at the Rose Bowl. We had been married just a few months. I had never been on a jet plane, never been further west than Wisconsin, and felt like Cinderella staying in a lovely suite at the Los Angeles Biltmore. In fact, one night we attended a party in the suite where John F. Kennedy et al stayed during the 1960 Democratic convention.

I remember going to Disneyland, meeting Walt Disney, Bill Cosby, and couple of big name media people whose names now escape me. We sat in the official reviewing stand for the Rose Parade. Just amazing! Although sitting there for 3 1/2 hours without a potty break nearly "broke" both of us. :) Arthur Godfrey and Bess Myerson were in the CBS booth just above us. And a few rows down sat Earl Warren, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

On Christmas Day I spoke tearfully to my parents back in Michigan. Christmas in California just didn't feel like Christmas to me. We spent that day with some folks who had a nice car and we toured the greater LA area, visiting Marineland of the Pacific, driving through Hollywood, etc.

On New Year's Eve Norris and I slipped into a little gazebo-like bar behind the Huntington Sheridan Hotel in Pasadena and had a romantic drink together. The smell of flowers hung in the air and at times it seemed we were in paradise. However, reality was very real and we seemed to run each day from one photo shoot to another. It was exhausting and Norris did the work of three people, something he often accomplished. When we arrived home on Jan. 2, we were both very relieved to be here and not quite ready to return to work the next day. But what an opportunity it was and cost us very little.

Well, that was 43 years ago and this New Year's Eve is much different, but not that bad, as Garrison Keillor would say. I am grateful for the year past, the learnings, the adventures, the opportunities for love, the dear ones, both living and dead. May we all plant our feet firmly in the soil, lift our spirits beyond the clouds, and be part of making 2009 a great year. Yes, we can!

On the 4th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

The big question of the day is this: Is Christmas Day the FIRST
day of Christmas or is the 26th the first? If the former, Christmas season would end the day before Epiphany, Jan. 5. If the latter, Epiphany (Jan. 6) would count as the 12th day of Christmas. Now, I realize this may not concern you overly, dear reader, what with everything else there is to be anxious about. But I think it's very important. Especially, since 9.9 Americans out of 10, don't even know that Christmas BEGINS on Christmas Day. including most Christians. :)

Actually, I find it quite artificial trying to fit into the church's calendar when the culture is so counter to it. Yet, as I grow older, the shallowness of much Christmas-ing causes me to prefer following the ancient tradition. Because that tradition puts the emphasis on the birth of Jesus, the Christ. It is calming, sobering, and hopeful. It is not about getting, or even giving, as much as it is about acknowledging and thanking God for the awesome mystery and wonder that surrounds this Jesus baby.

We seem to think the holiday is about us--especially our families and other loved ones. And of course it does flow over into loving acts and gifts. But I look at the children singing in our kids' choirs, at their gorgeous clothing (especially the girls), at their parents or grandparents taking pictures or video of the"performance" as if it really is just about them. (One friend told me of a particular Christmas Eve service at a local church which was preceded by 45 minutes of musical "performing" and continued in the same vein throughout the service, with even the Scripture readings being cut short to have enough time for the performing. The congregation was more audience than participants.)

There is a fine line between singing in praise to God and singing for the aggrandizement of the musicians or the director. In the parish I attend, that line tends (at least with teens and adults) to stay on the side of praise. But with the little ones, not so much. I'm not blaming the children or their leaders. The adults in their lives are so smitten with them they can't even offer themselves to God without being preened over. They are being taught, over and over again, that they are the center of all that is, instead of God.

Well, if today is the 4th day of Christmas, and if my true love was actually here with me, I guess I'd be given 4 calling birds, whatever they are, and asked to stop my rant. So I will! May your Christmas be filled with gratitude to God and joy in offering yourself in service to the One who gives us ALL!

Love, laugh, listen, look, and breathe!

Our Island Home

Forty years ago today the Apollo 8 astronauts sent us this photo of our home and blessed us with words about "In the beginning..."
I remember how bleak the world seemed that year. Our daughter was a toddler and we feared for her future. I guess I still do. Perhaps 'twas ever thus.

The quote below was in a NYTimes column commemorating that significant, humanity-changing event. And even though he speaks as though all humans are men, I think his words are timeless.

“To see the earth as it truly is,” wrote Archibald Macleish on Page A1 of The Times, “small and blue and beautiful in that eternal silence where it floats, is to see ourselves as riders on the earth together, brothers on that bright loveliness in the eternal cold — brothers who know now they are truly brothers.”

In the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer there is a phrase in one Eucharistic prayer that speaks of God creating galaxies, suns, moons and "this fragile earth, our island home." It's hard to think of earth as fragile when one is "on" it. But looking at that beautiful little planet from afar, those words become believable.

We Christians believe that the fragile little One who came as God Incarnate is still the Christ of the Cosmos, living, loving, urging us, and all the universe, to turn toward our Creator and come home--to God, to ourselves, to our brothers and sisters, to this island home. Come home to redemption and resurrection to real Life. Come home to compassion, true stewardship, cooperation, acceptance, peace. Now is the time, if there ever was one. Forty years from now, when beings look at earth from space, what will they see?

In these full days, don't forget the One who gives you every breath you take. Breathe. Look. Listen. Laugh. LOVE!!!

Make a Smilebox greeting

Warm and safe inside

Looks like we'll have a white Christmas this year for sure. As I write, I glance out the window above my desk and watch a fine, but persistent, snow both falling and blowing. It's a "wintry mix", they say. Whatever it is, I'm grateful to be safe and warm inside. I think our society really loves snow days. All the schools in the tri-county area were closed. Rather nice, too, since it's the last school day before Christmas break. How else can we stop, reflect, prioritize, listen to our deepest spirits, pray, rejoice in the magnificent blessings that surround us? Of course, if you happen to be homeless, unemployed, chronically ill, in prison either internal or external, it's not so easy to feel "safe and warm inside" or to rejoice.

Today I want to remember especially a woman named Audrie. Her funeral is today and I'm sad not to be there. Audrie has always had family struggles and stresses, as long as I can remember. Not to mention serious and long-lasting health problems. She and Norris got on particularly well and when we three were at the same service at church, we all made sure to give and receive hugs. Audrie was the best hugger I ever knew. She was warm and generous, full-bodied and sincere in her offers of affection. I'm glad she lived to see an African American chosen to be our President. She would be very pleased, I'm sure. Thank you, Audrie, for your rich laugh and warm personality and for your unconditional hugs! May your spirit find joy beyond measure.

Think I'll stop and write a check to our local food bank. God bless us--every one!

Another year of surviving--even living

Well, I have survived three years alone. It hardly seems possible. There were so many months when I wondered how I ever would make it without Norris and our closeness for over 40 years.I'm too tired tonight to say anything very profound. Just that M and I put up the tree and tried to do the lights the way he always did. We toasted him, remembered the sorrow of his last year of life, but also remembered his strength and reliability and his genuine love for us both. We cried some and laughed a lot. And when we hugged, I felt his arms around us both.

I no longer "expect" him to come back. I am grateful for the life he and we had. He gave a great deal; he received a great deal, as well. Except for his deep and well-founded concerns for the world in general, he really was a pretty happy man.

I am grateful for all the ways in which God has helped me through this valley. I am thankful for the men and women who love me and let me love them in return. Being widowed is very, very hard; but this year I finally feel that I not only will survive till it's my time, but I will live, as fully as possible.

Here's to you, Norris. May your spirit soar like an eagle!

One good way to save energy

My latest rant: Americans are too clean. Quit washing so much! Think of the energy, water, and time you'd save if you didn't take a shower every.single.day!!! OK, if you're dirty and sweaty, that's one thing. But if you aren't, why not take what we used to call a "sponge bath" every other day or so? Or apply a little strategically placed talcum powder.

And why do you have to take L-O-N-G showers? Norris used to say I could take faster showers than anyone he knew. Well, you get in, you get wet, you soap up, you rinse off. What else is there to do? Washing hair adds a bit, of course, but that doesn't have to be done every.single.day either.

I know, dear reader, you are probably shocked and appalled. But really! It's been proven that Americans are more vulnerable to disease because we're too darned clean. We need to build up some immunity; get a little tougher; be a little more natural. We are members of the animal kingdom, after all. Lots of people don't shower daily, or drown their bodies in powders, lotions, and perfumes. And they seem to be loved--by someone!

Furthermore, except for your underwear or a nasty spill, you don't have to throw everything you wear each day into the laundry. If you hang it up and let it, er, "air out", you can wear it again; maybe even three times. Think of the water, soap, natural gas to heat the water, and electricity you could save if you wore musty clothes once in a while!

We're using too much water; too much natural gas, too much soap, shampoo, etc. which pollute the water, too much electricity. So what can you do to help save the earth? and your life?

BE DIRTY!!! And don't forget to breathe--and laugh!!

Tom Merton, Angel Unaware?

Today is the 40th anniversary of the untimely death, at 53, of Thomas Merton, aka Father Louis, a remarkable Trappist monk who seemed to have written down almost every thought he ever had. He published 70 books, as well as quantities of letters, articles, etc. I have one large volume of just peace and justice type letters he exchanged with countless notable people--famous and not.

Why am I drawn to him and why do I call him an angel? Well if this wasn't the "irrational season", I probably wouldn't be crazy enough to tell you. Maybe 20 years ago, long before I knew much about TM, as I call him, I was driving somewhere early one morning, when suddenly I became strongly aware that he was sitting in the passenger seat. The "vision" wasn't physical, but still I just knew he was there and I couldn't imagine why. I certainly hadn't been consciously thinking about him or desiring anything in particular. I don't think I'd even read any of his books. His presence felt safe, intriguing, somehow reassuring. Lots of time passed, I did read several books, and then again he seemed present. One morning I was putting on my makeup and felt sure he was watching me, leaning against the door frame, one foot crossed over the other, arms folded, a broad smile on his face. OK. Have you written me off yet?

Off and on, over all these years he's "shown up", sometimes at my request, but often capriciously. I began to see him as my guardian angel, though I have no real idea what that means. Still, it felt nice. Once when I made a solitary retreat in a hermitage down the road from Our Lady of Gethsemane, his monastery, near Bardstown, KY, I felt fearful at night--isolated, no telephone, no covering for the window in the door. Every night, as I lay in bed, scared, I asked him to protect me and immediately fell asleep.

The strangest thing happened once a couple of years ago when I was meditating. The thought came to me to look in a certain Merton book on a certain page. I don't remember what it was. I thought, "Well, I've really gone over the edge now!" But after the prayer time, it kept bugging me, so I finally found the book and opened to the page. In the midst of that page, he mentioned being someone's guardian angel!!! He referenced a specific person , but there was the term, guardian angel. There, where I would never had found it otherwise, among the many Merton books I own and the millions of words! How could I not believe we have some sort of spiritual bond?

The last time I went to his grave site at Gethsemane (I've been there several times), a retreatant, sitting under a tree, watched me and when I moved away and walked past him, he asked if I was a Merton fan. Before I stopped to think, I said, "Oh no, he's my friend." The man's face lit up and he asked if I had known Merton. No, I said, not in this life, but we are definitely friends. And I'm sure the spirit of TM is "friends" with countless other souls.

Here is part of a tribute to Merton from Joan Chittister, another amazing person of God. In part, she wrote:

Once upon a time some disciples begged their old and ailing master not to die. "But if I do not go, how will you ever see?" the Master said to them. "What is it we can possibly see when you are gone?" one of them asked. With a twinkle in his eye, the Master answered, "All I ever did in my entire life was to sit on the river bank handing out river water. After I'm gone, I trust that you will notice the river."

The lesson rings true: What teachers teach us while they live is one thing; the quality of what they leave us to think about the rest of our lives is another. Thomas Merton was a fascinating, engaging, offbeat, charming and provocative personality, true. But what he directed the world to see was far more than the mystique, the mystery of the cloistered life. He left us things worth thinking about for a long, long time.

Merton saw the world through a heart uncluttered by formulas and undimmed by systems. He taught more than piety and asceticism for its own sake. He taught concepts that flew in the face of tradition then and fly in the face of culture still: the sin of poverty, the moral imperative of peace, the rectitude of stewardship, the holy power of nonviolence, the sanctity of globalism and essence of enlightenment. Merton sowed seeds of contemplation that led to action---an often forgotten but always bedrock spiritual concept.

In Jewish spirituality, for instance, two concepts dominate and are intertwined: The one, devekut, translates as "clinging to God" or contemplation; the other, tikkun o'lam, translates "repairing the world" the work of justice. One without the other---contemplation without justice, clinging to mystery without repairing the real world---is unfinished, the tradition teaches, is dark without light, is grand without great, is soul without body.

Contemplation, Merton teaches us, is learning to see the world as God sees the world. The contemplative sees the world through the eyes of God and the real contemplative is driven to respond according to the mind of God for it. Clinging to God, in other words, generates the passion it takes to repair the world.

Whatever my personal experience may or may not mean, I am grateful for a brilliant and faithful man who sought God and taught us to seek and find, as well. May his spirit continue to bless, even as I pray he rests in peace.

A Quiet Winter Day

Today turned out very differently than I expected. Last night, too.
I planned to go to a concert, but my friend and I didn't want to go out. This morning instead of going to church, I held and comforted my poor little dog as she went through her monthly (almost to the day) seizure. The social engagement I had at noon was canceled. Was I blue? Not really. I enjoy the opportunity to hole up in my cozy domain on a very cold day.

I spent several hours on the early stages of categorizing thousands of my husband's slides, such as the one above. Seeing the various winter photos reminded me of the amazing accident he had almost a year before his death. He was down by the Red Cedar River taking pictures (what else?) late one extremely cold afternoon in January. No one was around. He stepped off the trail onto what looked like solid snow, but wasn't, and fell on his back in snow and water. He was there at least half an hour, unable to get up, calling for help, no one nearby, daylight fading, unable to reach his cell phone. He felt sure he was going to die alone in the cold.

Suddenly Nathan appeared--a slender teen on his bike, who just "happened" by. He struggled for some time to get Norris to his feet, then helped him stumble to his car. Once there, he called me and I FLEW down there to get him. Meanwhile, once the call was made, Nathan jumped on his bike and disappeared. Fortunately, Norris had gotten his name and remembered it.

Our daughter and her friend arrived, we bundled our dear man, desperately shaking, in a blanket and rushed off to the nearby hospital. They took him right into ER, warmed him up, gave him fluids, and checked his body for signs of frostbite. Except for two small spots, he was
all right and they sent him home. (This all happened just before he was about to begin chemo-therapy for lymphoma.)

But here's the most amazing part of the story. Nathan went home and said not a word about his heroism. When I contacted his mother a few days later, she had no idea what I was talking about. You see, Nathan was home-schooled and that late afternoon he decided, for no particular reason, to take a bike ride. She wondered why he would do that on such a bitterly cold day, but he was almost out of high school and she wouldn't/couldn't really stop him. She noticed he was gone quite a while and that when he returned, his cheeks were bright red. But he said nothing of how he had saved a man's life. How grateful we were and always will be to that young man, whom I'm sure the Spirit led to take his bike out just when he did.

So the pictures brought back those memories today, as I sat here with my little dog and two cats. And of course I missed Norris, but also remembered what a character he was, what fun he was, how courageous he was. And I am grateful once more.

Have a wonderful new week! And please don't let Christmas become too overwhelming, if you can help it--especially if you're a mom. May you find the Light in your darkness.

Open my Eyes

As long as I can remember I have known this old hymn "Open my Eyes that I might See":

Open my eyes, that I may see

Glimpses of truth Thou hast for me;

Place in my hands the wonderful key

That shall unclasp and set me free.

Silently now I wait for Thee,

Ready, my god, Thy will to see;

Open my eyes, illumine me.

Spirit divine!

Open my ears, that I may hear

Voices of truth Thou sendest clear;

And while the wave-notes fall on my ear,

Everything false will disappear.

Silently now I wait for Thee,

Ready, my God, Thy will to see;

Open my eyes, illumine me.

Spirit divine!

Open my mouth, and let me bear

Gladly the warm truth everywhere;

Open my heart, and let me prepare

Love with Thy children thus to share.

Silently now I wait for The

Ready, my God, Thy will to see;

Open my eyes, illumine me.

Spirit divine!

It was the opening prayer focus for a quiet morning at church today. Led by my dear friend, Steve, it was just a simple, quiet three hours--time for the four of us who came to re-collect ourselves, to remember who and Whose we are; to meditate on the significance of Advent, of Mary's "yes" to God's invitation. Nothing spectacular occurred; we all just spent the morning where we chose, doing what we chose to do or not do. But when we gathered to reflect before leaving, there was a noticeable difference in each of us: our countenances, our voices, the joy that couldn't be hidden, the tenderness with which we hugged one another. We spoke of "holding the center", helping to keep our dear world from flying apart, just by our act of faithfulness and open awareness. Not ours, alone, of course; but yes, ours, as well. I am grateful for the opportunity and that I was willing to accept it. I pray each of us can find at least a few minutes of quiet reflection during these demanding and concerning days.

May you look, listen, breathe deeply. And may you notice and celebrate laughter and love!

The Irrational Season

I wrote this last year and am re-posting it, because, well, I like it!

This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason,
There'd have been no room for the child.

I love this little poem by Madeleine L'Engle, a zany and brilliant woman who wrote copiously and with great joy. I thought of it and her as Advent began. The Cathedral Church of St. John the DIvine in New York was rededicated Sunday, finally restored after a disastrous fire in 2001. Madeleine worked for many years in the library at the Cathedral. As well, my mother-in-law went to missionary school on the grounds of that magnificent church. When I saw it for myself in 2002, I was overwhelmed with its beauty and magnitude. I can only imagine how it looks today, sparkling and open--"a house of prayer to all people"--as it proclaims itself to be. (That's Biblical, by the way.) And as an Episcopalian, I know how wondrous the liturgy Sunday must have been. With all its faults, I do believe the Episcopal/Anglican church's greatest gifts are beautiful liturgy and, usually, inclusiveness.

Madeleine came here to speak years ago, when my daughter was young and a huge fan of her children's fantasies. We had the privilege of escorting her. What a kind and fascinating woman! She delighted in children and encouraged M. to hang on to her imagination and nurture her creativity. I'm grateful for Madeleine L'Engle, God rest her soul. I'm grateful for all people, especially women, who have the courage to put what they have to give out where others can access it. By the way, she was turned down by publishers for years before finally being accepted.

In this "irrational season" put away your doubts, your skepticism, your false humility. Let love bloom bright and wild. Make room for all that wants to be born through you. God asks; let us answer "yes"!!

Look at the beauty; listen to the music; laugh at yourself; love with all your heart; breathe in the Life that keeps your feet on the ground and your soul in flight.

Heart Listening

Tomorrow afternoon through Monday lunch I'll be leading a small group of women in an Advent retreat.

In our church year, Advent begins four Sundays before Christmas and is a time of preparation, anticipation, hope, introspection, a time of saying "yes" to God, as did Mary, the mother of Jesus. At this retreat, we'll do some talking as we sit in a circle, thinking and writing about Mary and how we experience her. We'll spend the night in silence until after breakfast Monday.

In the morning, we'll pray together, spend time alone, listening for what God might be communicating, and reflecting on what that means to our lives. We'll spend time sharing in the circle and close with a ritual of celebration and hope. Then we'll eat lunch and launch back into our normal lives. Sometimes people say "back to real life", but I believe all of life is REAL life, even when we don't appear to be doing much.

These times of open waiting, trusting, being, are a much-needed corrective to keep our lives in balance. As Christians we believe in serving, doing good, acting for social justice and peace. But we must also refill our souls from time to time, allow God a word in edgewise, so to speak. Those times keep the inner well flowing, giving us the strength, discernment, and courage to "do". It is one of my greatest joys in life to facilitate these times of retreat, of moving away from the noisy world, of tuning in to the One who wants to do more for this world than we can ask or imagine. May our prayers on retreat touch each of you with blessing!

Don't forget to breathe! And thanks for stopping by.

Thank you to all who work today

As Tessa and I walked our neighborhood on this Thanksgiving morning, we saw a telephone repair truck, its driver checking something out. That reminded me of all the folks who have to work on holidays, or offer to for the sake of their colleagues. How much we take for granted! The police and fire departments never close; the people who must make sure all your services work--gas, electricity, water, etc.; the housekeepers, transporters, nurses aides, nurses, respiratory and other technicians and therapists, cafeteria and kitchen workers, doctors, unit coordinators, and many I've probably left out, in every hospital in the country; they all work today. True, they'll do their best to get patients home for the holidays, but there are still lots who can't go home, not to mention emergencies of all sorts. Some people will be on call, such as chaplains and social workers. I remember how surprised I was, heaven knows why, when I went to work in the hospital to realize it NEVER closes.

We complain about the roads, the taxes, the price of services, the flaws in health care and other systems, often with justification. But today, at least, let us say thank you. Thank you to our brothers and sisters who give of themselves on our behalf every single day of the year. Here's to you and may God bless you richly!

Enjoy your day, however you spend it!

No fool like an old fool

Well, I feel old today. And like a fool, after trying to understand yet another snafoo with Blue Cross Blue Shield of Michigan. I thought everything was set up back in March: Medicare, supplemental, and drug coverage. And I thought the premiums would be deducted from my SS check. A couple of months ago I received a first monthly premium bill from BCBS, which I paid, but then began to wonder why I needed to. Finally called this morning.

The good news was that a real person actually answered the phone after the first ring: no recording, no "this call may be monitered...", no menu. I was so stunned, I could hardly spit out my information. The bad news was that after we went round and round for a while, she finally discerned that I have TWO policies--supplemental AND drug. One premium is being deducted; the other isn't. I had no clue of this prior to today and if she's right, and she is 'cause there are two different contract numbers, why haven't I been paying monthly premiums every month since March?

Now I write all this in part to vent, but also to ask if you relate to this situation. Why am I feeling like a fool when the system is so "rigged" against the insured? Guess I'll never understand what I missed nine months ago, but life is too short to waste trying to find out. So I'll pay the damn bills, grudgingly.

Through all the years I worked in a hospital, I probably spent almost as much time comforting those who were similarly confused and overwhelmed about insurance and financial matters, as I did those with physical illness, pain and fear.

Small and unimportant as my little gaff is, it certainly illustrates how hard it is to work with "THE SYSTEM." And here we sit, wondering if any of our systems are going to be mended, reformed, revived, healed. I must say that I am ever more grateful for God's Presence within and around me, which is so much greater and more desirable than money and those who think they control it. And besides, the Good Book says it's good to be a fool, a fool for Christ. So I accept the designation!

As you prepare for the gorging on Thursday, remember to look and listen, to laugh and love, and to breathe!

Well, get ready for PICTURES

Readers, today is a very special day for me and my daughter. We received the DVD of Norris's slide notebooks--all 6,700+ slides--on ONE DVD, can you imagine? The "scan-man" did a fine job; I already have the DVD downloaded onto my hard-drive; and I've gone through all of the photos twice! Now that they're on the hard-drive, I can use photo editing software to work with them when necessary. Some of the pictures are quite old and have faded, but there are SO MANY to choose from, I don't think we'll ever need to use those. So I'll probably be putting photos on the blog more often now.

Going through those pictures was like having a visit with him. I was almost overwhelmed with emotions--and memories. As we enter into this week of Thanksgiving, I am deeply grateful--for the people who did this for us, for the friends and "fans" of Norris who will rejoice in seeing these, and most of all, for the talented and delightful man who created them.

"This is the day that the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it."

The Joy in Silence

Today I spent three hours with three other women at my spiritual director's home. We spent the first hour in conversation, followed by a bit of thought-provoking reading by our leader, followed by two hours of mostly silence. We've done this approximately twice a month for about five years. We began by spending a year working through "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron. When the year was up, we wanted to keep meeting and have. We experienced a sense of community, as well as becoming more comfortably creative in our lives.

During the quiet time, each of us chooses some artistic/creative thing to do. Today one woman painted with acrylics; another colored a mandala; the third made patterns on a piece of paper with shells and stones of different sizes and shapes; I knitted for a while, then I, too, got out my "coloring book" and continued working on a beautiful mandala. I'm not at a place where I would try to make one; but I do enjoy finding colors to fill the intricate designs and doing the meditative work of coloring with pencils. Once in a while, I had to sharpen one of the pencils. Creativity isn't just ethereal, after all. It's nitty-gritty; a real connection of body, mind and spirit. Having grown up believing I wasn't "artistic", it has been quite a trip learning that not only am I artistic, but everyone is, in one way or another.

I've grown braver about use of color and creating pretty settings out of what's on hand. I've worked at writing, more and more willing to claim my gift for that. I've more intentionally soaked up concerts, plays, art exhibits, movies, books. I've read poetry and grown to cherish it. I've fallen more deeply in love with God and with life. I firmly believe the Spirit desires us to explore and offer our creative energies and will guide and support us in such endeavors.

And the silence? It is always lovely--warm, safe, deeper than words somehow. Perhaps it's true what some say: that silence is the Voice of God. At any rate, this activity with these women, nourishes me and I am grateful.

I hope you had a good day. Be safe and well, breathe, laugh, listen, look, create, love. It all fits together.

Laughter and gratitude

I was napping a bit this afternoon. Yes, I do that--regularly! The phone rang. It was my daughter, checking to see if we could get together sometime tomorrow. Of course I was pleased. What mother wouldn't be? I was once again aware of how wonderful it is to have such a great relationship with one another.

We started talking about some of the things she did when she was little, like asking for a "white" Barbie doll for Christmas. She had two Malibu Barbies and they were apparently quite tanned, so she wanted one who looked more like her. Then after she got it, she decided to give it a haircut and as she put it, "By the time I was finished she might as well have been preparing to enter the convent." And how appalled her paternal grandmother was when she cut the whiskers on her two young cats. Actually, they looked rather spiffy that way, like they had neatly trimmed mustaches. Lillian was quite disgusted with her, but I thought it was hysterical.

We laughed and laughed and laughed, each one adding something more she remembered or just making a silly comment, while the other laughed even harder. So much fun to remember things together. So much to be grateful for as we approach the "official" gratefulness day. Practice it daily if you can, my friend. It helps you hang on through the tough times and takes the focus and power away from darkness. And, besides, I believe God appreciates it!

Guess I'll go be grateful for my dinner.

Breathe with awareness at least once a day and give thanks!

Saturday morning breakfast

Good morning! And a lovely November morning it is in Mid-Michigan--raining, gloomy, chilly. Yuk! Good day to stay in bed. However, at my age staying in bed has lost most of its charm, especially since there's no one to share it. :) So I'm up and around, getting ready to go to a local cafe for breakfast with a disparate group of friends. One of the guys will be missing today; he's deer hunting. Hope it's pleasanter weather where he is. Several of the folks live in the same neighborhood and have known one another for many years. The rest of us have been "grand-parented" in, via one or another of the core group. Today we will welcome another person; the first one I've invited to join us. I hope they will like each other. What is it about gathering around a table on a regular basis that is so nourishing to our spirits? That's what we do every week at church, gather at God's table to be nourished TOGETHER--the Body gathered. As with my breakfast group, some of us have very little in common at that weekly table, and yet we do, because we share, in varying degrees, the faith that this act means something, something crucial for life. One of the reasons I keep going to "the Table" is because I meet everyone and anyone there--sometimes those still living, sometimes those who now live in a different dimension.

Yesterday I attended a memorial service at my church for a teacher and coach who died too young. Cancer again! The church was packed, with many standing in the aisles. The service was long, as many tributes were given, at length. And yet, the crowd was as one, and though we didn't go to the table literally, I felt the strength and the solace of that body gathered in love and support, reluctantly saying goodbye to a good man, one who will not be forgotten. I'm sure Christ was smiling over it all. This is the seventh death in my life in less than 6 months. You'd think we'd get used to it, wouldn't you? Never! Because each one is special, unique, and the loss of a part of that Body, one less place at the table. Well, maybe not really. But it feels like it.

So I'm going to breakfast and celebrating life and gathering and being together at the Table of Life. Don't forget to breathe! :)

May I whine just a bit tonight? Just a little bit!
It's hard taking care of a home all by yourself. This is not news to anyone, I'm sure, but today I was especially aware of it. I started out to do laundry and a bit of cleaning. One thing led to another and another and another. I don't really mind the lower back pain and the weariness. What I mind is that I hardly made a dent in all that COULD be done, not to mention that it will all have to be done again--and again--and again. It isn't as though Norris was an equal partner in home maintenance. But he DID do all the laundry and much of the grocery shopping in recent years, as well as cleaning litter boxes and lots of other things. And even when he didn't help much, he was always there to nag at or complain to or to offer me appropriate sympathy.

I know. I have so much to be grateful for: I have a home, for one thing; it's paid for, for another. I can walk and bend and lift and run up and down the basement stairs. And I am grateful. Really! But the yard still needs to be cleaned up, outdoor furniture and garden stuff taken inside, basement screaming for help, and on and on it goes.

Maybe what I'm experiencing is what is called "acedia". I wrote about Kathleen Norris's recent book on that subject in an earlier post. My hair stylist has a close friend who hates to be bothered with female grooming. So when she offered to cut off her friend's split ends, the friend said no, 'cause then it would just have to be cut again in six months! That's often how I've felt about housekeeping/home-keeping. I pay the car insurance this week; but in six months I'll have to pay it again. The taxes will have to be done in a couple more months, something I've done annually for almost 45 years.

I do notice, though, that when I focus on sharing with God about those I'm concerned about, both personally and globally, I don't seem to be bothered about being blessed with so much to take care of. And God helps me carry the burden of the loss of Norris. "Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me. For My yoke is easy and My burden is Light."

Look, listen, laugh, love, breathe deeply, give thanks and pray for our new President, for all active military personnel and all veterans and for our needy world.

NOTE: I've listed my favorite blogs in case you'd like to check any of them out.

Practicing what I preach

So my daughter reads yesterday's post and notices, as only she would, that in beginning my lesson on the proper use of apostrophes, I misspelled the word "grammar". And, of course, she couldn't resist pointing that out to me. So I get as good as I give. :) There's something about self-righteousness that tempts one to take a pin and pop that balloon. Thanks, dear.

Nevertheless, I still maintain we need to use our apostrophes correctly or just quit using them at all.

Good night.

It's another of those DRCS (dirty rotten church skipper) Sundays. Only this time my "reason" is legitimate. I'm recovering from a severe migraine-like headache. Gratefully, this one wasn't as bad as some, but interfered with my sleep and is still breaking through. I heard on the radio that those of us with migraine brains have more "excitable" brains or at least portions thereof. OK, you can stop laughing now! :) The uproar can be triggered by certain foods, drinks, stress, etc. I think the elaborate dinner I made last night is the culprit. But oh how I enjoyed it. Sometimes when I sit down alone to eat, I feel sorry for myself and very lonely. But not last night. I thoroughly enjoyed my meal, while listening to Garrison Keillor. It was almost worth the headache.

It's dark and gloomy, raining something that looks like rain/sleet/snow combination. But even the weather can't squelch my still delighted spirit. Sometimes I still can't believe we elected this fine man. How wonderful after the 8 years of Bush, the near-dictator, who may have had good reasons, but did too many bad things to justify the ends--lies, torture, sending thousands to their deaths, eaves-dropping, catering to the super-rich, neglecting our planets needs, etc. I don't hate the man, although I know many who do, but I am greatly relieved that he will no longer be at the helm.

From a spiritual point of view, I feel all of us must shower Barak Obama with prayer. I know many are fearful for his safety. I am, too, to some degree. But I am more concerned about the safety of his soul, as he is now in a position few people could tolerate for long.

A short grammer lesson (apropos of nothing): use apostrophe only for possesion, not plural.
If you write "the Obamas", you're talking about more than one Obama. If you write "the Obamas' house" you are talking about the house that belongs to them. If you write "Obama's house", you mean it belongs to one Obama. Get it? I see apostrophes misused by very intelligent people, of which I'm sure you, dear reader, are one. For the sake of my dear mother's memory, please learn how to use it correctly. :)

Breathe deeply. Listen, look, laugh and love. Oh--and pray!

The Answer, My Friend, is Blowin' in the Wind

Tonight I'm going to sing that at a 60's coffee house at my church. Funny, the 60's don't seem that long ago to me! Trudging to class across the lovely tree-covered campus at CMU, smelling the autumn, going to frat parties, listening to some cool guy play guitar and lead us in singing the Kingston Trio, Peter, Paul and Mary, etc. songs that were so much a part of our lives.

Elvis hadn't died; the Viet Nam war was just brewing; Kennedy was still President; we were scared to death of war with Russia via Cuba; many of us smoked, but marijuana wasn't prevalent yet; we had "Chip" parties where lots of beer was consumed and making out was common place. These parties were in out of the way places along the local river, where I guess we thought no one would notice us.

I struggled to find my place on the campus, living as a freshman in a dorm suite with three older members of the snootiest sorority on campus. They made fun of my saddle shoes and my hair and my clothes, not always unkindly, but certainly did nothing to help my self-confidence. And then came the theatre. And yes, that's how I've always spelled it--the British way. What a mixed-up mass of humanity we were! Everyone trying to be cool, wanting to succeed on stage, bowing to the two guys who were the stars of most shows, doing whatever grunt work we had to just to be a part of it all. When I was inducted into the honorary dramatics fraternity, I felt more "at home" than I ever had before. I was acceptable and contributing, even though I was also used and abused in my desperate longing to be one of the "family."

Do you notice how "male" these reflections are? The cute GUY playing guitar, the cool GUYS who were stars, the FRATERNITIES. In those days, my highest desire was to be accepted by "the guys", whether that was as a friend, a sibling, or a lover. How limiting that was and I am so grateful that as I grew older, women became much more important to me and to my self-image.

That was almost 50 years ago and it's fun to reminisce. Isn't that what we older folks are supposed to do? I think it's great, except if it replaces our present and/or our future. Life has changed so amazingly since those college days, but "Blowin' in the Wind" seems to have a lasting message--"how many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?"
Here's to the 60's and here's to a new day in America. May the inspiration, energy, excitement and hope flow on.

Please pray for the President-elect, the current President and the Republican candidate for President. May all three find a measure of satisfaction and joy in their efforts. And may we all try to love one another, no matter who we are or what we think.

Thanks for checking in. Remember to breathe! And hope!

Yes we can

To say I am elated at the election results is an understatement. Never in my life have I felt such passion and hope around a presidential candidate. And I pray his body, mind and soul will be protected as he takes on this most unenviable leadership position.

I always liked John McCain and in the early stages of the campaign, I could consider voting for him. That was before his "managers" seemed to turn him into someone he isn't; and that was before he agreed to select a thoroughly unprepared person for his running mate. I guess that choice was exciting for some people and I'm sure we haven't heard the last of Sarah Palin. She strikes me as being coldly, calculatingly ambitious and the kind of hateful things she said, riling crowds almost to hysteria, are not what this country or this world needs, if we are going to survive.

I spent a few hours this week at Obama headquarters here. Made many phone calls and was thrilled and touched at the statements made by some first-ever voters. They seemed so delighted and excited. Yesterday I hosted a "goodies" table outside a polling place to which the Episcopal Ministry at MSU was shuttling students in their bus. Streams of students came in and out all morning and many told me this was their first chance to vote for president. How does it feel, I would ask. It feels really good, each one replied, grinning and seeming to walk a little taller. I left that church, long before knowing who had won, feeling much more hopeful about our future, just from interacting with those young people.

The John McCain who spoke so sincerely last night was the one I always admired and still do.
We had two good men running for this almost impossible office. I am proud of them both. And I am proud to be an American. Interestingly, I received the news of Obama's victory through a phone call from a dear friend who is African-American. I had gone to bed too early. This morning, I had email from friends in Canada, Great Britian, and Turkish-Americans celebrating the outcome. My daughter also heard from a Canadian friend and a Liberian one. The whole world seems to be energized by this election. Perhaps the love fest in Grant Park last night finally redeemed the site of the disgusting debacle of the Democratic Convention of '68. Thomas Friedman said in the NYTimes today that as of yesterday, the Civil War is finally over. May it be so!

If I could, I'd dance in the streets for the sake of all black Americans and I'd try to give comfort to the good people who sincerely thought John McCain was the better choice. What I can and will do is continue to pray--for our national will to change course, for the protection of the President and his family, not only physically, but spiritually as well, and for comfort to those who poured themselves into a campaign that this time didn't win. May we all know and live by the fact that we are ALL, ALL in this together!

If you've been holding your breath the last few weeks, you can let it go now. :) Laugh, love, rejoice, pray, and keep your eyes and ears open.

"For All the Saints. . .

. . . who from their labors rest"--the opening line of a hymn we sing at our church every year on this Sunday. Most of us grew up believing that a saint was some sort of magic-working, super-person, often one who endured martyrdom for the faith. They had to be Christian, of course, and the only part of the church that could bestow the honor was the Roman rite.

In our time, however, many have expanded their view of sainthood (I just typed "stainhood") to include pretty much anyone of any religious persuasion who has made significant contributions to humanity, often in a humble, unselfish manner. How many of us have a relative, mine was our maternal grandmother, about whom we say "now there was a saint if there ever was one!"

There's nothing very glamorous about most saints, their lives being much like most lives--ups and downs, joys and sorrows, and lots of drudgery. Sometimes it seems they had an inordinate amount of suffering.

I notice my husband seems to "take on" more saintly qualities the longer he is dead. My daughter and I, as well as close friends, rhapsodize at length about his goodness, humor, generosity, talent, etc. And sometimes laughingly acknowledge his foibles. So maybe the main qualification for sainthood is to die. Which, I needn't remind you, we will all do. At my age, I think more about that eventuality than I used to. It is so unreal to me that sometimes I think, "Gee, Norris died. If he did it, I guess I can do it, too." Sounds pretty silly, but our own mortality is pretty unreal until we face it head on.

So my big goal now is to live in such a way that I, too, can achieve the title of Saint--Saint Carol. Meaning: she was totally human, made all kinds of mistakes, sinned pretty much every day, but tried to do the best she could walking this life, loving many but especially The One who made us all. Fortunately, this is not an elected position, so you won't be expected to vote--EXCEPT ON TUESDAY!!! Of course, after reading this I realized it doesn't sound very humble. So I hereby withdraw my nomination. :)

I am grateful for every saint I've been privileged to encounter, both living and dead. Especially today I think of my dear friend, Nancy and of Karen Lea, who both died much too young and who each was a saint in her own right. And special honor to Julian of Norwich, whose writings deeply influenced my understanding of and relationship with God. God said to her, "All shall be well" and in this crucial week, I plan to keep that prayer in my heart.

This week, remember to BREATHE + laugh, love, look and listen. AND give thanks!

Happy Halloween, whatever THAT means!

It's All Hallow's Eve, the day before All Saints Day. That's what the church celebrates. I've never gotten the connection between remembering "all the saints", including our passed loved ones, and horror and candy orgies. Maybe it's because I grew up on a farm, isolated from close neighbors. I do recall a Halloween party or two at the local church, but never remember trick or treating or what costume I wore. Whatever it was, it was just a get-up collection of stuff around the house. My mother didn't "make" costumes and no one thought of buying them; they weren't even available in stores, except for maybe masks and witches hats, etc. (Does this sound like the elder saying, "Why when I was a girl, we had nothing"?)

But each year I dutifully spend more than I can afford on candy and cheerfully hand it out to the little darlings who come to my door. Happily, most of them ARE cute and polite. AND, my "grandchildren" usually come by for inspection, candy and photos. Norris used to help and a few times my daughter sat out on the porch and did the honors. These are fond memories. When I feel really into it, I doll myself up in a caftan, big hat and lots of makeup. The kids always look surprised! I've heard that Americans spend more on Halloween than any holiday except Christmas. Why is it? What is there about blood and guts and being scared that appeals to us so much? Much has been theorized about our inner animal nature, etc. but I still don't understand.

Tomorrow morning I will facilitate three hours of silent reflection for folks at church--a chance to be; to be still; to be still and know; to be still and know that God is God. I wonder if anyone will come. It's so non-stimulating; so no thing; so scary in itself to be open and vulnerable to the Presence. Maybe someone will be blessed by it. Maybe that someone will be me. I am grateful for the opportunity, regardless of how many come.

And for whatever draws us to Halloween, I'm grateful if it helps us be closer to our kids, have fun with friends and neighbors, or distracts us for a while from the concerns we live with daily. Enjoy!

LISTEN, look, breathe, give thanks, laugh and LOVE!

How can I keep from singing

The sun shines brightly on the golden yellow tree in my neighbor's yard, back lit against a cloudy sky in the west. The wind blows vigorously, pushing the clouds, allowing small blue openings among them. It is almost November, folks. And I feel a certain sweet melancholy about it all. Happens every year. I love the beauty of the changing leaves, the smells, the crisp air, the scuttling clouds. Yet, on this day when I have no "outside" responsibilities, I have the luxury of just being and pondering. Remember how the Bible says Mary pondered "all these things in her heart"? Guess I do a lot of that, too.

Yesterday I saw "The Secret Life of Bees", the book being one of my favorites. I love the reminder of Mary and the presence of her spirit among us. That is generally ignored in many Christian circles, except Catholics and a few Episcopalians. The feminine aspect of God is so important and empowering; certainly it has been for me and I hope for many of the women and men I know who aren't too afraid to explore it. Mary is but a symbol of that aspect of God.

This story is about five strong females and how they survive, no, thrive, in the midst of life's pain and hardship. It is a love story of the highest caliber. Last night I began re-reading it for perhaps the third time. Thank you, Sue Monk Kidd, for this profoundly deep and beautiful story.

You know, gratitude is the heart of prayer. Since Thanksgiving is coming soon, why not make every day in November a day in which you spend time noticing and giving thanks. It's much too easy to allow the darkness to surround us and fear to drag us down. We must not do it! The Word came to bring the Light and the darkness COULD NOT overcome it!

Breathe, look, listen, laugh, love and give thanks!

The blame game

I heard on the radio this morning that millions of cans and bottles from states bordering Michigan are being brought here for recycling. On the face of it, that sounds good, right? And certainly a few such containers could be recycled innocently. But we're talking millions!
In Michigan we pay a 10 cent deposit on cans and bottles, which is refunded when we recycle. But if I buy soda in Ohio and many other states, no deposit. I return it in MI, I get 10 cents. The news story had to do with upgrades needed on recycling machines in order to detect this discrepancy. And the suggestion was that grocers pay for the changes.

So here's my point. The system is being misused; the grocers, who hate this whole container thing anyway, are angry to be expected to pay to catch the abusers. The taxpayers complain about paying more taxes, but don't take any responsibility for the countless ways, such as this, that we ourselves "tax" the system through dishonesty and opportunism. Except we'd really like the government to take care of ths problem: not the individuals, not the businesses, anyone but me. BUT if the government did pay to adapt the technology, it would cost you money and you would complain. Hmmm. I feel like I'm caught in a vicious cycle.

I don't like having so much government; but much of what it costs relates to our own irresponsibility and demands for more and better and safer; oh, but don't make me pay for it.
There's apparently plenty of blame to go around.

Thus, endeth the epistle. Have a good day! Oh, and breathe--please.

What is it with water coolers??

OK, I had to go to the funeral home this evening. The same one, the same room, where I've been many times before, as both grieving spouse and grieving friend to others. This man had a long, full life, even longer than Norris's, a good marriage, a large and loving family. He didn't suffer much. There were many people there to offer their condolences and support.

The widow was almost radiant, truly offering herself in humble hospitality to all who came. My heart ached for her; not for tonight or the funeral tomorrow. But for the harder, much harder, times to come. It will be then that I can reach out to her with love and compassion. And it will be then that she can look at me, three years later, and see that one can and does live through this loss. I met a neighbor, through our dogs, yesterday who's probably my age and has been a widow since she (and he) was 29. She said she'll never "get over it", just learn to live in spite of it. Not new news to anyone who has lost a treasured loved one and yet somehow good to hear each time I encounter it.

Well, what does that have to do with water coolers? Not a thing. But after standing in that familiar room for an appropriate amount of time, I suddenly felt very thirsty and wanted to leave. In the lounge I found a water cooler and gulped down 2 paper cups of cold water. And once again, I wondered. Why do water coolers have two faucets--like one might be hot, the other cold? Have YOU ever gotten hot water out of a water cooler? Somehow this little distraction helped me to move on--yet once more.

It's raining here and chilly. I hope you find blessing to celebrate this weekend, no matter what the weather where you are. Breathe, listen, look, laugh, love! And thanks for reading.

My feet are jubilant

For most of my life my feet have taken a lot of abuse and brought me pain, discomfort and weariness. If you've never had foot problems, you won't be able to comprehend how happy I am that today I finally went to a podiatrist and I'm going to have orthotics made for my shoes. You ever wonder why I wear Birkenstocks most of the time? Cause they're the only shoe that's halfway comfortable for me. Now I will be comfortable, or at least much more so, in any shoe I wear. I realize this may not be of general interest to you readers, but let me tell you, when your feet ain't happy, ain't nothin' happy! So this lady is very excited and wondering why I waited so long. Of course the main reason was insurance. It still won't pay for the orthotics, but will cover the office calls, x-rays, etc.

That's another reason why it is absolutely unconscionable that so many millions of people, in the richest country in the world, have either inadequate insurance or none at all. All of us who have happily and gratefully received Social Security and Medicare (socialism?) all these years, why are we suddenly concerned about "redistribution of wealth"? I guess because we don't believe we're responsible for anyone but ourselves. So, I got mine. The heck with everyone else. If they'd been as smart as I was, they'd be covered, too. Hmmm. Doesn't compute in today's world, especially since the immorality in the financial and corporate worlds seems to be taking us all down together. Maybe caring will be one of the positive results. I hope so.

Meanwhile, I'm dancing on happy feet and marveling at the beauty of this fall day. I just noticed: the lake at the top looks like my right foot!

May you be blessed in countless ways! Are you getting tired of "breathe, listen, look, laugh, and love"? It does seem like good advice to/for me. :)

How can I keep from singing!

Good morning, dear reader(s)! After a few days of silence here, I'm ready to talk. Saturday morning was the 3rd annual Norris Ingells Walk for Nature at Fenner Nature Center. As I arrived, the incredible smell of autumn leaves, the moist colors of the foliage as the sun filtered through the trees, the chill in the air, and the voices of special loved ones preparing for the day, filled my heart with joy. And it only got better from there.

At least 100 walkers registered and received their t-shirts with this year's Ingells photo on them. They munched on homemade baked goods, sipped coffee, and put tickets into bags representing a variety of gifts donated by area businesses.

Then they walked the trails.

The most coveted gift seemed to be the large framed print of this year's logo. Did I mention that my heart was filled with joy? Most of the morning I spent responding to people who came to give me a hug and say hi. And now and then, I caught the eye of my best friend, Carol, who was instrumental in putting it all together.

My daughter was the MC for the gift drawing; my two nieces did registration, along with a dear friend. ALL but two of the children I hold most dear were present. This includes six grand or god-children, a Turkish family, the babies of M's two best friends, a teen-aged girl I've know since her birth, and the "grand-son" of my good friend, Ron. (You'll notice if you know us, that I don't use my daughter's name on this blog. So she is M.) Ron looked up during the drawing and saw one lone white bird flying. Of course we decided it was Norris or at least a fine symbol of him.

In the afternoon as the Apple Butter Festival got under way, I participated in a shape-note singing workshop, which in spite of pesky bees and the hot sun, was lots of fun. I want to try more of it. A group meets at Green River Cafe in E. Lansing the 1st and 3rd Tuesday evenings of each month, if you're interested. It is another piece of early Americana that could be lost forever, except for those who love it and long to share it with others.

Somehow standing in the midst of all that beauty and fun and joy, Norris felt very close and the cares of this world seemed very far away. Thank you to all who made it possible! My gratitude cannot be adequately expressed!

My life goes on in endless song
Above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

Bless you this day! Remember to BREATHE: listen, look, laugh and love.

How Great Thou Art

I love this photo from the pasty.com website showing one of Upper Michigan's countless lakes, surrounded by endless forests, it seems. This one is near the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula. What an expansive and heavenly environment. And what a reminder of the vastness of this earth--this good earth, "our island home", as the Book of Common Prayer puts it. No place I know of is any more beautiful than the Keweenaw in autumn.

And, people there are often poor, they struggle to earn livings, to survive the harsh winters, to stay true to their culture and yet integrated to the rest of American society. For all the natural beauty surrounding them, they must be as anxious as the rest of us these days.

My teenage years were spent living between Grand Traverse Bay and Torch Lake in northwest lower Michigan. From my bedroom windows I could see the Bay and Old Mission Peninsula beyond. Beauty everywhere, especially when the cherry trees in the vast orchards were blooming and filling the air with their breath-taking scent. An ideal place to be, you'd think.
But, I was a teenager; I had been torn from my former home involuntarily at age 12, because my father wanted or needed to start over in a new place. For most of those years, I rarely noticed the beauty. We all took it for granted. I couldn't wait to leave home, feeling caged and oppressed and lonely there. Things were, and generally are, both/and. And the eyes of our hearts and minds must be open to see the greatness that surrounds us.

Well, what's my point tonight? I'm not exactly sure. As I write this, many of you are probably watching the last presidential debate. And I find myself wanting to focus on nature. Noticing the mystery of God's creation helps deepen my faith and trust. Somehow all shall be well.

In the next two days I will be spending time with two sets of children whom I love and whose parents are dear to me. These kids will have their hands full when they grow up, but I hope and pray we will heal some of the damage we've caused--to the earth, to one another, to ourselves. I will remember the old hymn, my grandmother's favorite, "How Great Thou Art!" and I will take heart.

O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder,
Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made;
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art.
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art!

Thanks for stopping by. Breathe, listen, look, laugh, love and you might consider praying, too!

Laugh till it hurts

Good morning! And another beautiful day it is. I'm trying to focus on that sort of thing these days, not always successfully. It is a dark and deeply unsettling time, as you well know. How to live through it? I got to thinking about the words I put at the end of every post. I don't know where they came from. Well, I do, but you might not believe that. This morning I decided to talk about one of them--laughter.

I just read William Kristol's column in the NYTimes (see, I don't just read liberal stuff) and he suggests John McCain ditch his present campaign and return to his nature, a serious but cheerful guy. There is great power in humor, of course. Look how the late night TV hosts use it to help form public opinion.

Thus when I sense anxiety washing over me, I'm going to find something to laugh about--something decent, not cruel. Physically it will strengthen my body; mentally it will clear my head; and spiritually it will help refill my soul with faith, hope and love. It's not a cop out. It's an act of defiance and trust.

Now all I need it to find something to laugh about!

So--breathe, listen, look, laugh and love!

"Dirty Rotten Church Skipper"

Well, it's a lovely October Sunday and I didn't go to church. I feel a bit guilty, believing as I do that one goes to church not just for personal "gain", but to support the Body of Christ gathered there. And I know, having a long history in that place, that I am seen as a leader in the congregation, even though these days I prefer not to be.

Some of my younger friends coined the term DRCS (see title above) and it has stuck. Nevertheless, I am happy to have this day of quiet and beauty. Not just happy, grateful.
Last week was difficult and the upcoming one will be demanding. So this is my Sabbath rest.

Last night a friend and I went to our city's Symphony concert and heard the premiere of a concerto for alto saxophone and orchestra--five movements worth. It was absolutely sublime!! So much so, that she and I left at intermission, fearing the Beethoven Symphony coming up would somehow dilute our euphoria. My teacher training taught: to teach more, teach less. Perhaps the same is true of anything. Perhaps that is a lesson we will be forced to learn in the coming days and years. Less is more. Smörgåsbord is tempting, but not truly satisfying. Simplicity is beautiful and sustaining. I'm grateful for that little reminder last night.

This is Thanksgiving weekend for my Canadian friends and family. I'm grateful for them, too, and for that beautiful country to our north, to which I've thought of moving sometimes. But I do love Michigan and I know the Canadians don't want us disillusioned Americans. So guess I'll stay put. Besides, I wouldn't be able to sell my house!

Blessings to you this day! Breathe, listen, look, LAUGH, and love!

Struggling with Acedia or: What the heck does "buff" mean?

Yes, well, I hoped that title would grab your attention! I'm reading Kathleen Norris's new book with the weird title "Acedia and Me: A Marriage, Monks, and A Writers Life". Got that?

Acedia is an old word referring to one of the "vices" or "demons" that plague human beings. And though it's hard to define, I know I suffer from it, as does Kathleen. It isn't quite the same as depression; more a depression of the soul that encourages giving up, doing nothing, listlessness, avoidance--especially avoidance of God, the One to Whom I have given myself, or at least tried to.

She points out that acedia isn't just inactivity; that our culture is full of it. Maybe like the social worker I knew who, after a day of agonizing encounters with patients and the system, liked nothing more than to stop at the mall on her way home and just look. Or maybe like when we immerse ourselves in sports. Or maybe when we're trying to be "buff".

OK, maybe that's a stretch, but I wanted to tell you about a guy in my neighborhood who runs every day. A close friend of mine might describe him as "buff", but I don't know what that means. I even looked it up and none of the definitions fit a sexy body. So maybe one of you will illuminate me. Anyway, Tessa and I often see him, panting and sweating and looking miserable, running down the street, earphones on, looking straight ahead. We see him so often I feel we should be friends by now, but no. He never notices or if he does, there's no connection whatsoever. I guess he has a nice body, but where IS he?

Now, I realize I know nothing about the man's personal life and this may be the most healthy self-care he can give. So I'm not intending to be unkind. But he seems to me a symbol of acedia--running, running, trying to get away from it all, breathless and weary. Me, I'm more apt to sit and stare out the window.

I am grateful to Kathleen for raising this subject, for now I am more aware of this very effective demon and, with God's help, hope to rid my soul of it. For when acedia reigns, love and laughter and life are diminished. The things I am called to offer this world get neglected. Despair grows and loving action languishes. Does this ring any bells for you?

Well, whether it does or not, remember to breathe AND listen, look, laugh and love!!

In memory of Norris

I was married for 40 years to an unusual, dynamic, funny, thoughtful, intelligent, curious, observant, tolerant, earthy, quiet and mouthy, affectionate, compassionate man. He would be 75 today. He died in December, '05. To say he is missed is an understatement.

Walking with him through at least two years of decline, then a frustrating and unresolved hospital stay, and several weeks of home care before his death, was a journey I never expected to take and had I known about it in advance, my only certainty would be that I couldn't to do it. And yet I did; we did. And we grew closer and learned many lessons together on the way.

It was excruciatingly painful to watch a man of success, strength and dedication, ever so slowly lose his ability to function. He was well known and respected in this community and around Michigan as a journalist of many talents--writer, photographer, editor. He mentored and encouraged countless colleagues and youngsters, finding newspaper articles appropriate to some one's particular field; telling funny stories, often made up, to lighten another's day; listening for long minutes to the tales of a lonely person who called with a nature question, even when he was near deadline. He won over 40 awards for his press photography and in later life focused especially on nature, lifting up the little things most of us miss, delighting in everything from a lady bug to a dragon fly to a blue heron to a teasel bloom.

When he was working, he was totally focused, which didn't always please his spouse. Especially in our younger years, I felt jealous of his passion for journalism, wondering if he had to choose, which of us would win out. As I matured and found my own life and passions, including motherhood, I became more accepting. And, as often happens, as I stopped "pulling on the reins", he grew more willing to include me or defer to my needs. And he taught me to be a bit of a photographer, too.

I hold in my possession his beautiful pictures, reflections of a great and good man--a man who knew many famous people, but was humble enough to willingly do his mother-in-law's laundry the five years she resided in a nursing home; a father who encouraged, challenged and understood his daughter; a man who bought countless books for the children of "his" waitresses, so wanting to help them and their moms in the struggle to grow up and offer their gifts to the world; a man who would bring home a modest bouquet of daffodils for me, just because; a man who never went a day without giving and receiving hugs, kisses, and saying "I love you."

What a special blessing he was to many, but especially to me and our beautiful daughter. And so tonight I celebrate him, our years together, and the great legacy of beauty, generosity, peace and justice he left behind. Thank you, God, for Norris!

Remember to breathe, listen, look, laugh, and love!

A Dark Day

A friend of mine, battling breast cancer, has a beautiful blog on which she almost never says anything negative, though she's been through hell. I really admire her for that. And though I know comparisons aren't really helpful, I wish I could be so positive in all my sharing.

But today I felt disappointed, disillusioned, weary of the lonely struggle, fearful for the country I love, sick about all the hatred that is being spewed and apparently believed by some, sad because I strongly disagree with some friends and family whom I dearly love. I'm feeling too busy and I'm not even involved in that much. Today it feels like everyone I talk to is hassled, anxious, over-committed, or guarded in even expressing how they feel.

So today's writing probably doesn't specifically relate to "Prayer, Play or Politics". It's just one woman's honest lament. And maybe what I am most tired of is advice about how I "should" rise above it all, not let anything get me down, never give up. Some days I just have to give up--for a little while. It's hard for me to understand how anyone can keep a totally cheerful perspective when they and those they love are in pain and anguish and confusion and fear. Also, this week marks the 75th anniversary of my late husband's birth. So that's another good reason to be sad, don't you think?

But tomorrow? Well, I'll look at that Carol, Song of Joy, signature and I'll try once more to live up to it, knowing that the Spirit of Life and Love won't abandon me.

Meanwhile, remember (I tell myself) to breathe, listen, look, laugh and love!

"Over and over announcing your place in the family of things."

I enjoy poetry more and more as I age and Mary Oliver is a favorite. On this beautiful "Lord's Day", as my dear clergy uncle called it, I'd like to share one of her creations.

WILD GEESE
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese,
harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing
your place in the family of things.

Today I worshiped at a church where I occasionally preach and where I have a number of dear friends. They were having a Homecoming Sunday and I knew I wanted to be part of it. For these people have received me with warmth and respect and my humble words have meant something to them. It is a wonderful grace to have another church home in which I feel fully accepted as part of the "family of things."

It is a United Church of Christ, by the way. The same denomination as Barack Obama, with whom I am proud to stand. Having had the privilege of seeing and hearing him speak this week, I am grateful such a man is running for President of this mixed up country of ours. And I pray he will win and challenge us all to greater understanding, generosity of spirit, and peaceful, humble communion with the whole world.

Thanks again for checking out this blog.
Remember to breathe, listen, look, laugh and love!

You are an artist, too!

If you know me, you may be surprised when I say "I am an artist." But I am; and so are you. Br. David Stendl-Rast of the Gratefulness website listed below, said something like: most people say an artist is a special sort of person, but actually, every person is a special sort of artist.

I went to an art and spirituality retreat yesterday, which reaffirmed that concept. God is THE Creator; we are made in the image of God; we, too, are creators. But lots of things get in our way or we allow them to. (Oops! There's that poor grammar again!)

Since I took a class using"The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron, I have increasingly allowed my creativity to come forth in ways large and small. Part of that shift came from getting past my "blurts", as she calls them. You'll recognize them: I'm not artistic; other people are much better; everything worth writing has already been written; who do you think you are; I don't have time; I don't have the money; others will make fun of me. On and on they go. I expect you have a set of your own. Very effective, too. The Dark Forces probably delight in these barriers which prevent us from gifting the world with what we uniquely have to offer.

When I was in grade school, "art" meant copying something "real", like greeting card picture, or coloring neatly a mimeographed figure, or gluing cotton batting on a rabbit at Easter time. Everything was prescribed and was either right or wrong. Mine never measured up. Besides which, I had a particularly gifted cousin about my age with whom I was unfavorably compared. So I always knew I couldn't draw/paint/whatever. Now I could play the piano and sing, but I didn't think of that as artistry. I could write, but...I couldn't dance. In each case, I tried too hard to "do it right."

That's why, dear reader, it has been a long journey to the place where I would have the freedom and the confidence to start a blog or paint a picture (yesterday it was finger paints. Whee!!). But it's in there and it's pouring out, even at this stage of my life.

I hope you're letting your creativity loose, too. We all need you.

Thanks for reading. Meanwhile, remember to breathe, listen, look, laugh and love!

I Confess

OK. Before we get too far together, it's time for me to make a confession. Sometimes I'm dishonest. Yup! When I was 5, I stole a stick of bubble gum from the grocery store, proceeding to chew it on the way home with my mother in the car. Guess I thought she wouldn't notice.

And when I was 14, my friend and I stole a pack of cigarettes from the neighborhood grocery. Didn't occur to us that the grocer would report this act to her mother. And we would have paid for them gladly, but of course we weren't supposed to be smoking, right?

This gets worse. I regularly KEEP printed return address labels and USE them, without sending a contribution to the dear people who wanted so much for me to have them. I mean, did I ask for them? Noooooo. Oh, there's more, but that's all you're going to hear about!

Got anything you could confess?

Ever break or at least twist the rules, like on your tax return?
Ever sort of cheat (even if only in your heart) on your spouse?
Ever break the law, like when you're driving?

I mean, come on. We are ALL sinners. Besides, the Bible says so; it must be true.

So my point today is: I love being self-righteous. I love seeing those I dislike (read loathe) breaking the rules, exhibiting their greed, their hypocrisy. And these last two weeks it's been especially fun, hasn't it? Oh, except that regardless of the joy of seeing others' chickens come home to roost, I know we're all connected.

I grew up believing that we are all individuals. Isn't that the American philosophy? Any working together (even though my farmer father and his neighbors shared machinery and helped each other thresh grain and put up silage) meant that dreaded word SOCIALISM. And if things became really cooperative and communal, the people involved must be Communists, the dreaded reds.

But after years of experience, I understand, even when I don't want to, that everything, everything, is connected. So if I screw up, it affects you to some degree. Sadly, when an entire nation succumbs to it's rationalized greed, everyone is hurt. We are ALL responsible and we ALL must change. The only leader in sight that might have the courage to speak that to us as a nation is Barack Obama. I pray he will get that opportunity.

Blessings for this night. Remember to breathe, listen, look, laugh and love!