Little things

Do you remember that old song "Little Things Mean a Lot"? I've been thinking about little things. And to be honest, this week it hasn't been as much about the lovelies as the "boo boos". The other evening as I poured popcorn from the pot into the bowl, my arm touched the pot causing a burn about 1"x 3". The next day Willie the cat, sunk one claw into the end of my finger and it bled just like when the Red Cross nurse pokes it. Neither wound hurt much the first day, but as they've been healing, the pain has been a real distraction. How could such little wounds hurt so much?

Yesterday I experienced a couple of little relational wounds. Nothing big or profound, just small jabs, but resulting in a sad piercing pain, recognizing that we all can't agree on everything.

We get upset and righteous about "big" things, like the recent Arizona immigration law, and perhaps rightly so. I just wonder why the little things are so persistent in their pain, such a distraction. Another occasion for bafflement!

Meanwhile, it is a blessedly beautiful day and mostly I'm still singing a song of joy!

Keep going

I recently spent three delightful days at the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin College in Grand Rapids! Being in the presence of hundreds of professional and amateur writers, interested seekers of all sorts, on a campus lush with spring blooms, listening to one inspiring presentation after another, was almost more than I could bear. Now I'm trying to sort out what I heard and what I felt and what I think about it all.

For this time, I'll tell you a story we heard from Wally Lamb, a successful novelist, his books twice chosen for Oprah's Book Club. My companion echoed my own reaction to Wally. He seemed like such an ordinary guy. He told of attending a writing retreat in Vermont years ago, feeling out of place, fearful that his writing couldn't possibly be worthwhile. Several of the students were asked to read their work, but only for about 3 minutes each. Wally hesitantly read his 3 minutes' worth and when he stopped, someone in the group loudly said, "Keep going." "Well, I can't; we only have 3 minutes," Wally responded. Another voice in the room spoke up. "I'm next; take my time; keep going." A turning point for this shy high school English teacher, now accomplished author. If he didn't think he could write, I guess I'm in good company.

Parker Palmer, my mentor and friend, said something similar when he spoke two days later. He held a large audience spell-bound for an hour as he spoke of his journey through life, telling us he was "born baffled." And all his life he's confronted his bafflements, sharing them honestly, insightfully, challengingly (is there such a word?) with those who would read his books or listen to his voice. He has written eight books, each time struggling, writing, re-writing, starting over, doubting his ability to put the words together in a way that truly expresses what he thinks and feels. I have a feeling the next one may be the most significant one yet. It's called "The Politics of the Broken-hearted." I've read every one of his books, I've heard him speak many times, I've participated in retreats he has led, and never did I doubt his wisdom or his gifts. But he did. And I doubt mine. And you probably doubt yours, as well. Nevertheless, "keep going."

By the way, if you find yourself in the opposite position, getting a bit puffed up over your own wonderfulness, remember what Parker's dad used to tell him: "Park, remember that today's peacock may well be tomorrow's feather duster."

Enjoy this beautiful resurrection time. Listen, look, laugh and love!

Easter Life

This year Easter in Michigan was the way Easter ought to be--mild weather, greening grass, flowering bushes and trees, sunshine, soft breezes, daffodils abloom. As sad as I was during Holy Week, the Mystery of New Life touched me on Easter Sunday and has remained all week. How does that happen, I always wonder? In one sense, I know. But still, just like the emergence of new life each spring, I am amazed, awed, surprised by Grace.

In the midst of writing this, I took Tessa out and chatted with the young couple next door and their sweet kids about their trip to a Tigers game today. The Tigers generously won the game, too! Then, we did something we've put off since Tessa arrived nearly two years ago. We let our dogs meet. Tucker is a medium sized dog, pretty loud and rambunctious, but not mean. After an initial snapping and growling, they proceeded with the smelling of rear ends ritual, sending the children into gales of laughter. Loose in their fenced in yard, she and Tucker virtually ignored each other for about 10 minutes. So another barrier has been broken and for some reason it felt like part of Easter joy.

I spent most of yesterday at a workshop on website development. It was challenging and I came away realizing both how much I do know and mostly, how much I don't. My admiration for the brilliance of the minds that have created the internet was only increased. I'm going to start managing the website for Fenner Nature Center, which I will enjoy.

So what if some hard things have happened? I'm being gifted with remembering that there are always new opportunities and, if I'm willing to look and listen, beauty everywhere. I am grateful!

An "unholy" Holy Week

I'm watching a lovely sunset out my window. What a beautiful week it has been. And I, considered by many to be a "good Christian", have not gone to one of the services offered each day this week. Why not, I wonder?

Did I not want to walk the Way of the Cross, to watch a while with Jesus, to mourn with others his terrible death? Seems like I've been mourning all week--for my own wounds and those of people I love, for those who are no longer in my life. For the tragic and bestial treatment of so many persons, especially women and girls, around the world every single day. For the spouting of hateful words and the encouragement of violent actions (no matter which political extreme) which are done not only abroad, but here in the America we love, in the name of "being right." For the callous exploitation of fearful and uncertain people by those who care not a whit for them, but only want to make names (read money) for themselves. For the endless raping of earth and her inhabitants for the privilege of the wealthy few, meaning most of us. I weep for and with Jesus.

Yet somehow, though I love my church and her people, I could not bring myself to participate in yet another "just like every year" series of Holy Week events. I apologize to those clergy and other leaders whom I respect and care for. I'm not blaming you; well, not exactly. But I continue to believe that the Christian church, regardless of its permutations, is miserably failing to address the needs of this world or to live up to the Christ whom we profess to love. We (and I include myself) are selfish, greedy, fearful, and mired in self-satisfaction and certitude, hoping that if we just go through the right motions and say the right words and believe the right doctrine--hocus-pocus! we'll all be saved. Hmph!! OK, so maybe I'm a bit cynical or over-dramatic. Or, maybe I'm at least a little bit right.

If you read this after tomorrow, Blessed Easter! May our faith be ignited and explode with hope and joy and love.