"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.