Washing Windows

The real problem of the Christian life comes where people usually do no look for it.  It comes the very moment you wake up each morning.

All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals.

And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back, in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view…

Letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in.

And so on, all day.
Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings

Coming in out of the wind. "  C.S. Lewis

I have a file that I keep on profound things that I have read.  I also collect great lines from movies.  I added a few  yesterday from the Avengers.  One of my most favorite was when Coulson is dying and talking to Loci:

Agent Phil Coulson: You're gonna lose.
Loki: Am I?
Agent Phil Coulson: It's in your nature.
Loki: Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky... where is my disadvantage?
Agent Phil Coulson: You lack conviction.

 I have yet figured out what to do with it or how to use or even why do I keep it, but occasionally, like this morning, I stumble across one of those passages and it gives me pause.  To be perfectly honest, I have no idea if C.S. Lewis really wrote that, I did not research the quote.  And it really does not sound like C.S. Lewis, but I had to give credit to someone.  And it is a real problem.  Letting the quieter, stronger life come in.  Not only for Christians but for anyone who is on an honest spiritual journey.  And not having conviction.  That is a real problem too for most.

I hate to wash windows and clearly if you could have seen my old windows, you would have agreed.  We had new windows put in our house last week.  The originals had never been replaced since 1935.  They were pretty dirty.  Okay, that is an understatement.  And I never knew till this morning, how bright the sun was or how green the trees look from inside my house.  I think we all need to clean our soul windows from time to time and sometimes we just need to replace them altogether.  

And we resist doing that.  I don't know why.  Replacing windows.  I suspect because it is a very costly endeavor and if you are like me, I was very attached to my double hung 77 yr old windows.  I was so attached, I saved 6 of them.  They were the only 6 without cracks. 

And real life, the only one that counts is there when we push back from all our natural noisy minds.  If you are like me, your mind is pretty cluttered.  Our minds race rather we want to admit or not, particularly in this electronically connected society.  We take in so many pieces of information that we rarely have time to pause and think about...

how good it feels to hug our children

how warm the sun feels

how blue the sky really is

how sweet the watermelon really tastes

how very, very much despite our frailties and asynchronous personalities,  our families really do love us, not necessarily how we want but they love us none the less

how very, very brief life is and it is meant to be enjoyed and savored

how good mulch smells

how red geraniums really are

how good God is still

how the breeze sounds

how just sitting still really does refresh us

how much I like lime, coconut Rum and ginger ale and why don't I drink that everyday?

how much I really like summer sausage and how easy it is to grill and I love grilled sweet Georgia onions, even if they were grown in Widner, GA.
and I don't know why but popcorn really is better at the movies especially with butter

how good Gain detergent smells and I am so glad it comes in dish detergent and general all purpose cleaner

how good a clean, warm towel feels from the dryer
how cold milk is
how good a glass of iced water tastes
how good a warm shower feels

Life really is in the mundane, everyday stuff that we fail to see through our dirty soul windows. And by in large what we fret, fuss and worry about almost never comes to pass.  We waste so much energy on future things that never will be.  We become so used to  looking through the grime that we miss the real and before we know it, 17 years have passed by and we have not seen sunlight...

And today as I read a blog about a little girl who did not get to see through 7 years of dirty windows much less 17, I was reminded of how very, very important it is to take the time every morning and push back the noise and let the larger, quieter life come through...

Remembering Lily...

all is grace and continuing to number the ways how even when it does not make sense to do so,

kathleen

Because we've always done it this way

I saw a documentary on Steve Jobs life not too long ago where he said that the most significant moment in his life was when he realized that "reality" wasn't a given but rather was constructed by a previous generation of folks who weren't, in the end, any smarter than he was. Once he realized that, he was willing to poke the "is" to see "what might be."  I watched this documentary interestingly enough on a product that uses a Mac platform.  The point was not lost on me.  I am often frustrated by people when asked why, remark, "because we've always done it this way."  That answer has never set well with me.  Ever.  I  kind of thrive on change.  I redecorate my house like it is a dollhouse.  About the only thing I do the same is eat from Subway frequently.  Mainly because of the spinach.  I love spinach. 

The other extraordinary thing about Steve Jobs was his innovative marketing ideas and his passion for design.  He didn't invent the MP3 player he made the MP3 player better.  He didn't invent he mobile phone, he made the mobile phone better. He thrived on changing what was because he knew what could be was always better.    Perhaps the only other company to have such an impact on the world was Coke.  If you have ever visited the Coke factory in Atlanta, you know what I am talking about.  We went there two summers ago.  I rarely drink soft drinks and never colas, but when I left and went to dinner, I ordered a Coke and continued to do so the rest of the time I was in Atlanta.

The vision behind the Apple Store is “enrich lives."  When you enrich lives magical things start to happen. The soul of the Apple Store is in its people. They are hired, trained, motivated and taught to create magical and memorable moments for their customers. The Apple Store values a magnetic personality as much, if not more so, than technical proficiency. The Apple Store cares less about what you know than it cares about how much you love people.  They also hire for smiles. 

So, this week I was trying to have an enriching experience buying a Tervis cup.  A girlfriend told me I must have one, particularly for the ballfield.  She told me it was the best insulated cup sold.  She was so excited about these cups, she was buying extra straws and had bought a bakers dozen to give away as Mother's Day gifts.  She told me it would be great for my iced tea.  I am seriously addicted to iced tea.  To tell you how addicted I am, a couple of years ago, I switched from sweetened to unsweetened cold turkey.  I lost 10 pounds in 3 months without doing anything else.  Seriously. 

The horrible thing about baseball fields besides being hotter than Hades and dustier than Texas, is they do not carry iced tea in the concession stand.  I have been to about 100 different ballfields and only one made iced tea.  It was in Widner, GA.  Staying in Widner was about the worst hotel experience of my life, but the tea at the ballfield made up for it.  The front desk clerk and I had a verbal battle over my non smoking room.  He tried to tell me that HE was not responsible for the mistake the computer made and I would just have to accept it.  I told him his computer errors were not my problem and I was not leaving his presence till he fixed my reservation.  I told him I was his worst nightmare of an enraged customer and if he thought for one moment, I was accepting sleeping in a smoking room, he was sadly mistaken.  I am not sure where I thought I was going to spend the night in Widner GA other than his hotel, since it was the only one in town, but I was not staying in smoking room.  I continued my tirade with the entire lobby of guests present and had to continue my argument with him on a cellphone from the ballfield.  Apparently, I was so convincing in my argument, that the umpire even said he would never argue a call with me.  Ever.  Needless to say, I got my smoking room and a complete refund.  Yep.  This clerk dude would never be hired by Apple.  Ever. He did not enrich my life and he did not care about me nearly as much as he did his computer reservation program which clearly needed work.  It should have been an Apple product.

So, this week I am at a Tervis store, buying my Tervis cup to carry my tea in at the ballfield, since I never plan on returning to Widner.  Actually, I think the sheriff would meet me at the county line, that is how mad I made front desk dude.  The choices of Tervis cups are overwhelming.  The designs are limitless.  Their about 10 different sizes, with handles, without handles, with lids and straws or without, with lids that are drinkable and some that are not, 8, 12,16 and 32 oz.  Monogramed with anything, designed with your favorite college, MLB, NBA, NFC team or design one that matches your Little League team.  You can have the monogram facing you or not.  Left handed and right handed cups.  You get my drift.  I am rarely a perfectionist.  Just visit my house or read any paper I have ever written.  I don't over edit.  My sister in law was trying to help me with a math assignment once.  She continued to work on the one problem we could not solve after I turned the assignment in.  I told her the B was perfectly acceptable to me.  This drove her crazy.   I rarely am a purist except about grits and tomatoes.  About the only thing I will ever perserverate on is lack of character and not having garden tomatoes in restaurants in NC in July. Then I can get on a soapbox.    However, I was making this a shopping experience and clearly I was driving the sales clerk crazy.  Extremely crazy.  After about 45 minutes of me trying out different Tervis cups, she said, "Honey it is just a cup."   Apple would not hire her either.  Had I been in an Apple store, they would have let me look all day, and given me undivided attention while I choose my Apple product and they would never say, "Honey it is just a laptop."  I eventually found the perfect cup and purposefully took an extra 15 minutes to decide just to irritate the sales clerk.  As I was paying, I felt led to share with her the Apple approach to marketing and told her she might want to consider watching the Stever Jobs documentary.  I think it was the Holy Spirit. Just sayin'.

So what does Apple have to do with Pentecost?  Quite alot I think.  Tomorrow the Church celebrates Pentecost. 

The particular events of Pentecost are described in the Acts of the Apostles: When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. (Acts 2:1-4) . In any passage we read about Spirit's presence, it is as at least as disruptive as it is comforting. Why? Because resurrection isn't more of the same, it's life from death.  It is meant to change us.  And I think the point of Luke's narrative was to tell us this Spirit stuff was way bigger than thought. 

But I don't think we want it that way.  I have never actualy heard anyone pray, "Come, Holy Spirit that we might remain exactly as we are." But that is how we act. 

Most of the time, we resist meaningful change in favor of "the way we have always done things."  We rarely think outside the box like Steve Jobs, because we don't like to believe, that there is no "the way things have always been done." There really is only "the way we've done them in recent meory" -- which of course really means "the way I've gotten used to them being done" and I have no intention of changing.

The Holy Spirit is alot like the Apple store.  It is meant to enrich lives. So tomorrow, we are invited again to change.  We are invited to think about things a little differently and hopefully do things a little differently, because that is how we grow.  We are invited to change from just existing to life anew  We are invited to give up fears, which are usually imaginary, for peace.  We are invited to give up lies we tell ourselves for truth that will set us free.  We are invited to give up being enslaved by the idea of not being ourselves for the knowledge we have already been called God's beloved just because we are. We are invited to give up what we want for what we really need.

Change is hard but it is not impossible and with the help of Spirit, we can do hard things.  You just have to want it.  It is a free gift for the asking.  Just remember Steve Jobs was no smarter than you and he changed the world.

All is grace and counting the endless joys of

change
thinking outside the box
Apple stores
Tervis cups
Iced tea
Newly distressed tables
Brand new windows
Light streaming through windows
Lasagna
Red dresses
Bright red geraniums

We conquer by continuing

  Clearly, I would have written the story differently.  But just maybe, just maybe the story was not mine to write, maybe not mine to change because who knows what a different ending would have held.  You see in my stories there are no people who can not walk.  There are no blind people and no one waits 17 years for healing.   And in my stories, healing is always quite dramatic and apparent.  And in my story, everyone knows they conquered.  Everyone.

 There is a reason that I am not writing the story and that grace is.  This is not a story told often.  Often enough.  It is uncomfortable for everyone.  People just will not speak of their shame of needing healing.  They just will not. So,tonight at the least convenient and thoughtful of times between the noise and chaos, the gospel reading reminded me again just how very responsible we are for our own healing and how very often it does not look like we want it . After all, it is between the noise that stories usually get told.  We just have to listen. It pops up out of nowhere, inconvenient but beautiful.  In the grocery store check out line.  Meeting someone new at work.  In between dropping kids off at school.  Over dinner tables.  Listening to someone describe their story and knowing they don't know yet how deep the wound lies.  Wishing after hearing the story that collective wisdom could be shared and they would be spared pain.  Talking with others who carry similar wounds or overhearing that others too have been where I have traveled.  I carry it in my heart always, an inventory of grief and pain and loss and I remember for it is in the remembering that the story is honored and all stories are sacred works of art.

I have discovered how uncomfortable loss and suffering and evil really is for those who are not walking the journey.  I discovered it first from watching people who were suppose to be listening and helping but their own personal agendas got in the way.   The silences were deafening.   I am not sure if those listening were too insecure, too immature, too ego centered, too mentally ill, too broken or if the pain was that overwhelming.  Perhaps that is why.  Perhaps not. The best kind of story is always saturated from start to finish with grace.  While the end of the story has yet to be written, I know that eventually if we allow grace to work, healing happens.  The hardest part of birthing a story is reconciling the fraility of others and the evil of others.   And then there is my own frailty and humanness that surfaces and is ugly and raw and to look at, to be with or even listen to, because deep down we are all as equally capable of good as evil.  The choice is ours.  Not something we like to admit our capacity to harm others particularly when we are playing the role of victim.  We all are after all, the types of character who desperately need redeeming and saving again and again. 

But, when things fall apart and they almost always do when I am trying to control them, grace steps in and blows away all of my misconceptions and misgivings.  It rushes in unexpectedly and breathes light into the black darkness, beauty into the ugliness and life into death.  Grace is the real hero… grace is the one who heals the deep soul wounds and writes a whole new beginning.  The new beginning does not necessarily wipe the old, but grace uses it, redeems it and weaves it into a tapestry that while tattered and frayed around the edges and even in the broken, torn places where the holes of suffering and pain still exist, there is exquisite beauty. 

Grace is a skillful weaver and takes the worst kind of characters, the most flawed of characters, the worst kind of ending and creates a work of art. 

 

The threads I would rather hide and cut out and tuck out of site become the stuff of great workmanship that grace can use.  It would not behoove me to disapprove of grace’s choice of materials or grace’s timetable.  After all, I only see from my side.  After all, I only see all the knots, unharmonious mix of colors and unsightly choice of material.  My dislike of the story is only natural because I clearly wanted another ending.  But, grace takes my hand and guides or in some cases plummets me into an abyss of pain and abandonment and then the right ending is revealed.  And I am left, as always, amazed and breathless by this act of amazing grace.  After all the author of the story is grace, amazing grace.

It is in continuing to write the story, continuing to move forward that creates the beauty.  Only a few ever do this and perhaps that is why so few miracles are recorded.  And perhaps that is why Jesus asked which is easier?  Getting up and walking or forgiving sin?  It infuriated them because as someone once said to me, "Pyschologically, you don't know how to leave the space."  I admire people who are willing to cut holes in roofs to heal, who will wait for 17 years and who believe it is just the one small touch of Jesus that will heal them.  They don't have to see him face to face or even speak to him at all, they just have to touch him for a brief moment.  I admire people who despite incredible odds like roofs that are in the way of healing and yet they persist.  And perhaps the people I admire most are the ones who only by grace do not wound others with their own wounds.  They perfer to hold on to them until healing happens, however that they may be.  And I think that is the story of the miracles, don't inflict your pain on others.  We do that in a variety of ways and quite honestly, I believe we are aware of it, we just choose to ignore it. And the paralytic did that today, he only asked his friends to help, he did not ask them to own it nor did he expect them to stop walking just because he could not.  He conquered by continuing to believe that one day the roof would open. 

There is no I in team and part 3 of the theology of baseball

FOR HOWARD:


Unfortunately, I don't know too many adults who could have done what he did.  And sadly, the ones I do know have been through some stuff.  And I am not taking about making the catch, I am talking about howt o handle it when you don't.  And to think he understands at 14 what most people will never understand after a lifetime. And I wish you could teach character and integrity but you can't.  It is a self developed skill. 

It was the first pitch of the first inning.   He crushed it, knocked the seams off it and it traveled 390 feet.  He was determined to catch it.  Determined.  He never gave up on the ball.  And I like that phrase, don't give up on the ball.  Ever.  Giving up on the ball is like giving up on yourself.  No matter how hard the ball is hit, no matter how fast it travels and even if a fence stands in the way of you and it...don't give up on it.  And don't give up on yourself. 

390 feet is a long way to travel through the air.  When he hit the fence, he fell back. Nurses have a dramatic way of describing things.  I think we use words so we don't vomit.  It also gives us distance from the pain.  We can imagine and know how bad it hurts and we know how much narcotic it is going to take to make it go away.  We always measure the intesnity of the pain in mg of morphine or dilaudid.  So had I had morphine in my hand that day, he would have gotten 20 mg immediately.  We usually start with 2mg.   I could have put a straw through the two holes in his upper lip and his Oakleys took the impact that would have otherwise been his eye.  He won't wear those again, but thank God he had them on.  His nose was filleted.  He had a cracked tooth and his face was a bloody  mess.  The bridge of his nose was lacerated.  He didn't cry.  He didn't say much except I am ok. 

And you know what he said as we walked off the field, "I let my team down.  I had the ball in my glove and when I hit the fence I dropped it."  He is 14 and he already knows the secret...there is no I in team...there is an I in icecream.  Eating ice cream is a solo event and he is not about eating ice cream.   He was more worried about his team than his face.  He was more worried about the outcome of the game than himself.  In life, he will hit a ball farther than 390 feet.  I know because he is not worried about I.  In life, he will face fences dead on, run into them and get back up, with the ball in his glove.  He will succeed, not because he is the most gifted, but because he is the most giving.  He knows that in this life you must give more of yourself than you ever expect to get back in order to win.  He knows that life is not a solo act and only those that focus on the greater good succeed.  He knows that his role is important even if it is not the most glamourus.  Although, that catch would have made the top 10 plays on ESPN, that was not why he wanted to catch it.  He wanted to catch it because he knew that his team was counting on him and he was not going to let them down.  He knows not to give up on the ball because you just are giving up on yourself.  He knows it is okay to wear a little dirt and that it only hurts for a minute.  And he might not know it but he also knows this: 

Walking through pain is much like looking at an impressionist painting.  Clarity only comes with distance.  And I suspect he has some distance today.  I suspect and hope he realizes that what he did was remarkable.  I hope he realizes that he never gave up on himself or his team.  I hope he realizes that in life you will hit walls hard, but get back up.  I hope he realizes you will get knocked down, bloodied and perhaps loose a game or two...but get back up and get in the game.  And he always said thank you. 

All is grace,

watching boys play baseball
Oakleys
Ice
Doctors
Hospitals
Mammas who pray
Mammas who tell their sons...God always has a plan...
Mammas who tell their sons that character matters
Character
Integrity
iced tea
hot dogs
bright blue skies about to burst
bright sunshine that won't stop


PS we ended up winning what looked like a game we were going to loose...i suspect the boys won it because of howard...they said they would and they did... win it for howard... it is a miracle what you can accomplish by digging in, believing in yourself and never giving up...a miracle...

The secret of the good life when all is not good

“No one is as capable of gratitude as one who has emerged from the kingdom of night.” Elie Wiesel

She knows the secret.  You will work best if you are kneeling.  The week after her husband was killed she knelt beside her son's crib and prayed and said thank you.   I know, I was there.  And I fell to my knees because of the holiness of the moment. I will be honest, I don't think I could have.  I don't think I would have gotten up the next morning, but she prayed.  And she has continued to do so for the past ten years.  Kneel.  She knows that gratitude is what forms us.  She knows that less is always more and that when you focus on goods you lay out a welcome mat for disaster.  "When it comes to our lives, our legacy, our longings, less is always more." Ann Voskamp

Where is God when bad things happen to people-the only kind there are people not just good or bad but all of us.  For none of us are pure good.  None of us.  Where is God?  He is in Emmanuel.  God with us. He is with us, not protecting, not rescuing, just being with.  And the only you will ever know this is through prayer and thanksgiving.

 And Paul said it best today in his letter to Ephesians, how to live the best life in spite of the tragedy.

 But each of us was given grace according to the measure of Christ's gift. 

We each have been given the gift, but how often do we fail to open it.  How often would we rather be anger, resentful, bitter, anxious, fearful, worried than prayful.  How often do we forget to say thank you.  Thank you for just waking up, thanking you for just walking, for the breath we breathe, for a reasonable portion of health, for having a sound mind, for having a job at all, for having a house at all, for comfort because dear friends it could be so different.  So very different and it could be in a blink of an eye.  And but for the grace of God we have.  None of us are really in want.  None of us are really hungry.  None of us are really poor.  None of us are really in need except for one thing...more of God.  We are lonely.  But I suspect that is for God.  We are hungry and look for all sorts of ways to fill that up, but what we seek is God.  We are anxious, but what we are in need of to calm that anxious is God.  We are poor, but we are poor because we do not ask God. 

I don't know how she has done the last ten years except to say she knelt and she chose that day to open the gift in the midst of her tragedy and she chose that day to say thanks...and because of that one choice...grace follows her whereever she goes....




All is grace because of the gift we have all been given...

banana pudding milkshakes with crunchy vanilla wafers
thunderstorms
eating dinner with friends outside
teenage boys napping in the car
the sound of bats cracking
the new blooms of Bee Balm
the smell of rain coming
iced cold water
Tervis cups
sandals that show off pedicures
breathing
the smell of freshly painted doors
the cool dew on the grass
the morning sunshine after a night of rain
cats that chase birds
thick hand lotion

Kathleen

When I go out I want to go out like Elijah

Today is Ascension Day.  Once when Davis was little we were hanging out in an antique store.  This store had those paper fans that they used to use in church.  You know the ones I am talking about -  they usually depict an Anglo-European looking Jesus ascending into heaven on a big, white cloud on the front and usually an advertisement for a funeral home on the back.  (I know, why a funeral home?  He left alive didn't he?) We were looking at the fans and Davis asked, "Mommy, why is Jesus flying in the air with a cloud balloon?"  I can remember thinking that I did not have a good answer as to how to explain the Ascension and that Jesus really was not flying through the sky on a cloud balloon.  But to little kids and some adults who still use magical thinking, the image is a good one.  Those of us from Anglo-European descent like to think of heaven as "up there" above the clouds and Jesus leaving earth on a cloud. 

Personally, I like the story of the ascension of Elijah much better. That is an epic story on how to leave earth alive.  A fiery chariot.  Yesterday the Old Testament reading was about Elijah. It struck me as I was reading the Daily Office yesterday that for many people I know, the idea of living with dangerous encounters with God went out of fashion during the days of Elijah.  We tend to think that Jesus did away with all of that fear of the Lord, and now we see God more of a friend who would like to get to know us better if we can find the time and if not, well God loves us anyway.  I am not sure that serves us well.  Sometimes I think we need a little bit more fear of the Lord.  Native Americans tend to view the fear of God and the love of God as two windows looking out at the same reality.  They find fear to be transformative. 

 Elijah is one of the most enigmatic characters in the whole Bible.  If you want to read a fascinating character study, read the book of Kings.  He would have made a great Avenger.  His super hero costume was camel hair and he was ugly. This dude killed about 800 people with a sword by himself, rained fire down from heaven, fed hungry people with a loaf of bread, brought on a famine that lasted for three years,  raised the dead, walked on water and fled for his life.  He spoke directly with God.  God visited him once in a cave...in silence.  He suffered a debilitating depression, hid under a broom tree and angels came and fed him.  He actually asked God to kill him.  He also showed up at Jesus' transfiguration right along with Moses.  He prayed some powerful prayers, so powerful that during the first century church, the writer of the book of James thought to use him as an example. 

And the reading made me think of how I would spend my last day.  Elijah spent his last day walking.  About 38 miles to be exact.  That is alot of walking.  He was visiting each of the prophets that attended his prophet schools and telling them good bye and to keep the faith.  He also was testing Elisha, his servant.  Elijah knew prophets rarely make good table guests and usually find themselves short on friendly support.  They tend to have abandonment issues.  Elijah sure did because he was always asking if Elisha was going to leave him.  Elisha must have passed because he ended up with a double portion of Elijah's spirit.  And then he left in a fiery chariot.  Wow.  Now that is how to leave a life. 

I  think the whole point of Elijah's story is to teach us to live out loud and realize prophets rarely make good table guests. We all have prophets in our lives and generally speaking we don't like to hear what they say.  They are speaking the truth, we just don't like it and we don't want to change.  Elijah tells us change is going to come. The only question to be answered is how you are going to deal with it.  Are you going to end up dead like the prophets of Baal or are you going to walk on water?   Are you going to make the necessary changes that ensure you are living your best life out loud?  Elijah lived what he believed even when it seemed to not make sense. Elijah lived what he believed even when his life was in danger.   He knew authentic living is the only way to live and even if it meant hanging out in the desert waiting for angels to come and feed him, he was willing to do that. 

And the reading made me think of how I would spend my last day. Elijah spent his  last day walking.  About 38 miles to be exact.  That is alot of walking.  He was visiting each of the prophets that attended his prophet schools and telling them good bye and to keep the faith.  He also was testing Elisha, his servant.  Elijah knew prophets rarely make good table guests and usually find themselves short on friendly support.  They tend to have abandonment issues.  Elijah sure did because he was always asking if Elisha was going to leave him.  Elisha must have passed because he ended up with a double portion of Elijah's spirit.  And then he left in a fiery chariot.  Wow.  Now that is how to leave a life.

And I thought about Elijah again today when I saw a favorite patients.  Nurses always have their pets.  He is living what he believes and it just does not make a lot of sense right now.  Cancer and suffering never do.  He wakes up every morning, smiles every morning and watches the sun rise.  He says he likes to see God make a new day.  Even with all his stuff, and he has alot of stuff going on right now, God is good still.  He reads the bible everyday because "I have not found anything better. Every thing you need to live a good life- is right here."  I don't know about you but people like that always humble me and drop me to my knees.  I have never heard nor seen him complain once and trust me he has plenty to complain about.  Plenty.  I suspect he does not have many sunrises left to see and I suspect he knows that too...and I wonder if it is at all possible ..do we leave in chariots?  I hope so.  I have been around the leaving enough to know we don't completely understand it and something does happen.   Leaving here and how that happens exactly has always been and will always be the great mystery...so our human minds imagine flying to heaven  on cloud balloons or soaring through the  heavens on fiery chariots...

One of my favorite musicians wrote a song about Elijah. I first heard him sing it in chapel at Johnson University in the early 80's. and I fell in love with the lyrics. He also became somewhat of a spiritual guide for me.   I think I might have it sung at my funeral.  Finding the voice who can carry it will be the trick.  Actually, I was given an exercise once to write my own funeral and I included this song.  Funny thing about that little writing assignment, the person who assigned did not want to read it after I wrote it.  I was offended till I realized I was his Elijah.  And unfortunately for me, I left my sword at home that day.

 So in case you don't make it to my funeral and in case you are my Elijah and I won't listen to you here's my last song...               

All is grace and grateful beyond measure for

Elijah - we all need one
Rich Mullins - one of the deepest people I have ever met and we sure could use more of those
The power of lyrics
The power of narrative
People who like to watch God make a new day everyday
The power of sacred stories big and small
Dangerous encounters
Silence
Leaving my sword at home

Just Show Up



 Rogation:  n. Christianity In western Christendom, prescribed days of prayer and fasting traditionally for the harvest, usually the three days before Ascension Day.  Observed the three days prior to the Ascension.

My biggest fan thinks I should submit some of my posts to the Upper Room devotional.  I am so grateful for her confidence in me and if I ever do write for real, I am hiring her as my publicist. I think the Upper Room would reject most of my posts because they are not very methodist and they are too long.  For instance, today- Rogation Day, doubt it is mentioned very much in mainline Protestant church devotionals.  I don't think Max Lucado talks about it much and I have never heard a sermon preached on it.  And midrash probably does not have a place in devotional books and who but me asks why was Peter fishing naked and what is the significance of that?  I was raised in the buckle of the bible belt south and the most  non-offensive way I know to describe my church of origin is evangelical fundamental Christian.  Once, during those crazy introduce yourself exercises, I said a was a recovering fundamentalist.  That is accurate.   Barbara Taylor Brown in Leaving Church says:  "some people are lucky enough to have a faith that they are born and die with...all home grown...and if you are even luckier, somewhere along the way it falls apart."  I am even luckier, which is why I am not sure my posts would make very good devotional reading.  Ms. Taylor-Brown, (who is a very good preacher, BTW), also says: "trust God to be God even when you can not say for sure who God is, trust God to sustain the world although you can not say for sure how that happens.  Trust God to hold you and those you love in life and death, without giving you one shred of evidence that it is so." 

I think I understand why the early church had to set down certain dogmas, but the older I become, I find myself less in the believing business and more in the beholding business.  I am drawn more to the mysteries than the certainties and I guess I am learning that there really is not much certainty when it comes to God. 

I find the ancient practices of the early church much more suited to the beholding business and the mystery. Hence, my love of fixed hour prayer, the liturgical calendar, the rituals. 

I have always wondered what a Rogation Day was and unless you are pre-Vatican II, I am guessing you don't know either.  So I googled it for you.  Just in case this has been keeping you up at night. 

Rogation Days are an ancient custom which has been being observed since the 5th century.  Rogation—to ask, as in “interrogate”—we ask God’s blessing of the harvest, of the earth and sea.  We remind ourselves that we are the stewards of Creation, neither the authors nor the owners of it.  Originally an agricultural observance, it has been broadened and made more inclusive—the crops, the catch of the sea, the fruits of our labors in all their aspects.
An ancient pagan custom was “beating the bounds”, with a procession walking out the boundary lines of the village and marking the bounds with stakes.  Sticks of willow and birch were used to strike the stakes; hence, “beating the bounds”.  Subsequently the custom became incorporated into Rogation Days celebration, particularly in England, in which the parishes are clearly defined, contiguous with adjacent parishes.  Rogation Day was celebrated by walking the boundaries of the parish and acknowledging in this way our tangible stewardship.  It gets way more complicated than this, but that is the simplified version.  Who knew?

So until I opened my BCP tonight to read Evening Office, I did not realize it was Rogation Day and without realizing it today, I was celebrating Rogation Day.  I planted and blessed and prayed over my plants.   A very, kind stranger at Lowes was celebrating Rogation Day too.  I am not sure if that was her intent, but when she saw my cart full of flowers, she pointed out the clearance section to me. So to me, her ROAK felt like a celebration.   I put all of my intended purchases back and headed to the clearance section.  All of these plants looked half dead, forgotten and ugly and in desparate need of attention.  Not only did she save me a ton of money, I also ended up with some very cool perenials that might look half dead, but I am sure since I planted them on Rogation Day, they will survive.  It is part of the whole mystery and beholding.  During the Great Days of Easter, the Church fathers and mothers have us reading parables about sowing and planting, asking and receiving, blessing and giving and praying and thanking.  And I think we forget that the mystery of the Resurrection happens everyday...it is as Annie Dillard said in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

“Beauty and grace are performed

whether or not we will or sense them.

The least we can do is try to be there.”  

And as I smiled and thanked that stranger profusely today...I was reminded again that the least I can do is show up.  Today might not be the best day for you to experience your resurrection moment and today might not look so promising and maybe your faith has blown up too and maybe you have found yourself waiting for life to spring from death and maybe you have find yourself wondering just how far you will fall before you feel the hands of God holding you.  Perhaps today you are undergoing some huge trauma and your old life has ended.  Perhaps you don't know who you are going to be tomorrow in your new life.  However confused your life may be right now...show up.

All really is grace and counting joys today...

clearance rack flowers
strangers that point the way
rich, black warm, moist potting soil
surprising insight
birthdays
cold, iced tea
ice cold water
exfoliating scrubs
thick lotion
the season finale of Fringe

This is only a test

I had promised this post last week, and here it is.  I have been sidetracked by graduation, mother's day, baseball games and I could write a novel about the current personal conflict I am engaged in...it is truly novel worthy.  One day, one day.

The lectionary readings contained some good stuff today.  I can't always say that I could write, think or even comment on all of the readings.  But, I could today.  The Old Testament reading is from Genesis.  It is the story of the Abraham and Isaac.  One thing, I think everyday Christians like me tend to forget is to read the stories fromt the Hebrew bible with a different lens than we use for the Gospel narratives and the Epistles.   We tend, (I think), to interepert everything we read in the Old Testament from a post Easter perspective.  Sometimes it is helpful to look through other lenses.

 I would assume that the only text we ever read that is translated and older than a millenia, is the Bible.  And I wonder, do we ever stop and think about the otherness of that?  Unless you read Beauwolf or Homer's the Odyessy on a regular basis, we just don't read stuff that ancient, that has been translated a million times by people who are not indigenous to the original lanuguae. I think I was about sixteen or seventeen when it dawned on me that not one word of the Bible was written in English, much less the King's English.  Of course I knew the Hebrew Bible was written in Hebrew and the New Testament was written in Greek, but it never occured to me the otherness of the language of the Bible. The writers were in no way similair to me.  And given that I did not grow up in Judea, I did not even understand the geography and the culture was foreign. I have never touched a sheep much less tended to one.  I really do not understand tribal psychology and the only desert I have been to besides a spritual one is the beach.  I don't think that qualifies.  I do like pottery, and took a class once, but really don't understand the life of a potter.  I have never known a king and have only been in a synagogue about 12 times and then not on high holy days.  I grew up in the buckle of the bible belt south and sometimes I think Chrisitianity is so embedded in our culture, we find it difficult to imagine someone elses. 

Midrash invites us to search the Bible for what is unfamilair and unclear, and to wrestle with text, trusting that the God of the Bible will show up.  No one has read the Bible longer than our Jewish brothers and sisters.  It was their Bible before it was ours.  Judaism teaches that scripture is not a map pointing to to truth but a portion of truth itself.  It is to be tasted, digested into the mind, body and soul.  Judiasm believes that the world rests on three pillars:  worship, deeds and study.  Because study leads to the first two, study is most important.  The foundation of Judiasm is Torah.  I think Christianity has lost the meaning of the sacredness of the physical text itself.  In Judiasm, the physical text is sacred.  When small children are learning Torah, the verses are written in chalk covered with honey on a chalkboard and the children lick the words off.  It is not uncommon to see women lean in and kiss the scrolls in the synagogue.  The book itself can not be destroyed, even when it is worn out beyond repair, it is buried in a sacred cementary.  Christians may love their Bibles, but I find it regretable we have lost that sense of sacredness.  Just because Torah is the foundation does not make it dogma.  Torah is a story of relationship with God and it is dynamic.

Reading the story of Abraham and Isaac has always disturbed me before I discovered the power of midrash.  In this story, God tells Abraham to sacrifice Isaac.  Abraham does not question God, and when Isaac asks where is the lamb, Abraham puts the resposibilty squarely on God's shoulders.  He tells Isaac that God will provide.  Obviously, Abraham believed God could change his mind.  Obviously, Abraham was familair enough with God to converse.  My tradition did not allow for the possibilty that a relationship with God not only can be a struggle, but it also can leave me wounded.  God speaks, we speak and we hope God speaks again and provides a ram hidden in the bushes.  At the end of the story, God rewards Abraham for his obedience and I wonder how often are we willing to struggle with God and to test the limits.  God praises Abraham's obedience and as a result promises him a nation. 

God was testing Abraham and Abraham was testing God.  As I have grown older, I like the idea.  Life does not always provide answers and so it is with God.  Sometimes it is only test and perhaps the point is not whether or not we will pass the test, but will we even take it to begin with, not worrying about the outcome.  Perhaps what God really desires is for us never to cease conversation and to always ask the hard questions.  After all, it is only a test. 

Living up to the Mother's Day Card Mother

She is one of the most intriguing people I know.  But secretly, I always feel inadequate around her.  She makes everything look effortless.  In reality,  I know this not to be the case, for life is hard.  But she is intelligent, always has a clean house, remembers everyone's birthdays, cooks from scratch and looks amazing.  She is one of those super moms we wish we could all be.  My house is never clean.  I can cook from scratch but rarely do.  I am lucky to remember my own child's birthday and if it weren't for facebook, I would not remember half of what it appears I do.  Last week was my anniversary and I didn't remember until the morning of.  My hair only looks amazing if I pay Justin to style it and that only lasts till bedtime.  My son forgets his manners, homework, refuses to bathe regularly, eats junk for dinner and breakfast and his room is never clean.  I did have him vaccinated (and I am well aware of the medical debate on that one).  Truthfully I guess I can not take credit for that since the pediatrician actually did it, I just held him down.  And like Tina Fey, I pray regularly that the good Lord will protect him from having any Chinese symbol for wisdom tatoo or a rose tatoo with the name of some girl he thought he would love forever.  I freely admit we have had popcorn for dinner and not on family movie night either.  And I did allow his wrestling mania phase against my better judgement and prayers were answered, he outgrew it.  I am sure he watches too much TV, plays too many war games and has not read enough of the classics. But he does know how to write a thank you note, diagram a sentence, give a hug and say thank you.   But a wise mother, she knows this one secret:
"A wise mother knows what powerful man can forget-the way to move heaven and earth isn't with a strong arm but with a bowed head." Ann Voskamp

Motherhood, thankfully is not about perfection.  Because you will fail.  It is what you do with the failures that matter.  Motherhood does not come with a superman cape either and here is where we can help each other. Remind each other that motherhood can spin you in circles and thankfully we are all encircled by Grace.   Remind each other that motherhood is hard and we can do hard things.  Remind each other of the promise written by the prophet Isaiah:
"He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young..."

So remember how much your Creator loves you and that mothering just requires committment and that really and truly it is His love that grows us all...

And all mothers know this:

"Mothers, preachers and prophets doggedly believe that leopards can lose spots and grace and angels can make pigs fly. And mothers they never stop believing in the miracle of change and believing in the miracle of change is the sum total of a mother's job and the theological term for that is faith. "  Ann Voskamp

All is grace,

Grateful for mothers everywhere....

Kathleen













In case you need a good laugh:
A Prayer for all Mothers

Go back to the place where you last knew who you were

I really can not believe that at the age of 22 the state of NC gave me a license to practice nursing.  My mom wanted me to be a school teacher.  I have never quite been sure what I wanted to be when I grow up.  I know what I don't want to do, but choosing what to do has always been hard for me.  If the Myers-Briggs is to be believed, I should have chosen another profession.  Either the ministry or psychotherapy.  You have no idea how hard that makes me laugh.  No idea.  The irony, oh the irony.  Tomorrow I will receive my second nursing school pin some 25 years later.  I lost the first one in a bag of laundry at Forsyth Hospital my second year out of nursing school.  I have never replaced it.  But I think I went to nursing school for the cap.  I loved the caps.  I also always wanted a blue cape.  Always.  I never got a nurse's bag till about 7 years ago and I loved it.  It was one of the happiest days of my life.  My very own nurse's bag.  And I hope and pray my youthful nursing didn't kill anyone.  I pray I always remembered this..."First do no harm."

Nursing school is tough.  I will go on record here as saying it was one of the tougher majors.  It is pretty hard core.   The vocabulary alone is daunting.  Most first year student nurses learn 15,000 new words their first year alone.  I say most, because some never make it out of that first semester.    Not to mention it is just plain gross.  Most will tell tales of hypochondria.  For instance, just knowing you had a brain tumor when you were studying neuro and convinced you had leukemia when studying hematology.   The stress is pretty intense.  And you cry just about everyday in nursing school.

When I began nursing school 27 years ago, nurses still wore caps.  And you earned your cap.  You earned your stripes on your cap too.  Your cap was peculiar to your nursing school.  My first year at Forsyth Hospital, all RNs still wore caps except in the critical care areas.  We wore white dresses too.  I loved my white uniforms, especially the dresses.  I don't even know if you can buy a white dress uniform anymore.  Scrubs are the uniform of the day and the newest trend is for hospitals to have their RNs all wear the same color.  To be honest, we looked more professional back then.  We really did.  Now I look like I just got out of bed and am running around in blue PJ's.  And since I start work at 530 am, I really did just roll out of bed and drive to the hospital.  I have worked every shift.  Nights, evenings, days.

  One particular job I had, my beeper served as an umbilical cord to the physicians I worked for.  When I was pregnant, I was very sick with some upper respiratory virus.  According to the physician I worked for (who was a cardiologist, I might add), my OB must have graduated at the bottom of his class.  George did not like the way he was treating me.  So, George being George, called my PCP, told him I needed to be on antibiotics, needed 2 liters of IVFs, and an inhaler or I was not going to make it through delivery.  His real concern was not my L&D at all,  he was concerned I would not be able to work up to being wheeled in the delivery room and he would be without a nurse for longer than the anticipated 12 weeks.  Not kidding.  David the other MD I worked for just knew my dates were wrong.  I was still working at 42 weeks.  My dates were not wrong.  I can assure you.  He thought I had at least 4 more weeks to go, ergo 4 more weeks to work.   I had to be induce and long story short, it was not pretty.  David was convinced the whole reason I was hypotensive and febrile during delivery was my epidural.  He was completely against them.  His real concern was I might become paralyzed and not come back to work after the baby was born. He called me during delivery to see if I had said no.  Trust me I didn't say no.  Now, I will never, ever take a stadol trip again, but fentanyl is not bad at all.   My son's name is Davis- the birth announcement in the department read DAVID VANCE O'BRIEN.  No kidding.  Everyone thought Davis was named after David.  I guess I should mention here that my maiden name is DAVIS and I was unmarried the first five years I worked for him.  I still tease David that he purposely made the typo.  Oh, when my OB threatened to put me on bed rest if my BP didn't come down, David called him and assured him I would get all the rest I needed in clinic, and he would personally check my BP and my ketones everyday.  Not kidding.  I tell you all of this, just to say, doctors need nurses.  Couldn't function without us.

I have done a variety of things in nursing.  CCU, CVSU, Surgical ICU (it was also the transplant unit), EP lab, cardiology outpatient clinic, neurosurgery, research, oncology and hospice.  I was an infertility nurse for about 6 months, but won't admit this on my resume or in public.  I got about 10 people pregnant and destroyed a $50,000 centrifuge.  The best and most holy work I have ever done is hospice.  Would do it again in a heartbeat if the hours were more sane.  I can honestly say I have seen it all.  I have helped crack chests, massaged a dying heart, put needles in peoples' chests, thighs, buts, arms, legs, heads and feet, pulled chest tubes, held retractors, shocked more people than I can remember, done more CPR than I can remember, started 1000 IVs, pushed pills,given experimental drugs never used in humans before, sutured, cut sutures, inserted 100s of foleys, NGs, dobhoffs, changed a million dressings, cleaned up shit, had vomit in my shoes, blood on my hands and in my shoes, been slapped, bit, hit, screamed at, cussed at, hugged, loved, and needed.  I have eaten food I never dreamed I would have eaten, (chitlins are coming to mind and some fried something from Egypt-it tasted like chicken), stood in roach invested homes, did a dressing change with a Ocelot watching me and stepped over an aquarium with a python just so I could pronounce the patient dead.  Been accused of murder too.   I have seen birth and seen death up close and personal hundreds of times.  Oh the stories I could tell.  And I have my favorites.  The best thing about nursing is you are never, ever bored and every day you show up to work - you impact a life.

About my fifth year in hospice, I was visiting a patient for the first time.  We didn't get started off on the right foot.  As usual, I was not welcomed with open arms.  Death is a pretty hard sell. (But I am guessing since I was relatively successful at selling death and dying-I could preach-that's a sales pitch too).  Anywho, the patient called me a chicken shit and threw me out of the room.  This became somewhat of a little risk management incident.  Just a tiny one.  It might have had something to do with me telling the patient that she could call me whatever name she liked, she could spit, scream all sorts of profanities.  But one thing I was not was a chicken shit.  That I can never be accused of.  Never. I may be many things and most of them true, but a chicken shit- never. 

Florence Nightingale called nursing the finest art and it is.  So tomorrow I receive my second nursing school pin.  I didn't order the 14kt gold one because of the $325 price tag and in case I lose it.  I sprung for sterling silver.  It was only $52. I am not sure what to expect at this pinning.  Pinning used to be held in churches and were more religious type ceremonies.  My son, husband, mom, dad and mother in law will be in attendance.   I hope they won't be too bored.  I will have much to think about-like how did I get here.  I hope to finish my masters in the next 2 years (18 months if I push it) and believe or not I want my doctorate. Am seriously considering a dual track program on Vanderbilt that combines a MSN and MDiv.  It is the only program in the country like it.   I am a perpetual student.  You can never be too over educated or too over dressed.   My dissertation would probably be on the spirituality of nursing.  But how did I get here?  One of of the country's most talented singers and educator in her own right as well as a political activist, Bernice Reagon Johnson says, "If moving through your life, you find yourself lost, go back to the last place where you knew who you were, what you were doing and start from there." 

So...who was I and how did I get here...

Through the prayers and encouragement of a friend with great shoes, great taste in clothes and who sent me flowers today and I cried and cried and cried...(and yes I will send you flowers for your GPA)...(BTW, she can flat cook too)...I am the one who loves shoes too much and clearly does not push her plate away too often

Through the endless cheering of a friend (who is a nurse), who has stared death down and said not this time, buddy, not this time...and who lives life like a bucket list...and that is the only way...and I am the one who loves wind chimes, candles and really good lotion...I am the one who will go the extra mile for anyone who needs a nurse...for whatever reason and she will too...

Through a friend who knows I love, love, love the BCP and love, love, love to read and secretly want to be Anglican but won't take the membership class and she gave me a book of the most incredible prayers and quotes today and I cried and cried and cried again....I am the one who knows that sometimes you need prayers wiser than your own and sometimes the only way to pray is to read the book of Psalms over and over and over again...it was good enough for Jesus, I should probably give it some credit...

Through carrot cake that will make Paula Dean slap her mama...I am the one who never met a desert I didn't like...

Through the patience of one very special boy who loves baseball and his mama and gives the best hugs and will do homework with me and tutored me through math...I am the one who knows that motherhood can spin you in circles and grace gets you through...

Through the love of one man who probably on any given day really doesn't understand me but loves me in spite of...anyway...I am his first wife...

Through the teaching of incredible nurses like Karla (she taught me everything I know about good, solid bedside nursing and how to really assess a patient head to toe quickly)
like Diane who taught me integrity is the only thing that matters....you will be remembered by your word...
like Elaine who reminded me day after day after day...one thing at a time...only one thing at a time...
like Robyn...the best damn hospice nurse standing...of that I am convinced...of that I am convinced...and there is no greater gift than a good death and everyone should get at least that...
like Yvette...there is no such thing as too much or too far when a patient really needs something...lunch can always wait...
like Freda...never let "you" get in the way of taking care of "them" EVER.
like Donna...perfection is over rated...very, overrated and an impossible goal to achieve...I am the nurse who values integrity and compassion above everything else...the patient always comes first and sometimes good enough is good enough...

Was it worth it?  Every single minute. I would not change a thing.

All is grace and never stop pursuing your dreams...never...just remember you will be the same age next year with or without the dream...life is short...just do it..life is a big run on sentence with tons of commas...make it worth reading...

Kathleen

TheTheology of Baseball Part 2

"It is the bottom of the third, boys and if we don't scratch 4 out here and now, it is going to be a long night at the ballfield."  Davis

That's what he told them in the dugout that night.   It was the middle school county championship game.  The first time in school history - a championship.  Most non athlete persons think athlete persons take games way too seriously.  Non athlete persons will always speak of competitiveness in a negative ways.  And there is some truth in that.  Many will use Jesus as an example of how "winning isn't everything" and it isn't.  But it feels good.  And Jesus did say the first will be last and the last will be first, but he was really talking about the poor, the downtrodden, the oppressed, the forgotten.  Not athletes.

The writer of the Hebrew Epistle told his readers to run the race with endurance and patience.  Paul told Timothy that he had fought the good fight, he had finished the race and now victory awaits.  Baseball teaches alot about patience and waiting.  Batters are often told to "sit back and wait on it."  If a batter swings a second too early, he fouls it off.  Just a nan o second.  But with pitches coming across the plate from 60 feet at 85 to 90 miles a hour, waiting just does not seem prudent.  But it is.  It is the same way with God, I think.   The psalmist tells us to "wait patiently on the Lord."  Hard to do when life is coming at you fast and hard.  Hard to do when you just want to see results.  But waiting is prudent, very prudent. 

Baseball also has the longest season of any sport.  From April to October.  162 games.  21 post season games if you win the series.  A long time.  And that takes endurance.  Baseball are also some of the longest games to watch.  9 innings usually, but they have been known to go 12.  As the Hebrew writer says, endure. Endure.  If you want victory in the spiritual life,  endure.  Hang in there, victory is coming.

Baseball has some of the funniest colloquialisms of all sports and they almost sound as if they come from Proverbs.  One of my favorites is "you gotta wear that."  It means if a pitch might hit you, you need to let it.  It is an automatic base.  Being hit by a 95 mile hour fast ball hurts like hell.  It leaves a hematoma or it might break your face.   But you gotta wear it to get on base.  And the key to winning baseball games is not home runs, it is on pace percentage.  Just ask Billy Bean and the Oakland As.  Another favorite of mine, "needs you on base anyway you can."  It means a walk is a as good as a hit.  No base runners, no runs.  That simple.  Sometimes we make the spiritual life too complicated.  God does not care so much how you pray, just pray.  Just pray anyway you can.  And sometimes the only prayers you can utter is "Thank you" and "Help". 

I also love the phrase, "just eat it."  When an error happens, sometimes the players try to over compensate and throw the ball toward the base anyway and this usually leads to more errors and more bases.  It kind of snowballs.  So, the best thing to do when you miss a play, pick the ball up and end the play.  Just eat it.  The spiritual life requires alot of "just eat it."  So many times we want to say a harsh word, retaliate when someone is unkind, avenge the wrong.  Usually it is just our feelings and pride involved and the best course of action is to "just eat it."  Jesus was pretty clear about this when he told his listeners in the Sermon on the Mount, if your brother has offended you, ask him about it.  Chances are he won't own up to it and Jesus says let it go.  Let it go. 

I also like the phrase,  "scratch one out."  In baseball, when you are down runs, instead of thinking about a grand slam home run, just get a hit and get on base and soon or later you will round third and score.  One run at a time.  Life is best lived this way.  Just do one thing at a time.  Don't focus on the enormous crisis at hand, just do the next thing required and eventually you will find yourself at home.  One moment at a time.  So much of life is lived in emergency mode and life is not a crisis.  Slow down.  See the moment.  

Another favorite phrase of mine is "turn two boys."  That means a double play.  And should not kindness be acted out in that way.  Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount, if your brother needs a shirt, give him a coat too.  Turn two.  Turn two. 

"See it and hit it."  Love that phrase.  You can not hit a ball you can not see.  Most batters will tell you that they time their swing to the moment when they actually see the seams on the baseball.  Pretty amazing.  I have watched alot of pitches. Average baseball game, over 200 pitches are thrown.   I have yet to see the seams.  So I would suck at batting.  Baseballs like life come at you pretty fast.  We fail to see the wonder of the little things and fail to build our life on that wonder.  The small moments.  By appreciating the wonder of the moment, you slow time and then you can really begin to live and stop just existing.

Fans frequently tell the batter and the pitcher to battle.  Win the battle.  Come back and finish it.  We are engaged in battle whether we believe it or not.  We are fighting principalities, evil and rulers not of this world.  We have to win the battle.  Not the war, the war has already been won.  But the battle still needs fighting.  Good can still overcome evil.  Love still wins every time.  Sometimes, we give up too quickly.  Victory is just within our reach and we don't dig deep and finish it.  We give up.  Never give up on a 0-2 count as a batter and never give up on 3-0 count as pitcher.  Come back.  Nothing is ever accomplished by giving in to pessimism.  Nothing. 

At the of the third inning, Davis' team had done just what he asked...4 runs.   New game. That's what baseball players call it when you tie the score.  New ballgame. New life.  A Jesus is good about that...offering new life when all seems hopeless. 

Someone once said, "Baseball is alot like church, many attend but few understand."

All is grace,

Kathleen

baseball championships
batting lessons
planting container gardens
nasturtiums beginning to come up
sunflowers beginning to show
cosmos  beginning to show
yellow butterflies
robins living in my shed  a whole family
lunch with a dear dear friend and sharing molten lava cake which i wore home
afternoon naps when it is raining
cleaning out closets