Honestly, I am so thoroughly low Prostestant in my upbringing, I don't know one feast day from another. I do know that All Saints Day is November 1 and St. Francis day is October 5 (my son's birthday-and I think it should be his patron saint. I actually gave him a saint card of St. Francis and St. Clare). So, I rely on the Daily Office to tell me. And I guess I should confess I am as completely fascinated by the lives of the saints, as I am by the stories of the Desert Fathers and Mothers. On my bookshelf, (which rivals that of any pastor or spiritual director), I have biographies of St. Francis, St. Ignatius, St. Catherine of Sienna, St. Teresa of Avila, St. Augustine, St. Benedict, St. Clare, St. Paul, St. Peter and St. John (if the New Testatment counts), St. Basil, St. Hildegard and Mother Teresa Pope John Paul, both of who are waiting canonization. I also have a book by John Sweeny, "The Lure of the Saints for Prostestants" and many other books on the various theologies and spiritual practices of the saints. Once for a college class, I did a video presentation of St. Hildegard. It was a music history class. She wrote some of the most complex chant music the Church knows.
When I was younger, I was envious of my Catholic friends who got to celebrate feast days. In the low Prostestant or evangelical tradition, you won't find any feasting. Just church suppers, which could be construed as a feast. (Another blog all together). I have to confess to my more Catholic friends that I used to think that commerating a feast day meant just that. Feasting. Party. Well, it does mean feasting, but on the Eucharist, not chicken pie, chocolate cake, fried chicken, green beans or casseroles. The Common Book of Prayer list about thirty major feast days and over 100 minor feast days. Feast days could also mean fasting and that is something I am not too fond of, but Richard Foster makes a compelling argument for practicing fasting in Celebration of Discipline. I read that book twice but still haven't taken up fasting. Fasting would make me give up my peanut butter cookies and iced tea and I am just not there yet. Fasting also involves the idea of praying when you would be eating, and I probably would find my mind wandering, thinking about my shoes or new color of nail polish.
So today, July 31 is St. Ignatius Day. He was the founder of the Jesuits. The story of Ignatius begins with a wounded soilder (Ignatius), daydreaming on his sickbed. It is my personal belief that the finest physicians you will ever meet were educated by Jesuits. Just saying. He is also the patron saints of soilders, (which I did not know until today).
Ignatian spirituality is rooted in the experiences of Ignatius Loyola (1491–1556), a Basque aristocrat whose conversion to a fervent Christian faith began while he was recovering from war wounds. Ignatius, who founded the Jesuits, gained many insights into the spiritual life in the course of a decadeslong spiritual journey during which he became expert at helping others deepen their relationship with God. Its basis in personal experience makes Ignatian spirituality an intensely practical spirituality, well suited to laymen and laywomen living active lives in the world.
Learning about this made me think, what is my theology and am I Benedictine, Franscian or Ignatian. And that led to google, and more reading and more thinking and since I am lacking a spiritual director, I thought I would share with you. Ignatius would have wanted me to write this all down and examine it and see where God was speaking in all this. Perhaps the only negative I found in Ignatian spirituality was that many contemporary, "spiritual" pyscologists find his spiritual exercises useful for clients. Who knew?
Ignatius was a contemporary of John Calvin. I had no idea. Talk about opposites. But Ignatius did believe some of the Five Points of Calvinism (obviously not with Calvin's break with the Church or th priesthood of the believers). Calvinism which was at the heart of the reformation, (Luther was a Calvinite, Huss was not. Luther was exiled and Huss burned at the stake for his beliefs by the Church), is best known for its doctrines of predestination and total depravity, stressing the total contingency of man's salvation upon the absolute sovereignty of God. Ignatius believed in the sovereinity of God. So did Wesley, but he lived about 250 years later. I discovered today that I am a one point Calvinist not a five point or a four point Calvinist. In case you are wondering, the literature does not refer to a one point Calvinist. You are either a five or four point Calvinist. So, I guess I am not a Calvinist. Predestination as Calvin taught really does not sit well with me. Or four of the other five points. I, only if it matters to God, (which I suspect it doesn't), agree with Wesley, Calvin and Ignatius, Augustine and Paul on the sovereignty of God. Knowing I was a one point Calvinist led to me to understand why I struggle with the evangelical arm of Christianity. Most evangelicals probably don't know this, but they are either five or four point Calvinists, except for the Methodists, Wesleylans and Nazarenes, who are you guessed it- Wesleylan.
And of course, then I had to read about Wesley's theology. (Wesley fasted once a week-I would struggle). Since my husband and son are baptized Methodists, I thought I should probably know a little. Wesley's theology is pretty complicated as was Calvin's. Wesley disagreed with Calvin on many levels. Wesley believed in a previenient grace. I wish I could explain it better...but basically...all is grace...unmerited favor. I am sure I will have friends who fill me in on all the finer points of Calvinism and Wesleyan theology.
Then there is this thing called the Weselyan Quadrilateral. Wesley believed that the living core of the Christian faith was revealed in Scripture, illumined by tradition, vivified in personal experience, and confirmed by reason. Scripture [however] is primary, revealing the Word of God 'so far as it is necessary for our salvation.
Scriptura Prima (scripture is primary) led me to read why I might struggle a bit being a Baptist. Believers baptism and faith alone are tennets of Baptist doctrine. I kind of like grace. But then my sacramental friends would kindly explain that baptism is a means of grace. How much water? Well that divides us too. And here is where I figured out that my heart is far more Catholic, Eucharist is sacramental for me. The autonomy of the local church has way too much power and not enough oversight. Just an opinion. But then the Catholic Church is the most powerful political force on the planet, so cleary that power structure has not always worked out so well either.
I do however confess that the best preaching I ever heard (and I am a preacher snob-which makes me a Prostestant), came from a pulpit in the Baptist church.
Monday, one of the best orators in the church and a leader in the civil rights movement and a mentor to pastors for over six decades died. J.R. Samuels was the longtime pastor of St. Stephen Missionary Baptist Church in Winston Salem. I heard him preach once and he was one of the finest. One of the finest. They don't preach like that anymore. I have also heard Billy Graham, which I confess me, scared me to death. The tribulation with all those horses was pretty horrifying to me. Of note, Ignatius thought Revelation should not be in the canon of scripture and one of the saints really thought the book of James was for the birds.
So where did all this lead me today? Well, in a circle really. I guess if pinned down I would say this: I have a Prostestant theology but a Catholic heart. The Protestants taught me how to read the scripture but the Catholics taught me how to pray.
I am a one point Calvinist, amillenialist, liturgical, sacramental (there are either two or seven depending on your point of view and no-you can't have them all), redemption always happens in the mess and glory of it all, it really is all about grace, justice is at the heart of the gospel and really when it comes down to it Christian...as Wesley said...Do all the good you can in all the ways you can as long you can... and as Ignatius said...Act is if everything depended on you and trust that everything depends on God.
All is grace,
counting today's blessings:
blogs
google
boys who clean their rooms without being asked
washing curtains and hanging them
the smell of freshly laundered sheets (and I wish I changed my sheets everyday)
iced tea (I could never fast from it)
hot fudge sauce with sea salt melted ben and jerry's cherry garcia
bing cherries in July
garden fresh tomatos and BLTs (my favorite sandwich)
polishing wood floors
the theme song for the Olympics
sleeping late (8 am for me)
Kindle fire (never thought I would like it better than books)
butter beans from the garden
discussing the finer points of why a pitch out works
batting cages really do look good in a yard
St. Ignatius
manicures that last weeks
flip flops that are made out of yoga mats and you can never have too many flip flops
washing machines
Gain-lavendar scented
Lemon-Thyme fresh from the garden
Basil fresh from the garden
the feel of water on your feet
cool showers
tan lines
For more on Ignatian Spirituality:
http://norprov.org/spirituality/lifeofignatius.htm
For more on the history of Prostestant Theology and this will link you to Wesley, Luther, Calvin:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Predestination_(Calvinism)
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Who am I?
I might as well warn you now: I love the old stories about the first Christian monks. In Egypt and elsewhere, beginning in the Third Century, these men and women fled from the cities to live in the desert. I probably wouldn't had made a very good Dersert Mother as the whole starvation thing doesn't sit well with me. I couldn't give up my peanut butter cookies. I am not all that sure about living in a cave either given my intense fear of bats, lizards and snakes. And praying all day...well that would have been a challenge for my wandering mind. I would have enjoyed and sought out the deep relationships that formed.
The first monks choose this lifestyle just as the Church was beginning to go mainstream and accommodate itself with the Roman Empire. They sought to live the Gospel in its primitive purity, without so many compromises with the spirit of the world. Not at all a bad plan. Live the Gospel in its simplicity and purity. Obviously, the Church has strayed far, far away. Some monks lived in community; others lived as hermits. But even the more isolated ones had human contact and elaborate social networks. Often, groups of disciples would gather around an experienced monk, known as a father or mother, from whom they would seek advice about prayer and how to remain faithful when tempted.
The first monks choose this lifestyle just as the Church was beginning to go mainstream and accommodate itself with the Roman Empire. They sought to live the Gospel in its primitive purity, without so many compromises with the spirit of the world. Not at all a bad plan. Live the Gospel in its simplicity and purity. Obviously, the Church has strayed far, far away. Some monks lived in community; others lived as hermits. But even the more isolated ones had human contact and elaborate social networks. Often, groups of disciples would gather around an experienced monk, known as a father or mother, from whom they would seek advice about prayer and how to remain faithful when tempted.
This practice lies at the origin of Christian spiritual direction and other traditions of pastoral care. Something we seem to desparately need today. Sadly, our fast paced media driven culture doesn't allow for that much. We communicate electronically and that makes it kind of hard for relationship that can change us to form.
Many of the stories about the monks start with a disciple or stranger who arrives on the doorstep of an experienced spiritual elder, seeking a “word” of counsel. The father or mother in question responds with a brief, wise saying. Sometimes, the advice concerns a particular challenge the disciple is facing. I would have driven them crazy with all my questions and their advice to me would have been...Be still. At others, the elder provides insight into monastic life, or even the Gospel itself. Most often, given the context of extreme poverty and severe bodily discipline, these words strike our modern ears as surprisingly compassionate and realistic about the limits of human nature.
Many of the stories about the monks start with a disciple or stranger who arrives on the doorstep of an experienced spiritual elder, seeking a “word” of counsel. The father or mother in question responds with a brief, wise saying. Sometimes, the advice concerns a particular challenge the disciple is facing. I would have driven them crazy with all my questions and their advice to me would have been...Be still. At others, the elder provides insight into monastic life, or even the Gospel itself. Most often, given the context of extreme poverty and severe bodily discipline, these words strike our modern ears as surprisingly compassionate and realistic about the limits of human nature.
Such a story is told about Father Basil. One day, brother Bruno came to him and said “Give me a word of life, Father.” Father Basil replied, “Say, ‘I am God’s son,’ and live accordingly.”
I went to see the Amazing Spiderman with Daivs this week. Martin Sheen, who I would at any given time vote for as President, was the uncle of Peter Parker. He had some very wise words to share with Peter that Peter played over and over again on his IPhone after the character of Martin Sheen was killed.
Ben Parker: Peter? I'm sorry for what happened earlier. I know things have been rough for you. I think I know what you're feeling. You've been going through a lot of difficult things, with not having your father and all. Well, take it from an old man. Those things send us down a road. And I know that whatever road you'll end up on, you've got great things waiting for you, son. So, come on home, Peter. You're my hero, and I love you.
The plot of Spiderman boils down to this..."Who am I?" Interestingly, the movie ends with that line...."Who am I?"
And that was the question it seems Bruno had for Father Basil. Father Basil had a simple answer. We are sons and daughters of God. Father Basil thought the secret to living a holy life, full of meaning was to realize and to act like sons and daughters of God.
Funny, how hard that it is to do. We usually beging to realize it on the other side of brokeness. We all ought to see people less for what they are and more for what they could be. Brokeness does that I expect. Changes how you see things. We all need people in our lives who see for who we could be and are trying to be, than people who see us for who we are. We all need Jesus, friend of sinners and we all need to at one time or another be on the pentinent side of grace. We all need at one time or another, or maybe most of the time, a person like Father Basil who has the wisdom and the love to say to us..."Be the son or daughter you are meant to be. Be all that you can be, not who you sometimes get stuck being."
I went to see the Amazing Spiderman with Daivs this week. Martin Sheen, who I would at any given time vote for as President, was the uncle of Peter Parker. He had some very wise words to share with Peter that Peter played over and over again on his IPhone after the character of Martin Sheen was killed.
Ben Parker: Peter? I'm sorry for what happened earlier. I know things have been rough for you. I think I know what you're feeling. You've been going through a lot of difficult things, with not having your father and all. Well, take it from an old man. Those things send us down a road. And I know that whatever road you'll end up on, you've got great things waiting for you, son. So, come on home, Peter. You're my hero, and I love you.
The plot of Spiderman boils down to this..."Who am I?" Interestingly, the movie ends with that line...."Who am I?"
And that was the question it seems Bruno had for Father Basil. Father Basil had a simple answer. We are sons and daughters of God. Father Basil thought the secret to living a holy life, full of meaning was to realize and to act like sons and daughters of God.
Funny, how hard that it is to do. We usually beging to realize it on the other side of brokeness. We all ought to see people less for what they are and more for what they could be. Brokeness does that I expect. Changes how you see things. We all need people in our lives who see for who we could be and are trying to be, than people who see us for who we are. We all need Jesus, friend of sinners and we all need to at one time or another be on the pentinent side of grace. We all need at one time or another, or maybe most of the time, a person like Father Basil who has the wisdom and the love to say to us..."Be the son or daughter you are meant to be. Be all that you can be, not who you sometimes get stuck being."
When you don't know what to do next
They were his BFF. Mary, Martha and Lazarus. They were buddies. His peeps. The gospel seems to protray this as a very, real and intimate relationship. It seems to be a very different kind of relationship than he had with is disciples. I kind of get the feeling that he got to be just "Jesus." He didn't have to worry about his professional role as the Son of God. He got to hang out with them.
And I have a feeling that Martha told him a thing or two about entertaining. Food doesn't cook itself. The kitchen really does at some point have to be cleaned. Had I been Martha, I would have wondered why he didn't just make food and drink appear like he did at Cana or at least show up with a bottle or two. Had I been Martha, I would have had a word or two with Mary.
I suspect it was one of those things pyscologists call "dual relationships." I am sure it was tricky at times for Jesus to be buddies and to be the Son of God. Professionals have to work through this fuzzy area from time to time, particularly in close knit communities and it can be a challenge. It is hard to see the boundary sometimes. When we know a professional person in a personal setting, it can be very easy to forget who this person is in the eyes of others. And the one thing professionals probably long for more than anything else, is people to treat us like everybody else. But there are limits. We mess this up way more than we like to admit.
I think sometimes we are a little harsh on Martha. Personally, I just think she was in shock and experiencing profound grief. She didn't need Jesus her buddy that day, she needed Jesus, the Son of God. And Jesus had to come face to face with the reality of death. Obviously he had lost one of the people closest to him. Someone he could really just be himself with. Jesus did not just shed a tear or two over Lazarus' death, he wept. I imagine it was more like sobs racking his whole body and his eyes were swollen shut from crying so hard. I imagine he could not imagine how he was going to live through this grief. And I imagine that at least for a minute or two, he just wanted to grieve, not be the Son of God. He wanted someone to comfort him, not be the comforter.
Today as I set down in the church, I thought alot about that story and what Jesus told us about grief. The professional side of me tried to remember what best helps grief the most. The personal side of me re-remembered each loved one I have buried. The personal side of me was so moved by children walking in holding hands and the younger grandchildren wiping the eyes of the older grandchildren. The personal side of me looked for comfort that at times like these can be hard to find. Just like Martha.
At times in our lives our woundedness can make it difficult to remember and feel the promise of the resurrection. And like Jesus that day outside of Lazarus' tomb, the resurrection has not become personal experience just yet. At times like these, we cling to the words of the apostle Paul, "to be absent from the body is to be present with Christ." At times like these we wrap our fist around the words, "The Lord is my shepherd I want for nothing..." and "I do not leave you comfortless..."
But on that day I wonder if Jesus didn't say more practical things to Martha. Things that get you through the day. I wonder if Jesus didn't tell Martha, just breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. One breath at a time. Put a bite of food in your mouth. Chew it up. Swallow it. Even though you won't be able to taste a thing. Go to bed when it is dark and get up when it is light. You get dressed. Do all the things living people do because you are still alive. Part of you will be buried with your loved one, but not all. Not the love. Not the hope. Not the memory.
I also wondered if I could see through that thin veil that separates life from death, could I see Jesus walking around hugging everybody and passing out tissues and making dinner and wiping tears. I suspect I would have.
The story of Lazarus also shows us the great power of love in the messiness of life and how God can work through whatever boundaries separate us from our common life together. Jesus showed us that day the power of love to heal. He showed us how very powerful love of God, the awe inspiring love of God that transcends our culture's romanticized and twisted view at times.
And I have a feeling that Martha told him a thing or two about entertaining. Food doesn't cook itself. The kitchen really does at some point have to be cleaned. Had I been Martha, I would have wondered why he didn't just make food and drink appear like he did at Cana or at least show up with a bottle or two. Had I been Martha, I would have had a word or two with Mary.
I suspect it was one of those things pyscologists call "dual relationships." I am sure it was tricky at times for Jesus to be buddies and to be the Son of God. Professionals have to work through this fuzzy area from time to time, particularly in close knit communities and it can be a challenge. It is hard to see the boundary sometimes. When we know a professional person in a personal setting, it can be very easy to forget who this person is in the eyes of others. And the one thing professionals probably long for more than anything else, is people to treat us like everybody else. But there are limits. We mess this up way more than we like to admit.
I think sometimes we are a little harsh on Martha. Personally, I just think she was in shock and experiencing profound grief. She didn't need Jesus her buddy that day, she needed Jesus, the Son of God. And Jesus had to come face to face with the reality of death. Obviously he had lost one of the people closest to him. Someone he could really just be himself with. Jesus did not just shed a tear or two over Lazarus' death, he wept. I imagine it was more like sobs racking his whole body and his eyes were swollen shut from crying so hard. I imagine he could not imagine how he was going to live through this grief. And I imagine that at least for a minute or two, he just wanted to grieve, not be the Son of God. He wanted someone to comfort him, not be the comforter.
Today as I set down in the church, I thought alot about that story and what Jesus told us about grief. The professional side of me tried to remember what best helps grief the most. The personal side of me re-remembered each loved one I have buried. The personal side of me was so moved by children walking in holding hands and the younger grandchildren wiping the eyes of the older grandchildren. The personal side of me looked for comfort that at times like these can be hard to find. Just like Martha.
At times in our lives our woundedness can make it difficult to remember and feel the promise of the resurrection. And like Jesus that day outside of Lazarus' tomb, the resurrection has not become personal experience just yet. At times like these, we cling to the words of the apostle Paul, "to be absent from the body is to be present with Christ." At times like these we wrap our fist around the words, "The Lord is my shepherd I want for nothing..." and "I do not leave you comfortless..."
But on that day I wonder if Jesus didn't say more practical things to Martha. Things that get you through the day. I wonder if Jesus didn't tell Martha, just breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. One breath at a time. Put a bite of food in your mouth. Chew it up. Swallow it. Even though you won't be able to taste a thing. Go to bed when it is dark and get up when it is light. You get dressed. Do all the things living people do because you are still alive. Part of you will be buried with your loved one, but not all. Not the love. Not the hope. Not the memory.
I also wondered if I could see through that thin veil that separates life from death, could I see Jesus walking around hugging everybody and passing out tissues and making dinner and wiping tears. I suspect I would have.
The story of Lazarus also shows us the great power of love in the messiness of life and how God can work through whatever boundaries separate us from our common life together. Jesus showed us that day the power of love to heal. He showed us how very powerful love of God, the awe inspiring love of God that transcends our culture's romanticized and twisted view at times.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Celery, water and other thoughts on God
"You know Mom, everytime I think about what God looks like, I can't think of anything other than celery." I am not sure, but I think he might have watched way too many Veggie Tales as a child. He spent last week at camp with his church youth group. The same camp I went to as a child and worked at as a teenager. It had changed a lot in 30 years, the last time I was there. He promised to take a shower every day. I knew that was a lie but at least he brushed his teeth. He figured out how to survive King of the Tarp and how to survive Squidby without touching the squid. Since the squid was already dead, PETA wasn't called. On the way home, he talked about how we shouldn't let our opinions about water divide us and how God really can save by grace alone and thankfully He can. He says, "It is so much easier to believe that God is a Creator than all this oblivion stuff"...and "why, Mom would you not want to believe the world can be saved and we can be made better than we are." He is convinced that left to our own devices we "just are going to stay lost."
And as for water, the very thing we as Christians let divide us, well, I don't know how to make that either. Sure, I know the chemical composition, but I can't make a hydrogen atom and don't know any one who can either. We might can split them but not create them. And splitting and dividing does seem to be a gift of humans.
Celery and water, good as it gets.
All is grace,
Kathleen
“The difference between science and theology is whether you see the world as a gift or not." Terry EagletonI am sure some would question my son's theology and think it is somewhat simplistic and not at all reverent to think of God as celery. But after thinking about what I think God might look like, I can't think of anything better than celery. Frankly, because I don't know how to create it. Celery. The way I know to get celery is to buy it or grow it. And even growing it is largely out of even the best farmer's control. Growing is very dependent on forces outside of us.
And as for water, the very thing we as Christians let divide us, well, I don't know how to make that either. Sure, I know the chemical composition, but I can't make a hydrogen atom and don't know any one who can either. We might can split them but not create them. And splitting and dividing does seem to be a gift of humans.
Celery and water, good as it gets.
All is grace,
Kathleen
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
The best way to start a day
I didn't know anything about her till this weekend and after I met her, I was changed. Attending morning services at St. James, she said was the best way to start her day. She did this everyday as was her custom. She said, "it helps me adjust to the painful realities of life and to assure myself of the help and support of God." She spent two days a month at a local convent observing their rules of silence. She sincerely felt if the gospel was to mean anything at all, then Christains were called to be social activists. Her husband was so ill he required round the clock care and most people never knew she was even married. She saw first hand and it never left her how very cruel and harsh the world could be and how very fragile hope really is. She felt people could not afford to loose hope because of how powerful it is and faith can not exist without it. She said and her life witnessed it, "hope can bury despair and there is not a situation that is hopeless when the object of hope is Christ." She believed the miles between the poor and the wealthy were imaginary because we were all children of God. And she could not ever turn her back on the marginalized, the poor, the destitute, the hopeless, the walking wounded, the hungry, the naked.
Her name was Francis Perkins. My friends who are history buffs certainly will know her and my FDR scholar friends can probably post a character study about her. But I wonder how many knew that it was her faith that kept her going. She was the first woman ever appointed to a Presidential cabinet position. She held her post longer than anyone in the FDR adminstration. All twelve years. She tried to resign twice but FDR refused to accept. She walked into Washington in March 1933 with one agenda, "to take the edge of human misery." While the New Deal is credited to FDR, she wrote it. It was her brain child. Few people have had such a great impact on American history. Every single item on her agenda list when she took the post of Labor Secretary had been accomplished when she stepped down, many of them in the first 100 days of FDR presidency. She spearheaded reform regarding child protection, maternal health, labor laws, federal assistance to unemployed, food assistance, medical assistance. Many of her ideas are now present in our current Medicare system. Were she still living, I wonder, could she turn the tide? I think she might.
And she started every day with morning prayer. I think that is what amazed me the most after reading the book written about the New Deal. The most powerful woman during that time in FDR administration, the most innovative thinker of the New Dealers, and she began every morning with prayer as was her custom.
And it makes me wonder, how much we individually and collectively could accomplish in ending the world's suffering, if we started each day with prayer and it became our custom. And it makes me wonder, how much suffering is averted because some faithful few begin each day with prayer as is their custom.
And I met someone today who reminded me of her. Her name was Juliette Howard. She stopped me in Aldi's and said, "You look great today and I love your shoes. You have such a presence about you." It is hard for women to accept compliments especially about their appearance. It is even harder to hand them out. We feel so jealous and insecure around other women. I am not sure why but we do and we will rarely admit it. We feel we must compete with them. I am trying to recover from that. She told me it was her custom to make someone smile each day and it was her custom to pass out love when she felt led to do so. I hugged her. I told her I needed the encouragment on today of all days. She said, "I pray every morning that God will allow me to bless someone because I have been so blessed." I said, "Wow." She turned and pulled out of her purse, a worn, tattered Book of Common Prayer. She said, "Every morning, I begin this way." I choked back tears. I told her, "You must be an angel." She said, "No, just someone who is a beggar of God's grace. You know, we all really are beggars. The problem is our pride and we walk around with clenched fists." She went on to say, "I have learned in my life that open handed and open hearted is the only the way to live...any other way is not a life at all. And I have learned an open hand and open heart toward God never returns empty." By this time, I was crying, and had to put my bag down that was filled with my cherries, blueberries, lettuce and dinner for the evening. I told her, "I can never thank you enough and please know it is women like you who change the world." Given her age, her race, her sex, I suspect life had not always been kind. Her hands were worn. She walked with a limp and her son was assisting her with shopping. I asked her about just that. She said, "You know you choose who to be. You don't have to be who the world says you are and the best way to figure out who you are is prayer."
Miracles happen everyday, you just have to open your hands. I will not forget Juliette. I will never see her again. But isn't amazing that in a few days I was reminded again how to start a day...as was her custom.
Her name was Francis Perkins. My friends who are history buffs certainly will know her and my FDR scholar friends can probably post a character study about her. But I wonder how many knew that it was her faith that kept her going. She was the first woman ever appointed to a Presidential cabinet position. She held her post longer than anyone in the FDR adminstration. All twelve years. She tried to resign twice but FDR refused to accept. She walked into Washington in March 1933 with one agenda, "to take the edge of human misery." While the New Deal is credited to FDR, she wrote it. It was her brain child. Few people have had such a great impact on American history. Every single item on her agenda list when she took the post of Labor Secretary had been accomplished when she stepped down, many of them in the first 100 days of FDR presidency. She spearheaded reform regarding child protection, maternal health, labor laws, federal assistance to unemployed, food assistance, medical assistance. Many of her ideas are now present in our current Medicare system. Were she still living, I wonder, could she turn the tide? I think she might.
And she started every day with morning prayer. I think that is what amazed me the most after reading the book written about the New Deal. The most powerful woman during that time in FDR administration, the most innovative thinker of the New Dealers, and she began every morning with prayer as was her custom.
And it makes me wonder, how much we individually and collectively could accomplish in ending the world's suffering, if we started each day with prayer and it became our custom. And it makes me wonder, how much suffering is averted because some faithful few begin each day with prayer as is their custom.
And I met someone today who reminded me of her. Her name was Juliette Howard. She stopped me in Aldi's and said, "You look great today and I love your shoes. You have such a presence about you." It is hard for women to accept compliments especially about their appearance. It is even harder to hand them out. We feel so jealous and insecure around other women. I am not sure why but we do and we will rarely admit it. We feel we must compete with them. I am trying to recover from that. She told me it was her custom to make someone smile each day and it was her custom to pass out love when she felt led to do so. I hugged her. I told her I needed the encouragment on today of all days. She said, "I pray every morning that God will allow me to bless someone because I have been so blessed." I said, "Wow." She turned and pulled out of her purse, a worn, tattered Book of Common Prayer. She said, "Every morning, I begin this way." I choked back tears. I told her, "You must be an angel." She said, "No, just someone who is a beggar of God's grace. You know, we all really are beggars. The problem is our pride and we walk around with clenched fists." She went on to say, "I have learned in my life that open handed and open hearted is the only the way to live...any other way is not a life at all. And I have learned an open hand and open heart toward God never returns empty." By this time, I was crying, and had to put my bag down that was filled with my cherries, blueberries, lettuce and dinner for the evening. I told her, "I can never thank you enough and please know it is women like you who change the world." Given her age, her race, her sex, I suspect life had not always been kind. Her hands were worn. She walked with a limp and her son was assisting her with shopping. I asked her about just that. She said, "You know you choose who to be. You don't have to be who the world says you are and the best way to figure out who you are is prayer."
Miracles happen everyday, you just have to open your hands. I will not forget Juliette. I will never see her again. But isn't amazing that in a few days I was reminded again how to start a day...as was her custom.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
What you need to know before you marry....
For Nick and Brittany
Lebron is so not going to wear that. The USA Olympic Team Opening Ceremonies costume for lack of a better word. In case you haven't seen it, it is very, very french, supposedly a throw back to the 1948 London Olympics and supposedly the berets were a hit in the last Winter Olympics. Personally I have never had one and can't imagine wearing one. I am probably going to watch the Opening Ceremonies just to see Lebron and company march in those blue berets. I can not wait to hear the commentary by Sir Charles.
I struggle with what to wear. Always. I am a clotheshorse and seem to gravitate to linen, wool, cashmere, Cotton, silk and DriFit. I don't like man made fibers except Nike DriFit and it is the best thing since white bread and I promise it will keep you 10 degrees cooler. Promise. In the summer you are not likely to see me in anything except DriFit and linen. Occasionally silk for the occasional party. Like Friday night. I loved that dress and bought it just for that party. It fit my party color scheme. I like certain colors too...turquoise, red, black, and pink. I can never have enough white blouses and am always looking for the perfect one. I like shoes too. Tried a pink pair of wedges on today and tried to think of an outfit they would go perfectly with, but I struggled and knew that then I would have to buy a new outfit, so I put them back.
The moon was slung low in the sky Friday night and it was big with promise. The breeze carried all the stuff that makes July summer. Lightening bugs, dragonflies, hot sun, mesquite flavored charcoal, grilled chicken, fresh corn and tomatoes and sweet watermelon. The leaves danced with the joy over the new journey that was about to begin. The clouds smiled and chased all the rain away and promised more joy than sorrow to the new couple. Laughter that carries hope and grace floating in the breeze sang of the promise that marriage brings.
In less than a month they will say forever to whatever life brings under pale candlelight and white flowers. In less than a month they will promise for better or worse and pray that they are graced with more better. But no one really knows and learning to have and to hold will always be a mystery. Marriage is about becoming who are. I have known the bride since she was a baby. I met her on my very first date with Vance. So she is very, very special to me. She is lovely. He is good and solid.
I wanted share wisdom Friday night (the little I have), I wanted to pray grace and peace and strength and blessings and all of that...I just broke down in tears...tears of joy...we just said the Moravian Blessing. So is here the prayer I wanted to say:
And I simply pray one thing for you before you marry...that you will be happy.
I pray you will simply not be apart from God and I pray that you always remember the only way to be happy is with God.
I pray you will be successful but realize that success is always measured in how you get life...and there is no life apart from God. I pray you both will always want to get God.
I pray when you have trials and they will come that you know it only serves to bring you closer to God. Don't be afraid.
"Love isn’t a feeling but a tying. The practical translation of “I Love You” is “I am Tied to You” — no matter what breaks loose. Love never gives up but lays itself down. Do this — this is the way of God." Ann Voskamp
When you spend time with someone what you are doing is freely giving your life. Do this with each other it is the way of God. You only one lifetime. One. Make it count.
Keep doing good by not caring what others may think. Keep up with Christ. Not the Joneses. It will keep you secure and sane.
Pray often and pray often and pray often again....
Give each other the love to live and the grace to do the impossible...
And Paul said it best to the Romans today of all days in the daily office...and always remember whatever the two of you may face....
Nothing, nothing can separate you from the love of God....
all is grace,
kathleen
Lebron is so not going to wear that. The USA Olympic Team Opening Ceremonies costume for lack of a better word. In case you haven't seen it, it is very, very french, supposedly a throw back to the 1948 London Olympics and supposedly the berets were a hit in the last Winter Olympics. Personally I have never had one and can't imagine wearing one. I am probably going to watch the Opening Ceremonies just to see Lebron and company march in those blue berets. I can not wait to hear the commentary by Sir Charles.
I struggle with what to wear. Always. I am a clotheshorse and seem to gravitate to linen, wool, cashmere, Cotton, silk and DriFit. I don't like man made fibers except Nike DriFit and it is the best thing since white bread and I promise it will keep you 10 degrees cooler. Promise. In the summer you are not likely to see me in anything except DriFit and linen. Occasionally silk for the occasional party. Like Friday night. I loved that dress and bought it just for that party. It fit my party color scheme. I like certain colors too...turquoise, red, black, and pink. I can never have enough white blouses and am always looking for the perfect one. I like shoes too. Tried a pink pair of wedges on today and tried to think of an outfit they would go perfectly with, but I struggled and knew that then I would have to buy a new outfit, so I put them back.
The moon was slung low in the sky Friday night and it was big with promise. The breeze carried all the stuff that makes July summer. Lightening bugs, dragonflies, hot sun, mesquite flavored charcoal, grilled chicken, fresh corn and tomatoes and sweet watermelon. The leaves danced with the joy over the new journey that was about to begin. The clouds smiled and chased all the rain away and promised more joy than sorrow to the new couple. Laughter that carries hope and grace floating in the breeze sang of the promise that marriage brings.
In less than a month they will say forever to whatever life brings under pale candlelight and white flowers. In less than a month they will promise for better or worse and pray that they are graced with more better. But no one really knows and learning to have and to hold will always be a mystery. Marriage is about becoming who are. I have known the bride since she was a baby. I met her on my very first date with Vance. So she is very, very special to me. She is lovely. He is good and solid.
I wanted share wisdom Friday night (the little I have), I wanted to pray grace and peace and strength and blessings and all of that...I just broke down in tears...tears of joy...we just said the Moravian Blessing. So is here the prayer I wanted to say:
And I simply pray one thing for you before you marry...that you will be happy.
I pray you will simply not be apart from God and I pray that you always remember the only way to be happy is with God.
I pray you will be successful but realize that success is always measured in how you get life...and there is no life apart from God. I pray you both will always want to get God.
I pray when you have trials and they will come that you know it only serves to bring you closer to God. Don't be afraid.
"Love isn’t a feeling but a tying. The practical translation of “I Love You” is “I am Tied to You” — no matter what breaks loose. Love never gives up but lays itself down. Do this — this is the way of God." Ann Voskamp
When you spend time with someone what you are doing is freely giving your life. Do this with each other it is the way of God. You only one lifetime. One. Make it count.
Keep doing good by not caring what others may think. Keep up with Christ. Not the Joneses. It will keep you secure and sane.
Pray often and pray often and pray often again....
Give each other the love to live and the grace to do the impossible...
And Paul said it best to the Romans today of all days in the daily office...and always remember whatever the two of you may face....
Nothing, nothing can separate you from the love of God....
all is grace,
kathleen
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Take this bread
In case you are wondering, and I never believed this to be true till this week, you can feel the difference between 95 degree heat and 104 degree heat. It is not true that once the thermometer hits above 95, it does not matter. And whoever said, it is dry heat, so it is not as bad, has not ever watched a baseball on Sunday afternoon in Gaston County where the temperature topped out at 105 degrees. And today actually felt cool to me and I did not sweat one time. Supposedly it was only 91 degrees on the beach.
I was going to fast from electronics while on vacation this week, but I am at the beach with my husband's family and this is just too funny not to share. And by this point in my life, I have to claim them as my family too. And probably, unless you are member of my family or have attended family vacations for decades at the same place, this will not be nearly as funny. And it is best to learn to love them (your family), because they will be with you for life and truth be told they really love you too, and it is always best to sit back and enjoy the ride. This is the good stuff.
Every O'Brien, by their own admission will tell you they each suffer from one form of food neurosis or another. It has not been classified by the APA or DSM IV yet, but I am waiting, because it deserves its own category. Seriously. They love each other with food and dinner time is a bonding ritual for them. If you have never eaten with them, it can probably be scary at first, but once you get used to it, it turns out to be quite fun. OK, truth be told it has taken me over a decade to learn to love these meals and quite frankly, reality TV is not any better than this. It just isn't.
So, the first amusing thing, is I suggested a fish camp. ME. I hate fish camps, but there is one that really and truly has pretty good seafood, and really, really good butter beans. I am talking about to die for butter beans. On the family beach trip, they start talking about where to eat dinner at 10 am and this dictates the conversation for the rest of the day. So you can see why I was seriously concerned about my mental health, when at 10 am, I shouted out, "Hey, let's go to Jones Fish Camp tonight." Wesley about flipped. He knows I hate fish camps. But I love those butter beans. I really love those butter beans. I don't think it was the heat talking either, I really wanted those butter beans. To be honest, if Wesley didn't start herding us up like cattle and finding us seats in the respective cars, we probably would never eat before 9 pm. Really. I don't know how we would ever leave the house and get into the cars. I think we would just stand around and stare at each other. And I suspect herding cats is a tad bit easier than seat assignments at the O'Briens.
I think I began laughing when Shirley told me I was going to need a sweater inside the fish camp because last week people were cold when they ate there. To be honest, I don't believe after Saturday and Sunday that I will ever complain about being cold in the summer again. Ever. She told me and my sister in law about three times we needed a sweater. Did I mention it was 91 here today and that the front porch of the fish camp where you will wait no less than 45 minutes sits directly in the sun with no shade what so ever? And I am not sure, but I don't think there is AC in the bathrooms. Just saying, I have always been quite toasty there. Finally Wesley herded me into my car and I didn't have to participate further in the sweater discussion. I tried to explain I was in recovery from near heat exhaustion.
Taking drink orders from the O'Brien clan is a wait person's third worst nightmare. Two of us like unsweet tea, one with lemon and one without. One of us like it half and half with lemon. Another wants 1/4 sweet and 3/4 unsweet with extra lemon and Shirley wants it sweet with lots of extra lemon and if it is not sweet enough she will add saccharin. No kidding. Then there are the soda drinkers. Davis and Vance love Coke products, which by all accounts they should hate, because O'Briens are brand loyal and prefer Pepsi stock. So Vance and Davis always order a Coke and they are always told, "so sorry, we only have Pepsi and is that OK?" I have always wanted to answer that question with, "I don't know, is monopoly money OK?" So, then we have to hear the list of soft drinks, so another choice can be made. Without fail, one of them is served diet, which they both hate and the poor wait person has to change it out. And then there are the tea orders. Personally, I have learned to drink tea whatever way they bring it to me. It takes about 30 minutes to get drink orders straight. Not kidding.
I forgot to mention seating assignments when we get to the restaurant. I stand in amazement that 9 adults, 3 teenagers, 1tween, 1 elementary aged child and whatever stragglers we may have in tow, can not figure out where to sit at a table. I have tried place cards before, that doesn't work either. It is just always mass confusion. You would think spouse would sit with spouse, but not always. And sometimes Shirley just tells us where to sit. It usually goes better when Wesley herds us into place. It just does. And one time, Vance yelled (yes, Vance) and told everybody to be quiet and just sit down. A Chinese fire drill is more organized.
Shirley has to know what every single one of us is ordering and then tells us whether we can eat that much or not. And then wants to share off of our plates because she can not eat that much. Let's just say here, O'Briens are members of the clean plate club. I am not sure what makes me laugh more, Shirley insisting I would like oysters if I just tasted them (which I hate) or asking me if I want to share a meal with her. I am not against sharing. We just don't like the same thing and usually I am pretty famished and can eat my whole meal. Then there are the barrage of questions of "why did you order that? I don't know, I like Mahi." Or Davis will say, "I wanted french fries and baked potato for my two sides". Davis has learned to cope pretty well with Grammy still insisting he try hush puppies (which he hates). One year I could not attend and he called me crying, "Mom, Grammy made me taste a hush puppy again!" Shirley has known me for over 20 years and still thinks I need to eat oysters. I try to stay away from foods that resemble in color, shape or form bodily fluids or parts. Oysters qualify in all three categories, hence I ain't eating them. Ever.
The noise we create in a restaurant alone is daunting. We are a pretty loud bunch. Shirley has taste off of every one's plate and then make sure you are cleaning your plate and then you have to help clean hers. So, tonight when Shirley's shrimp order got misplaced, well, I wasn't sure what was going to happen. First there was the almost unthinkable of bringing a large salad instead of side salad, which she was sure she couldn't finish and wanted it sent back. Vance finally said, "just take it momma, they can't re-serve it and they are not going to charge you for it." Then her steamed peel and eat shrimp never came out because "it takes longer to steam shrimp than to prepare anything else." Who knew? Actually they just forgot to place the order and by the time Wesley had it all figure out, he told them just to bring Shirley her shrimp to go and to comp her for it. This tore Shirley from her frame and she asked, "Wesley, who are you to tell me what I am going to eat. I was going to change to fried because I liked Davis' so much." The irony. The irony.
I think I about choked when Shirley wanted to taste Vance's chicken and she asked three times to taste it and Vance finally said to be patient. He was hungry and didn't want to share but he was going to have to.
Playing games with them is a hoot. And always remember, when your teenager wants to play with you or take a walk with you to get ice cream...the answer is always yes. Those days will be gone in a heartbeat. So we played yathzee tonight. Wesley, Paul and I are seasoned Yathzee players and we were trying to teach Davis, Peyton and Shirley. Shirley was a challenge. But the funny thing and this so O'Brien, was when Wes had to clean the table in the middle of the game. Had to. And told me I would have to scrub my side after the game because he couldn't reach it. I forgot to mention this is a glass table top and we are playing Yathzee. Constant fingerprints. Constant. Wes won through his brilliant strategy and Shirley lost. Davis and I were in the middle.
Then it is desert time. We have no less than six different flavors of ice cream in the house, a pie, brownies, fruit and cookies. I really was stuffed from dinner and didn't care for any. But try telling Shirley that. Good luck with that one. I finally gave in and ate one strawberry. Davis made her and Wes both happy by eating doughnuts and strawberries.
I almost forgot the five trips to the grocery store to buy groceries. Everyone wants to feel they are contributing and we always have enough food to feed a small army and usually the only thing left over is the condiments, pickles and olives. Don't ask why. We have six kinds of bread, 12 kinds of crackers, 10 kinds of chips, you already know about the ice cream, lunch meat, cheese, strawberries, watermelon, corn, green beans, butter beans, vidalias, tomatoes, potatoes, summer sausage, etc. etc. Everyone has to buy a gallon of milk with each trip to the store. Right now we have 4 gallons.
In the secular world, whether it's on vacation, or during a hospital stay, or during our years in school, the one thing we react to most viscerally and sticks with us the longest are our feelings about the food. Our holy food and drink deserves no less attention. And I wonder a lot do we ever think about what we believe about communion. To be honest, whether you believe it to be a sacrament, memorial meal, transbustantiated or not, is not what bothers me. I can make an sound theological argument for all three and really I don't have an opinion on the matter. It does however bother me a great deal that we argue who gets to participate and when. I can also make a compelling theological argument on us deciding who comes and when is just plain wrong.
I used to make the bread for communion. I had no idea when I volunteered for this task that people have serious opinions on which recipe to use and actually will complain about the taste, texture, etc. Needless to say, I didn't last long in that volunteer position. The only thing I regret about resigning is I didn't speak my mind on how small minded we can be over bread. If I ever shared the real behind the scenes story it (I would hope), leave you in shock and awe.
Davis always helped me with this task and all these years later he still asks if I will make that "body of Christ" bread. He liked the way it tasted. And truth be told, it should taste like life to us. Truth be told, we should be changed every single time we take communion and truth be told, we should be running to the altar as if we were starving and then taking extras for all our friends, neighbors, strangers who couldn't make it. Truth be told we should be breaking off big pieces to share with everybody. But we don't. We feel viscerally about the wrong things I think. We feel too strongly about the tradition surrounding it than the miracle that can happen. We feel too strongly about who gets to serve it, how it is served, when it is served and to whom. What we need to feel strongly about is that it is shared. Just like Shirley. We need to pick up our plates and pass them around for everybody to taste. Everybody.
I was going to fast from electronics while on vacation this week, but I am at the beach with my husband's family and this is just too funny not to share. And by this point in my life, I have to claim them as my family too. And probably, unless you are member of my family or have attended family vacations for decades at the same place, this will not be nearly as funny. And it is best to learn to love them (your family), because they will be with you for life and truth be told they really love you too, and it is always best to sit back and enjoy the ride. This is the good stuff.
Every O'Brien, by their own admission will tell you they each suffer from one form of food neurosis or another. It has not been classified by the APA or DSM IV yet, but I am waiting, because it deserves its own category. Seriously. They love each other with food and dinner time is a bonding ritual for them. If you have never eaten with them, it can probably be scary at first, but once you get used to it, it turns out to be quite fun. OK, truth be told it has taken me over a decade to learn to love these meals and quite frankly, reality TV is not any better than this. It just isn't.
So, the first amusing thing, is I suggested a fish camp. ME. I hate fish camps, but there is one that really and truly has pretty good seafood, and really, really good butter beans. I am talking about to die for butter beans. On the family beach trip, they start talking about where to eat dinner at 10 am and this dictates the conversation for the rest of the day. So you can see why I was seriously concerned about my mental health, when at 10 am, I shouted out, "Hey, let's go to Jones Fish Camp tonight." Wesley about flipped. He knows I hate fish camps. But I love those butter beans. I really love those butter beans. I don't think it was the heat talking either, I really wanted those butter beans. To be honest, if Wesley didn't start herding us up like cattle and finding us seats in the respective cars, we probably would never eat before 9 pm. Really. I don't know how we would ever leave the house and get into the cars. I think we would just stand around and stare at each other. And I suspect herding cats is a tad bit easier than seat assignments at the O'Briens.
I think I began laughing when Shirley told me I was going to need a sweater inside the fish camp because last week people were cold when they ate there. To be honest, I don't believe after Saturday and Sunday that I will ever complain about being cold in the summer again. Ever. She told me and my sister in law about three times we needed a sweater. Did I mention it was 91 here today and that the front porch of the fish camp where you will wait no less than 45 minutes sits directly in the sun with no shade what so ever? And I am not sure, but I don't think there is AC in the bathrooms. Just saying, I have always been quite toasty there. Finally Wesley herded me into my car and I didn't have to participate further in the sweater discussion. I tried to explain I was in recovery from near heat exhaustion.
Taking drink orders from the O'Brien clan is a wait person's third worst nightmare. Two of us like unsweet tea, one with lemon and one without. One of us like it half and half with lemon. Another wants 1/4 sweet and 3/4 unsweet with extra lemon and Shirley wants it sweet with lots of extra lemon and if it is not sweet enough she will add saccharin. No kidding. Then there are the soda drinkers. Davis and Vance love Coke products, which by all accounts they should hate, because O'Briens are brand loyal and prefer Pepsi stock. So Vance and Davis always order a Coke and they are always told, "so sorry, we only have Pepsi and is that OK?" I have always wanted to answer that question with, "I don't know, is monopoly money OK?" So, then we have to hear the list of soft drinks, so another choice can be made. Without fail, one of them is served diet, which they both hate and the poor wait person has to change it out. And then there are the tea orders. Personally, I have learned to drink tea whatever way they bring it to me. It takes about 30 minutes to get drink orders straight. Not kidding.
I forgot to mention seating assignments when we get to the restaurant. I stand in amazement that 9 adults, 3 teenagers, 1tween, 1 elementary aged child and whatever stragglers we may have in tow, can not figure out where to sit at a table. I have tried place cards before, that doesn't work either. It is just always mass confusion. You would think spouse would sit with spouse, but not always. And sometimes Shirley just tells us where to sit. It usually goes better when Wesley herds us into place. It just does. And one time, Vance yelled (yes, Vance) and told everybody to be quiet and just sit down. A Chinese fire drill is more organized.
Shirley has to know what every single one of us is ordering and then tells us whether we can eat that much or not. And then wants to share off of our plates because she can not eat that much. Let's just say here, O'Briens are members of the clean plate club. I am not sure what makes me laugh more, Shirley insisting I would like oysters if I just tasted them (which I hate) or asking me if I want to share a meal with her. I am not against sharing. We just don't like the same thing and usually I am pretty famished and can eat my whole meal. Then there are the barrage of questions of "why did you order that? I don't know, I like Mahi." Or Davis will say, "I wanted french fries and baked potato for my two sides". Davis has learned to cope pretty well with Grammy still insisting he try hush puppies (which he hates). One year I could not attend and he called me crying, "Mom, Grammy made me taste a hush puppy again!" Shirley has known me for over 20 years and still thinks I need to eat oysters. I try to stay away from foods that resemble in color, shape or form bodily fluids or parts. Oysters qualify in all three categories, hence I ain't eating them. Ever.
The noise we create in a restaurant alone is daunting. We are a pretty loud bunch. Shirley has taste off of every one's plate and then make sure you are cleaning your plate and then you have to help clean hers. So, tonight when Shirley's shrimp order got misplaced, well, I wasn't sure what was going to happen. First there was the almost unthinkable of bringing a large salad instead of side salad, which she was sure she couldn't finish and wanted it sent back. Vance finally said, "just take it momma, they can't re-serve it and they are not going to charge you for it." Then her steamed peel and eat shrimp never came out because "it takes longer to steam shrimp than to prepare anything else." Who knew? Actually they just forgot to place the order and by the time Wesley had it all figure out, he told them just to bring Shirley her shrimp to go and to comp her for it. This tore Shirley from her frame and she asked, "Wesley, who are you to tell me what I am going to eat. I was going to change to fried because I liked Davis' so much." The irony. The irony.
I think I about choked when Shirley wanted to taste Vance's chicken and she asked three times to taste it and Vance finally said to be patient. He was hungry and didn't want to share but he was going to have to.
Playing games with them is a hoot. And always remember, when your teenager wants to play with you or take a walk with you to get ice cream...the answer is always yes. Those days will be gone in a heartbeat. So we played yathzee tonight. Wesley, Paul and I are seasoned Yathzee players and we were trying to teach Davis, Peyton and Shirley. Shirley was a challenge. But the funny thing and this so O'Brien, was when Wes had to clean the table in the middle of the game. Had to. And told me I would have to scrub my side after the game because he couldn't reach it. I forgot to mention this is a glass table top and we are playing Yathzee. Constant fingerprints. Constant. Wes won through his brilliant strategy and Shirley lost. Davis and I were in the middle.
Then it is desert time. We have no less than six different flavors of ice cream in the house, a pie, brownies, fruit and cookies. I really was stuffed from dinner and didn't care for any. But try telling Shirley that. Good luck with that one. I finally gave in and ate one strawberry. Davis made her and Wes both happy by eating doughnuts and strawberries.
I almost forgot the five trips to the grocery store to buy groceries. Everyone wants to feel they are contributing and we always have enough food to feed a small army and usually the only thing left over is the condiments, pickles and olives. Don't ask why. We have six kinds of bread, 12 kinds of crackers, 10 kinds of chips, you already know about the ice cream, lunch meat, cheese, strawberries, watermelon, corn, green beans, butter beans, vidalias, tomatoes, potatoes, summer sausage, etc. etc. Everyone has to buy a gallon of milk with each trip to the store. Right now we have 4 gallons.
In the secular world, whether it's on vacation, or during a hospital stay, or during our years in school, the one thing we react to most viscerally and sticks with us the longest are our feelings about the food. Our holy food and drink deserves no less attention. And I wonder a lot do we ever think about what we believe about communion. To be honest, whether you believe it to be a sacrament, memorial meal, transbustantiated or not, is not what bothers me. I can make an sound theological argument for all three and really I don't have an opinion on the matter. It does however bother me a great deal that we argue who gets to participate and when. I can also make a compelling theological argument on us deciding who comes and when is just plain wrong.
I used to make the bread for communion. I had no idea when I volunteered for this task that people have serious opinions on which recipe to use and actually will complain about the taste, texture, etc. Needless to say, I didn't last long in that volunteer position. The only thing I regret about resigning is I didn't speak my mind on how small minded we can be over bread. If I ever shared the real behind the scenes story it (I would hope), leave you in shock and awe.
Davis always helped me with this task and all these years later he still asks if I will make that "body of Christ" bread. He liked the way it tasted. And truth be told, it should taste like life to us. Truth be told, we should be changed every single time we take communion and truth be told, we should be running to the altar as if we were starving and then taking extras for all our friends, neighbors, strangers who couldn't make it. Truth be told we should be breaking off big pieces to share with everybody. But we don't. We feel viscerally about the wrong things I think. We feel too strongly about the tradition surrounding it than the miracle that can happen. We feel too strongly about who gets to serve it, how it is served, when it is served and to whom. What we need to feel strongly about is that it is shared. Just like Shirley. We need to pick up our plates and pass them around for everybody to taste. Everybody.
Monday, July 2, 2012
And God said it was good
Now that was called a big hot. It was perfect weather for roasting duck, making duck confit, frying an egg on the bleachers, but not for watching baseball. When we hit the fields at 2 pm on Saturday, the temp was 105 degrees. In some places it was 106 degrees. Strausburg had to come out of the game after 3 innings for heat related issues. All of our guys seemed to handle the games pretty well. Davis wore an iced down towel on his head and drank half dozen propel, half dozen water, 1/2 gallon of gatorade. I drank a gallon of water. Thankfully, I was wearing my Nike dri fit- the best fabric ever and it does keep you cooler. Davis blistered his foot because he couldn't wear cleats in batting cage and had to wear his socks. He left his tennis shoes in the car. I even have a first degree burn on my leg from touching the bleacher that was not covered by a tent. They had those big cool mister fans they use on football fields for the players to cool off...You would stand under it get soaked and cooler, step out in the sun and be dry in 35 seconds. There was very little humidity. It was that dry heat which is suppose to be less uncomfortable than humid heat. I disagree. 105 degrees is just plain hot. Just plain hot.
It was so hot, I could not even get riled up by the rec league strike zone and those 14 year olds were just as hot as our 13 year olds, so I figured it leveled the playing field. At one point and it seemed to work...we were down 6 runs...a coach told the boys not to let the strike zone that was a mile wide to beat them...use the bat. We ended up coming back and winning 8-6.
My Tervis cup worked! The iced lasted for 7 hours, enough for 14 innings of baseball. On Sunday, though, my Tervis straw broke. Yep. That 5 dollar straw broke right in two. I was not happy. Sunday, was hotter and usually fans do not bother me, but Sunday my nerves wore thin. Apparently the team we were playing in the championship game thought the strike zone to be the size of a dixie cup, funny thing we were hitting and they weren't. One mom who thought she was the official scorekeeper yelled because our coach didn't tell her who the sub was, but he did tell the umpire which is all he has to do. She actually said, "Are we going to let the whole roster play?" "Yep, that is usually how that works," I said back. "We are putting our subs in." She said again, "The coach didn't tell me." I said, "It is 6 for 9. Now I've told you." Then one guy yelled at our first base coach for talking to the first baseman who I might mention Cory knows from playing football. One guy got so out of control that he was almost ejected. I hope it was the heat but somehow I think it was due more to the fact that we came from being six runs down the day before to beat them and now the score was 9 to zip. 2 bases loaded doubles scored 6 of those 9 runs. They went through 4 pitchers, we pitched 2. I don't like to brag much, but we did play really good ball. And had it not been so hot, I probably would have engaged crazy, drama queen scorekeeper more. Because I could have fun with her.
We also were so hot in between games we took the boys to wander around Lowes for about an hour. It was unbearably hot in the Dairy Queen and McDonalds. Unbearably hot. I went to buy ice in between games and the ice dude said, "Man, you must love your kid alot. I would have just said, Peace out dude and text me when you want to be picked up." Obviously, he doesn't have kids.
But all these heat made me think about how much God controls creation anyway and he decleared good. The weather is completely out of our control and yet God said it was good. Even 105 degree heat. Take lightening for example.
At first, the principle seems simple enough: When clouds get all stirred up, the negative charges inside of them tend to sink to the bottom. And since opposites attract, those negative charges are eventually pulled toward the positive charges on the ground. The result is what we call lightning.
But there’s more to the story than that. As Distinguished Professor Martin Uman of the University of Florida writes, “The usual lightning flash between cloud and ground . . . begins with a visually undetected downward-moving traveling spark called the stepped leader.”
Once this leader reaches the ground—or is intercepted by positive charges moving upward—it reverses direction, growing brighter the farther it climbs. “It is the return stroke that produces the bright channel of high temperature,” explains Uman, one of the world’s leading authorities on lightning. “The eye is not fast enough to resolve the propagation of the return stroke and it seems as if all points on the channel become bright simultaneously.”
Because it travels at roughly 93,000 miles per second, this energy—which is more than 10 times hotter than the sun—appears as a single flash. Neither the human eye, nor the human mind, can contain it.
How much more powerful is the touch of the Divine One, emanating from a source unseen, moving by means incomprehensible, touching our hearts. God is good still. Even in 105 degree heat.
It was so hot, I could not even get riled up by the rec league strike zone and those 14 year olds were just as hot as our 13 year olds, so I figured it leveled the playing field. At one point and it seemed to work...we were down 6 runs...a coach told the boys not to let the strike zone that was a mile wide to beat them...use the bat. We ended up coming back and winning 8-6.
My Tervis cup worked! The iced lasted for 7 hours, enough for 14 innings of baseball. On Sunday, though, my Tervis straw broke. Yep. That 5 dollar straw broke right in two. I was not happy. Sunday, was hotter and usually fans do not bother me, but Sunday my nerves wore thin. Apparently the team we were playing in the championship game thought the strike zone to be the size of a dixie cup, funny thing we were hitting and they weren't. One mom who thought she was the official scorekeeper yelled because our coach didn't tell her who the sub was, but he did tell the umpire which is all he has to do. She actually said, "Are we going to let the whole roster play?" "Yep, that is usually how that works," I said back. "We are putting our subs in." She said again, "The coach didn't tell me." I said, "It is 6 for 9. Now I've told you." Then one guy yelled at our first base coach for talking to the first baseman who I might mention Cory knows from playing football. One guy got so out of control that he was almost ejected. I hope it was the heat but somehow I think it was due more to the fact that we came from being six runs down the day before to beat them and now the score was 9 to zip. 2 bases loaded doubles scored 6 of those 9 runs. They went through 4 pitchers, we pitched 2. I don't like to brag much, but we did play really good ball. And had it not been so hot, I probably would have engaged crazy, drama queen scorekeeper more. Because I could have fun with her.
We also were so hot in between games we took the boys to wander around Lowes for about an hour. It was unbearably hot in the Dairy Queen and McDonalds. Unbearably hot. I went to buy ice in between games and the ice dude said, "Man, you must love your kid alot. I would have just said, Peace out dude and text me when you want to be picked up." Obviously, he doesn't have kids.
But all these heat made me think about how much God controls creation anyway and he decleared good. The weather is completely out of our control and yet God said it was good. Even 105 degree heat. Take lightening for example.
At first, the principle seems simple enough: When clouds get all stirred up, the negative charges inside of them tend to sink to the bottom. And since opposites attract, those negative charges are eventually pulled toward the positive charges on the ground. The result is what we call lightning.
But there’s more to the story than that. As Distinguished Professor Martin Uman of the University of Florida writes, “The usual lightning flash between cloud and ground . . . begins with a visually undetected downward-moving traveling spark called the stepped leader.”
Once this leader reaches the ground—or is intercepted by positive charges moving upward—it reverses direction, growing brighter the farther it climbs. “It is the return stroke that produces the bright channel of high temperature,” explains Uman, one of the world’s leading authorities on lightning. “The eye is not fast enough to resolve the propagation of the return stroke and it seems as if all points on the channel become bright simultaneously.”
Because it travels at roughly 93,000 miles per second, this energy—which is more than 10 times hotter than the sun—appears as a single flash. Neither the human eye, nor the human mind, can contain it.
How much more powerful is the touch of the Divine One, emanating from a source unseen, moving by means incomprehensible, touching our hearts. God is good still. Even in 105 degree heat.
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