It has been a pretty tough week.
No. Nothing dramatic. Just one of those weeks where I begin to question everything and wonder where the joy goes.
Things for my husband have been challenging at his work. And though I hate to point fingers and play victim, I do have to say that it is just plain hard being in the house with a stress ball. I begin to feel very sorry for myself, which is a dangerous game, indeed.
And yes, the children are home. Last year I went insane by the end of the summer. Both of my kids have vehemently refused to do camp. And it is very scary ponying up the money for two camps, not knowing if it is going to be a miserable battle to get them to go. So I relent and go crazy instead. I am insisting, however, that they go to Vacation Bible School in the neighborhood this year. It is free and I am simply not backing down. Christian formation and a week off. What could be bad?
I have been trying to learn little coping mechanisms. This year, I have a baby sitter 2 times a week. I am going to go to Bible Study on Tuesday mornings. I am scaling back on my Pampered Chef stuff. I instituted family night on Sundays, so we can play board games or go bowling as a family. My mom has offered to come over once im awhile for an afternoon.
I built an emergency beach kit last summer, with a big tote bag and spare, grungy towels, and sunscreen. I left it in the van all summer long so when we felt like going we just jumped in the car and picked a destination. That was great.
And I am trying, really trying, to do my daily prayers. Touching base with God becomes so critical to keep the 'insanity quotient' to a dull roar.
Next week, I meet with Fr. P at the big church on campus to make my first private confession. Like the baptism last month and Holy week before that, I am feeling singularly unprepared for such an event. I think I should be prayerfully fasting or something, inviting God to bring events and situations to the surface so I can cleanse them from my soul's warehouse. But then the kids break a dish or need help in the bathroom or want to swim in the pool and I get distracted. God, please visit me in the midst of my distractions!
Oh. And it has been raining non-stop.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Where was I?
Oh, yes,
Still thinking about the new Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church.
To be honest, I don't know how I feel. I know that some are ecstatic, because she is a woman. And others are appalled, because she is a woman. So far no one seems to know much about her as an individual or a leader. I can only hope that she is the right person for the job of building bridges.
Part of me feels that if the Episcopal Church got kicked out of the Anglican communion, I would leave it. I made a concious decision not to join a small, US centered denomination. I wanted the global influence, for better or for worse.
But then, part of me feels that all of this is in God's hands and I have to trust the process, and even trust the people in charge of all of this, even if they seem hopelessly fractured right now.
Hand wringers are saying that the church is on the brink of schism. I pray that God will lead us in the direction that helps bring about the Kingdom. I pray that we will remember, in the days, weeks, years ahead, that that must be our focus.
Still thinking about the new Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church.
To be honest, I don't know how I feel. I know that some are ecstatic, because she is a woman. And others are appalled, because she is a woman. So far no one seems to know much about her as an individual or a leader. I can only hope that she is the right person for the job of building bridges.
Part of me feels that if the Episcopal Church got kicked out of the Anglican communion, I would leave it. I made a concious decision not to join a small, US centered denomination. I wanted the global influence, for better or for worse.
But then, part of me feels that all of this is in God's hands and I have to trust the process, and even trust the people in charge of all of this, even if they seem hopelessly fractured right now.
Hand wringers are saying that the church is on the brink of schism. I pray that God will lead us in the direction that helps bring about the Kingdom. I pray that we will remember, in the days, weeks, years ahead, that that must be our focus.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
How many priests does it take....
Grace has an abundance of priests. We have a rector, two retired volunteer associate priests who are a married couple and a new, paid, associate priest who came over from the Church of the Messiah.
During bible study, our fearless leader (the rector) asked what a priest is. (We were reading Acts and the question seemed relevant at the time. Now I can't think why!)
Various answers around the room.
Mine: A priest is someone who can turn wine and crackers into God.
(This kind of goes with the 'real presence' post last week...)
Fr. P gave me a copy of the Sign of Jonas to read a while back. It is the autobiography of Thomas Merton during his first few years in the monastery. I remember when he gets ordained as a priest, he is kind of blown away by it. Before that, the distinction between monk and priest seemed vague to me. But he made a BIG deal about it in the book. Clearly the ability to consecrate the host and wine is HUGE. Huge. So, for me, that is probably what sets a priest apart from the average minister. They kind of stand in for Jesus. (They grant absolution, too, which will be the subject of another post, as I am getting ready to make my first private confession...)
Anyway, we've got a bunch of priests at Grace, including the married couple. Today, Mrs. priest and I were talking before the service and agreeing that there is something amazing about children being baptised when they are old enough to know what it means. We talked about how wonderful it is that they are taking communion now. And she happened to be the one that was giving communion this morning. Both of my kids were first in line before me, and as they took the host into their mouths,with such earnestness and expectation, Mrs. priest and I caught each others eye and started to weep, right there at the rail.
God is so very good.
He is so very good.
Last week, Noah said that the host was delicious.
Today he said it tastes like a potato chip with no salt.
All I know is that nothing in the world is sweeter and more tantalizing.
During bible study, our fearless leader (the rector) asked what a priest is. (We were reading Acts and the question seemed relevant at the time. Now I can't think why!)
Various answers around the room.
Mine: A priest is someone who can turn wine and crackers into God.
(This kind of goes with the 'real presence' post last week...)
Fr. P gave me a copy of the Sign of Jonas to read a while back. It is the autobiography of Thomas Merton during his first few years in the monastery. I remember when he gets ordained as a priest, he is kind of blown away by it. Before that, the distinction between monk and priest seemed vague to me. But he made a BIG deal about it in the book. Clearly the ability to consecrate the host and wine is HUGE. Huge. So, for me, that is probably what sets a priest apart from the average minister. They kind of stand in for Jesus. (They grant absolution, too, which will be the subject of another post, as I am getting ready to make my first private confession...)
Anyway, we've got a bunch of priests at Grace, including the married couple. Today, Mrs. priest and I were talking before the service and agreeing that there is something amazing about children being baptised when they are old enough to know what it means. We talked about how wonderful it is that they are taking communion now. And she happened to be the one that was giving communion this morning. Both of my kids were first in line before me, and as they took the host into their mouths,with such earnestness and expectation, Mrs. priest and I caught each others eye and started to weep, right there at the rail.
God is so very good.
He is so very good.
Last week, Noah said that the host was delicious.
Today he said it tastes like a potato chip with no salt.
All I know is that nothing in the world is sweeter and more tantalizing.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Unlocking the key...
board.
Yup, our resident evil bunny finally managed to sneak into the sun porch, where we keep our computer. He chewed through the modem cord, the phone cord and bit the keyboard cord into three pieces. We are actually relieved that that is all he did!
So I am now trying to break in my new keyboard. At first, Nguyen brought home the cheesiest $19 version from some unknown company. It was positively horrible. I brought it back and exchanged it for a logitech. We have had great luck with their mice, so we figured it was a good keyboard. And the layout is, indeed, much better. (why would you put a delete key to the right of the insert key, I wonder? Were the designers on crack?)
But, even with the delete in the correct spot, the Logitech takes a lot of getting used to. It has a completely different feel from the Dell.
My all time favorite keyboard is the old IBM. It weighed a ton, had a very heavy keytouch and actually clicked when you typed. I loved it. I actually bought a reconditioned one at one point and held onto it for years before it finally got so filled with crud I had to get rid of it.
Since then, I have had to make due with the silent, soft touch feel of the cheap piece of crap keyboards that are now standard issue. I must be old if I am waxing poetic about first generation keyboards.
And why do we still call it typing when no one knows what a typewriter is anymore? Shouldn't we call it 'keying'?
This is possibly the most boring post in the history of blogging.
Back to your lives, people.
Yup, our resident evil bunny finally managed to sneak into the sun porch, where we keep our computer. He chewed through the modem cord, the phone cord and bit the keyboard cord into three pieces. We are actually relieved that that is all he did!
So I am now trying to break in my new keyboard. At first, Nguyen brought home the cheesiest $19 version from some unknown company. It was positively horrible. I brought it back and exchanged it for a logitech. We have had great luck with their mice, so we figured it was a good keyboard. And the layout is, indeed, much better. (why would you put a delete key to the right of the insert key, I wonder? Were the designers on crack?)
But, even with the delete in the correct spot, the Logitech takes a lot of getting used to. It has a completely different feel from the Dell.
My all time favorite keyboard is the old IBM. It weighed a ton, had a very heavy keytouch and actually clicked when you typed. I loved it. I actually bought a reconditioned one at one point and held onto it for years before it finally got so filled with crud I had to get rid of it.
Since then, I have had to make due with the silent, soft touch feel of the cheap piece of crap keyboards that are now standard issue. I must be old if I am waxing poetic about first generation keyboards.
And why do we still call it typing when no one knows what a typewriter is anymore? Shouldn't we call it 'keying'?
This is possibly the most boring post in the history of blogging.
Back to your lives, people.
Monday, June 12, 2006
I confess....
I like confession during the mass. I like that I lay it out to God that I have screwed some stuff up and I like it even better when the priest reminds us that we are absolved. Since my early Christian formation (lo those many months ago!) was in an Anglo-Catholic church, I just took it for granted that confession was part of communion.
I remember when I went to the Unitarian Universalist Christian Fellowship Revival a couple of years ago. We had a communion service during the weekend. I was moved to be sharing communion with fellow UUs, but when it became clear that there would be no confession as part of the service, I felt very awkward. Not panicky, exactly, but ill at ease. Finally, I decided to go ahead and get on my knees and make a silent confession before getting up to take communion. Not an easy feat in a colonial Unitarian church, I can tell you. The early architects clearly did NOT believe in getting on your knees. It was a tight squeeze.
Now that I am at a regular Episcopal church, I have discovered that we do not always include confession. We didn't do it at all during the Easter season. I was very pleased that it was back on the roster for Trinity Sunday.
Why? Because one of the biggest miracles of being a Christian, one of the greatest revelations, is that God loves me in spite of my faults. In fact, in some ways, my weaknesses are the very things that draw me closer to God. There is no attempt at hiding my mistakes. No need for perfection. That is God's job, to sanctify me. My job is to do the best I can and admit it when I screw up. It is amazing, I tell you.
What a miracle, Beloved, that you love us, even in our frailty.
What a miracle is your love.
I remember when I went to the Unitarian Universalist Christian Fellowship Revival a couple of years ago. We had a communion service during the weekend. I was moved to be sharing communion with fellow UUs, but when it became clear that there would be no confession as part of the service, I felt very awkward. Not panicky, exactly, but ill at ease. Finally, I decided to go ahead and get on my knees and make a silent confession before getting up to take communion. Not an easy feat in a colonial Unitarian church, I can tell you. The early architects clearly did NOT believe in getting on your knees. It was a tight squeeze.
Now that I am at a regular Episcopal church, I have discovered that we do not always include confession. We didn't do it at all during the Easter season. I was very pleased that it was back on the roster for Trinity Sunday.
Why? Because one of the biggest miracles of being a Christian, one of the greatest revelations, is that God loves me in spite of my faults. In fact, in some ways, my weaknesses are the very things that draw me closer to God. There is no attempt at hiding my mistakes. No need for perfection. That is God's job, to sanctify me. My job is to do the best I can and admit it when I screw up. It is amazing, I tell you.
What a miracle, Beloved, that you love us, even in our frailty.
What a miracle is your love.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Speaking of real....
I am a "Real Presence" kind of girl.
Soon after my baptism (v1.0 beta) a couple of years ago, I took communion for the first time, and I knew that somehow, the presence of Christ was in that little wafer and wine. I just had a sense of something going on that was bigger than flour and water. Bigger than my imagination or 'symbolism'. Bigger than anything I had experienced before. It was then that I realized that I had to find a church in which the Eucharist was the central part of worship. Once a month wasn't going to cut it.
For me, it is Christ in that tabernacle on the altar. When I bow before sitting in my pew, I am bowing to Him. When I sit in silence before the service, I am sitting in His presence. When I take the wafer on my tongue, it is God, infusing me with his love.
This morning, though, something happened. I don't know if it is because of the baptism (v 2.0) last weekend, but as the priest was consecrating the large host, and holding it above the chalice, I glanced up and saw the brilliant white host and my breath caught in my throat and I felt faint. I felt like I was going to faint. I felt as if I was looking at Jesus, in the flesh. It was only for an instant... but for that instant I felt the Real Presence of God, of Jesus, of the Holy Spirit.
After communion today, my son Noah said to me "mom, I love that cracker. It is delicious."
Yes, it is.
Soon after my baptism (v1.0 beta) a couple of years ago, I took communion for the first time, and I knew that somehow, the presence of Christ was in that little wafer and wine. I just had a sense of something going on that was bigger than flour and water. Bigger than my imagination or 'symbolism'. Bigger than anything I had experienced before. It was then that I realized that I had to find a church in which the Eucharist was the central part of worship. Once a month wasn't going to cut it.
For me, it is Christ in that tabernacle on the altar. When I bow before sitting in my pew, I am bowing to Him. When I sit in silence before the service, I am sitting in His presence. When I take the wafer on my tongue, it is God, infusing me with his love.
This morning, though, something happened. I don't know if it is because of the baptism (v 2.0) last weekend, but as the priest was consecrating the large host, and holding it above the chalice, I glanced up and saw the brilliant white host and my breath caught in my throat and I felt faint. I felt like I was going to faint. I felt as if I was looking at Jesus, in the flesh. It was only for an instant... but for that instant I felt the Real Presence of God, of Jesus, of the Holy Spirit.
After communion today, my son Noah said to me "mom, I love that cracker. It is delicious."
Yes, it is.
Friday, June 09, 2006
A real, live, RevGal!
I suppose it was bound to happen. I was at a kitchen tools gig tonight and started chatting with a guest and suddenly we realized that we both hang out with the RevGals. (Waving at Amy!) It was SO cool!
And, we seem to have other stuff in common, too. Namely that we have invited God to boss us around and he is taking us up on the offer. In spades.
Maybe I'll get her a "Does this pulpit make my butt look big?" T-shirt for when she goes to seminary in the fall.
I am telling you, I had no idea that God would be a regular at my shows. But he just keeps showing up. You think he has a thing for artichoke pizzas and molten skillet brownies? LOL!
And, we seem to have other stuff in common, too. Namely that we have invited God to boss us around and he is taking us up on the offer. In spades.
Maybe I'll get her a "Does this pulpit make my butt look big?" T-shirt for when she goes to seminary in the fall.
I am telling you, I had no idea that God would be a regular at my shows. But he just keeps showing up. You think he has a thing for artichoke pizzas and molten skillet brownies? LOL!
Rain
Today's Friday Five asks five questions about rain, all intended to help us look on the bright side of life. Let a smile be your umbrella!!
1. Favorite way to spend a rainy day- Curled up on the sofa with all the windows open, reading a good book. I still remember when I lived in Kansas City, reading Paul Theroux's "My Secret History" in the pouring rain. We had a whole wall of french doors, all of which were wide open.
2. Favorite song about rain- Here Comes the Rain Again- Eurythmics.
3. Favorite movie featuring rain- Throne of Blood
4. Favorite piece of raingear, past or present- I want a pair of frog wellingtons! I currently don't own a single piece of raingear.
5. Favorite word for rain-
One night, when Nguyen and I were still a new couple, we were squished together in my single bed at my parent's house. The bed was jammed up against a window, which was open. Nguyen, being the gentleman that he is, offered to sleep on the inside. In the middle of the night, it began, ever so gently, to rain. Since his face was right by the window, he was getting rained on. I woke to him saying "mua" in his sleep. (The Vietnamese word for rain".) It is my favorite word for it now.
1. Favorite way to spend a rainy day- Curled up on the sofa with all the windows open, reading a good book. I still remember when I lived in Kansas City, reading Paul Theroux's "My Secret History" in the pouring rain. We had a whole wall of french doors, all of which were wide open.
2. Favorite song about rain- Here Comes the Rain Again- Eurythmics.
3. Favorite movie featuring rain- Throne of Blood
4. Favorite piece of raingear, past or present- I want a pair of frog wellingtons! I currently don't own a single piece of raingear.
5. Favorite word for rain-
One night, when Nguyen and I were still a new couple, we were squished together in my single bed at my parent's house. The bed was jammed up against a window, which was open. Nguyen, being the gentleman that he is, offered to sleep on the inside. In the middle of the night, it began, ever so gently, to rain. Since his face was right by the window, he was getting rained on. I woke to him saying "mua" in his sleep. (The Vietnamese word for rain".) It is my favorite word for it now.
John of the Cross
I have been reading 'Dark Night of the Soul'.
Plus, I subscribed to a Yahoo group that sends me a John of the Cross quote a few times a week.
Here is today's:
Plus, I subscribed to a Yahoo group that sends me a John of the Cross quote a few times a week.
Here is today's:
This living spring which I long for,
I see in this bread of life,
Although it is night.
~John of the Cross
from "Song of the Soul that Rejoices in Knowing God Through Faith"
Rock on, John.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Look, it is simple...
When faced with a decision, ask yourself, 'does this bring me closer to God?"
Or does it distract you from him? If it is going to distract you, chances are, it is sin.
That is my simple litmus test. And I have to say, I have yet to encounter a situation that wasn't clear. It is not a matter or morals or concience, or even scripture. Just- how does this affect my relationship with God? Does it enhance it or detract from it?
When I am faced with any kind of temptation, small or large, seemingly sinful or not, I ask that question and it clears the matter up for me.
Try it.
It works.
Or does it distract you from him? If it is going to distract you, chances are, it is sin.
That is my simple litmus test. And I have to say, I have yet to encounter a situation that wasn't clear. It is not a matter or morals or concience, or even scripture. Just- how does this affect my relationship with God? Does it enhance it or detract from it?
When I am faced with any kind of temptation, small or large, seemingly sinful or not, I ask that question and it clears the matter up for me.
Try it.
It works.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
None of it worked
Not...
self help books
tarot cards
walks in the woods
bubble baths
aromatherapy
colored crystals
dinner with friends
channeled wisdom
debates
prozac
therapy
exercise
yoga
reiki
erotica
a great job
drugs
wisdom circles
bookstores
incense
music
dancing
writing
singing
relationships
laughing
studying
dreaming
sex
fantasies
power
money
a nice home
a dog
coffee with cream and sugar
food
especially food
alcohol
science
journaling
dream analysis
zazen
chocolate ice cream
red wine
tv
drawing
ebay
redecorating
magazines
swimming
and the countless other things.
None of these things, no matter how wonderful some of them are, none of them filled the void.
In college, my heart was restless, ill at ease. On one desperate day, I asked a friend from China, begged him, really, to tell me that things were better where he was from. Are people happy there? Is happiness even possible? I asked. I remember there were tears in my eyes.
He looked forlorn. He didn't understand the question.
He was an atheist, of course.
Maybe if he had been a Christian he would have recognized the yawning hole in my soul and said
"yes, it is possible to be happy"
It IS possible.
self help books
tarot cards
walks in the woods
bubble baths
aromatherapy
colored crystals
dinner with friends
channeled wisdom
debates
prozac
therapy
exercise
yoga
reiki
erotica
a great job
drugs
wisdom circles
bookstores
incense
music
dancing
writing
singing
relationships
laughing
studying
dreaming
sex
fantasies
power
money
a nice home
a dog
coffee with cream and sugar
food
especially food
alcohol
science
journaling
dream analysis
zazen
chocolate ice cream
red wine
tv
drawing
ebay
redecorating
magazines
swimming
and the countless other things.
None of these things, no matter how wonderful some of them are, none of them filled the void.
In college, my heart was restless, ill at ease. On one desperate day, I asked a friend from China, begged him, really, to tell me that things were better where he was from. Are people happy there? Is happiness even possible? I asked. I remember there were tears in my eyes.
He looked forlorn. He didn't understand the question.
He was an atheist, of course.
Maybe if he had been a Christian he would have recognized the yawning hole in my soul and said
"yes, it is possible to be happy"
It IS possible.
Monday, June 05, 2006
post mortem
It hasn't yet become the soul-too-huge-for-my-body kind of experience yet. I haven't felt like I was going to bust out of my skin. But there were moments, today, when I felt clear that something had changed.
I was driving home from a meeting tonight. Driving West, just after sunset. The sky was dark, with a broad mantle of purple arched across the horizon. Royal purple. I felt as if the whole world were His robe, draped on his frame, hanging loose here, pulling tighter there.
At points today, in the midst of my busyness, I would stop, take a breath, breathe Him in. He is the air, the spirit, the flesh, the One.
Beloved,
I can't imagine how this can just keep getting better. How is it possible? How is it possible? I feel such joy.
I
feel
joy
I was driving home from a meeting tonight. Driving West, just after sunset. The sky was dark, with a broad mantle of purple arched across the horizon. Royal purple. I felt as if the whole world were His robe, draped on his frame, hanging loose here, pulling tighter there.
At points today, in the midst of my busyness, I would stop, take a breath, breathe Him in. He is the air, the spirit, the flesh, the One.
Beloved,
I can't imagine how this can just keep getting better. How is it possible? How is it possible? I feel such joy.
I
feel
joy
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Pentecost, 2006
In which our heroine finds herself baptised with her children, confirmed as a member of the Episcopal church, nearly drops her drawers and comes face to face with His Majesty: Christ, the King.
The kids and I got baptised in the midst of the coming together of two parishes. The service started at Church of the Messiah, with the readings and the homily and the deconsecration. Then, the whole service moved to Grace, with their entire congregation coming over. They processed, with the Bishop of Rhode Island and the priests of both churches down the center aisle: 4 crosses, dove kites on long sticks, the choir singing, and the children of Grace waving their own dove kites. It was spectacular.
At the last minute, Bob, my rector, came over and asked me if I would like to be confirmed along with the conditional baptism. Apparently he had discussed it with the Bishop and they agreed it was appropriate. I was a bit taken aback, to be honest, but God works in such ways, so I readily agreed, especially when I found out it meant that the Bishop would lay hands on me. (I am a sucker for that. It's the whole apostolic succession thing...) So, this morning, I became a confirmed member of the Episcopal Church. (I guess I have to change my profile! LOL) I had my wonderful sponsors with me: Fr. P and Adrienne and Anne. It felt like a spiritual union of sorts. I was humbled to have them stand up for me and welcome me into the Body of Christ.
Bob also asked us to carry the wine and the host forward during the service, so Noah, Emmett and I brought them up front and gave them to the acolyte. For some bizarre reason, I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. I was wearing a pair of underpants that were too loose and they threatened to fall off completely as I was walking down the aisle. Luckily I was wearing a long skirt and could kind of hike them up. Does stuff like that happen to anyone else? For the first time in my life, I was grateful I didn't have skinny legs!
The baptism was wonderful and I was deeply moved when it was my kids' turn. They answered their questions and had water poured on their heads. Bishop Wolfe made the sign of the cross on their foreheads in oil. In the car on the way home, Noah said "Wow, I really do feel brand new!"
And yeah, the Big Guy showed up. As I was praying after taking communion, I had a picture in my mind of Jesus standing before me. I imagined myself falling to the ground to worship at his feet. Then he bent over and grabbed me by the shoulder.
"Get up, woman" he said. "We have work to do..."
He didn't seem thrown by the underpants issue at all.
And so it is.
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
The kids and I got baptised in the midst of the coming together of two parishes. The service started at Church of the Messiah, with the readings and the homily and the deconsecration. Then, the whole service moved to Grace, with their entire congregation coming over. They processed, with the Bishop of Rhode Island and the priests of both churches down the center aisle: 4 crosses, dove kites on long sticks, the choir singing, and the children of Grace waving their own dove kites. It was spectacular.
At the last minute, Bob, my rector, came over and asked me if I would like to be confirmed along with the conditional baptism. Apparently he had discussed it with the Bishop and they agreed it was appropriate. I was a bit taken aback, to be honest, but God works in such ways, so I readily agreed, especially when I found out it meant that the Bishop would lay hands on me. (I am a sucker for that. It's the whole apostolic succession thing...) So, this morning, I became a confirmed member of the Episcopal Church. (I guess I have to change my profile! LOL) I had my wonderful sponsors with me: Fr. P and Adrienne and Anne. It felt like a spiritual union of sorts. I was humbled to have them stand up for me and welcome me into the Body of Christ.
Bob also asked us to carry the wine and the host forward during the service, so Noah, Emmett and I brought them up front and gave them to the acolyte. For some bizarre reason, I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. I was wearing a pair of underpants that were too loose and they threatened to fall off completely as I was walking down the aisle. Luckily I was wearing a long skirt and could kind of hike them up. Does stuff like that happen to anyone else? For the first time in my life, I was grateful I didn't have skinny legs!
The baptism was wonderful and I was deeply moved when it was my kids' turn. They answered their questions and had water poured on their heads. Bishop Wolfe made the sign of the cross on their foreheads in oil. In the car on the way home, Noah said "Wow, I really do feel brand new!"
And yeah, the Big Guy showed up. As I was praying after taking communion, I had a picture in my mind of Jesus standing before me. I imagined myself falling to the ground to worship at his feet. Then he bent over and grabbed me by the shoulder.
"Get up, woman" he said. "We have work to do..."
He didn't seem thrown by the underpants issue at all.
And so it is.
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
The timing is so weird.
Is this some kind of cosmic joke, God?
Tomorrow I am standing in front of God and the entire congregation of Grace Episcopal Church to be conditionally baptised in the language of the Trinity. I am going to get washed at the font and receive an annointing by the Bishop. I am officially joining the Body of Christ.
Today I got a plain brown envelope with a copy of the book that contains my essay about being a Unitarian Universalist Christian. On the eve of the day when I officially renounce unitarianism and become, once and for all time, a Trinitarian.
I read the essay again, and it was ok. I was surprised it was the first one in the book. I was dissapointed there were a couple of mistakes in editing. I was embarrassed to read the little author's blurb because it is already so outdated. (Everything in it has changed: I am not a childbirth teacher. I am not a tarot reader. I am not active in my UU church.)
But one thing I hope is true: It might just be helpful to a UU who is seeking a deeper relationship with God. I can only pray that the person who needs to read it will find a dusty copy on some shelf in their minister's collection and be curious and pull it out and take it home. I can only pray that when the next Christ-seeker walks into my former minister's office and asks if Unitarians can be Christians, he can hand her the book and say "yes".
What is so strange about this artifact of my journey is that I feel like I have changed so much in such a short time. This little time capsule of my faith reinforces the true scope of the changes. I wrote most of the essay within a couple of months of my conversion, at a time when I could hardly imagine the changes that were being wrought. I think if I had known, I might have been afraid. But now, looking back at it, I can only be awed and humbled by God's work in my life. I can only be grateful for his gentle hand. I can only be amazed at the results.
Tomorrow God finishes what I started in the pond two and a half years ago. Tomorrow, my baptism will be complete.
Beloved,
Good one....
Is this some kind of cosmic joke, God?
Tomorrow I am standing in front of God and the entire congregation of Grace Episcopal Church to be conditionally baptised in the language of the Trinity. I am going to get washed at the font and receive an annointing by the Bishop. I am officially joining the Body of Christ.
Today I got a plain brown envelope with a copy of the book that contains my essay about being a Unitarian Universalist Christian. On the eve of the day when I officially renounce unitarianism and become, once and for all time, a Trinitarian.
I read the essay again, and it was ok. I was surprised it was the first one in the book. I was dissapointed there were a couple of mistakes in editing. I was embarrassed to read the little author's blurb because it is already so outdated. (Everything in it has changed: I am not a childbirth teacher. I am not a tarot reader. I am not active in my UU church.)
But one thing I hope is true: It might just be helpful to a UU who is seeking a deeper relationship with God. I can only pray that the person who needs to read it will find a dusty copy on some shelf in their minister's collection and be curious and pull it out and take it home. I can only pray that when the next Christ-seeker walks into my former minister's office and asks if Unitarians can be Christians, he can hand her the book and say "yes".
What is so strange about this artifact of my journey is that I feel like I have changed so much in such a short time. This little time capsule of my faith reinforces the true scope of the changes. I wrote most of the essay within a couple of months of my conversion, at a time when I could hardly imagine the changes that were being wrought. I think if I had known, I might have been afraid. But now, looking back at it, I can only be awed and humbled by God's work in my life. I can only be grateful for his gentle hand. I can only be amazed at the results.
Tomorrow God finishes what I started in the pond two and a half years ago. Tomorrow, my baptism will be complete.
Beloved,
Good one....
Friday, June 02, 2006
friday five: summer blockbuster edition
This week's questions are inspired by the various summer films currently in the theaters or soon to be released. Here's your large popcorn and blue raspberry Icee--would you like Raisinets or Goobers with that? Silence those cell phones please, the show's about to start:
1. If you were a mutant, what ability would you like to have? (think superpower)
Teleporting.
2. Tell us about a memorable road trip you've experienced.
Driving from Rhode Island to Georgian Bay in Canada with my husband, my brother and his two dogs. In our Volkswagen Vanagon. While pregnant. The highlight was the 3 am breakfast at Lloyd's of Lowville.
3. Do you enjoy solving riddles and working on puzzles? If so, what kinds?
I had a brief romance with Sudoku puzzles last summer. Otherwise, nah.
4. Take two of your phobias and combine them to make a campy horror/disaster flick. What would it be called?
ArachniClaustrophobiacs from Mars.
5. Just how batsh*t crazy is Tom Cruise, anyway?
I will just say this: I am grateful he ain't an Anglican.
He certainly isn't doing any good as a front man for Scientology.
Bonus: Name each of the five movies that inspired these questions.
Movies? What are movies? I haven't seen one in years! LOL
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Aw Heck, if you've heard this already, skip it...
but if not,
it is almost as funny as the old Salman Rushdie joke about the Buddha....
Monster Truck Church Advertisement
it is almost as funny as the old Salman Rushdie joke about the Buddha....
Monster Truck Church Advertisement
Monday, May 29, 2006
My own personal round up:
Howard, my ill friend, is out of intensive care. I went to visit him on Saturday, driving the hour to Boston on a hot and hazy day. He looked terrible, but my friend Michelle says it is a vast improvement. I think there is good news in that the infection has not spread to his bloodstream, which was the big fear. But he is still in rough shape and the pneumonia doesn't seem to be improving. Your continued prayers are appreciated.
I am claustrophobic, so Boston is now, officially, a drag. The Big Dig has resulted in a completely subterranean highway system. Route 93 snakes under the city, with exits oddly branching off like tunnels to nowhere. You can't really see anything until you have emerged, and even then, the closeness of the buildings, especially around Mass General, leave you wondering where on earth you are. To make matters worse, the parking garages are all underground too. So, in order to park, I drove down 4 levels into the earth and had to take an elevator to the surface. I was so wigged out by the time I got to Howard's room, I was bordering on panic. But when I got to his room I collected myself, donned a gown and latex gloves and managed to stay for a couple of hours. I read him a book about God creating the world through the letters of the Hebrew Aleph bet. And held his hand while he slept.
On the way out of the garage, in my best robotic post-apocolyptic voice, I kept repeating to myself "please keep to the left. There is no exit. Do not stop. Please keep to the left. There is no exit. Do not stop..." I was in a sci fi dream of bloody sputum and bisque colored concrete walls, windows that overlooked smoke stacks and yellow hospital gowns. I crashed when I got home.
In other news, my parents left for Newfoundland on Friday morning. I had a kitchen tools gig on Thursday night, so I didn't get to hang out with them much before they left. I was sorry that we didn't get to spend more time together. I keep wondering if there will ever be a time when we get to just relax and hang out. The long distance thing sucks. It is just that simple. Nguyen and the kids and I went for a walk in the beautiful Audobon wildlife sanctuary in Seekonk, Mass today and I just kept wishing that my parents could see it. Of course, now they have a dog and wouldn't be allowed to bring him, so they wouldn't want to go there anyway. But it IS beautiful. We heard bullfrogs in the little pond and saw all kinds of birds and insects. Watched a chipmunk stuffing it's cheeks with maple seeds. And I am dying to get a field guide to wild flowers because I find new ones every time we walk.
And finally, Nguyen opened the pool today. It is an odd phenomenon that in our neighborhood, most of the houses have above-ground pools in the yard. Ours came with the house when we bought it and for all these years, we have had a love-hate relationship with it. Love it when it is hot, hate the expense and upkeep. We have NEVER gotten the thing open before the end of June before. But this year, Nguyen was determined to open it on the classic pool opening day: Memorial day. And sure enough, the kids are out there right now, swimming happily in frigid water. Our neighbors haven't opened theirs yet. We are worried that our promptness somehow signifies the end of the world as we know it: rabbits and dogs living together, highways built under the cities, the Nguyens have the pool open before July....
you fill in the rest.
I am claustrophobic, so Boston is now, officially, a drag. The Big Dig has resulted in a completely subterranean highway system. Route 93 snakes under the city, with exits oddly branching off like tunnels to nowhere. You can't really see anything until you have emerged, and even then, the closeness of the buildings, especially around Mass General, leave you wondering where on earth you are. To make matters worse, the parking garages are all underground too. So, in order to park, I drove down 4 levels into the earth and had to take an elevator to the surface. I was so wigged out by the time I got to Howard's room, I was bordering on panic. But when I got to his room I collected myself, donned a gown and latex gloves and managed to stay for a couple of hours. I read him a book about God creating the world through the letters of the Hebrew Aleph bet. And held his hand while he slept.
On the way out of the garage, in my best robotic post-apocolyptic voice, I kept repeating to myself "please keep to the left. There is no exit. Do not stop. Please keep to the left. There is no exit. Do not stop..." I was in a sci fi dream of bloody sputum and bisque colored concrete walls, windows that overlooked smoke stacks and yellow hospital gowns. I crashed when I got home.
In other news, my parents left for Newfoundland on Friday morning. I had a kitchen tools gig on Thursday night, so I didn't get to hang out with them much before they left. I was sorry that we didn't get to spend more time together. I keep wondering if there will ever be a time when we get to just relax and hang out. The long distance thing sucks. It is just that simple. Nguyen and the kids and I went for a walk in the beautiful Audobon wildlife sanctuary in Seekonk, Mass today and I just kept wishing that my parents could see it. Of course, now they have a dog and wouldn't be allowed to bring him, so they wouldn't want to go there anyway. But it IS beautiful. We heard bullfrogs in the little pond and saw all kinds of birds and insects. Watched a chipmunk stuffing it's cheeks with maple seeds. And I am dying to get a field guide to wild flowers because I find new ones every time we walk.
And finally, Nguyen opened the pool today. It is an odd phenomenon that in our neighborhood, most of the houses have above-ground pools in the yard. Ours came with the house when we bought it and for all these years, we have had a love-hate relationship with it. Love it when it is hot, hate the expense and upkeep. We have NEVER gotten the thing open before the end of June before. But this year, Nguyen was determined to open it on the classic pool opening day: Memorial day. And sure enough, the kids are out there right now, swimming happily in frigid water. Our neighbors haven't opened theirs yet. We are worried that our promptness somehow signifies the end of the world as we know it: rabbits and dogs living together, highways built under the cities, the Nguyens have the pool open before July....
you fill in the rest.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Belated Friday Five
Five things I believe:
1. God.
2. I am a happier person for having Jesus in my life.
3. My kids are smarter, funnier and more beautiful than any person could possibly deserve.
4. Marriage really is a sacrament.
5. It is past my bed time.
1. God.
2. I am a happier person for having Jesus in my life.
3. My kids are smarter, funnier and more beautiful than any person could possibly deserve.
4. Marriage really is a sacrament.
5. It is past my bed time.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
a friendship undone
There was a boat-load of gay men.
It was the 4th of July, 1983. My friend Ron had borrowed his parent's little sailboat and was having a fireworks viewing party in Newport harbor. I was the only girl among 20 men.
When I first saw JP, I thought he was a wicked dork. He was wearing a pair of overalls and a straw hat. He was thin and short and spoke with a raspy, high pitched voice. (The result, I later learned, of damaged vocal cords and too many ciggerettes.)
But in the launch on the way back to the dock, we started chatting and realized that we had a few things in common. I was a HUGE Japanophile, having read every modern Japanese novel I could get my hands on... from Tanizaki to Kawabata to the grand daddy of them all: Mishima's Tetrology. JP hadn't read much Japanese literature, but he HAD lived there for awhile, while he was in the Navy. We both loved sashimi and futons and green tea. Plus, he was of Swiss descent and so am I. He had a great honking Swiss nose that reminded me of my grandfather's. He spoke 5 languages and was brilliant. And was the funniest person I ever met.
We became inseparable. My then-boyfriend was jealous, but I didn't care. JP and I would go out dancing until 2am and then find our way to the local all-night donut shop and drink coffee and talk non-stop and chain smoke ciggerettes until dawn. I would wander home and crash until sometime that night when we would get back together for another go round. He became my best friend.
That summer was the only time we lived in the same state. At the end of it, he moved back to upstate New York. I went to college in Providence, later to Hawaii to study Japanese for a semester, then back to RI. JP began an long series of moves, from Binghamton to San Fransisco, to LA, to New York again. We would rendezvous in various cities around the country for intense weekends of catching up. I flew to San Francisco a couple of times. I visited him at his sister's in Poughkeepsie. He stayed with Nguyen and I when we lived in Kansas City, stopping off during one of his many cross-country drives. In 1994, after the Rwanda genocide, we met in New York City for the Gay Pride parade. We stayed in the Paramount Hotel, ate udon noodles and went on the march... two of us in the midst of a million people. I remember thinking that it had to be a least a partial healing after the destruction of a million deaths. A million people, full of love, gathered together, in the streets of New York.
A couple times, JP came to RI to visit. He was here when Nguyen and I got married. He came to meet my first son. He would stop by on his way to the Cape. We knew each other so well we could talk simultaneously and still understand exactly what the other was saying. We would laugh so hard I'd pee my pants. I fell in love with his lovers, his dad, his sister, his nieces and nephew. I would chat on the phone with his mom for hours because she, too, had the gift of gab. We got into funny adventures and scrapes, like the time we had to walk dozens of blocks on a cold New York city night to pick up JPs car from the pound on 11th Avenue after it was towed. Or the time we danced all night in a dive called The Dive. Or loudly and embarrassingly practiced our Spanish swears with an Uruguayan friend in an Argentinian restaurant. (Who knew the word "shell" had such naughty overtones?) The waiters actually blushed.
But we grew apart.
It is the truth that when you have kids, things shift. Life and death both seem to bring about a change in perspective. I began to feel like we didn't have anything in common anymore. It became clear that we had a very different view of the world. As I was feeling increasingly at home in the world, and with God, JP was getting increasingly edgy. He seemed paranoid, sometimes. He always seemed to feel like he had to manipulate a situation in order not to be hurt by it. He trusted God less and less. This was ironic considering that the one blow-out we ever had was because he was a Catholic, and at the time, I couldn't understand how you could be intelligent and religious at the same time. (I was 18 at that point. Boy has that come back to bite me in the ass!) So as I was growing closer to God he seemed to be drifting further off center.
Finally, one spring, JP asked me to lie to a potential employer when he used me as a reference. He wanted me to say that he hadn't worked for several months because he had cared for his ailing mother. But it was a lie. His mom was fine. He had been unemployed because he was fired from his last job. That was pretty much the point when I decided that we were just too far apart in our world view to be friends any more.
For months, I struggled with whether to tell him. I cringed when I heard his voice on the phone. I avoided calling him. I grieved. I told myself that we had grown apart and that that was ok. The truth is that the one thing we always had a hard time with in our relationship was being honest when we were upset about something. We kept the difficult stuff to ourselves. We hid our darkness from each other. So, when I finally called him to tell him how I felt, it must have come as a huge shock. I told him that I wanted a break from our friendship. That I needed space. He was angry. He felt judged. (Perhaps I was judging him.) We exchanged a couple more letters as follow-up to our phone call, but it was over. And though I have tried to get in touch a few times over the years, I haven't heard from him since.
At this point, I realize that being a friend to someone means being there for them during the hard times in their lives. I honestly don't know what was going on for JP at that point. I was too caught up in raising a toddler. I never really took the time time find out. I just decided that the relationship wasn't working for ME and that was that.
Now I know that I betrayed him. I know that if it happened again, I would try to handle it differently. I hope I would be a better friend.
I pray that someday he will know that no matter what, I love him. I pray that he has found peace and love. Is he happy? In love? At peace? I pray for all those things for him.
And most of all, I want him to know I am sorry.
I am sorry.
It was the 4th of July, 1983. My friend Ron had borrowed his parent's little sailboat and was having a fireworks viewing party in Newport harbor. I was the only girl among 20 men.
When I first saw JP, I thought he was a wicked dork. He was wearing a pair of overalls and a straw hat. He was thin and short and spoke with a raspy, high pitched voice. (The result, I later learned, of damaged vocal cords and too many ciggerettes.)
But in the launch on the way back to the dock, we started chatting and realized that we had a few things in common. I was a HUGE Japanophile, having read every modern Japanese novel I could get my hands on... from Tanizaki to Kawabata to the grand daddy of them all: Mishima's Tetrology. JP hadn't read much Japanese literature, but he HAD lived there for awhile, while he was in the Navy. We both loved sashimi and futons and green tea. Plus, he was of Swiss descent and so am I. He had a great honking Swiss nose that reminded me of my grandfather's. He spoke 5 languages and was brilliant. And was the funniest person I ever met.
We became inseparable. My then-boyfriend was jealous, but I didn't care. JP and I would go out dancing until 2am and then find our way to the local all-night donut shop and drink coffee and talk non-stop and chain smoke ciggerettes until dawn. I would wander home and crash until sometime that night when we would get back together for another go round. He became my best friend.
That summer was the only time we lived in the same state. At the end of it, he moved back to upstate New York. I went to college in Providence, later to Hawaii to study Japanese for a semester, then back to RI. JP began an long series of moves, from Binghamton to San Fransisco, to LA, to New York again. We would rendezvous in various cities around the country for intense weekends of catching up. I flew to San Francisco a couple of times. I visited him at his sister's in Poughkeepsie. He stayed with Nguyen and I when we lived in Kansas City, stopping off during one of his many cross-country drives. In 1994, after the Rwanda genocide, we met in New York City for the Gay Pride parade. We stayed in the Paramount Hotel, ate udon noodles and went on the march... two of us in the midst of a million people. I remember thinking that it had to be a least a partial healing after the destruction of a million deaths. A million people, full of love, gathered together, in the streets of New York.
A couple times, JP came to RI to visit. He was here when Nguyen and I got married. He came to meet my first son. He would stop by on his way to the Cape. We knew each other so well we could talk simultaneously and still understand exactly what the other was saying. We would laugh so hard I'd pee my pants. I fell in love with his lovers, his dad, his sister, his nieces and nephew. I would chat on the phone with his mom for hours because she, too, had the gift of gab. We got into funny adventures and scrapes, like the time we had to walk dozens of blocks on a cold New York city night to pick up JPs car from the pound on 11th Avenue after it was towed. Or the time we danced all night in a dive called The Dive. Or loudly and embarrassingly practiced our Spanish swears with an Uruguayan friend in an Argentinian restaurant. (Who knew the word "shell" had such naughty overtones?) The waiters actually blushed.
But we grew apart.
It is the truth that when you have kids, things shift. Life and death both seem to bring about a change in perspective. I began to feel like we didn't have anything in common anymore. It became clear that we had a very different view of the world. As I was feeling increasingly at home in the world, and with God, JP was getting increasingly edgy. He seemed paranoid, sometimes. He always seemed to feel like he had to manipulate a situation in order not to be hurt by it. He trusted God less and less. This was ironic considering that the one blow-out we ever had was because he was a Catholic, and at the time, I couldn't understand how you could be intelligent and religious at the same time. (I was 18 at that point. Boy has that come back to bite me in the ass!) So as I was growing closer to God he seemed to be drifting further off center.
Finally, one spring, JP asked me to lie to a potential employer when he used me as a reference. He wanted me to say that he hadn't worked for several months because he had cared for his ailing mother. But it was a lie. His mom was fine. He had been unemployed because he was fired from his last job. That was pretty much the point when I decided that we were just too far apart in our world view to be friends any more.
For months, I struggled with whether to tell him. I cringed when I heard his voice on the phone. I avoided calling him. I grieved. I told myself that we had grown apart and that that was ok. The truth is that the one thing we always had a hard time with in our relationship was being honest when we were upset about something. We kept the difficult stuff to ourselves. We hid our darkness from each other. So, when I finally called him to tell him how I felt, it must have come as a huge shock. I told him that I wanted a break from our friendship. That I needed space. He was angry. He felt judged. (Perhaps I was judging him.) We exchanged a couple more letters as follow-up to our phone call, but it was over. And though I have tried to get in touch a few times over the years, I haven't heard from him since.
At this point, I realize that being a friend to someone means being there for them during the hard times in their lives. I honestly don't know what was going on for JP at that point. I was too caught up in raising a toddler. I never really took the time time find out. I just decided that the relationship wasn't working for ME and that was that.
Now I know that I betrayed him. I know that if it happened again, I would try to handle it differently. I hope I would be a better friend.
I pray that someday he will know that no matter what, I love him. I pray that he has found peace and love. Is he happy? In love? At peace? I pray for all those things for him.
And most of all, I want him to know I am sorry.
I am sorry.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Word of the day
Bloviate
I came across this word in the letters to the editor in the Providence Journal this morning and had never seen it before. As a word hound, I immediately ran to my cheap-ass American Heritage Collegiate dictionary and it was nowhere to be found.
Since the OED is in boxes in the attic, I jumped online (thank God for the internet) and found that it was slang. Hence it's exclusion from the AH 2nd College Edition. (Will somebody PLEASE get me the American Heritage 4th edition for Christmas?!?!)
The writer of the letter in the Projo was asking someone critical of the Bush administration to stop bloviating if they don't know what they are talking about. The writer was from Texas. How they ended up published in a Rhode Island newspaper, I don't know. Maybe it was because they used a fancy word that would send us bloviating New Englanders to the dictionary.
Laconic I ain't.
I came across this word in the letters to the editor in the Providence Journal this morning and had never seen it before. As a word hound, I immediately ran to my cheap-ass American Heritage Collegiate dictionary and it was nowhere to be found.
Since the OED is in boxes in the attic, I jumped online (thank God for the internet) and found that it was slang. Hence it's exclusion from the AH 2nd College Edition. (Will somebody PLEASE get me the American Heritage 4th edition for Christmas?!?!)
The writer of the letter in the Projo was asking someone critical of the Bush administration to stop bloviating if they don't know what they are talking about. The writer was from Texas. How they ended up published in a Rhode Island newspaper, I don't know. Maybe it was because they used a fancy word that would send us bloviating New Englanders to the dictionary.
Laconic I ain't.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Granting forgiveness
Emmett, 5, has been a handful lately. He has been stubborn and ornery and uncooperative. He has been fighting with his brother and refusing to help out around the house. We think it is a phase of establishing independence, but it has been a trial for all of us sometimes. Yesterday, I told him that he was behaving badly and that if he didn't stop he would go to his room without dinner. He stopped.
But later, during dinner, he said
"Mom, I feel sad."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I have been acting bad. I feel sad about it."
My parents, who were eating with us, just about dropped their forks.
"Emmett, you can apologize, and I will forgive you. That is what we do. We forgive each other. Don't feel sad about it anymore. You are forgiven."
Later, out of earshot of everyone else, I whispered, "Emmett, God forgives you, too. He loves you no matter what."
"I know."
This morning at breakfast, Emmett told me that he had two more things to tell me. He lied about how much candy he had at Halloween. Twice. (Because he wanted some of his brother's candy.)
"Are you sorry?" "yes."
"Did you apologize to Noah?" "yes."
"Then you are forgiven for that, too."
"Thanks."
At which point I reminded him about the Lord's prayer, and the part about forgiving each other, just like God forgives us.
I believe my son has just made his first confession...
two weeks before his baptism.
But later, during dinner, he said
"Mom, I feel sad."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I have been acting bad. I feel sad about it."
My parents, who were eating with us, just about dropped their forks.
"Emmett, you can apologize, and I will forgive you. That is what we do. We forgive each other. Don't feel sad about it anymore. You are forgiven."
Later, out of earshot of everyone else, I whispered, "Emmett, God forgives you, too. He loves you no matter what."
"I know."
This morning at breakfast, Emmett told me that he had two more things to tell me. He lied about how much candy he had at Halloween. Twice. (Because he wanted some of his brother's candy.)
"Are you sorry?" "yes."
"Did you apologize to Noah?" "yes."
"Then you are forgiven for that, too."
"Thanks."
At which point I reminded him about the Lord's prayer, and the part about forgiving each other, just like God forgives us.
I believe my son has just made his first confession...
two weeks before his baptism.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
"Prayer is a waste of time." She sniffed.
There is something about the acoustics of this particular Indian restaurant that makes it almost impossible not to hear the details of the conversations going on around you. Perhaps it is the octagonal shape of the room. Or the wooden floors and glass walls. Whatever the case, it seems that Nguyen and I are always seated next to extremely loud conversations, and try as I might, I can't not listen.
She is a teacher at a Catholic High School in Providence. The same high school my niece attends.
And she is planning to use the Da Vinci Code for a text book next semester. And announced to her father and boyfriend (who never got a word in edgewise...) that none of her students would end up practicing Catholics.
"Prayer takes up valuable class time when they could be learning something important."
What could possibly be more important than prayer, I wonder?
Check, please...
There is something about the acoustics of this particular Indian restaurant that makes it almost impossible not to hear the details of the conversations going on around you. Perhaps it is the octagonal shape of the room. Or the wooden floors and glass walls. Whatever the case, it seems that Nguyen and I are always seated next to extremely loud conversations, and try as I might, I can't not listen.
She is a teacher at a Catholic High School in Providence. The same high school my niece attends.
And she is planning to use the Da Vinci Code for a text book next semester. And announced to her father and boyfriend (who never got a word in edgewise...) that none of her students would end up practicing Catholics.
"Prayer takes up valuable class time when they could be learning something important."
What could possibly be more important than prayer, I wonder?
Check, please...
Friday, May 19, 2006
Coffee hour
I was warned: Don't volunteer for anything. Keep your head low. If someone asks, say no.
But I did it. I signed up to host coffee hour this Sunday. It'll be the first time at my new church.
Coffee hour at Grace church is a LOT easier than it was at Bell Street. It mostly involves standing behind the table and handing people cups o' joe. I think I can manage that. Oh, and I have to bring cream and cookies. But they reimburse you for it! It's not a big deal!
Uh, and I accidentally agreed to be a lector in June.
But that is it. I swear. I promise. I won't sign up to do anything else. Really. I know how this works from past experience. You agree to do coffee hour and suddenly find yourself chair person for the membership committee. And a worship assistant. And on the committee on ministry. And facilitating exercises at a leadership retreat. And oh, did I mention teaching sunday school? And doing 2 or 3 lay-led services every year. And redecorating the robing room. And sorting things for the yard sale. And no, I don't want to run the annual canvas this year, but I'll go ahead and organize the annual canvas dinner because, well, because I am just so darned good at organizing. (NOT).
Step back from the clip board. Walk away slowly. Keep your head low and for pete's sake, don't volunteer to do anything... You've been warned.
But I did it. I signed up to host coffee hour this Sunday. It'll be the first time at my new church.
Coffee hour at Grace church is a LOT easier than it was at Bell Street. It mostly involves standing behind the table and handing people cups o' joe. I think I can manage that. Oh, and I have to bring cream and cookies. But they reimburse you for it! It's not a big deal!
Uh, and I accidentally agreed to be a lector in June.
But that is it. I swear. I promise. I won't sign up to do anything else. Really. I know how this works from past experience. You agree to do coffee hour and suddenly find yourself chair person for the membership committee. And a worship assistant. And on the committee on ministry. And facilitating exercises at a leadership retreat. And oh, did I mention teaching sunday school? And doing 2 or 3 lay-led services every year. And redecorating the robing room. And sorting things for the yard sale. And no, I don't want to run the annual canvas this year, but I'll go ahead and organize the annual canvas dinner because, well, because I am just so darned good at organizing. (NOT).
Step back from the clip board. Walk away slowly. Keep your head low and for pete's sake, don't volunteer to do anything... You've been warned.
Of dogs, hawks, chicken and mangoes
Last night my brother had his first photo show opening. It came in the midst of a chaotic week for him. He is balls-to-the-wall at work. One of his elderly dogs had two seizures on Saturday... and seems to have had a stroke, as she is having trouble walking. He is in the midst of extremes: busy-ness, nervousness, grief.
My job for the show was to make appetizers. I am now uniquely qualified to do this since I am the Kitchen tools chick. After being stuck in traffic for an hour, I showed up with still warm chicken curry with mango chutney dip, hot artichoke and spinach dip and a Kalamata olive spread that involved copious amounts of cream cheese and finely diced red pepper. I had a padded brief case stuffed with my platters and woven trays and even had little porcelain handled spreaders with which to slap the aforementioned goo onto bagel crisps or apple wedges.
The show was held in the gallery of the Mathewson Street Methodist church, which is a downtown church that also runs a weekly soup kitchen. Appropriately, they didn't invite us to bring wine, as quite a few of the expected guests would be homeless alcoholics. We served, instead, apple juice and seltzer. My step-mother brought caviar and Italian tuna and potato dip. My mother brought Portuguese cheeses and grapes. My brother wondered whether anyone would actually go into the gallery with all that food on the tables just outside the door.
It was a huge success. My mother, who knows half of RI, invited all her friends and aquaintances and dozens of them showed up. Jake sold quite a few prints. The photos looked fantastic in the space and were extremely beautiful.
And yes, quite a few of the soup kitchen folks stopped by and helped themselves to the dips and fruits and breads and juice. One guy even took a 'to go' plate laden with a pile of food. He wanted to buy a print of one of Jake's photos... offered him the $1.75 he had in his pocket for it. Once it became clear that what he wanted was a xerox of the photo, my brother agreed to make one for him, free of charge.
Later we learned that the friendly drunk in question had served twenty years in prison for rape and murder.
I had a moment of horror when I realized that he had been playing with my children.
On the wall of the church was a print of Fritz Eichenberg's "Christ of the Bread Line." According to the minister's wife, Eichenberg made the image for the Matthewson Street church because he had been involved in their soup kitchen. I prayed for the drunk murderer when I was saying my prayers last night. And prayed for my friend Howard, who is now in the ICU at a Boston hospital... and who was friends with Eichenberg. Prayed for my brother as he faces the loss of his dog and the start of his career as a professional photographer...
Beloved,
It is all connected together somehow. Each thread of our lives entwines in some way to all the other threads. We don't see the connections most of the time. We see only what is right in front of us.
Help us trust in the threads, even when they aren't apparent.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
My secret dream...
is to be a priest.
I once saw an image of a bunch of young seminarians in Italy walking down the street with the black robes flapping in the breeze, and thought to myself, I want to be that.
I saw a picture in the paper, once, of Catholic priests getting ordained, lying flat out on the floor of the sanctuary
and thought to myself,
I want to be that.
But the strange part is that I don't want to be a woman priest.
I am a woman. A mom. A wife. A student of Jesus. A disciple.
I am not a priest.
But I can dream.
I once saw an image of a bunch of young seminarians in Italy walking down the street with the black robes flapping in the breeze, and thought to myself, I want to be that.
I saw a picture in the paper, once, of Catholic priests getting ordained, lying flat out on the floor of the sanctuary
and thought to myself,
I want to be that.
But the strange part is that I don't want to be a woman priest.
I am a woman. A mom. A wife. A student of Jesus. A disciple.
I am not a priest.
But I can dream.
Monday, May 15, 2006
prayers
My friend Howard is gravely ill, in the critical care unit of a local hospital. He has requested no phone calls or visitors. At this point I probably couldn't visit him anyway, since I am not blood kin.
But we are kin, of a sorts. I have known Howard since I was a child. He is a longtime friend of my parents. Later, he became a regular at my friend Michelle's parties. We have been meeting there, many times a year, for something like 15 years. For the birthdays of her children. Christmas. Summer barbeques. Year in year out the same folks congregate, sharing homemade food and inexpensive wine and good conversations. Oddly, we rarely meet outside those circumstances. I didn't get to Howard's recent retirement show. I have never been to his home. We have never met for lunch or a drink. But nonetheless, we count each other as friends.
I ask for your prayers for him.
But we are kin, of a sorts. I have known Howard since I was a child. He is a longtime friend of my parents. Later, he became a regular at my friend Michelle's parties. We have been meeting there, many times a year, for something like 15 years. For the birthdays of her children. Christmas. Summer barbeques. Year in year out the same folks congregate, sharing homemade food and inexpensive wine and good conversations. Oddly, we rarely meet outside those circumstances. I didn't get to Howard's recent retirement show. I have never been to his home. We have never met for lunch or a drink. But nonetheless, we count each other as friends.
I ask for your prayers for him.
Mini Dunk
After much prayerful consideration, I have decided to be conditionally (re)baptised on Pentecost. My children are being baptised that morning, and I feel drawn to join them.
It is not that I question the efficacy of The Big Dunk. Not at all. I believe I truly was reborn on that day. And I believe that is the basic gist of baptism.
But on that day, the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit were not spoken. It was a Unitarian baptism, performed by my dear Unitarian minister. And more and more, I am coming to feel that I want to be baptised in the name of my Beloved, once and for ever.
It is tricky, though, with an existing baptism... because I also feel that a single shot is all anyone really needs.
So there is this excellent loophole called a conditional baptism. I suspect it is more often used for people on their death bed, when a priest giving last rites has no clue if the person in question is baptised or not. It goes something like this: 'If you are not already baptised, I baptise you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit..."
It is a bit clunky, but covers all the theological bases.
Another, wonderful, aspect of getting (re)baptised in the Episcopal church is that my kids and I get to have sponsors. These are people who will pray for us, guide us on our Christian paths.... help us when we need it. My kids are going to be sponsored by two of my husband's siblings... both of whom are Catholics, but who have agreed to step in for this. My mother, too, will sponser them. And my sponsor is going to be Fr. P, which seems absolutely correct in every possible way. It is he who has guided me so patiently thus far on this path.
I may ask another friend to sponsor me as well. She, too, has played a role in my spiritual journey. And she is a chick, which might come in handy sometimes!
Friday, May 12, 2006
Truro
My grandmother and grandfather had a house in Truro, on Cape Cod. It was a beach house, about 40 yards from the beach. We grew up going there in the off season because they rented it out for the summer when they were in Canada.
Several years ago, my dad and aunt were given the house. Dad sold his half to his sister and after several more years, she sold the place outright. (It was a grueling decision, I know. Logistically it made sense, since she lives in New Jersey. It was tough for my brother and I who loved it and live about 1 1/2 hours away. But we couldn't afford it then and couldn't now.)
When my grandmother died a couple of years ago, we made a pilgrimage to the house in Canada to close it before it sold. We scattered some of her ashes. My dad carved an inscription in a huge rock by the boat house. It rained and snowed (in May!) for four days straight. We were there with no heat, huddling around a tiny pot bellied stove in the living room. Cleaning out drawers and closets and cupboards. Hauling out trash and treasures and pieces of our history. And the day after we left, my father and aunt went to the lawyers and signed away the island that had been in our family since the 1930s. We were crushed. And as we had no more access to the place, we really had no where to 'visit' a grave site.
But over the many years that my grandparents owned the house in Truro, they were very close friends with their neighbors, the Heiberg's. And the Heiberg's had a little plot in the cemetary in Truro, where they are now buried. And the plot had a little extra room, so their children offered to let us set a stone there for Granny and Grandpa.
Over the winter, my dad carved a beautiful slate headstone for them. It had an image of a loon taking flight on one side and a gorgeous moon snail on the other.
For the last few days, we gathered on the Cape to set the stone, place the remaining, combined, ashes of my grandmother and grandfather, and spend time together as a family in the place where, for years, we gathered.
We rented a couple of beach cottages for two nights, and despite the grey weather, had a great time. In two, tiny beach cottages, we stuffed 7 adults, two young boys, three dogs and a rabbit. It felt a little like Noah's Ark. Fortunately, the rain was gentle and intermittent (unlike RI, where it was, apparently, torrential and constant.) On Thursday afternoon, after drinking a toast in my Grandparent's honor, we went to the beach near their old house for a picnic. And sure enough, the sun broke through the clouds, the sky cleared and there was a gorgeous breeze off the water.
For awhile, I went and sat alone near the shore, listening to the waves lapping against the sand, smelling the grass and seaweed and ocean. Hearing only the vague mumble of the conversation of our picnic party. I lay on my back and held my scarf over my face to protect it from the sun.
I thought of God.
I felt grateful.
Helen Ritchie Hegnauer
1911-2003
Albert Henry Hegnauer
1900-1973
Rest in peace, you two. I'll see you again on the other side.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Things I love about attending a Christian church #37
Sometimes I catch my kids singing the Eucharistic prayer that our priest sings each Sunday:
By him and with him and in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and glory is yours almighty Father, now and forever. Amen.
By him and with him and in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and glory is yours almighty Father, now and forever. Amen.
Friday, May 05, 2006
squid vicious
If I had half a brain, I would have brought a camera. What a funny sight, all these Asians lined up on the bridge to Goat Island in Newport, casting bright pink jigs into the sea and pulling up dozens and dozens of squid.The squid run once a year in Newport. In Asian circles, the news spreads like wildfire. Vietnamese, Chinese, Cambodians, Koreans show up from miles and miles away... some come from New Hampshire, Connecticut, Massachussetts. They line their beat up, fancy, new and 0ld cars and vans along Newport's swanky boulevards and walk to the bridge to drop their line in and haul out nature's bounty.
When I was a kid, the squid run was basically ignored. Even though I grew up only a few blocks from where the run takes place, I never heard of anyone fishing for squid. We had mackeral runs which would capture folks attention in those days. No one ate squid when I was a child. And there were no Asian immigrants yet.
Tonight was spectacular. The evening was warm and breezy. We took the kids for dinner at Yesterday's first, then walked down to the bridge and retrieved our fishing gear from the parked car. We found a spot on the concrete sea wall and started casting our jigs amoung the hundreds of others.
Emmett (5) taught me how, as this was my first time. Cast it out, let it sink... don't reel it in too fast. Let it sit on the bottom and give it a little yank every now and then to attract the squid. We probably caught about a dozen in an hour. Nowhere near as many as the pros next to us, who had them by the bucket.
Squid make a strange sucking noise when they come out of the water. They spray you with sea water and ink as they drop into the bucket. They shift from a beautiful spotted brown color to a very dead looking gray within minutes.
And when steamed with ginger and garlic sauce, they make a pretty good snack.
RevGal Friday Five: A Very Merry Unbirthday
Birthdays:
1. Favorite birthday cake/ice cream/dessert
Chocolate reins supreme. Deep, dark, bittersweet in the form of some kind of gooey cake. Second would be my step mother's incredible carrot cake... which I happened to have a slice of last night since it was my dad's birthday!
2. Surprise Parties -- have you ever given or received one?
When I turned 30, I asked my friends to throw a surprise party for me! It was a huge bash. In a way, I really was suprised because my brother decorated my house with helium balloons and streamers. And silly string. Remnants of which can still be found, on occasion, 11 years later.
3. Favorite birthday present
For my 40th Birthday, my friend Tracy gave me a gorgeous silver cross which I wear a lot.
4. What do you think of those candles that won't blow out?
Love 'em when they are for someone else, LOL!
5. Best. birthday. ever.
It was a little early, but the best birthday I ever had was my first son's birth. (He was born 1/1/97... and my bday is 1/11. ) I celebrated my actual birthday with no sleep, sore boobs and a bunch of stitches where people shouldn't have stitches. And it was the most joyful birthday ever. (I can't even remember a THING about it! But I remember being very happy!)
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
deconsecration
How does this work, I wonder? I just got off the phone with my kitchen gadget hostess/new church friend and she told me that on Pentecost, they are deconsecrating her church. In my mind, I imagine taking the crosses and other religious symbols, stripping the altar (like on Maundy Thursday) and maybe sending up some incense. I can't imagine what that will be like for the people who have been going to that church for years, for a lifetime. Some of the parishoners are from families who have been members for generations.
Deconsecrating.
On Pentecost.
Beloved,
Please comfort your children in their pain and loss. They seek you. They know you in one another. They listen for you in their choir and their pulpit, at coffee hour and bible study. I pray that they find peace in the midst of their sadness. I pray that they see your face in places they don't expect it...
The altars may be stripped,
the bibles taken away,
but God,
you are now and will always be
present in that church,
and everywhere.
Deconsecrating.
On Pentecost.
Beloved,
Please comfort your children in their pain and loss. They seek you. They know you in one another. They listen for you in their choir and their pulpit, at coffee hour and bible study. I pray that they find peace in the midst of their sadness. I pray that they see your face in places they don't expect it...
The altars may be stripped,
the bibles taken away,
but God,
you are now and will always be
present in that church,
and everywhere.
Oh, and one more thing-
If you are reading this, Fr. P, and want tomorrow's lunch menu to be a suprise, click off now!
I am really looking forward to lunch with Fr. P tomorrow. I feel a little out of synch with my daily practice and somehow feel that doing a post-Easter wrap up is going to do me good. Plus I am making fancy wrap sandwiches with turkey, bacon, avocado and banana peppers. Yum.
See below for the few other things.
I am really looking forward to lunch with Fr. P tomorrow. I feel a little out of synch with my daily practice and somehow feel that doing a post-Easter wrap up is going to do me good. Plus I am making fancy wrap sandwiches with turkey, bacon, avocado and banana peppers. Yum.
See below for the few other things.
a few things:
- My dad turns 66 tomorrow. For years he never really aged, but now he is beginning to actually look like he is in his 60s. But heck, 60 is the new 30, right? So, does that mean 70 is the new 40? (Does that make me 71 somehow?)
- Bunnies smell like timothy. And they are soft to hug.
- My brother is having his first show opening on May 18. To see his nature photography, go to his website.
- My hairdresser's teenage daughter is expecting a baby. I shared with my hairdresser that I will be starting to teach teen childbirth classes at the local Care Net chapter and we both were amazed (not really) at the timing. I hope her daughter chooses to join the class. (I got my haircut last night. The books for the class came in the mail today.)
- I have been listening to our local evangelical radio station lately and feel more and more that the term conservative and christian don't fit together comfortably. Christian is Christian, isn't it? If you are a disciple of Jesus and are willing to let God run the show, it seems like politics doesn't have a role in that process. At. All. I resonate with a lot of stuff on that radio station and someday will call them up and let them know that by constantly harping on the politics, they might be alienating perfectly fanatical Jesus freaks like me, who happen to be pretty liberal on the political scale. Can't I be both?
- I did reiki on a client today and spent the whole hour chatting with Jesus in my head. I love that.
Beloved,
Sanctify me. Help me dig into all the corners of my life and expose them to your love and your light. Help me open my heart to shine that light forth in all that I do. Sanctify me.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
He opened their minds
One thing I love about going to an honest-to-God actual Christian church is that I get to hear the bible every Sunday. Not just on special once-in-awhile days like at the UU church, but every darned Sunday. I love that.
Today, in Luke's gospel, this line jumped out at me:
Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures
Jesus opened the minds of the disciples so that they could understand the scriptures. What is so cool about this line is that I have experienced it myself. Things that have been huge conundrums for me suddenly became clear. Theological issues which confounded me became totally understandable. This happened with a lot of things after I got baptized. But even now, as I am reading a psalm or a verse from the scriptures, I will feel the fog lift and see things with such clarity it sometimes moves me to tears. And I suspect Jesus is part of that clarity. I believe that the Holy Spirit whispers loving hints into my heart so I can understand what God is trying to say. I love that.
Bible study today was all about evangelizing. We read the line in Acts where God tells Paul not to be afraid to speak out. (Ironic, of course, considering Paul had every right to be terrified...) Speaking out has been hard for me. My image of myself has changed so much, but I still feel shy saying the word "Christian". It is odd, really, since I can't even remember not being a Christian. But for some reason I still choke a little on the word. I think it is because for 39 years, I wasn't one, so it is still very very new. But even when we don't say a word, God finds ways to use us for his good.As you regulars know, my new church is in the process of merging with another, wonderful, church down the road. It is a very painful process for them, I think. Today we had a big pot-luck at their parish house to introduce the two congregations to one another. I know a couple of the folks there from my church shopping spree in the fall. But this morning I walked in to the kitchen of the soon-to-close church and almost bumped into one of the guests who was at my kitchen tools party last night. In fact, not just a guest, but the mother of the hostess. I was stunned. We, of course, had never mentioned our religious leanings. We had no idea we would soon be attending the same church. But there she was. And in that moment when we recognized each other, we both felt the power of the Holy Spirit in such a huge way that we just hugged one another and let our eyes fill right up. It turned out, her daughter (my hostess) and son in law and grandkids were all sitting out in the dining room. And I remembered all their names from the night before and went to sit with them. My son became very friendly with their daughter... so now I think she might even be looking forward to the move to Grace.
God is so good.
God is so good.
God, Beloved, my Beloved, you are so good.
You weave yourself into our lives, giving us little glimpses of your work in action. We wonder why things unfold as they do. I am learning that in trusting you, my life unfolds in such magical ways. I am so grateful. Let me be an instrument of your peace. Let me trust in you always.
Luke 24:36b-48
36bJesus himself stood among them and said to them, "Peace be with you." 37They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. 38He said to them, "Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." 40And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. 41While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, "Have you anything here to eat?" 42They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43and he took it and ate in their presence.
44Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you�that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." 45Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48You are witnesses of these things."
Friday, April 28, 2006
10 Simple pleasures
I got tagged while hanging out at Lutheranchik's, so here goes: 10 of my favorite simple pleasures.
1. My hammock. I have it strung between an old iron clothesline pole and a sadly decrepit silver maple. The tree is dying and I am at a complete loss as to how to manage the hammock when we finally have to cut it down. I love lying in the hammock and looking into the branches at all the birds.
2. Listening to my kids when they are supposed to be asleep, but are upstairs giggling instead. Even when I yell at them to settle down, there is a part of me that feels such joy at the fact that they love each other so much.
3. This is a new one: holding Theo in my lap and petting him. He sits stock still and I can't tell if he actually likes it, but since he doesn't try to escape, I am assuming he doesn't mind too much. Maybe he is just indulging me, but I'll take it.
4. Homemade chocolate chip cookies.
5. Walking on a beach in the off-season. Not frigid cold, but cool and most important, empty. I LOVE beaches in the early spring or fall when there are no crowds. I love the smell of the salt in the air. The feel of the breeze. The sound of the waves and gulls. The feeling of being small.
6. Sitting in an empty church. Sometimes I have this urge to just go up to the sanctuary and lie, face down, in front of the alter. If I am really alone, I will lie down in the pew and just look up at the ceiling.
7. Having coffee with a friend. This is one of those very basic pleasures which happen so rarely in my life.
8. Lying in bed on weekend morning. Before kids, Nguyen and I would sometimes spend a whole day in bed, catching up on sleep, reading a paper, drinking coffee. I miss that! Since kids, we have never been able to do that.
9. Taking communion.
10. Homemade white bread slathered with butter and strawberry jam.
Tag! Your turn!
1. My hammock. I have it strung between an old iron clothesline pole and a sadly decrepit silver maple. The tree is dying and I am at a complete loss as to how to manage the hammock when we finally have to cut it down. I love lying in the hammock and looking into the branches at all the birds.
2. Listening to my kids when they are supposed to be asleep, but are upstairs giggling instead. Even when I yell at them to settle down, there is a part of me that feels such joy at the fact that they love each other so much.
3. This is a new one: holding Theo in my lap and petting him. He sits stock still and I can't tell if he actually likes it, but since he doesn't try to escape, I am assuming he doesn't mind too much. Maybe he is just indulging me, but I'll take it.
4. Homemade chocolate chip cookies.
5. Walking on a beach in the off-season. Not frigid cold, but cool and most important, empty. I LOVE beaches in the early spring or fall when there are no crowds. I love the smell of the salt in the air. The feel of the breeze. The sound of the waves and gulls. The feeling of being small.
6. Sitting in an empty church. Sometimes I have this urge to just go up to the sanctuary and lie, face down, in front of the alter. If I am really alone, I will lie down in the pew and just look up at the ceiling.
7. Having coffee with a friend. This is one of those very basic pleasures which happen so rarely in my life.
8. Lying in bed on weekend morning. Before kids, Nguyen and I would sometimes spend a whole day in bed, catching up on sleep, reading a paper, drinking coffee. I miss that! Since kids, we have never been able to do that.
9. Taking communion.
10. Homemade white bread slathered with butter and strawberry jam.
Tag! Your turn!
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Bunnies and other issues.
1 bag of sweet timothy hay: $4.50
1 bag of rabbit pellets: $8.00
30 feet of vinyl tubing to bunny proof our electrical cords $12.00
A rabbit that has the run of the house: priceless
We aren't there yet. He is still a very naughty adolescent bunny, but we are gearing him up for house rabbit status. So far he is using his litter box successfully. I had one major mishap with him this morning while I was working. I wasn't paying attention til I heard a big thump. When I looked up, I saw that Theo had eaten half the spine of a very expensive book. (1st edition of 'The Silence of Heaven...' OUCH. Clearly I have to find a new home for my books!)
But we are really enjoying the little guy. He is sweet.
In other news: My parents came from Newfoundland to spend a month in RI. They are renting a beach house about a 1/2 hour away. I am looking forward to hanging out with them there. They have a new dog, so it wouldn't have worked if they stayed with us. Plus, frankly, it drives them crazy to be in the midst of our household. And it drives me crazy that even when they are staying with us, we never see them because they always have so much scheduled. This arrangement will probably work much better.
I get depressed every time they come down, though. I always feel like we just suck at long distance relationships. None of us are the type to chat on the phone much. And we haven't figured out how to manage the time we are together very well. When they are here or we are there, the distance between us becomes so much more real. Last summer, we went to visit them and by the end of the week I was pretty freaked out. Being a guest in someone's house is really hard... especially with a couple of little kids. And the realization that that is basically the only option started to sink in. I got really sad that they live so far away. Getting stranded in the airport in St. Johns didn't help matters much. We got fogged in and had to spend half a night in a motel and then get up at 3 am in order to make the next plane out. I couldn't reach my husband, who was in Vietnam. I couldn't reach my parents. My phone card didn't seem to be working. And my cell phone doesn't have service in NL.
I don't know how people do this business of living a gazillion miles from their families. If you have a clue... let me know.
1 bag of rabbit pellets: $8.00
30 feet of vinyl tubing to bunny proof our electrical cords $12.00
A rabbit that has the run of the house: priceless
We aren't there yet. He is still a very naughty adolescent bunny, but we are gearing him up for house rabbit status. So far he is using his litter box successfully. I had one major mishap with him this morning while I was working. I wasn't paying attention til I heard a big thump. When I looked up, I saw that Theo had eaten half the spine of a very expensive book. (1st edition of 'The Silence of Heaven...' OUCH. Clearly I have to find a new home for my books!)
But we are really enjoying the little guy. He is sweet.
In other news: My parents came from Newfoundland to spend a month in RI. They are renting a beach house about a 1/2 hour away. I am looking forward to hanging out with them there. They have a new dog, so it wouldn't have worked if they stayed with us. Plus, frankly, it drives them crazy to be in the midst of our household. And it drives me crazy that even when they are staying with us, we never see them because they always have so much scheduled. This arrangement will probably work much better.
I get depressed every time they come down, though. I always feel like we just suck at long distance relationships. None of us are the type to chat on the phone much. And we haven't figured out how to manage the time we are together very well. When they are here or we are there, the distance between us becomes so much more real. Last summer, we went to visit them and by the end of the week I was pretty freaked out. Being a guest in someone's house is really hard... especially with a couple of little kids. And the realization that that is basically the only option started to sink in. I got really sad that they live so far away. Getting stranded in the airport in St. Johns didn't help matters much. We got fogged in and had to spend half a night in a motel and then get up at 3 am in order to make the next plane out. I couldn't reach my husband, who was in Vietnam. I couldn't reach my parents. My phone card didn't seem to be working. And my cell phone doesn't have service in NL.
I don't know how people do this business of living a gazillion miles from their families. If you have a clue... let me know.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Grey Sunday
I don't know if my knee is acting up because of the weather, or because I forgot to take the anti-inflammatories for a couple of days, but whatever the reason, I am limping around again.
This knee thing has been humbling and eye opening. First, I have gained weight lately, and I am pretty sure it is lack of activity. I have never been a huge exercise fan, but I know that the last couple have months I have been much more sedentary than usual. My most excellent Northern European metabolism seeks every opportunity to pad up for some feared future starvation, so I have probably gained about 15 lbs or so. (Which means I am way more that 15 lbs over weight!)
I have been humbled by that.
I have also been humbled by the fact that I can never predict from day to day what I am going to feel like. Some days I feel very energetic and can do things like take a walk to my son's school. Other days, like yesterday, I feel like crawling into bed and sleeping for the whole afternoon. Part of me worries when I have too much scheduled because I can't be sure how my body will react. This is new and very very strange.
My parents are coming from Newfoundland for a visit. They are going to stay with us on Tuesday night. Truly, it is about all I can do to clean out their guest room for them, never mind planning a dinner.
But on some level, I am ok with all of this. With the extra weight and the unpredictability of my body. I am ok with the fear, even. In all things, I am trying to allow it to bring me closer to God somehow. Just let my life flow as it will... unfolding in God's way, not mine.
I have a friend who was praying to God for a week off from her hectic life. Over the weekend, she passed out in the middle of Times Square from heat exhaustion and ended up breaking her leg in the fall. She is going to get her week off... although it wasn't exactly the way she imagined. I told her next time she ought to book a cruise! LOL. But the fact that she saw the connection between her prayer and her accident really inspires me. She has let God take charge of her life in such a deep way.
Beloved, let me be open to your work in my life.
Let me rest in you when I am weary. Let me do your will in all things, at all times.
This knee thing has been humbling and eye opening. First, I have gained weight lately, and I am pretty sure it is lack of activity. I have never been a huge exercise fan, but I know that the last couple have months I have been much more sedentary than usual. My most excellent Northern European metabolism seeks every opportunity to pad up for some feared future starvation, so I have probably gained about 15 lbs or so. (Which means I am way more that 15 lbs over weight!)
I have been humbled by that.
I have also been humbled by the fact that I can never predict from day to day what I am going to feel like. Some days I feel very energetic and can do things like take a walk to my son's school. Other days, like yesterday, I feel like crawling into bed and sleeping for the whole afternoon. Part of me worries when I have too much scheduled because I can't be sure how my body will react. This is new and very very strange.
My parents are coming from Newfoundland for a visit. They are going to stay with us on Tuesday night. Truly, it is about all I can do to clean out their guest room for them, never mind planning a dinner.
But on some level, I am ok with all of this. With the extra weight and the unpredictability of my body. I am ok with the fear, even. In all things, I am trying to allow it to bring me closer to God somehow. Just let my life flow as it will... unfolding in God's way, not mine.
I have a friend who was praying to God for a week off from her hectic life. Over the weekend, she passed out in the middle of Times Square from heat exhaustion and ended up breaking her leg in the fall. She is going to get her week off... although it wasn't exactly the way she imagined. I told her next time she ought to book a cruise! LOL. But the fact that she saw the connection between her prayer and her accident really inspires me. She has let God take charge of her life in such a deep way.
Beloved, let me be open to your work in my life.
Let me rest in you when I am weary. Let me do your will in all things, at all times.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Theo is on the move...
Last night I came home from a kitchen tools party pretty late. (It was a friend, so I stayed around after to chat...)
And what do I find? My husband sitting in front of a roaring fire, beer in hand, with a rabbit running around the living room. Well, not running exactly. More like hopping.
What is funny about this is that Nguyen was mister cool when it came to the rabbit. "no, I am not excited we are getting a rabbit." he said the day we were heading off to pick one out.
As I suspected, he turned to mush the moment he actually met the little guy.
Theo's exploration of the living room was quite an accomplishment too. For the previous couple of days he wouldn't come out of his cage at all, preferring, I think, to scope the situation from the safety of his little home.
We seriously need to bunny proof at this point. The first thing he did was hop over to my laptop electrical cord and take a few nibbles.
He even took a few flying leaps through the air, which Nguyen had never seen before. It was hilarious.
And one HUGE accomplishment is that he is using his litter box very successfully. Good Boy Theo!
And what do I find? My husband sitting in front of a roaring fire, beer in hand, with a rabbit running around the living room. Well, not running exactly. More like hopping.
What is funny about this is that Nguyen was mister cool when it came to the rabbit. "no, I am not excited we are getting a rabbit." he said the day we were heading off to pick one out.
As I suspected, he turned to mush the moment he actually met the little guy.
Theo's exploration of the living room was quite an accomplishment too. For the previous couple of days he wouldn't come out of his cage at all, preferring, I think, to scope the situation from the safety of his little home.
We seriously need to bunny proof at this point. The first thing he did was hop over to my laptop electrical cord and take a few nibbles.
He even took a few flying leaps through the air, which Nguyen had never seen before. It was hilarious.
And one HUGE accomplishment is that he is using his litter box very successfully. Good Boy Theo!
Friday, April 21, 2006
RevGal Friday Five: Favorites
On this particular day, these are my favorites:
1) fruit- Stewed rhubarb
2) song- I know my redeemer liveth (Handel's Messiah)
3) beverage- Senseo medium roast in my pink and white polka dot cup. With cream and equal.
4) shoes- LOVE my sketchers bike shoes. (Not that I ever bike...)
5) flower- Siberian Iris
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Welcome home, Theo
Today my sons and I went to rabbit rescue organization to adopt a bunny. Older son has been obsessed with rabbits for months. He has a bunny dance. He reads bunny books. (Did you know there is a series about a rabbit vampire called "Bunnicula"? He sucks the life out of vegetables!) So I agreed that we would get a rabbit after Easter.
When I was a kid, rabbits were meat animals.
But when I was a young adult, my mother and her boyfriend adopted a rabbit when they lived in a tiny apartment in NYC. The rabbit was a Flemmish Giant named, uh, Bunny. She had strawberry blond fur and was very very funny. One of our favorite NYC stories was when we ordered a pizza to be delivered. The guy that delivered it was a very cool/tough looking young man who took one look at the rabbit and just melted into goo. He sat on the floor (after handing the pizza to my mom) and the rabbit was all over him. It turned out that the man was a recent immigrant from Haiti and used to have rabbits at home. And boy did he miss them! We noticed tears in his eyes. New York can be such a difficult experience for new immigrants...
Bunny lived with my parents for about 5 years. Eventually, though, my sort-of-step-father developed allergies to her, so she lived out her dotage with a friend who had a dog and a cat. The three of them were great friends til the end.
Today, we drove 45 minutes to the Sweet Binks rabbit shelter and spent an hour getting to know the bunnies. Pam, the owner, assessed the kids and suggested rabbits based on their personalities. We were very interested in a Flemmish Dutch mix called Fiona, but she was having none of it. Little Theo, though, seemed to warm up to the boys just fine. He is a very small guy... an adolescent, and he is sort of a reddish color too. So far he hasn't ventured out of the animal carrier we brought him home in, but he seems pretty relaxed in there, so I think he'll fit right in.
Here's the link to Sweet Binks.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Jesus Freak
I can't remember life before.
I don't remember who I was. What I was. What I thought about.
Well, I sort of remember, but it is not like a memory. More like observing someone else's life. Like watching someone through a mist. It wasn't really me, it seems. It was like pre-me. Proto me.
The real me is the one who exists in Jesus. The real me is the one I am excavating from my past self and discovering under all the layers.
To anyone who hasn't been there before, this whole thing might seem terrifying. My old friends may, in fact, be worried for me. They might just worry that the person they knew before evaporated, disappeared, disolved. But the truth is that the person they knew before was not the real me.
The real me is the one who woke up on the day that I died and was reborn in Jesus. September 10th, 2003 at 10:00 am.
My true birth day.
I don't remember who I was. What I was. What I thought about.
Well, I sort of remember, but it is not like a memory. More like observing someone else's life. Like watching someone through a mist. It wasn't really me, it seems. It was like pre-me. Proto me.
The real me is the one who exists in Jesus. The real me is the one I am excavating from my past self and discovering under all the layers.
To anyone who hasn't been there before, this whole thing might seem terrifying. My old friends may, in fact, be worried for me. They might just worry that the person they knew before evaporated, disappeared, disolved. But the truth is that the person they knew before was not the real me.
The real me is the one who woke up on the day that I died and was reborn in Jesus. September 10th, 2003 at 10:00 am.
My true birth day.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Easter
It seems strange, but today was my first Easter service in a Christian church.
For the last couple of years, I attended the Triduum services at S. Stephens, but would return to my UU church on Easter Sunday. I would spend three days in a dark, smokey church listening to Gregorian chant and endless scripture readings and never get the light at the end. And while the Easter services at Bell Street were soulful and moving, it wasn't the same as sitting in a church full of believers who were just as eager as I was to celebrate the resurrection.
Today was an amazing experience.
During my first Holy Week, two years ago, I didn't feel a sense of the resurrection until the following monday. After a grueling week of personal loss and spiritual despair, I was stunned to wake up on Monday morning with a big smile on my face and a clear sense that Jesus was back, baby.
Last year, that didn't seem to happen for weeks. In fact, I really don't remember a specific time when I got that giddy "Jesus has risen from the dead" kind of feeling at all. If it came, it was very subtle.
This year, I started to get an inkling of it even on Good Friday. I had intended, for example, to go to the evening service at S. Stephens after attending the afternoon vigil at Grace. But as the afternoon wore on, I felt like it was more important to stay home with my children and color Easter eggs. That, to me, was a tiny glimpse of the resurrection. By Saturday night, it was clear. I could feel it in the church. I felt joy inching it's way along the walls of my soul, even as I sat in the darkness waiting for the new fire to be lit.
Today was a full-on love fest. We sang the Hallelujah chorus and giddy hymns about Jesus kicking death's ass. We giggled at all the fancy hats and kids in their Easter best. We marveled at the thin clouds hanging in the crystal clear blue sky. I welled up at the sound of the church bells peeling in downtown Providence.
After church, we went to Nguyen's sister's house for the annual Easter meat-rampage and ate Vietnamese beef noodle soup and chicken wings, barbequed pork ribs, and yes, curried venison. I watched the kids and marveled at how fast they are growing. Noticed that my Sister's in law are getting more gray hairs. That I am plumper than last year. That my brother-in-law and husband look more alike when they are both sound asleep on the sofa.
And felt to the very core of my being that Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah,
is risen today.
For the last couple of years, I attended the Triduum services at S. Stephens, but would return to my UU church on Easter Sunday. I would spend three days in a dark, smokey church listening to Gregorian chant and endless scripture readings and never get the light at the end. And while the Easter services at Bell Street were soulful and moving, it wasn't the same as sitting in a church full of believers who were just as eager as I was to celebrate the resurrection.
Today was an amazing experience.
During my first Holy Week, two years ago, I didn't feel a sense of the resurrection until the following monday. After a grueling week of personal loss and spiritual despair, I was stunned to wake up on Monday morning with a big smile on my face and a clear sense that Jesus was back, baby.
Last year, that didn't seem to happen for weeks. In fact, I really don't remember a specific time when I got that giddy "Jesus has risen from the dead" kind of feeling at all. If it came, it was very subtle.
This year, I started to get an inkling of it even on Good Friday. I had intended, for example, to go to the evening service at S. Stephens after attending the afternoon vigil at Grace. But as the afternoon wore on, I felt like it was more important to stay home with my children and color Easter eggs. That, to me, was a tiny glimpse of the resurrection. By Saturday night, it was clear. I could feel it in the church. I felt joy inching it's way along the walls of my soul, even as I sat in the darkness waiting for the new fire to be lit.
Today was a full-on love fest. We sang the Hallelujah chorus and giddy hymns about Jesus kicking death's ass. We giggled at all the fancy hats and kids in their Easter best. We marveled at the thin clouds hanging in the crystal clear blue sky. I welled up at the sound of the church bells peeling in downtown Providence.
After church, we went to Nguyen's sister's house for the annual Easter meat-rampage and ate Vietnamese beef noodle soup and chicken wings, barbequed pork ribs, and yes, curried venison. I watched the kids and marveled at how fast they are growing. Noticed that my Sister's in law are getting more gray hairs. That I am plumper than last year. That my brother-in-law and husband look more alike when they are both sound asleep on the sofa.
And felt to the very core of my being that Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah,
is risen today.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
The Great Vigil of Easter
Well,
We Christians are coming down the home stretch. Tonight was the Easter Vigil. What a different atmosphere! Even when we were sitting in darkness, there was almost a festival flavor in the church. It was very full. And there were 5 baptisms tonight, three of them with babies, so lots of kids and parents and relatives milling around. It is hard to be serious with a bunch of cooing infants all over the place.
Yesterday, at the Good Friday service, one of the Sunday school teachers invited me to sit with her. I (gracefully, I think) declined. I wanted to be alone and I didn't want to make small talk. Tonight, on the other hand, another young woman asked me to join her and I agreed. And yes, she chatted there in the dark until the service began. But it was different somehow. I told Nguyen that I want to grieve alone, but celebrate together. Actually, I want to grieve with others too... just not having to talk during it. I just don't want to talk.
This whole Holy Week has been such a different experience than when I went to an Anglo Catholic church. This is reverent, indeed. But it feels much less formal. More natural, even as it sticks to the liturgy. I can't explain it.
As I am kind of a 'smells and bells' hound, I was wondering if the church services would have the same effect on me. Thursday and Friday certainly did. But tonight was very different. It really felt exhuberant. It was, without a doubt, a celebration. I liked it.
Alleluia.
Christ is risen.
Alleluia.
We Christians are coming down the home stretch. Tonight was the Easter Vigil. What a different atmosphere! Even when we were sitting in darkness, there was almost a festival flavor in the church. It was very full. And there were 5 baptisms tonight, three of them with babies, so lots of kids and parents and relatives milling around. It is hard to be serious with a bunch of cooing infants all over the place.
Yesterday, at the Good Friday service, one of the Sunday school teachers invited me to sit with her. I (gracefully, I think) declined. I wanted to be alone and I didn't want to make small talk. Tonight, on the other hand, another young woman asked me to join her and I agreed. And yes, she chatted there in the dark until the service began. But it was different somehow. I told Nguyen that I want to grieve alone, but celebrate together. Actually, I want to grieve with others too... just not having to talk during it. I just don't want to talk.
This whole Holy Week has been such a different experience than when I went to an Anglo Catholic church. This is reverent, indeed. But it feels much less formal. More natural, even as it sticks to the liturgy. I can't explain it.
As I am kind of a 'smells and bells' hound, I was wondering if the church services would have the same effect on me. Thursday and Friday certainly did. But tonight was very different. It really felt exhuberant. It was, without a doubt, a celebration. I liked it.
Alleluia.
Christ is risen.
Alleluia.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Good Friday
Yup. I sat at Grace church for 3 hours today. We had a guest preacher... a Bishop from Boston named Steven Charleston who was leading the meditations on Christ's last words. This was new to me, since last year at S. Stephen's we did the stations of the cross. And I have to say, this guy was fantastic. He is, apparently, a former Baptist and his preaching was definately evangelical. At one point he even joked about an Episcopal Bishop making an altar call and I tell you right now, I was ready to stand up and be amoung those coming forward.
And yes, I cried for about 3 hours straight.
Here's the thing. It wasn't his preaching that brought me to tears. No. It wasn't the hymns or the beautiful choir or the collects. No.
It was the fact that I know, deep in my soul, deep in my core, I know that I am saved. And the miracle of that is just beyond comprehension. I know, brothers and sisters, that I who was dead, am alive. I who was in grief and despair, am in joy. I know that NOTHING can ever change that. My tears then, aren't just from grief, but joy. My tears are of gratitude. Humilty. Awe.
I was deeply appreciative that the lady sitting behind me had a wad of tissues to share.
Then, at the end of the service, after the last hymn, we all stood (or knelt) in silence as the church bells tolled.
100 people, in silence.
St. John of the Cross and other matters....
Grace was so, well, full of grace last night. It was truly one of the most beautiful services I have ever been to. The church was dimly lit. There were dozens of candles illuminating the altar of repose and the choir. The priests started in white robes with red stoles... and changed to black albs while stripping the altar.
I was teary through the whole thing. For me, nothing can choke me up more powerfully than seeing the cross shrouded in black. For some reason, that single thing just opens my heart. I cry for grief and joy. For sorrow and thanksgiving. I really do need to bring some tissues next time. I dripped everywhere.
Last night I brought a friend who has been struggling somewhat with her own Christian path. Unlike me, she was raised as a Christian, but wandered away at some point. I believe Jesus is calling to her now, and I think she is responding to that call. But I know how hard that leap can be, so I pray for her constantly to be unafraid, to trust in God, who can heal all wounds. She was weeping through the service with me, so we must have been quite a funny sight... a couple of redheads leaking away in the pews.
The sermon was amazing. Our associate priest, Hope, gave the homily and it was really powerful. She talked about 'last suppers' in her own life... and how there is always the temptation to try and cram into them all the last minute things you wish you had said before. I love when I think of Jesus the man, feeling like a parent who is about to send his children off into the world. Knowing it is going to be hard and dangerous and scary for them. Giving them the best advice: Love one another. Don't squabble. Be servants to the world. Those simple, yet profoundly difficult instructions.
At the altar, I just let the tears flow freely as I took the bread and the wine into my body. I really am a goofus, I know.
Then, during the vigil, it turned out that I was not alone after all. There were three of us sitting there for a couple of hours. It was interesting to realize that all my centering prayer practice allowed me to sit quietly for that long and not fidget much. In the end, when the pew started to feel really hard, I began to do the rosary on my fingers. The five sorrowful mysteries. (Which I still don't really know.) By the time I got to the second one it was 10 pm and I went up to the altar and knelt down and asked Jesus to forgive me for leaving.
So, if you are still with me, you might be wondering where John of the Cross fits in. Well, to make a very long post even more interminable, when I came home, I draped my crosses in black and went to bed. Since I have been reading the bible all these weeks, I have had a copy of the Dark Night of the Soul sitting on my bedside table, untouched. I decided to crack it open for a few minutes before falling asleep.
And St. John gave me a whack upside the head.
All my crying and carrying on in the service,
All my "holy spirit" experiences,
All of it is just because I am pathetically inexperienced as a Christian. And don't let that stuff make you puff up with spiritual pride, either, sister, or you will get a major whack, not just from me... but from the big guy.
It is hard to tell where spiritual pride ends and profound gratitude begins. It is hard to distinguish secret self-satisfaction from unbridled joy. I know there is a temptation there for me.
On the other hand...
Meditation #104 from The Book of the Lover and the Beloved, by Ramon Lull:
Every day, sighs and tears are messengers between the Lover and the Beloved, so that between them there may be solace, companionship, friendship and goodwill.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
It is finished
A thunder storm is approaching, so I don't want to stay online for long. But I wanted to share that I finally finished Revelations. Thus, I have now read the bible cover to cover.
Careening towards Easter
I really tried. Really.
I made sure I cleared my schedule. Avoided booking anything significant this week. I crossed out all the days on my calendar so I wouldn't be running around like a crazy woman during Holy Week. And, like Kudzu, things creeped in. I have shows to submit. Customer Service calls to make. Tons of stuff for the kids' school to do. One thing after another, piling up in the corners of my head... keeping me from doing what I want to do, which is nothing. Which is sitting in the presence of the Beloved and soaking up all that love.
After I got baptized, I spent several weeks feeling like this... like life was intruding and I just wanted to get away and be alone with God and not be distracted by all the other stuff. (Never mind that that other stuff was mostly my family. I know, I know.)
It is times like this when I really do feel like I am kicking against the goads. And it seems to happen at least at some point every Lent. I felt like this last year. And the year before too.
I told Nguyen that maybe next year I will go on some kind of retreat for part of Holy Week. I don't know if any Christian places do such a thing, (it is a busy time of year to be in the religion business) but even if I end up at a Zen center or something, at least I can be alone with the Beloved.
It is a warm, grey, day. I am embarking on the journey towards Easter feeling harried and frazzled, with a To-Do list about a mile long.
But tonight, I eat a meal with him and sit in the garden with him and tomorrow I sit in a pew for the afternoon and meditate on his death. And Saturday the light begins to emerge from the darkness.
I bought shroud fabric yesterday. Black gauze for tomorrow and white gauze for Saturday, and tore it into squares to drape my crosses with...
I made sure I cleared my schedule. Avoided booking anything significant this week. I crossed out all the days on my calendar so I wouldn't be running around like a crazy woman during Holy Week. And, like Kudzu, things creeped in. I have shows to submit. Customer Service calls to make. Tons of stuff for the kids' school to do. One thing after another, piling up in the corners of my head... keeping me from doing what I want to do, which is nothing. Which is sitting in the presence of the Beloved and soaking up all that love.
After I got baptized, I spent several weeks feeling like this... like life was intruding and I just wanted to get away and be alone with God and not be distracted by all the other stuff. (Never mind that that other stuff was mostly my family. I know, I know.)
It is times like this when I really do feel like I am kicking against the goads. And it seems to happen at least at some point every Lent. I felt like this last year. And the year before too.
I told Nguyen that maybe next year I will go on some kind of retreat for part of Holy Week. I don't know if any Christian places do such a thing, (it is a busy time of year to be in the religion business) but even if I end up at a Zen center or something, at least I can be alone with the Beloved.
It is a warm, grey, day. I am embarking on the journey towards Easter feeling harried and frazzled, with a To-Do list about a mile long.
But tonight, I eat a meal with him and sit in the garden with him and tomorrow I sit in a pew for the afternoon and meditate on his death. And Saturday the light begins to emerge from the darkness.
I bought shroud fabric yesterday. Black gauze for tomorrow and white gauze for Saturday, and tore it into squares to drape my crosses with...
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Vigil
I signed up for the Maundy Thursday vigil at Grace. I didn't specify a time. I just wrote my name and phone number and invited the man coordinating it to assign a time to me.
At this point, apparently, I am the only volunteer.
I am pretty sure that the roster will fill up on Thursday night. Perhaps there will be a group of us sitting in Gethsemane together.
I admit that if I am alone, I have some fear about being in downtown Providence, alone at night in a huge old church. I caught a taste of anxiety when I thought about walking back to my car in the off-the-beaten-path parking lot behind the church. Or about sitting in the cavernous emptyness in the dark.
I tried to talk myself out of the fear. Tried to think I should ask for someone to watch with me. Tried to calm myself by reminding myself that God will be with me.
Then I remembered the disciples. They, too, must have been terrified. They slept from worry, it says in the bible. At least part of that worry must have been for their own skins.
Last year, I was reading the Passion of Mark in the week or so before Holy Week and just fell apart when I got to Gethsemane. I was shattered at the thought that he faced that trial alone. I was crushed to realize how much of my life I have spent sleeping or running away from him. I cried and cried about it. At S. Stephens on Maundy Thursday, I sat in the Alter of Repose for a long time. I didn't want to leave. I had not signed up, but just went after the service and sat in the darkness with a few others. Sat in the emptyness. Sat in the denial and the fear and the abandonment. Sat in the betrayal. And then, got up and walked away.
I don't know what is going to happen on Thursday, but I know this:
I will be with him.
And then I will leave.
Forgive me, Jeshua.
I love you.
Image of Gethsemane by Gwen Raverat
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Palm Sunday
Just sat in the pew weeping.
I was wondering if Holy Week was going to be as much of an emotional roller coaster as it was the first two years.
I think
the answer is
yes.
I was wondering if Holy Week was going to be as much of an emotional roller coaster as it was the first two years.
I think
the answer is
yes.
Friday, April 07, 2006
God pokes me in the ass...
So, in my very recent past I was teaching private natural childbirth classes to mostly middle class couples who paid dearly for them. I did it for almost 8 years until finally, last fall, decided to hang up the plastic pelvis and move on to other things. (Kitchen Gadgets! LOL)
Well, this morning, in the shower, God poked me.
(God does that pretty regularly, bless him...)
I suddenly had this flash that I should teach childbirth classes to young women who have decided to have their baby instead of having an abortion. Soap dripping in my eyes, I realized that I am uniquely qualified to offer my time on a volunteer basis. I could even train labor assistants to help women who have no other support out there.
One thing I have learned with these divine pokings is that they do not keep well. I have to act on them right away or they get stashed under a thousand other things in my day. So I immediately called a Pentacostal friend who is involved with some kind of prenatal clinic for unwed mothers. (That is so quaint a term these days, isn't it?)
I laughingly said that God "Laid a burden on my heart" (which is how charismatics describe it when the Holy Spirit pokes them...) and told her what had transpired in the shower.
She could hardly contain herself. Only a few weeks before, she had started volunteering for this clinic right down the street from me who specialized in helping and counciling young women who wanted to have their babies. She gave me the name and phone number of the director.
And I called. The director told me that this very weekend, there was a young woman in labor who had no support. A couple volunteers from the clinic were going to go to the hospital with her. I told the director that I can offer childbirth classes to the young women AND I can train the support people too!
Now, don't get me wrong, I am already totally stretched thin at this point. I have my new business and family stuff and a kid in kindergarten and another in third grade. Plus I am on the board of directors for an after-school arts program for at-risk kids. And I am mostly just a lazy person who would rather nap than anything. So, after I hung up with her, I explained to God that I am happy to be of service, but I need him to meet me halfway. God, I said, if you want me to do this, I need you to give me the strength and energy and the time to do it. I am going to need your help here, Big Guy. I can't do this alone.
I am somehow pretty sure I won't have to.
So. How has God poked YOU lately?
Well, this morning, in the shower, God poked me.
(God does that pretty regularly, bless him...)
I suddenly had this flash that I should teach childbirth classes to young women who have decided to have their baby instead of having an abortion. Soap dripping in my eyes, I realized that I am uniquely qualified to offer my time on a volunteer basis. I could even train labor assistants to help women who have no other support out there.
One thing I have learned with these divine pokings is that they do not keep well. I have to act on them right away or they get stashed under a thousand other things in my day. So I immediately called a Pentacostal friend who is involved with some kind of prenatal clinic for unwed mothers. (That is so quaint a term these days, isn't it?)
I laughingly said that God "Laid a burden on my heart" (which is how charismatics describe it when the Holy Spirit pokes them...) and told her what had transpired in the shower.
She could hardly contain herself. Only a few weeks before, she had started volunteering for this clinic right down the street from me who specialized in helping and counciling young women who wanted to have their babies. She gave me the name and phone number of the director.
And I called. The director told me that this very weekend, there was a young woman in labor who had no support. A couple volunteers from the clinic were going to go to the hospital with her. I told the director that I can offer childbirth classes to the young women AND I can train the support people too!
Now, don't get me wrong, I am already totally stretched thin at this point. I have my new business and family stuff and a kid in kindergarten and another in third grade. Plus I am on the board of directors for an after-school arts program for at-risk kids. And I am mostly just a lazy person who would rather nap than anything. So, after I hung up with her, I explained to God that I am happy to be of service, but I need him to meet me halfway. God, I said, if you want me to do this, I need you to give me the strength and energy and the time to do it. I am going to need your help here, Big Guy. I can't do this alone.
I am somehow pretty sure I won't have to.
So. How has God poked YOU lately?
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Romans
Those of you who have been reading my blog know that in January I embarked on a mission to read the entire bible, cover to cover, in 90 days. I don't know what possessed me to undertake such a thing, (Holy Spirit, perhaps?) but I can tell you that so far, it is one of the best things I have ever done. Seriously. The up side is that you get a real sense of the length and breadth of the relationship between the God of Abraham and mankind, in all it's various manifestations. I definately struggled with the Hebrew scriptures. There were pages and pages on how to build a temple. Hundreds of verses on why the City of Jerusalem is a whore. Lots of geneological lists of who was begat by whom. But every once in awhile, amazing and wonderful stories. Stories of love and compassion. Of a faithful, if cranky, God. And in the end, a real sense of what the ministry of Jesus was about. By the time I got to the Christian scriptures, believe me, I was ready!
So, last night I read the Letter of Paul to the Romans in a single sitting. (The nature of this kind of reading plan is to blaze through at a relentless pace. Which is, incidentally, the down side...) Romans is one of the most dense pieces of writing I have encountered so far. It is just PACKED with stuff. I am planning to join a Bible Study Fellowship this fall and we will be spending an entire year studying Romans. What a contrast! But after reading it again last night, I can absolutely understand why a whole year would be valuable. Even a casual reader could fruitfully take this letter sentence by sentence. I love Paul's style in this letter. Since it is the first of his letters in the bible, it is the first time we encounter him in his own words. He askes a lot of questions and then answers them.
"Does this mean we should go on sinning to increase our grace? Not at all! "
I know that in recent years, Paul has sometimes gotten a bad wrap by liberal Jesus scholars. I have heard him called all kinds of things, including a snake oil salesman. I completely disagree. Yes, I think he was astute. (The way he takes advantage of the tension between the Jews and the Gentiles was pretty smart, if you ask me! It was a little like using a rivalry between soccer teams to improve the performance of both.) But I find his commitment and his faith to be incredibly moving. And though it will take me some time to truly understand his theology, there is no question in my mind that as a Christian, I owe him an enormous debt of gratitude.
On to I Corinthians...
Beloved, in all places and at all times you speak to us through your servants. Grant us the ears to hear and the eyes to see. Let me be open, my Lord. Let my heart and mind be open to you.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
A mini epiphany
I was having lunch with Fr. P yesterday and was talking about reading the Catachism of the Catholic Church and my bible study the other day and hearing my former minister on an AM Christian radio station trying to explain that he didn't take the bible literally, but definately took it seriously....
(and that is exactly how my conversations with Fr. P tend to go. Gushes of semi-connected thoughts that may or may not have have any real connection once they are out of my mouth. He is a patient man.)
Anyway, to break this down into smaller bites:
The CCC stresses that the ultimate authority for interpreting the revelation of Jesus Christ is the Magistaerium. (spell check, please!)
The Evangelicals on the AM radio station who were intereviewing my former UU minister stressed that the ultimate authority is the Bible itself.
My priest at Grace, at the bible study on Sunday, mentioned that in the Episcopal tradition, religious authority is gleaned from 4 sources: The bible, tradition (which I think of as sort of the equivalent to the Magistaerium), reason (those pesky intellectual Anglicans...) and experience. Yes. Experience.
Like, my experience of God is of pure love and joy and I can't really bring myself to believe that he personally ordered the slaughter of every man, woman, child and infant in the pagan towns of Judah.
So, by now, if you are still reading this, you are wondering what the heck the mini epiphany might be.
It is that I am thinking that I might actually be an Anglican. For real. Not by default. Not a Catholic wanna be. (Although that might still be true at some point!) But, right now, right here, I am an Episcopalian and, dare I say it, proud of it.
Whew.
(and that is exactly how my conversations with Fr. P tend to go. Gushes of semi-connected thoughts that may or may not have have any real connection once they are out of my mouth. He is a patient man.)
Anyway, to break this down into smaller bites:
The CCC stresses that the ultimate authority for interpreting the revelation of Jesus Christ is the Magistaerium. (spell check, please!)
The Evangelicals on the AM radio station who were intereviewing my former UU minister stressed that the ultimate authority is the Bible itself.
My priest at Grace, at the bible study on Sunday, mentioned that in the Episcopal tradition, religious authority is gleaned from 4 sources: The bible, tradition (which I think of as sort of the equivalent to the Magistaerium), reason (those pesky intellectual Anglicans...) and experience. Yes. Experience.
Like, my experience of God is of pure love and joy and I can't really bring myself to believe that he personally ordered the slaughter of every man, woman, child and infant in the pagan towns of Judah.
So, by now, if you are still reading this, you are wondering what the heck the mini epiphany might be.
It is that I am thinking that I might actually be an Anglican. For real. Not by default. Not a Catholic wanna be. (Although that might still be true at some point!) But, right now, right here, I am an Episcopalian and, dare I say it, proud of it.
Whew.
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