It's 4:32 am..... do you know where your Savior is?

I have mentioned before that there are times when I inexplicably wake up in the pre-dawn darkness and can't get back to sleep. When this happens, I am usually wide awake. I don't toss and turn. It is not anxiety ridden insomnia, but rather an insistent, gentle, wakefulness that reminds me that the robber of Jesus' parable comes in the middle of the night.

If Nguyen weren't sleeping next to me, I might turn on the light and finish Thomas a Kempis, or get a head start on the morning psalms. Or read the book on prayer that Fr. P gave me. But as it is, I don't want to disturb my tired husband, so I lie awake and think over the week, and my upcoming confession, and repeat the name of my Beloved in my head and in my heart.

I pray.


Beloved,
Beloved,
Beloved....

I pray that N and J will come to know you. I pray that P will find a new confessor and that S will know your grace and love during this time of trial. I pray for my church and my denomination. I pray for the strength to avoid sin and the willingness to be your obedient servant.

Beloved...

I pray that when you come like a thief in the night, I will be awake
and waiting for you.

God speaks

through the people in my lectio divina group.

Every Sunday we gather in a little storage room and sit in a circle and read the gospel lesson for the day. We pray together and meditate on the message that Jesus is sending us through the reading. We share about what action Jesus is asking us to take. We are amazed by the synchronicities in our stories. And the Lord uses our little foibles to great effect. Today for example, the woman who read through the gospel first, went a little too far and we got to the part where Pilate asks the crowd whether they want Jesus or Barabbas to be set free. We used three different translations for the readings, today. One identified Barabbas as a robber, another as a rabble rouser and the third as a freedom fighter.

"My kingdom is not of this earth" Christ says in the preceding passages. We discussed the fact that we, ourselves, must choose between Jesus and Barabbas every day. Do we choose what makes sense in this world, ie Barabbas, who will fight to overthrow the Romans? Or do we choose the option that makes absolutely no sense in the worldly realm.... Jesus? Every day we are faced with that decision.

For Advent, I am making my second confession on Tuesday. As time draws close, I must examine, with humility and honesty, the times when I have chosen Barabbas. I must face the fact that I choose Barabbas over Jesus on a regular basis. And if we take this gospel lesson to it's logical conclusion, I must acknowledge that when I choose the worldly choice, I consign Jesus to the tree.

Thanksgiving 2006

Today is Friday, November 24th, and I have things I am grateful for:

Thanksgiving with the Nguyens was a more subdued gathering than usual. There were a few family members absent because they had to work. But oh. my. God. the food was amazing. My caucasian sister-in-law said it best when she said "this is the best western meal I have had in a long time."

We had two turkeys... both brined. One (mine) was brined in leeks and onions and celery and parsley, salt and sugar and tons of peppercorns. The other (sister-in-law's) was brined in a soy sauce brine which left the turkey with a delicious Asian flavor.

But then, the piece de resistance, was a 13 lb. boneless prime rib roast from my brother-in-law's dad. My younger SIL, Chi, salted and peppered it copiously, threw it into a 475 degree oven for 30 minutes and then dropped the temp to 300 for several hours. It was the moistest, tenderest, most flavorful roast beef I have EVER had. We just sat there with plates of beef and eschewed the side orders. It was so tender we could cut it with plastic utensils with no fear of breakage.

Then there were the 'cook-offs'. We had the dueling turkeys, of course, but also a pair of pumpkin cheesecakes going head to head. Mine had a maple syrup and pecan glaze and homemade crust, which I think gave it the edge. Andy, my BIL, had a cream cheese frosting, which was delicious. He also had a higher concentration of pumpkin flavor. My brother made a pair of his famous apple pies in direct competition with two of Emilys. Hers were courtland apples... Jakes were with Granny Smith's, so his was a much tarter pie.

Finally, SIL Trang brought out barbecued pork with rice noodles and dried shrimp. But by then I was so painfully full that I ate nary a bite. It was the only Vietnamese offering of the day.

In the midst of all the food, we had such funny conversations. I had time to chat with my nephew and his girlfriend. I got hugs from the small fry. Me and a bunch of the menfolk watched the last 5 minutes of 'Babe' and I am pretty sure I wasn't the only one with a few tears in my eyes.

So, today, I am thankful for my family, my friends, my cosy home. God.

And high fiber cereal.

I am packing my bags

In Japanese flower arranging (ikebana) it is said that the artist is arranging, not the stems or blossoms, but the space between the flowers. The emptiness is defined by the boundary of the blooms. And the flowers are, in turn, defined by the space between them.

Advent is like that for me. It is a time of emptiness that is defined by the rest of the church year. And it, in turn, is the empty space that defines all that is not Advent.

We, as Christians, are going into exile this week. We may light candles and go to "Messiah" sings in this season leading up to Christmas, but in reality, we wait in darkness. Emptiness. The emptiness that delineates our faith.

Last year, Advent was a painful time of feeling profoundly without. This year I believe things are different. This year I am packing my bags for the journey, knowing it takes me deep into the darkness of my own soul. But I know now that the darkness is not a place to fear. And I am coming to recognize, more and more, that living in exile is a necessary element of being a Christian.

Ao Dai

I feel the rumblings of a caption contest coming on.... anyone want to play?

(The image, by the way, is of the painfully embarrassed presidents modeling this years runway hit: Ao Dai. )

Courtesy of Anglo-Catholic Ruminations.

discernment

I believe that every Christian is in a constant process of discernment. We seek to hear with our ears and see with our eyes and open our hearts to that which God is asking us to do.

This has been my challenge since my baptism 3 years ago. When I was baptized, I was a member of a Unitarian Universalist church. I was very active there... a member of the Committee on Ministry, chair person of the Membership committee, lay worship leader, worship assistant, etc. etc. I knew, within a week of converting, that I had to open myself to God to know when (and if) it was time to leave my church. I prayed. I read scripture. I listened for God's voice in my heart. At first I fretted about it. I would go around in circles in my head and try and decide what the right course of action was. But then, one day, I came to trust that God would guide me in this, as he has in everything else. I stayed for 2 years.

On the 2nd anniversary of my baptism, I was on a leadership retreat with the rest of the leaders of the church. It was a stunning September day. The water in Duxbury bay was crystal clear. The sky was deep blue. The sand was warm and the breeze cool. I walked down to the beach and sat, alone, facing the ocean. "This is the day that the Lord hath made" I thought to myself. "Let us rejoice and be glad in it."

As I sat there meditating, I heard God's voice in my heart:

You are a Christian.

That is the truest thing about you.

At that moment, I knew I had to leave Bell Street and find a Christian Church. I cried all the way back to Rhode Island that afternoon. And cried for three days after that. But I knew, without any doubt, that God was asking me to leave there.

Now I am at Grace Episcopal church and am, once again, finding myself in the discernment process. I am at a church I like, but in a denomination with which I have serious disagreements. I am finding myself longing for Roman Catholicism, which in itself must be the movement of the Holy Spirit. And part of me feels it is the obvious choice to leave Grace and find a local RC parish and get the kids into catechism with their friends and once and for all be where I am instead of looking to the next thing.

And yet,

And yet.

God has made it very clear that I am to stay where I am. I do not know the plans he has for me. I do not understand why I am where I am. I can only hope and pray that as he speaks, I have ears to hear and eyes to see and an open and obedient heart. I can only pray that I learn to sit in God's presence with patience and joy and be where I am, even if it isn't where I think I belong.

Give me the grace, Beloved, to listen with my whole heart. Give me the strength to do as you ask. Give me patience, Beloved, to trust you. Unstop my ears. Open my eyes. Help me discern your will.

Priest envy

So there I was, checking lipstick colors in the makeup aisle at CVS, when suddenly I sense a dark presence next to me. I look up and there is a very frail looking priest in full black clericals (including a top coat) holding out a bottle of fingernail polish.

"Excuse me," He said.

"Is this clear?"

He handed me the polish. Express Nail with mega hardener.

"It looks clear", I replied. "I mean, if you put it on your nails it would make them shine, but wouldn't leave a color."

We stood there for a moment. I was quickly calculating how likely it was that a priest would be doing manicures for himself. I glanced at his nails. They were tidy, but not particularly fastidiously groomed. It isn't completely unheard of for a man to wear clear polish, of course. Apparently my grandfather, who was a traveling salesman, used to get his nails buffed and shined and shaped.

The priest caught me looking at his hands.

"I want to use it to coat the wire frames of my glasses." he said.

"I am allergic to the metal."

"Oh," I laughed.

"Let me get you the right kind for that. You don't want a quick drying kind... just a cheap regular one will do."

I grabbed a bottle of NY Nails off the shelf and handed it to him. He said thank you and walked away.

Here's the crazy thing. I was just dying to start asking him all kinds of questions about what kind of priest is he, and why did he become a priest and is it hard sometimes, to go out in public in your clericals, knowing that you are bound to be a magnet for nut cases like me who have priest envy and want to grill you all day about your vocation.

But I restrained myself and just mumbled a quick goodbye when I saw him again in the checkout line.

Me with my two shades of lipstick (on sale) and my mega jar of earplugs (Nguyen snores) and him with his nail polish. In clear.

Friday Five

Five things for which I am grateful, in no particular order:

1. My sweet, funny, silly boys. I am growing more and more grateful for their kindness, compassion, humor and charm as they grow into young men. I also happen to think they are about the handsomest boys I know.

2. My good natured spouse. He is incredibly patient and is always willing to put up with me, which is a tall order indeed.

3. I am very grateful, too, for the rest of my family. My mom, brother, in-laws, dad and step-mother. I thank God for them.

4. Fr. Peter. For three years now we have been meeting monthly for spiritual direction and I am constantly amazed by his insights, his guidance and his patience.

5. God. I was lost and now am found. I was enslaved and now am free. I was a wretch, and now am saved. I praise you, I thank you, I worship you.

It's no secret

Lots of the people who read this blog know who I am. They know where I live. They know my town, my husband, my kids. I write knowing that the luxury of anonymity has long been forsaken. And yes, because I know many of my readers, I do tend to edit a bit. Not that I would be hurling insults or revealing deep dark secrets if it was completely anonymous. But I might be more inclined to write about the people in my life if I didn't have to worry about their anonymity.

As it is, this is an open blog.

But here's the thing: I am shy about sharing it with people. I sometimes feel like I lead a dual existence. There is certainly the division between my professional self and the personal. I never, for example, shared this blog with members of the board of directors I was on. Or with my kitchen tools clients. Or even, for the most part, people I know through the kids' school.

So today, when I sent an email and realized that I had accidentally left my blog address on the signature line, I had a moment of panic.

But what is it that I am afraid of people knowing? That I love God? That becoming a Christian is the greatest gift I have ever received? That the longer I am a Christian, the more I realize that a relationship with God is a process of sanctification... and that my life will change as a result? Those are all good things. I don't have to be shy about sharing that, do I?

To all of you who may have happened by here because I forgot to delete my site address from the email you got: Welcome. I am happy to have you. Let me pour you a cup of coffee and we can chat about the things we are grateful for.

Day of rest

What a wonderful day, yesterday!

It started at Grace, with 5 of us in the Lectio Divina group. (A record, LOL) It is nourishing to sit with people and open our hearts to God, together.

Later, after a fantastic stewardship sermon by Hope, I finally decided to write down my pledge to Grace... but wasn't sure what to write, as we will be tithing. I approached Fr. Rich and told him the situation, and that I didn't want to pledge the whole amount because Nguyen hasn't really agreed yet. And frankly, there is some fear there, for me, too. What if our business goes belly up? What if we find we can't get by on what we have left after the tithe? Fr. Rich looked at me and said "We are Christians, Rachel. If something happened, we wouldn't hunt you down for the money. We would talk about it." I also told him that it felt like a big leap of faith to actually commit to an amount, rather than just drop the money in the plate each week. He acknowledged that it was a leap of faith on the church's part, too, to simply believe that the money needed will be there. It was a very good talk.

So I filled out the pledge card for about half of what I expect to actually give. If Nguyen firms up his commitment, I'll call and correct the amount, because I don't want to feel like I am hedging my bets with God. In the mean time, Grace has a ballpark figure to work with.

Later, a nap, in the warm dark gray afternoon of a too-warm New England fall.

Then, dinner at my mom's with our dear friends, Tom and Donna. During dinner, my mom was very talkative: interrupting, monopolizing the conversation, generally being the center of attention. This used to drive me nuts, but last night, I realized that I must have turned some kind of corner because I didn't get angry at all. At one point I did ask if she was going to let me finish a sentence, which she did, and for the rest of the time I just sat in the midst of it and enjoyed myself. Maybe I am letting go of the need for me to be the center of attention. Or maybe, just maybe, I am learning to be grateful for the people in my life.

Plus: baked ham, homemade ziti with 5 cheeses, fresh string beans with tomatoes and shallots, salad with champagne vinaigrette and a homemade apple pie. What, I ask you, could be bad?

Speaking of Tithing:

Watch the video...

Get out the vote

On the way home from Bible Study this morning, I dropped off Barbara, the Liberian lady who had a stroke and uses a cane, and Jean, a blind woman who also uses a cane. We drove through South Providence (a multicultural, lower income area, for those of you outside of RI) and talked about the election. Barbara is still a citizen of Liberia, so she can't vote. Jean can, though, although I imagine she must need help, since she is blind.

We are all tired of the pre-election attacks on our phones. I have begun to resent the invasions of my time. I get call after call from polsters, and it is always obvious that they have a particular perspective. In one case I started to answer the questions and it became clear to me that the people paying for the poll were the people who are trying desperately to get RI to change our constitution to allow a Harrah's Casino to be built here. I unceremoniously hung up the phone.

When I finally got to the polling place, I had to run a gauntlet through a bunch of dour looking men in black suits and white dress shirts. They looked like gangsters, frankly. Not one of them smiled or said hello. They just stood there, talking among themselves, holding signs.

I think, really, we are all a little sick of this election.

The wages of sin

I know there are liberals around the country who are snickering at the crash and burn of Ted Haggard. Heck, I would have been snickering right there with them a few years ago. It is a special kind of comeuppance when it comes to light that a holier than thou kind of guy isn't.

But even as my knee jerk reaction might be to join the feeding frenzy, the Christian in me says that I must respond only one way: Prayer. I must pray for this tormented man. I must pray for his congregation, who is clearly in pain. I must pray for the prostitute, the wife, the family, friends, the Christian community and the gay community, too.

And I do have to wonder how this kind of thing happens. How can your personal faith be at such odds with your actual walk? How is it possible to have such a terrible schism in your life?

I think there are schisms in all our lives, though. We all talk one way and act another. I may not be out there betraying my spouse by consorting with prostitutes and taking meth, but in some ways, I too am guilty of hypocrisy. For example, I will just as likely watch murder and mayhem as entertainment on tv as I am to read a good book or spend time in prayer. I yell at my kids. I resent my husband. I gossip about a friend. I betray a confidence. I have spiritual pride. All of those things are sins, in one way or another. None of them bring me closer to God.

Haggard created a colossal wedge between himself and God. And over the years, that wedge hurt him and the people around him. I can't help but wonder if he would have been more able to handle this wedge if there was a tradition of formal confession in his denomination. I know, for me, confession can bring the light of God into the wedges in my own heart. I know people will still sin, but maybe the ball of wax doesn't get quite so big if they are able to speak it out loud to someone and receive absolution. Forgiveness. God's love. What strikes me most of all is the self loathing Haggard must have felt all these years. It makes me sad to think of it. Confession, at it's best, can help pull us out of that sin and show us that God cherishes us, even in our weakness. Haggard says that he has been battling this demon within him for years. Perhaps his mistake was trying to battle it alone.

Beloved,

You are the great healer. When we are broken, let us turn to you. Give us the courage to speak of our sins, repent, and let the light of your love cleanse our hearts.

The Cemetery

Bright cold Saturday morning finds Nguyen and the boys and I wearing gloves, raking leaves in the Grace Church Cemetery. There were college students earning their community action credits. There were many folks from Grace. I don't think any locals were on hand, but I don't think we advertised it, either.

The Grace cemetery is surprisingly bucolic in the inner city of Providence. It is a triangle of 8 acres, bordered by Elmwood Avenue on one side and Broad Street on the other. This is a part of Providence that doesn't have much green space, so keeping the cemetery in good repair is an important thing for the neighborhood.

I grew up going to cemeteries. My father is a stone cutter. He made gravestones (among other things) for a living. Some of my earliest memories were of walking through the Common Burial Ground in Newport, looking at the headstones of the colonials who were buried there. There was a slave section in the southwest corner. Whole families were buried together after outbreaks of disease. We were always fascinated, as kids, by the crypts that had grass growing on top. We would climb up and around them and crane to see through the little slits in the granite front in case we might catch a glimpse of a coffin, or better, a corpse. For about a year we owned a house which was surrounded on two sides by the cemetery, so our back yard was, in effect, acres and acres of tombstones.

On the whole, the Grace cemetery is in surprisingly nice condition. Yes, many of the headstones have been toppled. But I saw no graffiti at all, and very little garbage. Just a lot of leaves and an insane amount of acorns. (Where are the squirrels, I wonder? They seem to be shirking their duties)

It felt appropriate to be taking care of the final resting place of all those folks just after All Souls day. It is a peaceful place.

All Saints Day

I was going to let this day come and go, especially since so many folks have already written beautifully on the subject. But then I got to thinking about how enriched I have been by the saints and wanted to acknowledge that on the Dunk.

Thank you to all the saints who have been whispering to me across the centuries.

Boo

I like Halloween. My husband and I take turns walking the neighborhood with the boys and handing out candy at home. This year, I was on candy-handing-out duty. I love to talk to all the kids that come by. I always compliment them on their costumes, pretend to be scared of the scary ones and fawn all over the cute ones. The kids love it!

We were late getting started this year. We didn't even start carving pumpkins until 4 pm yesterday... and never even got to the faces... so for decoration we had two, huge, faceless, hollowed out pumpkins with lids. Maybe they were scarier that way, LOL.

Today I told the kids they are allowed 5 pieces of candy each day... and that they could eat it whenever they wanted to... but aren't allowed to keep asking for more. So far, Emmett ate 3 pieces for breakfast and Noah took 2 in his lunch. I am not going to be the arbiter of candy anymore. They have a little paper with hash marks to indicate how many they've eaten.

Spell Check is my friend

I have never been able to get the spell checker on blogger to work, and have lamented my poor spelling skills, often returning to posts after the fact to fix my mistakes. But bad spellers of the blogesphere UNTIE!

Mozilla Firefox 2.0 has a built in spell checker that actually works on any online input, including the blogger post composer.

My readers thank you.

Can't get that song out of my head

You know when you get an ear worm? That's when a song just keeps playing over and over in your head, tormenting you.

Well, the whole communion/chalice thing has been like that for the last couple of days. I am starting to see it as a great metaphor for all kinds of things, and keep coming across situations that remind me of it. It's not that I feel guilt, either. It is more like God is using this experience to open my eyes to other things.

Today, during bible study, we were talking about all the ways that we, as Christians, are asked to straddle the two worlds. This world in which we live, and God's world. Jesus spent much of his ministry showing that the laws of our world don't always apply to his world. He paid a heavy price for that teaching, as do we, sometimes, when we choose to follow him.

It struck me that the sharing of the chalice is an example of us having to eschew the normal rules and do something outrageous because Jesus asks us to. We share a cup with dozens or hundreds of strangers and friends each Sunday. How nuts is that? Can you imagine? In my past life, I wouldn't have shared a coffee with some of these people, but now I am asked to drink from the same cup. It is an act of faith and thanksgiving to step up to that rail, kneel down and take into my mouth the blood of our lord, who happens to have been touched by the lips of all who came before me. It is, on the face of it, in these times of germ terrorism, a ridiculous and breathtakingly otherworldly thing to do.

As I was talking about this at the Bible study, I could see a look of recognition dawn on the face of Fr. Rich. He suddenly realized that at the Eucharist he is drinking the dregs of a cup that more than a hundred people have sipped from. I don't think he had ever thought of it in those terms before. For the first time, he acknowledged the immense power and faith inherent in that act.

Perhaps that is part of the role of priests. By taking what is left behind and carrying it inside of themselves, they connect all of us, together, in Christ. In a very physical way, they straddle the two worlds and offer themselves as a bridge for the rest of us.

When is the next ember day? I am going to fast in thanksgiving for all those new priests. And today I give thanks for all the ones who are already out there.

The Great Vietnamese Engagement Shebang of 2006

Getting engaged is a big deal in Vietnamese culture. It is not just the coming together of a couple in love, but indeed, the joining of two families, presumably for the rest of eternity.

In our family, we have had several engagements over the last few years, but it wasn't until my oldest sister-in-law's children got engaged that we saw the full traditional ceremony in action. It helped that her children were involved with other vietnamese. (A rarity, in this family, I have to say. The last person to marry a vietnamese before Nien's children was my younger brother-in-law... about 12 years ago or so. Everyone else has ended up with non-vietnamese spouses.)

Yesterday, on a very blustery, chilly New England fall day, my nephew Dan officially got engaged to his lovely girlfriend, Tu Anh. We were all there to celebrate.

The clan met in a parking lot of a local McDonalds to gather our forces. We all showed up dressed to the nines. Men is suits, vietnamese women in ao dai (pronounce ow yai) and western women in dresses and heels. My sister-in-law, Nien, told us that we would drive to Tu Anh's and park a block or so away so we could get everything together for the formal procession.

In the traditional culture, the bride marries into the groom's family. She leaves her home and goes to live with the groom and his folks. In the old days, this usually meant that she became a servant to her mother-in-law. She would work her fingers to the bone caring for her in-laws until they died. By then, hopefully, she had a son of her own, who would bring home a bride for her to boss around. Because of this, the bride's family needed to be 'compensated' for the loss of their daughter. Hence, the groom's family would show up to the engagement party with very special gifts for the bride's parents.

Red is an auspicious color in Vietnamese culture, so all the gifts are wrapped in red cellophane and then placed in huge red tin containers which are draped with red velvet cloths embroidered with dragons. The dragons must be facing the front of the container when handed to the recipient.

Some of the gifts include special teas, delicious sweet rice with coconut milk, bottles of cognac (a vestige of the French colonizers) sweets, fruits, betel leaves and a whole, roasted, 40 lb. pig.

Tu Anh's family lives in a run-down, working class neighborhood north of Boston. We met about a block from her house on the front lawn of a business that was closed for the day. This became our staging area. Nien arranged everyone in order of how they were going to present the gifts. There were 8 huge metal trays, with lids, each weighing several pounds, plus the pig, which was also wrapped in red celophane. Nien and her husband were first in line, then the two men carrying the pig, then 3 sets of unmarried men and women, each carrying a tray, then the rest of us. The gifts are presented in a particular order, so it was important that everyone know who they were supposed to follow.

Meanwhile, at the bride's house, the family had set up an arch at the gate, and a big red sign for good luck. They decorated their front porch and built an altar in the tiny dining room. They had a bench on which to lay out the pig, plus a table with red cloth to receive all the trays.

We began to process down the street. Even for me, who was in the line, this was an amazing spectacle. All the vietnamese women's ao dai were flapping in the wind, their white pants billowing underneath. The colors were spectacular in this grey neighborhood: tangerine and crimson and lime green and pinks. All the men were in dark suits, with bright white shirts and colorful ties. And the gifts, in their brilliant red containers, being marched down the block towards Tu Anh's waiting parents.

The neighbors gawked.

Upon arrival, Nien and her husband,Mo, offered their gifts to the parent's of the bride, who graciously accepted them. The pig was carried into the tiny house and placed on it's bench. The trays were lined up on the low table, and my very soft spoken older brother-in-law inquired as to whether Tu Anh's parents would accept these gifts. The answer was a warm yes.

There were a few speeches, none of which could I understand. A set of red candles with dragons engraved on them were lit and placed on the altar. Photos taken.

And then, in this tiny house, 5 or 6 folding tables were set up cheek by jowl and the entire Nguyen clan sat down to be served lunch. Tu Anh and her parents and siblings sat at the head table with Nien, Mo and my older in laws. The rest of our family took up all the other tables. The rest of her family and friends stayed in the kitchen and waited on us.

Food started coming out. First, crab soup with egg and some strange textured something that I thought, at first, might be jellyfish. Then plates of huge oysters that had been steamed with black bean sauce. A tray of lobster, stirfried with green onion and ginger. A whole, deep fried, crispy flounder. Beef with chinese broccoli. A tray of pork, beef, abalone and jellyfish. Fried rice. Sweet coconut rice. Fried taro root baskets filled with squid and shrimp. None of this was traditional Vietnamese food. It had been catered by a Chinese firm from Boston, so it was foreign even to my husband's family.

We toasted the couple with champagne and chatted and laughed. We tried some of the more exotic delicacies and drank beer and soda.

At one point, I had a chance to speak with Dan and ask him more about Tu Anh's family. They are much more recent immigrants, having come over in 1995 when the government of Vietnam was allowing former dissidents (and political prisoners)to leave the country. As Dan was describing their history, I was suddenly struck by what a mature young man he has become. He is soft spoken, like his dad... but like his dad is confident and sure of himself. I was amazed to think that at my own wedding, Dan was around the same age as Noah.

As the afternoon wound down, the bride's family packed half of the gifts, including half the pig, into the trays and presented them back to Nien and Mo. This is part of the tradition. The two families share the bounty of this engagement with each other.

We drove back to Nien's house, where she cut up the roasted pig with a cleaver and sent each of us home with a chunk. We were given tea and some pasteries and little meat pies, which we shared with my brother later, while watching a movie on tv.

As I sat in that cramped house during the lunch, it struck me that this was the exact opposite of the wedding itself. At the wedding, there will be hundreds of people I don't know. There will be guests that are invited as part of a complex social obligation system from both sides of the family... and most of them will be strangers, not only to me, but to the bride and groom as well. This event, though, was just for family. This is the moment when the two families come together and acknowledge that they are to become one. We are invited into their home. We bring gifts. We are given gifts in return.

Beloved,

Bless this union. Bless this sweet couple with a lifetime of love and happiness. Let us, as their family, support them and offer them our gifts of love and wisdom, humor and joy. Let us open our hearts to receive the gifts that they, in return, offer us.

Amen.

Who is that Pharisee in the mirror?

Since we had a family event today, I went to the 8 am mass at Grace church for the first time. It is a quiet service... no music or hymns. We met in the little side chapel. The service was kind of nice, I thought. We had a guest preacher who was very animated. (Maybe too much so for an early service, LOL.) He was talking about the genocide in Rwanda and the war in Darfur. He was encouraging us, as the body of Christ, to take healing the world seriously as a personal mission, whether in the third world or on the streets of Providence.

I took communion, and even with a nasty cold, took the chalice. As I walked back to my pew, I told myself I should have done it by intinction (dipping the host in the chalice) so I didn't get everyone sick.

When I sat in the pew, I noticed a homeless man coming back from the rail and actually thought to myself

I am glad I went before him.

For a fleeting moment, I was relieved that I didn't have to share a cup with the homeless guy.

That is appalling on so many levels. I, who had a virus that I was more than willing to share with everyone. I, who believe the chalice contains the blood of Christ.

Who is this person, I wonder, who is suddenly overtaken by fear? What exactly am I afraid of, anyway? Cooties? Am I in kindergarten?

Every now and then God shines a light into the darkness of my soul. I am so grateful when he does it. It is an act of love, I think, for him to bring me face to face with my weakness. It reminds me how much I need his redeeming love.

I think this will be going on my list for confession.


Beloved,

I ask for your mercy. I thank you for your Love.

Old friends, new blogs

I have a bunch of new blogs on my list these days. Some are new friends I have just happened upon in the blogesphere... others are old friends who I have known for years.

Why not take a peek?

Here's a list:

Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam- This is Natalia's blog... she is a catholic woman getting a masters of divinity.
Along the Way- Nancy has found her way to the Episcopal church from an evangelical background.
Another unfinished symphony... Deb has been on the RevGalBlogPals list for sometime, but somehow I missed her.
BitterSweetLife Ariel is a hoops playing theology student with a lot of interesting things to say.
Bryan Sherwood- Bryan lives near Gethsemani monastery... these are his thoughts on life and monasticism.
Catholic Convert .... Ukok is an old blog friend I have rediscovered. She is a Catholic convert living in England and blogging about same...
CatholicGeek-I haven't really explored Phil's site yet, but I loved the name... so here it is.
Catholicism, holiness and spirituality- Another brand new addition to the blogroll... but so far so good!
Coming to the Quiet a Benedictine Oblate's thoughts on monasticism and everyday life. (Are you sensing a pattern here, people? You think I might have monk envy?)
From Under the Laundry Pile Evangelical mom with 6 kids trying to keep up with the laundry. I LOVE this blog, LOL!
J-Walking- David Kuo's blog on BeliefNet. This is the guy who blew apart the myth that the Bush Administration actually cared about the Jesus freaks.
One foot in the boat ...New Episcopalian, former RC. New Friend.
The Urban Mermaid My friend Emily's new blog. This is becoming a daily addiction.
We Are All Apes-Emily's squeeze and my piano tuner. I have known Bill since high school.

Spending diet

Over at The Ice Floe PeripateticPolarBear has been on a spending diet. I am not sure of the details, but I think it was something like no frivolous spending for a month. No books. No shoes. No magazines.

I commented that since I started tithing, I, too, would need to address my spending habits. There are a few things that need to change.

First, I have been buying everything with a check card. I almost never use cash. How easy it is to hand over the card and let the imaginary elves do their work in the cash register. (Why is it even called that anymore?) At the end of the month I look at my statement and it is a financial mine field. None of the individual purchases ever seem like much... $22.73 at CVS, $16.58 at Borders, etc. etc. But together, they add up to a LOT of money every month. I either need to start paying with cash or I need to start writing down the transactions when I make them. A spending diary of sorts, perhaps.

Second, we have a bunch of monthly expenses that are unnecessarily high. Our cable bill, for example, recently ballooned to something like $75 a month. $40 of that was high speed internet. Another $13 was HBO. AND we were paying $18 a month for Netflix, which frankly was a complete waste of money because most of the time I would forget to return the dvds so we would be spending the money every month for the same two movies, which were sitting in our tv cabinet.

So yesterday I downgraded the internet access to the lowest, slowest level, got rid of Netflix and am going to get rid of the HBO. Almost $50 bucks a month just like that.

Next- eating out. We usually eat dinner out at least twice a week. I figure if we eat one of those meals at home, we can save about $30 or $40. I have been doing amazing things with leftovers, lately, LOL! One night I roasted a pair of chickens. The next night we had homemade chicken pot pie and the night after that kale, white bean and linguica soup with homemade chicken broth. This does not feel like poverty, people.

All of this is to say that there are plenty of areas where we have been wasting money. Areas where the belt tightening is going to be a matter of adjusting our behavior, but won't, as far as I can see, be much of a hardship. (The new internet speed, for example, is a barely noticeable difference... and yet I am saving $15 per month.)

The biggest change for me, since starting tithing last week, is that I am really aware of the fact that all the money I have is all a gift from God. I feel more like a steward than an owner. I am more willing to spend it carefully because it has been entrusted to me to do so. This shift is astounding to me. I have struggled with finances for my entire adult life. And while I don't think this is going to be a magic bullet, I do believe that something is changing here. I am so grateful to God for showing me the way out of my financial insanity. Who knew it would be something as simple as giving all my money to him? Ha!

Beloved, in this and in all things I put my trust in you. Let me walk in faith. Let me seek to know your will. Let me share the bounty of your love with others.

Innoculation

I got a flu shot on Saturday and yup, you guessed it, came down with a majorly nasty cold yesterday. Flu-like symptoms. Maybe the flu. Whatever.

Could it be related to all the stress lately? Ya think?

Today I woke up and my Darling Husband graciously invited me to stay in bed for the morning while he got the kids ready for school. I have no kitchen tools gig tonight, so I had the luxury of doing nothing. But first I had call my friend (of the Board of Directors fame) and clean up my side of the street about issues we have been wrangling with. The conversation went really well. I think she was worried that our 25 year friendship was in jeopardy because of the board stuff. I was certainly NOT intending to let that happen. So we had a great talk this morning and now that I am back to being a civilian, I felt much freer to be honest.

And can I just say, again, that The Imitiation of Christ is one of the most profoundly helpful books I have EVER read? Thank you God for putting this book in my path. It is available for free to download on the Christian Classics Ethereal Library.

Noah had planned to invite a friend over today, and I was just about to tell him, no, I need to rest, when I remember that his parents have been having major problems lately and he probably could use an afternoon with the boys and bunny... so yeah, come on over, it's nice to have you. (That run-on sentence curtesy of the "We're Swiss" but really probably German somewhere in our history part of my heritage.)

Ok. Tea. Honey. More Imitation.

My spiritual flu shot.

bread and wine

Our bible study at Grace is really quite diverse and wonderful. In it's original incarnation at Church of the Messiah, it has been the same group of older ladies for the last 15 years or so. Then, Fr. Rich came on board over at Messiah and he started to run it. The Liberian ladies joined in at some point. (Or perhaps they have been going all along.) When it moved to Grace, an older man, another woman and I joined in... and then, because we meet downtown and happen to serve coffee to the homeless every morning, we have started to get homeless men and women at our bible study.

This week our homework was to share what we felt the Eucharist is. One by one we spoke of our feelings about it. For some it is symbolic. For others it is a way of getting through the week. Some of us believe it is the actual body and blood of Christ, while others feel it is the real presence. The details were different, but the effect the same- we join our Lord at the table every week and leave feeling refreshed and renewed.

When I first got to the church, I snuck up to the high altar and knelt on the cold stone steps. I prayed to my Beloved and asked him to help me navigate this difficult situation with the Board of Directors.

Then, sitting at the table with this wonderful, soulful, and in some cases, hurting fellow travelers, I felt grateful and humbled.

Grace happens.

Thanks God.

PS: I sent my resignation letter to the Board today. It is finished, LOL.

Sublime to ridiculous and back again.

Sublime: I picked my son up at his friend's house this afternoon and spent a half hour talking with friend's mom about what miracles Jesus has wrought in our lives. I love being able to talk about that stuff with people.

Ridiculous: If a friend ever invites you to be on a board of directors RUN AWAY. Run as if your life depends on it.

I just (10 pm) got back from a very difficult board meeting that started at 6. I am exhausted and upset. And felt that way before the meeting even got going.

So, I came crawling back into the house feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me and sat down to catch my breath and catch up on my bloggy friends and remember, Thank God, that tomorrow is bible study day and I get to sit at another kind of table and wrestle with issues that are, for me, the truly important and relevant ones.

And tonight, before bed, I get to read my psalms, which always manage to put my life issues into perspective. I get to spend time in prayer, which leaves me feeling renewed and at peace and connected to the One I love.

And that, my friend, is sublime.

Sunday roundup

I started my day by going berzerk trying to get the kids out the door for church. Noah had no clean pants. The ones he had on were covered with grass stains and mud. I started yelling and madly flinging clean laundry everywhere trying to come up with something for him to put on. I vowed that from now on I will put out clothes for them on Saturday nights so that Sunday morning doesn't get so ugly.

I was grateful that we had confession as part of the mass today. Yes, Father, I have sinned and am heartily sorry. I told Fr. Rich about it before the service started and he kindly suggested I not to be too hard on myself, and allowed as how he had been pretty messy as a boy, too, and that is just the nature of being a kid. Later, at the communion rail, as Fr. Rich placed the host in Noah's hand, I noticed, with a combination of horror and amusement, that Noah's palms were filthy and covered with blood from a scab he had picked. Fr. Rich looked up at me and caught my eye and we just about laughed out loud right there at the rail. (Note to self: have kids wash their hands on Sunday mornings...)

I know Jesus probably couldn't care less what my kids are wearing, but for me, being in church, especially with the Eucharist, is the equivalent of being in the presence of God in the flesh, so I feel it appropriate to show my respect by dressing a little more formally than I would for, say, a soccer game. But it is hard to explain that to my kids.

Other than my meltdown in the laundry basket, the morning was lovely... and in fact, the rest of the day was too. We had dinner at my mom's, with some friends, and the meal was just equisite: stuffed pork loin chops with mashed potatoes and sweet and sour red cabbage, a lovely bordeaux and apple rhubarb crisp for dessert. And the joy of an easy evening with people I love.

Thank you, Beloved, for the abundance of your love, the gifts of your spirit and redemption of our souls. Your generosity knows no bounds.

Notes from the field

I took the leap and signed up to have my bank direct deposit money to my church every week. I decided to go with 10% of the gross. I figured we should give it a try and see how it goes. It's God's money anyway, right? So this is my opportunity to be a better steward of it.

Then I decided to call my oil company and see how my balance was doing. Last year I went on an automatic payment program because I didn't want to face $400 oil bills. The guy checked my account, took a breath and told me a I have a balance of $1400.

A credit of $1400.

You might want to skip a few months, he said. I nearly burst out laughing. And crying.



Beloved,

You are a gracious and generous God. You comfort me in my fear. You remind me that your love is boundless. You teach me to live in faith, even when my heart feels small. I praise you and thank you for your love.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing else matters.

Another post on tithing

I had dinner with a friend last night. K is one of the few civilians I can really talk religion with. She is a lifelong Roman Catholic who has recently begun to experience a kind of rennaisance in her relationship with Jesus.

Over pork loin with maple syrup and gorganzola sauce, we discussed how Jesus has been whacking us upside the head of late.

For her, it has been tithing. She runs her own business, and has been tithing ten percent of the gross since the beginning. Lately, though, she has felt called to tithe her husband's income too. 10% of his gross pay. God is a faithful friend, to be sure. Within a day of her first huge check to the church, she got a call from her husband saying that he would be getting some extra money in his paycheck that week. Almost the exact amount she gave the church.

For some reason, the idea of tithing the gross rather than the net is scaring the crap out of me. It just seems like such a huge chunk of our budget. I feel fearful of our ability to do things like pay the mortgage. But yet, I have been tithing my own money since I started doing the kitchen tools gig and I haven't missed the 10% at all. And in fact, the amount I am donating keeps getting bigger and bigger as my business grows. So what, dear reader, am I so afraid of?

I talked it over with Nguyen when I got home and he was surpisingly open to the idea. He feels that we don't give enough to charity as it is, so he likes the idea of giving part of our income. And it happens that our church has enough social ministries that even his non-religious self can get behind the idea of donating to Grace to support the soup kitchen, homeless shelter, low income housing, etc. etc.

So. Gross or net.

And does it really make sense to do this with outstanding debt looming over our heads?

Lord, I promised, on the day of my dunk, to do whatever you ask of me, no matter how difficult. I am asking you now to show me what you will have me do.

We are willing.

Share with me, dear readers, your experience with tithing.

Before Salvation

The time leading up to my baptism was pregnant with meaning. Conversations, experiences, books I read, people I talked to, music I listened to, all were ushering me inexorably towards my ultimate surrender to God.

Later, after the fact, I could see some of those moments for what they were. I could trace the workings of the Holy Spirit as a kind of map to my salvation. I was often left feeling grateful to God, but also grateful to the people who where his unwitting accomplices.

One of these moments took place in a bar. A good friend of mine had started to get involved with a self-actualization program in Boston and invited me and our mutual Irish friend to join her for an introduction. We agreed to go, mostly to be supportive of her. The evening was not at all what we expected. It turned out it was mainly a sales event, trying to get us to sign up for their program. So, Irish friend and I left halfway through the evening and walked a block to the nearest bar where we decided to have a beer while waiting for our friend to come out of her part of the meeting.

It was during that brief conversation in the bar that I started asking him questions about his faith. I hung on every word. I peppered him with all kinds of things. He is a man with a fairly inconsistent faith himself, but was raised Roman Catholic, so obligingly muddled through his answers the best he could. Some of his answers, in fact, were probably heretical. But during that conversation, a door cracked open in my heart. A tiny bit of God's light showed through, and to this day I count it as one of the most pivotal conversations I have ever had.

Circumstances were such that I didn't see him again for over 3 years, but last Saturday, at a suprise birthday party, he and his wife were there. We laughed and chatted and had a nice time... but at one point I took him and his wife aside to tell him how critical that conversation 3 1/2 years ago had been. I told him that he had helped plant a seed that was to ultimately turn my life around completely.

Both he and his wife were stunned. I believe he was even moved to tears.

God, in his wisdom, uses us, in our weakness, to plant seeds of faith and love in the world. My Irish friend, in HIS weakness, was one of many catalysts for my redemption. Despite the fact that his own relationship with God was rocky at times, he was, for me, a healer.

I just thought he needed to know that.

Anniversary

I went back to my old church this morning to celebrate my former minister's fifth anniversary. It was a nice morning. I got to see a lot of my old friends. The service and sermon were great. Nguyen and the boys and I enjoyed a potluck brunch and chatted with folks we haven't seen in awhile.

When I first left Bell Street last fall, I cried for days. It was like losing an old friend. But regardless of how painful it was, I felt sure that it was the right choice. I was being called to find a Christian church.

This morning, while sitting in my old pew at Bell Street, I realized that the church had been a gateway for me. I was not, evidently, destined to stay. But it did serve a critical purpose for me. It was the place where I first fell in love with Jesus. And Steve, my UU minister, was willing to go on a crazy, uncharted journey with me... putting aside his own doubts and fears so he could minister to me during a critical time in my spiritual life. We didn't know what the results were going to be. We didn't really know that we were participating in a sacrament. But we felt certain that we were held in God's embrace throughout the time leading up to my baptism. And we were both a little stunned when it became clear that I was going to leave.

It occured to me this morning that for many people, there really IS no other spiritual home for them. If not for the UU church, they would be unchurched. And I know, for a fact, that God finds his way into that chapel, even if he isn't mentioned by name all the time. He found me there, didn't he?

Bell Street has gone through some tough times in the last year. Financial struggles, members leaving, issues within the congregation. It grieves me deeply and I pray for them constantly.

Today, though, was a joyful event. A time when everyone could look back on the last half decade with awe at what has been accomplished, what has changed, and all the ministry that has taken place. I was very grateful to be there.

Go read this....

Cat on a mat over at Monastic Mumblings.

Not to sin

I met a friend for lunch yesterday, and during the conversation, I mentioned I had gone to confession and started to describe what the process was like. As we chatted, I went on to tell him that my biggest sins, these days, have to do with the way I treat my husband and kids. There are times, especially with my husband, when I am downright rude. I treat him disrespectfully. Sometimes in front of the kids, which is damaging to them, too.

As I was talking, I realized that by acknowledging this, I am now compelled to try and do something about it. Leaving this bit of sin dangling in my life like some forgotten laundry is it's own sin. I decided to ask God to create in me a clean heart. I asked God to help me with this bad habit. To take away the desire for me to always be right, be in charge, be the boss of everything. Give me the grace, Lord, to treat my husband with the respect that he deserves. With kindness. With compassion. And help me be more patient with the boys while we are at it.

This has all been percolating for awhile, but I needed to address it right away so in the middle of the afternoon I called Nguyen and told him I had been acting badly and apologized. He agreed that I have been rude and was pleased that I said I was sorry. We talked about it some more when he got home. We shared a bottle of wine after the kids went to bed, and talked for a long time about things. It was good.

God, he is the most important person in my life. Grant me the grace to be kind and loving to him. Help me learn to be more respectful. Help me make this home a refuge for all of us.

Walking to school

Every morning Nguyen and I have been walking the kids to school together. We get to listen to the boys chat about things. They talk about school, desired aquisitions, friends. Nguyen plays little jokes on them. This morning he shook a bush branch while Noah walked under it and drops of rainwater fell all over him.

It is a beautiful time of year to walk because the leaves are turning and falling. People are decorating their houses with pumpkins and corn stalks and mums in all kinds of unlikely colors. Along the way, we collect kids. Sometimes Aaron, Daniel, Zachary. They are all in Noah's grade and we have known them since kindergarten.

When the Noah first started school, I was disapppointed that he couldn't ride the bus. We live too close. They euphemistically call us 'walkers' even though the days of letting your kindergartner walk to school alone have long since past. I resented having to drop the kids off and pick them up again. I spent many an afternoon wishing I didn't have to rush out of the house and interupt whatever I was doing in order to pick them up.

But now, after 5 years of the daily drop off and pick up, I am glad we are 'walkers'. It is by standing around with the other parents that I have gotten to know them so well. We laugh and joke as we wait for the kids. We swap stories and recipes and helpful hints. I have come to appreciate this little community of ours, waving at neighbors as we walk by in the mornings. Knowing who lives on what street. That would never have happened if I just picked the kids up at the bus stop every day.

I have come to be very grateful for our school. It has opened the door to our lovely little neighborhood in a way that I don't think would be possible otherwise.

Uh Oh...

This could be very very bad.

My husband has given me a refurbished old laptop for my kitchen tools gig. The idea is that I can take it to shows with me and enter all the information right there in the hostesses kitchen. But he also set it up for wireless so I can back up my files easily.

Which means I am typing this without being conneccted to a landline. Which means I could conceivably take this little, slowpoke, vintage Dell and sit in my yard under the Norway Spruce and type to my heart's content. Which might very well mean that my posts are going to get very very boring.

You have been warned.

By the way, this thing is so much slower than my typing I can't actually see the words being typed on the screen.

And another thing. More on topic for this blog:

I was at a kitchen tools gig last night and in front of everyone, the host asked my why I am so happy all the time. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. I don't really know the right way to respond to that. What I want to say is

"I am a born again, washed in the blood of the lamb, Jesus Freak."

But I recognize that that may not have the effect I am hoping for, which is to witness.

So I hemmed and hawed and mumbled something stupid about deciding to be happy rather than miserable.

But when I got home, I figured I ought to practice some sort of response to that comment, because I actually get it fairly often. And I think this will work:

"I am a woman of faith. I am so joyful because of my gratitude for what God has given me."

That ought to do it.

God's Creation

Handsome men, all three, on Skaket beach in Orleans MA. What a stunning place. At low tide, the tidal flats stretch for miles. I have never seen anything like it. I was so intrigued I managed to talk the family into getting up at dawn to see the sunrise on our last morning. Later we found a little diner that served eggs and chorico.

Camping was wonderful. We had a nice site with lovely neighbors, not too far from the bathrooms and a playground. (Both good things.) The kids were free to roam around a bit on their own, especially to the playground, which was only about 12 yards away, through a small stand of trees. They wanted to skip dinner so they could stay and play with the other kids.

On the way home, we stopped in Chatham to hang out on the beach there. There was no place to park our trailer, so we parked miles away and walked back to the beach.





On Sunday we went to Nauset beach and got there just before high tide. The tide was exceptionally high that day and we kept having to move back out of reach of the waves. Finally, we sat at the base of the dune and opened our picnic basket. We had seltzer and chips and bologna sandwiches with aged cheddar cheese. And delicious Empire Apples. We watched a harbor seal frolicing in the surf. We chatted with a family from RI who happened by. We soaked in the sun. (Well, all except me, who looked like a kabuki dancer because the sunscreen I was able to buy had zinc oxide in it... but as a redhead, I had to slap it on anyway.)

Suddenly, a rogue wave came crashing up the beach and soaked us all. The picnic cooler and the kids' shoes where torn away and we scrambled, soaked and laughing, after them. Our neighbor kindly grabbed a couple of shoes and, bravely, socks. We ended up with another neighbor's sandal in our pile. We retreived the picnic cooler, an unopened bag of chips and all the shoes. But lost Nguyen's duck hunting jacket (a yard sale score) and Noah's sweatshirt. Our apples drifted down the beach at remarkable speed. We could see them bobbing in the surf. And we were completely soaked.

So the rest of the day was enforced downtime while Nguyen went to the laundry mat with our shoes and tried to get them dry before nightfall and it's attendant temperature drop. We had, between us, a single pair of rubber flip flops that I had brought for the shower. We swapped them back and forth as necessary.

In the end, the afternoon was sunny, warm, lazy and wonderful. We snuck beers in plastic cups and barbequed chicken wings, flank steak and Nguyen's old leather boots, which he had somehow forgotten to bring to the laundry mat.

Thank you, Beloved, for the time with my family. For the beautiful weather. And for the awsome beauty of your creation.

Into the woods

Such as they are on Cape Cod.

We are taking the trailer and heading off to the state park for a weekend of hot dogs and walks on the beach and fishing and general goofing off.

I'll bring the camera and post some shots when we get back.

I am bringing my Book of Common Prayer, The Imitation of Christ, and Mr. Strange and Dr. Norrell, which I started on the last camping trip.

During a last minute surf, I was delighted to find this post over at Natalia's. (If you haven't checked her site out, do it now.)

God's peace...

It is a beautiful day.

A New Day

I woke up before dawn this morning. The light was just beginning to brighten the east. I don't know why I woke up so early. Usually my alarm rouses me from sleep. But it is my practice, when I wake in the night, to pray. I always figure it is God giving me a little nudge.

So this morning, I welcomed the Beloved into my day and turned on the bedside lamp so I could read this morning's psalms.

Here is Psalm 30, NKJV:

I will extol You, O Lord, for You have lifted me up,

And have not let my foes rejoice over me.

O Lord my God, I cried out to You,

And You healed me.

O Lord, You brought my soul up from the grave;

You have kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.

Sing praise to the Lord, you saints of His,

And give thanks at the remembrance of His holy name.

For His anger is but for a moment,

His favor is for life;

Weeping may endure for a night,

But joy comes in the morning.

Now in my prosperity I said,

"I shall never be moved."

Lord, by Your favor You have made my mountain stand strong;

You hid Your face, and I was troubled.

I cried out to You, O Lord;

And to the Lord I made supplication:

"What profit is there in my blood,

When I go down to the pit?

Will the dust praise You?

Will it declare Your truth?

Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on me;

Lord, be my helper!"

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;

You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,

To the end that my glory may sing praise to You and not be silent.

O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever.


Oh Lord, I will give thanks to you forever.

5 Weird Things about Me

I got tagged at Katherine's to list 5 weird things about myself.

1. I already admitted about the cheesy reality shows.

2. I suck the rest of the ketchup out of the little plastic packets. I don't do this with salad dressing or mustard. Just Ketchup.

3. When I was 15 I pierced my nose. Alone. In my room. And passed out cold on my bed. I wore the nosering for about 8 years until I got a job that required I take it out. The hole is still there.

4. Regular readers already know that I talked my husband through butchering a deer in our garage last winter. I found the deer on the side of the road after one of my kitchen tools gigs.

5. I used to be a telemarketer.

New Age

I was a child of the "New Age".

At 12, I got ahold of my first tarot deck. I would do readings for my friends by laying the cards out and thumbing through a tattered copy of Eden Gray's book for the meanings. My step mother gave me a book called 'Astrology and other Occult Games' when I was about 14. It was signed by the author, a friend of hers. It covered astrology, I Ching, tarot and palm reading.

In my teens, I branched into Wicca for awhile. I got a bunch of books on witchcraft from the local bookstore and had a journal I claimed was a grimoire. My parents reacted by not reacting. I think they thought it was a phase and that to get upset would be to reinforce my desire to do it. Which was probably true. After a couple of years I got bored and moved on.

As I was born in the 60's, my parents were basically hippies, very liberal socially and politically. Open minded. Non-religious.

We used to joke that when I became a banker, I was a grave disappointment to my father. He would have been far happier if I became a poet or artist or political activist.

As an adult, my spirituality was steeped in the 'Age of Aquarius' stuff. It was a mish mash of Buddhism, New Thought, Theosophy and classical occultism. I read a lot. When people would say things like "this world is an illusion", I would nod knowingly and pretend I had half a clue what they were talking about.

Something of a spiritual dilettante, I never delved into anything very deeply. I knew a little about a lot, but not a lot about much. The only thing with any staying power was tarot, and that was only because I joined a couple of online communities devoted to it. I learned about the history of it. I learned how to read the cards. I learned how to do it professionally. And I did.

My tarot practice took me to a metaphysical bookstore to read for strangers. There I met all manner of people who would come in in various states of desperation wanting to know the secrets of their future. It was a tough gig. My style of reading was always God-centered. In other words, I would use the cards to try and create a line of communication between the client and God. But they just wanted to know if they were going to get back together with their ex-lover. Or whether to fly to California for a job. Or if they should cheat on their husband. With the married guy at work.

What I kept seeing in the bookstore was that people were desperately longing for meaning in their lives. They kept hoping that the next crystal, the next book or candle or deck of cards or palm reading or resin dragon or cd or incense was going to open the mysterious door to joy that eluded them. I recognized it because I, too, had walked that path. I knew the yearning for meaning. I watched as customers would spend more and more money on classes and techniques and seminars. Essential oils and pictures for their walls. Fake buddhas and Tibetan prayer flags.

For me, none of it worked. There was only one way to heal the hole in my soul, and that was to entrust it to God. God who created me. God who made the universe and all that is in it. God who is not, thankfully, me.

I am not God.

To me, that is one of the worst traps of the New Age. So many metaphysical books try to tell us that we are God... that we just have to recognize our own divinity to find peace, happiness, enlightenment, whatever. For me, at least, this is not true. Trying to be my own god was the road to perdition. I was not capable of creating my own happiness. Believe me, I tried. If my salvation was in my own hands, I was destined to a lifetime of frustration and misery. I could not be the architect of my own redemption. It was only when I gratefully offered myself to God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, that I could be healed. God is healing my soul. He has accepted me. He has forgiven me. He alone offers the salvation for which I yearn.

If I could not be my own god, I sure as hell could not be yours. So I quit reading tarot cards. I decided that instead of thinking I had all the answers, I had to learn to be a student for awhile. Or, more accurately, a disciple.

I am a disciple.

Thank God.

Beloved, I pray for all the people who do not yet know you. I pray they find peace in your love.

Embarassing but true

I watch cheesy reality shows.

It's true.

It started with Survivor. Yes, it was mortifying that the naked fat gay man was from my hometown, but like strangers on a freeway glued to an accident, I couldn't look away.

Now I am hooked on all manner of frivolous reality shows. I watch Top Models and pseudo therapy on Starting Over, I was glued to Rock Star INXS and American Idol. But the absolute cheesiest, most embarassing of all is that I actually watch (I am appalled to even write it)

The Bachelor.

Which premiered tonight. And I sat mesmerized for 2 whole hours, with commercials.

And for a fleeting moment imagined myself as young enough (and thin enough, LOL) to be on such a show. And what would I say in my three uninterupted minutes with the dashing young man to help him understand who I am at the deepest level. What is my truest truth?

It's that I am a Jesus freak.



Which means, of course,

That I would NOT be getting

a rose.

Icon

Look at the icon on the upper right hand corner. It is an image of Jesus getting baptised.

Over at the Sacred Art of Living, Christine has been talking about using images for a sort of Visio Divina prayer and I love the idea. Gaze at the image and let God use it to speak to you.

What do you see? Do you notice that there is a whirlpool at our Lord's feet? Or the angels watching from the other side of the river. I notice that John the Baptist is looking at the Holy Spirit even as he is baptising Jesus. He can see the Spirit of God descending to the Beloved. He lifts his right hand up and his left hand points to earth. Jesus, the great bridge of heaven and earth stands before him. John knows who this is.

And the colors. This is clearly a modern interpretation of a classic Icon. I love that the angels wear red and violet and bright blue.

Now, look at an older version of the same scene:

Jesus is already heading off in this one... his feet look like he is walking towards the riverbank. And the angels are whispering to each other. They are amazed, perhaps, by what they are seeing.

Beloved,

The sky splits apart and makes way
for your spirit.

Angels whisper.

Jesus walks the earth.

Thank you.

A minor fight

broke out during our potluck breakfast at Grace this morning. But a couple of tugs and the two were separated.

Theo was a bit nervous at first. We had him in his pet carrier, with some hay and water and a half a carrot. I didn't really want to bring him to the blessing of the animals, given that he is dinner for all the carnivores that were going to be there. But the kids were so excited about it I decided it was worth the minor trauma to the rabbit and we brought him. I was also manuevering a deep dish baker filled with caramel apple pecan bread pudding, which was my contribution to breakfast.

The place was a zoo. Dogs and cats and one hampster and one bunny. During the service, a dog would pipe up and suddenly a whole chorus of howls filled the cavernous space of Grace's Nave. After the lessons and Gospel readings, we all came to the front of the church with our pets and the priests laid hands on them and blessed them with long healthy lives and God's love for always. Theo seemed like a new bunny afterwards.

My friend Adrienne came with her dog Trotter and sat in the box with us. Theo didn't mind at all because Trotter is a very gentle guy.

The service was only interrupted once, when Fr. Rich, in the middle of preparing for the Eucharist, stopped everything because a horse (with a cop riding him) was standing at the door of the church. Fr. Rich blessed him from afar and the kids and I snuck out to feed him carrots while the host and wine were being transformed.

Yes, it was kind of a carnival atmosphere. I can imagine that some would be put off by such hilarity in a church. But I was beaming from ear to ear the whole morning. It was a wonderful thing to see all these serious (and sometimes even stiff) congregants fawning over their pets. It was a side of people you don't see every day in church.

And there was a pet pot-luck at coffee hour, with apples and carrots for the herbivores, and liver snaps for the carnivores.

I know it is a few days late, but here is the prayer of St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred . . . let me sow love
Where there is injury . . . pardon
Where there is doubt . . . faith
Where there is despair . . .hope
Where there is darkness . . . light
Where there is sadness . . .joy
Divine Master,
grant that i may not so much seek
To be consoled . . .as to console
To be understood . . .as to understand,
To be loved . . . as to love
For it is in giving . . .that we receive,
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned,
It is in dying . . .that we are born to eternal life

Search

One of the cool little things you can have with a website is a counter that tells you how many people have visited. Mine gives you some fun details, like how they found me. I can actually click on a link and find people's google search terms.

Big Dunk gets a few searches. I think they are looking for basketball stuff. Sacrament of reconciliation got a hit recently, as did conditional baptism godparent.

What I don't know is if the people who surf over actually read any of the posts. Judging from their searches, I am guessing they are spiritual searchers, too.

So, I am going to say a little prayer for all the strangers who happen by the Big Dunk on their way to deeper relationship with God.

Yes, get baptised. Yes, confess. And if slamming a ball through a hoop works for you, do that too.

I wish you all peace and God's love.

Pray without ceasing

1 Thessalonians 5:17

When I was in Chicago last summer, I was very aware of God's presence throughout the whole week. I would catch myself thinking of him. I felt him everywhere. I was floating on a cloud of love.

Lately, I have been so grateful for the presence of God in my life. I have had many moments when I was almost ecstatic with joy.

But I have also found myself realizing that a time has passed when I haven't thought of God at all. I will suddenly remember God, and notice that I hadn't been concious of him. Usually this happens after I have been working, doing a party, or at a board meeting, or dinner with the family. I will kind of wake up from the fog of my busy life and become aware, once more, of God. Which isn't to say that the time I was oblivious was bad. I was just going about my business.

In Way of a Pilgrim, the pilgrim teaches his heart to say the Jesus prayer so that he can pray without ceasing. He can pray at night, or when talking to someone else. He prays for every waking moment, and every other moment too.

Is that possible? Is it possible to become so concious of God that there are no moments of forgetting?

What do you think?

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.

The Consolation prize

Saints often speak of spiritual consolations.

I think the term 'consolation' is interesting. God is consoling us. He is consoling us because we need consoling.

I have been commenting on the 'Dunk lately that it seems that the closer I get to God, the further away I feel. It happens that I came across a passage in The Imitiation of Christ that says that very thing. So maybe God offers us consolations to reassure us that even as the distance feels greater, it is not.

He consoles us because we yearn for him. He comforts us because we need comforting.

Spiritual dryness has been very painful for me in the past. I have experienced the absense of consolation as a kind of punishment. Sometimes I have abandoned my prayer practice altogether.... other times I managed to perservere, grudgingly, and forge ahead. It reminds me of when you are training a dog. Give him a liver treat often enough and he'll come when he is called even when you don't have one to give him. God is offering me the liver treat of spiritual consolation lately. Like an eager puppy I tumble towards him with my tail wagging. But eventually, I pray, I will obediently come to him even when the treat is nowhere to be found. Maybe I will even learn that the yearning to be near him is treat enough.

St. Ignatius of Loyola discusses this here. See, especially, the 3rd through 5th rules.

The Imitation of Christ

I recently bought a copy of Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis.

It is a hugely influential book. Therese of Lisieux, for one, quotes it in her writings. It is sort of a 'how to' manual for building a deeper relationship with God. I am about a third of the way through and I am getting a lot out of it so far. It is true that the language can be tough. The translation I have (I bought it at the Catholic book store) talks a lot about 'hating the world and all that is in it' in order to more fully love God. We must despise everything worldly. This smacks a bit of Jansenism to me.... But on some level, I get it. I understand that in order to grow in Christ, I have to shift my focus from the things the world loves towards building a deeper relationship with God. If I can get beyond the language, I have much to gain from this book.

The part of The Imitation that deeply resonates for me is that if I wish to help bring about peace in the world, I must develop a sense of inner peace. This is not a matter of listening to new age music, hanging pretty pictures and burning incense. It is about being in a deep, committed relationship with God. I must practice remembering that in all things, in all interactions, in all circumstances, God is part of the process. He is there. He sees everything. He knows everything. The Imitation stresses that if that is true, then we need only please God in our interactions, not people. This speaks volumes to me. I have been a person who always tried to be 'the best' at everything. Whatever that means. My natural tendancy is to seek recognition for my achievements. I try to minimize my failings. I am delighted when people tell me how wonderful I am. Thomas scoffs at all of that. God is the only one who counts. St. Therese gives some wonderful examples of this shifted dynamic in action. For example, she talks about having a major revelation about a passage of scripture, but another nun takes credit for the idea. Instead of correcting her, St. Therese lets everyone think that the other nun did, in fact, come up with the idea.

This is incredible to imagine. I know for a fact that if I were in the same situation, I would seek to make absolutely sure that everyone knew it was my idea. I would probably try to do it subtly so people would think I was humble. I would be furious with the other nun. I would be appalled at not getting credit for my brilliance.

But why? Why, if it is really a matter between me and God, would I care?

That is the part of the Imitation that blows my mind. It never even occured to me that true humility is letting go of the worldly measurements of success altogether and focusing on sitting at the feet of my creator and offering EVERYTHING to him.

The chasm between God and me is growing by the day. My ignorance is clearer and clearer. And yet I can only be grateful and delighted that I am seeing the truth of my nature. I can only be relieved to offer myself to God completely... faults and all.

(PS: These are not my ideas. I stole them from a 19th c. nun and a 15th c. theologian. They don't seem to mind.)

The Divine Word

Two of us gathered in Jesus' name today. We met in a tiny room off the main parish hall and read the gospel lesson and listened.

Listened for Gods message for us.

Listened to each other as we shared what we thought God may be asking us to do.

Listened, with open hearts, as we each prayed to the Beloved, on the other's behalf.

We spoke.

We spoke the word that God laid upon our hearts.

We spoke out loud what we believed God was asking us to do.

We spoke prayers over each other.



Today we met with God, and each other, and listened and spoke, in the presence of Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Longing

I was driving home from a kitchen tools gig this evening and happened to have Dave Matthews on the cd player when it occured to me to wonder why I love his music so much. What is it about him? And the thing that occured to me as I listened was that he has this incredible sense of longing in his music. His voice is plaintive... his lyrics are all about yearning and desire. And although he is usually writing about love affairs or sex, there is something deeper and more universal in his songs.

When I first fell in love with God, I realized that for me, all love songs will forever more be about God.

For some reason, Dave, more than most musicians, seems to be religious. I bought 'Busted Stuff' about 2 years ago, fairly soon after my conversion, and sat in my car in the rain in a parking lot near the ocean and listened to the whole thing, crying for joy. It isn't that great an album. In fact, it was going to be relegated to the cutting room floor except that a bunch of kids started selling pirated versions of it. So the band released it and I got a copy and heard stories about God in it.

Dave Matthews sings about longing.

And one of the truths I have discovered on my walk with God is that the closer you get to him, the more painfully aware you are of the gulf. And as long as we are flesh and blood, we are destined to be in a state of perpetual longing for the deep, true, connection that maybe will only come when we die. Longing is so much a part of being a Christian, for me, that when I hear of longing in others, I resonate with it deeply.