I am standing in the produce aisle at the grocery store and I feel my eyes welling up with tears. I know it is ridiculous, but I have an overwhelming desire to fall to my knees in the middle of Shaw's and just thank God for Jesus. I resist the urge and pretend to be looking at apples. But really, I want to fall down and pray.
(Given my bum knee, I would have had to lay flat out on the floor. I wonder if they would have dragged me out. Or called an ambulance.)
It all started with playing the Messiah in the car. I chose, of course, the Easter section of the Bernstein version. Behold the Lamb of God: the Savior of the World, it begins.... I had a hard time leaving the car at all, wanting, instead, to sit and listen to the entire score. But the groceries beckoned and that is when I found myself weeping in the produce aisle.
And Lent hasn't even officially begun yet.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Gettin' Lenty with it....
Don't look at me like I am crazy, but I really love Lent.
My first Ash Wednesday as a Christian, I went to S. Stephen's in Providence with a friend and got the ashes placed on my forehead. It was amazing to walk outside into the world marked as a believer. I was so psyched by it I went home and rubbed some of the ashes onto a piece of vellum and glued it into my journal.
That first Lent was extraordinary. At first it was about the sacrifice. But as the season progressed, it was more and more about the upcoming Holy Week. And what a weird week it was. On the Tuesday of Holy Week, I found out that a childhood friend had committed suicide. So the week was very intense, with grief over my friend comingling with my first taste of the devestating grief of Jesus' death. I cried through the Passover Seder we had a Bell Street. And through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday and even Easter Even. I wondered, at points, if the grief would ever go away. Not on Sunday, but by the following Monday I woke up with such Joy in my heart... such a lightness of being, I knew that it could only mean that Christ has risen.
I figured last year would be easier and less emotional. And it was, on many levels. (No suicides, Thank God.)
But in our bible study we were coming to the Passion and the week before Holy week we read the story of Gethsemane and I was so horrified at the disciples abandoning Him I wanted to run away. I remember rushing home and breaking my fast. I wanted to run away. I wanted to sleep through it. Suddenly the pain of abandoning Jesus was so real I couldn't bear it. On Maundy Thursday I sat at the alter of repose for a long time, not wanting to leave him. Trying to reassure myself that I was not abandoning him. But eventually, of course, I got up and left. As we all do.
This year, I have no idea how this will go. For the first time my children will be fasting with me. (They are giving up candy and meat on Fridays!) It touches me that they want to do it.
I am giving up sweets. And meat on Fridays. I am recommitting to my centering prayer practice and finishing the bible. But mostly I am trying to be open to whatever God has in store for me.
Cleanse me, oh Lord, that I may be worthy of you.
My first Ash Wednesday as a Christian, I went to S. Stephen's in Providence with a friend and got the ashes placed on my forehead. It was amazing to walk outside into the world marked as a believer. I was so psyched by it I went home and rubbed some of the ashes onto a piece of vellum and glued it into my journal.
That first Lent was extraordinary. At first it was about the sacrifice. But as the season progressed, it was more and more about the upcoming Holy Week. And what a weird week it was. On the Tuesday of Holy Week, I found out that a childhood friend had committed suicide. So the week was very intense, with grief over my friend comingling with my first taste of the devestating grief of Jesus' death. I cried through the Passover Seder we had a Bell Street. And through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday and even Easter Even. I wondered, at points, if the grief would ever go away. Not on Sunday, but by the following Monday I woke up with such Joy in my heart... such a lightness of being, I knew that it could only mean that Christ has risen.
I figured last year would be easier and less emotional. And it was, on many levels. (No suicides, Thank God.)
But in our bible study we were coming to the Passion and the week before Holy week we read the story of Gethsemane and I was so horrified at the disciples abandoning Him I wanted to run away. I remember rushing home and breaking my fast. I wanted to run away. I wanted to sleep through it. Suddenly the pain of abandoning Jesus was so real I couldn't bear it. On Maundy Thursday I sat at the alter of repose for a long time, not wanting to leave him. Trying to reassure myself that I was not abandoning him. But eventually, of course, I got up and left. As we all do.
This year, I have no idea how this will go. For the first time my children will be fasting with me. (They are giving up candy and meat on Fridays!) It touches me that they want to do it.
I am giving up sweets. And meat on Fridays. I am recommitting to my centering prayer practice and finishing the bible. But mostly I am trying to be open to whatever God has in store for me.
Cleanse me, oh Lord, that I may be worthy of you.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Life's monkey wrenches...
The deer was a monkey wrench. It was a crazy episode that required us to stop what we were doing and take on something completely unexpected.
When I first considered bringing it home, I pictured leaving the animal in my garage for the weekend and then driving it up to the slaughter house on Monday morning. I pictured picking it up a few days later, neatly packaged in white paper wrappers with labels indicating what each package contained.
It didn't work out that way. When Nguyen was struggling to get the deer into his truck, a hunter happened by and offered to help. He told Nguyen that the deer would have to be gutted that very night or else the meat would go bad. At that moment, my husband, who had never done anything like it in his life, decided he was going to butcher an entire deer. In our garage. In the middle of the night.
When we were kids, things like this happened all the time. A farm is a place where monkey wrenches get thrown into your life at unexpected moments, with unpredictable results. And it is always about life and death.
The day a dog happened by and killed our entire flock of chickens for sport, my parents were up until late into the night plucking and gutting and cutting and wrapping the dead birds so we could freeze them and salvage something from what was a terrible loss.
Or the day our cow was trying to birth her calf and was struggling. My brother and I got up before dawn and went to the field with my parents. We watched my father reach into the cow's vagina up to his elbow to try and determine if the feet sticking out were hind or fore. And when a little nose appeared, we were amazed when a tongue started licking my fathers fingers as they were pulling on the calf's feet. She was born after the vet appeared and had a special chain that he looped around her feet. One great pull and out she slid.
Life on a farm was always about these little emergencies... some terrible, many wonderful. A friend drops off a baby pig. We rescue an abandoned pony. Adopt a dog that needs a home. Watch our barn cat eat an infant rabbit. Play host to a lost homing pigeon who has mistaken our barn for his home.
We always had to be open to dropping everything and adjusting to the latest monkey wrench. The disruptions were part of the rhythm.
It doesn't happen as much in suburbia or in the city. Or maybe the monkey wrenches are of a different sort. Having your water boiler blow, or getting mugged, or losing your car keys are different things altogether. There is no adventure in them. They are just a pain in the ass.
The deer was different. It was a monkey wrench on a grand scale. We haven't gotten to bed before 1 am since we brought it home. Last night, Nguyen was butchering... cutting the meat into sections based on a crude diagram I found on the internet. He laid a plastic bag over a table in the garage and went to work. I took each piece into the house and washed it in my kitchen sink. Rubbed the stray hairs off. Cleaned off the bits of coagulated blood. Dried the pieces on an old towel and wrapped them in foil and plastic bags and labeled each one. Then, when we were finished, we had a fridge stuffed with venison and sat at the dinner table and talked late into the night about Vietnam and the farm I grew up on and the simple truths of life and death and gratitude.
We are grateful for the meat. We are more grateful, though, for the experience. Our kids learned a lot this weekend. They were scared at first, then interested. They wanted to watch the meat getting cut up, so we let them get out of bed and put on coats and gloves and come out to the garage to see what we were doing. Just like when I was a kid. I told Nguyen that they would never forget the day he brought a deer home.
On Sunday, I was praying in gratitude to God, for the deer, my family, my husband. I was grateful for all He has given us. For reminding us that hiding in the monkey wrenches are the keys to grace.
As I was writing out my check for the collection, I noticed the check pattern. It is a new checking account, so this checkbook has samples of all the different kinds of checks you can get: Anne Geddes, Scooby Doo, blue safety paper.
Mine was a nature scene
with a white tail deer...
I laughed out loud.
Thank you, Beloved, for the monkey wrenches. I pray that I will always see them as the gifts they are.
When I first considered bringing it home, I pictured leaving the animal in my garage for the weekend and then driving it up to the slaughter house on Monday morning. I pictured picking it up a few days later, neatly packaged in white paper wrappers with labels indicating what each package contained.
It didn't work out that way. When Nguyen was struggling to get the deer into his truck, a hunter happened by and offered to help. He told Nguyen that the deer would have to be gutted that very night or else the meat would go bad. At that moment, my husband, who had never done anything like it in his life, decided he was going to butcher an entire deer. In our garage. In the middle of the night.
When we were kids, things like this happened all the time. A farm is a place where monkey wrenches get thrown into your life at unexpected moments, with unpredictable results. And it is always about life and death.
The day a dog happened by and killed our entire flock of chickens for sport, my parents were up until late into the night plucking and gutting and cutting and wrapping the dead birds so we could freeze them and salvage something from what was a terrible loss.
Or the day our cow was trying to birth her calf and was struggling. My brother and I got up before dawn and went to the field with my parents. We watched my father reach into the cow's vagina up to his elbow to try and determine if the feet sticking out were hind or fore. And when a little nose appeared, we were amazed when a tongue started licking my fathers fingers as they were pulling on the calf's feet. She was born after the vet appeared and had a special chain that he looped around her feet. One great pull and out she slid.
Life on a farm was always about these little emergencies... some terrible, many wonderful. A friend drops off a baby pig. We rescue an abandoned pony. Adopt a dog that needs a home. Watch our barn cat eat an infant rabbit. Play host to a lost homing pigeon who has mistaken our barn for his home.
We always had to be open to dropping everything and adjusting to the latest monkey wrench. The disruptions were part of the rhythm.
It doesn't happen as much in suburbia or in the city. Or maybe the monkey wrenches are of a different sort. Having your water boiler blow, or getting mugged, or losing your car keys are different things altogether. There is no adventure in them. They are just a pain in the ass.
The deer was different. It was a monkey wrench on a grand scale. We haven't gotten to bed before 1 am since we brought it home. Last night, Nguyen was butchering... cutting the meat into sections based on a crude diagram I found on the internet. He laid a plastic bag over a table in the garage and went to work. I took each piece into the house and washed it in my kitchen sink. Rubbed the stray hairs off. Cleaned off the bits of coagulated blood. Dried the pieces on an old towel and wrapped them in foil and plastic bags and labeled each one. Then, when we were finished, we had a fridge stuffed with venison and sat at the dinner table and talked late into the night about Vietnam and the farm I grew up on and the simple truths of life and death and gratitude.
We are grateful for the meat. We are more grateful, though, for the experience. Our kids learned a lot this weekend. They were scared at first, then interested. They wanted to watch the meat getting cut up, so we let them get out of bed and put on coats and gloves and come out to the garage to see what we were doing. Just like when I was a kid. I told Nguyen that they would never forget the day he brought a deer home.
On Sunday, I was praying in gratitude to God, for the deer, my family, my husband. I was grateful for all He has given us. For reminding us that hiding in the monkey wrenches are the keys to grace.
As I was writing out my check for the collection, I noticed the check pattern. It is a new checking account, so this checkbook has samples of all the different kinds of checks you can get: Anne Geddes, Scooby Doo, blue safety paper.
Mine was a nature scene
with a white tail deer...
I laughed out loud.
Thank you, Beloved, for the monkey wrenches. I pray that I will always see them as the gifts they are.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Oh, deer...
It is freezing ass cold tonight and I was driving home from a kitchen tools gig when I passed a dead deer on the onramp to the highway. I pulled over, put my flashers on and seriously considered whether I wanted to throw it into the back of my minivan. Didn't have a garbage bag on hand, so I decided against it and rushed home to my darling husband and told him to go and get it with his truck. We'll see if it is still there.
There is a slaughter house in Swansea where we can bring it to get dressed.
I grew up on a farm and it is moments like these... passing a dead deer on the road, with my first thought of venison stew with artichokes and sun dried tomatoes, that I realize that I am a farm girl, deep down in my soul.
We slaughtered things. We raised them, loved them, treated them well and then either carted them off to Swansea or just took care of it out in the lean-to of the barn. By the time I was 9 I could dispatch a chicken with little fuss. I could strip it of feathers, clean the guts and cook it, too. Same with rabbits.
My friends had farms too. Steve and Linda were Portuguese, their old man ran a nursery in Portsmouth. Once I was hanging out over there and wandered into a huge outbuilding. There was a skinned cow hanging from the ceiling by one hairy hoof. I was struck by the ridiculousness of it.
My husband didn't live on a farm as a kid. He grew up in a town, but they raised pigeons in the back yard and sold them to the local French restaurant. They had a couple of chickens too. Everyone in Vietnam did.
So, I don't know if he'll actually have the nerve to bag a whole dead deer.
I'll keep you posted.
Epilogue:
It is now 1:06 am and I just spent the last hour coaching my husband on how to gut a deer. It's in the garage even as we speak. Skinned and hanging from that incongruously hairy foot.
A strange night in suburbia!
Venison stew with artichokes and sun dried tomatoes: It's what's for dinner.
There is a slaughter house in Swansea where we can bring it to get dressed.
I grew up on a farm and it is moments like these... passing a dead deer on the road, with my first thought of venison stew with artichokes and sun dried tomatoes, that I realize that I am a farm girl, deep down in my soul.
We slaughtered things. We raised them, loved them, treated them well and then either carted them off to Swansea or just took care of it out in the lean-to of the barn. By the time I was 9 I could dispatch a chicken with little fuss. I could strip it of feathers, clean the guts and cook it, too. Same with rabbits.
My friends had farms too. Steve and Linda were Portuguese, their old man ran a nursery in Portsmouth. Once I was hanging out over there and wandered into a huge outbuilding. There was a skinned cow hanging from the ceiling by one hairy hoof. I was struck by the ridiculousness of it.
My husband didn't live on a farm as a kid. He grew up in a town, but they raised pigeons in the back yard and sold them to the local French restaurant. They had a couple of chickens too. Everyone in Vietnam did.
So, I don't know if he'll actually have the nerve to bag a whole dead deer.
I'll keep you posted.
Epilogue:
It is now 1:06 am and I just spent the last hour coaching my husband on how to gut a deer. It's in the garage even as we speak. Skinned and hanging from that incongruously hairy foot.
A strange night in suburbia!
Venison stew with artichokes and sun dried tomatoes: It's what's for dinner.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Something in the air?
It strikes me as odd that in the last couple of weeks I got news that a play about my baptism was produced in Washington State AND notice that the book I wrote an essay for is available for pre-order.The play is called 'Unheard Voices in Unitarian Universalism: Christians' and was written by the Rev. Amanda Aikman. 2 years ago Amanda emailed a UU Christian online list I belong to and asked if anyone wanted to share their conversion stories. Mine was still very fresh in my mind, so I emailed her back and we set up a phone call. Later she asked if she could interview my minister, Steve, who had performed my baptism. I agreed and she called Steve to get his side of the story. She interviewed several other UU Christians and created a play that weaves several of the stories together, with my baptism as the backdrop.
At the time the play was being written, I was still a UU. I had hoped that my story would help other UUs understand a little bit about what being a UU Christian is all about. I also wanted to witness to the power of God that he could come and find me, even in the UU church! When Amanda called me last week to tell me that the play had been performed at a UU Church, she shared with me that several members of the audience were actually moved to tears. I was stunned and grateful.
The book came from the same UU Christian online list. I had done a lay-led service at my church about my conversion. When the editor of the book, Kathleen Rolenz, solicited essays on my list, I sent her a modified version of my sermon. I was surprised and pleased when she wrote me back and said that it had been accepted.
Strangely, after a couple of years in the works, both projects are coming to fruition at the same time. And I admit I feel a little unsettled that I am no longer in the church that produced them. I wish that they could put an epilogue stating that I left the UU faith. I have conflicted feelings about all of it. Part of it is totally personal: I want people to understand that there came a point in my spiritual journey when I could no longer hyphenate my Christianity. I am not a UU-Christian. I am a Christian. Period.
But part of it has to do with the denomination itself. It is HARD to be a Christian in the UU church. Even at my former church, where I felt loved and welcomed, every now and then a subtle hostility towards christianity would creep to the surface. In the denomination as a whole, there is nothing subtle about it.
So, I am glad these pieces have come out. I think they are relevant. I think they might help people understand what it means to be a Christian in a faith that has abandoned it's Christian roots.
But I feel a little melancholy about it too. Like I have recently ended a long but difficult relationship. It's like finally printing the wedding album after the couple has gotten a divorce.
Proverbs
I am starting the Proverbs of Solomon. I think it is far more interesting to read the words of the characters in question rather than the histories of them. The earlier parts of the bible certainly have value... they lay out the context, which is really important. But the histories are, for the most part, detached from the actual characters involved. With a few exceptions, the histories never get into the heads of the folks they are describing. (There are wonderful side effects of that sometimes, though. Like when we hear the kids taunting Elisha... " Hey Baldy!" I am guessing if it was a first person narrative that story would have been described differently! LOL)So, on to the Proverbs. Solomon says at least three times in the opening chapters not to get involved with married women. Oh, the consequences are dire. Their tactics at seduction irresistable. Why not be satisfied with the breasts of your own wife? All this protesting convinces me that dear Solomon must have learned this particular lesson the hard way. I think it is hilarious that in his world, the adulteress is the one at fault, luring helpless married men to their doom.
Here's the thing though. As a woman married for almost 17 years, I have come to believe in the idea of marriage as a sacrament. It is one of the aspects of life that Jesus speaks to explicitly.
Since becoming a Christian, I have felt that my marriage has been more important to me. In the past, I would joke that the only reason I stay with my husband is because I love my in-laws so much. Actually, I still make that joke... but the truth is that I have been much more focused on choosing what is healthy for our marriage than I ever was before. Something shifted after the Big Dunk. I began to realize that what is most important is living a Loving, Godly, life. And that is most possible for me when I am focusing on my ministry of not driving my family insane. (I wonder if, for Lent, I should give up nagging?) In marriage, as in all things, the question that comes at the crossroads of life is: does this enhance or hurt my relationship with God? To me, that question is pivotal. It has kept me clear of all kinds of difficult and destructive situations. My ministry is well served when the answer to that question is 'enhanced'.
So, as funny as King Solomon's diatribes are, I think they ring true for me. He may be a tad hyperbolic when he says that adultery leads to death... but I can buy that it would be a spiritual death if not a physical one. Anything that separates you from God is a kind of death. Anything that distracts you from your relationship with God is, for me, the very definition of sin.
That Solomon. He was a pretty smart guy.
It's a shame he ended up on God's shit list.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Experimenting...
Trying out new looks on the blog. Don't be scared!
I may be changing it in the next few days...
In the mean time, an update:
My knee is doing much better! I am walking around with hardly any limp, even in the snow. I go to the accupuncturist for one more treatment tomorrow. Oh, and I forgot to take my Naproxen today and I did just fine, so I am thinking I'll wean off it and see what happens.
Still reading the psalms. I admit that they are getting some competition from the Olympics. I have been pretty pleased with the coverage this time around and am glued to the set most of the night.
I LOVE the winter Olympics. As a kid, I was totally hooked.
My favorite sport? Speed skating. Yup. I love it. I love to watch those crazy big thighed men and women. I love the arm movements and the way they cross over their legs when going around the turns. I especially love the long races... the 5000 meters... 3000.
A few years ago I got my first pair of inline skates. Although I am not, by any means, an athlete, I would go to the bike path in East Providence and strap on my skates and pretend I was a speed skater, flailing my arms and crossing my legs on the turns. Until I would catch my other skate and trip myself flat on my face.
It was about that time that I started playing hockey with a bunch of guys I worked with. I even convinced my husband to play. We would take over a run down basketball court and bring a bunch of cheap wooden sticks and a bright orange ball. I was the only woman in a crowd of 20-something year old men. I was the oldest, too. But I didn't smoke anymore and didn't drink as much as the boys, so I had pretty good stamina. I sucked at skating, but found it was much easier with a hockey stick in your hand because it offers balance. Checking a 20 year old was kind of sexy. Sweating was fun. It was the first time in my life that I played a sport because it was FUN. And it was. Even the day my beloved husband elbowed me in the mouth and I nearly lost my front teeth. (Mouth guards? Ha! ) Later that week I went out and bought a black plastic mouth guard, deciding that even if I had no other padding, my teeth needed protecting. A few weeks later I found out I was pregnant and that was the end of my hockey career.
Now I am waiting for my kids to get old enough to strap on their skates and play with me.
I might even have a mouth guard lying around somewhere....
I may be changing it in the next few days...
In the mean time, an update:
My knee is doing much better! I am walking around with hardly any limp, even in the snow. I go to the accupuncturist for one more treatment tomorrow. Oh, and I forgot to take my Naproxen today and I did just fine, so I am thinking I'll wean off it and see what happens.
Still reading the psalms. I admit that they are getting some competition from the Olympics. I have been pretty pleased with the coverage this time around and am glued to the set most of the night.
I LOVE the winter Olympics. As a kid, I was totally hooked.
My favorite sport? Speed skating. Yup. I love it. I love to watch those crazy big thighed men and women. I love the arm movements and the way they cross over their legs when going around the turns. I especially love the long races... the 5000 meters... 3000.
A few years ago I got my first pair of inline skates. Although I am not, by any means, an athlete, I would go to the bike path in East Providence and strap on my skates and pretend I was a speed skater, flailing my arms and crossing my legs on the turns. Until I would catch my other skate and trip myself flat on my face.
It was about that time that I started playing hockey with a bunch of guys I worked with. I even convinced my husband to play. We would take over a run down basketball court and bring a bunch of cheap wooden sticks and a bright orange ball. I was the only woman in a crowd of 20-something year old men. I was the oldest, too. But I didn't smoke anymore and didn't drink as much as the boys, so I had pretty good stamina. I sucked at skating, but found it was much easier with a hockey stick in your hand because it offers balance. Checking a 20 year old was kind of sexy. Sweating was fun. It was the first time in my life that I played a sport because it was FUN. And it was. Even the day my beloved husband elbowed me in the mouth and I nearly lost my front teeth. (Mouth guards? Ha! ) Later that week I went out and bought a black plastic mouth guard, deciding that even if I had no other padding, my teeth needed protecting. A few weeks later I found out I was pregnant and that was the end of my hockey career.
Now I am waiting for my kids to get old enough to strap on their skates and play with me.
I might even have a mouth guard lying around somewhere....
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Psalms
I'll say it again: reading the psalms in context is a completely different experience.
I have read the psalms several times. The Episcopal Book of Common prayer has them conveniently laid out as morning and evening prayers over the course of a month and I have read them several times in the last year or so. I have used several different translations, too. I even did some as plainchant, since I have a prayerbook with the music included. I love the psalms. I find deep meaning in them. Once, as an exercise, my director suggested I read the same psalms every day for 3 months. I chose three and read them over and over again. It was a wonderful exploration.
But I have never before read the psalms in the context of King David's experiences. It is really powerful. They are beautiful.
Also, I never noticed that the later psalms are attributed to Asaph. And indeed, they sound different. They have a different 'voice'.
It is interesting to contrast the experience of reading the same psalm daily for 3 months with reading the entire psalter over the matter of a couple of days. I would have thought that the speed reading version would be less satisfying, but instead I am finding it deeply moving. I know, like Job, I will need to go back again and reread it. But in the mean time, I am blown away.
Love+
Rachel
Psalm 67
I praise thee, Beloved.
I have read the psalms several times. The Episcopal Book of Common prayer has them conveniently laid out as morning and evening prayers over the course of a month and I have read them several times in the last year or so. I have used several different translations, too. I even did some as plainchant, since I have a prayerbook with the music included. I love the psalms. I find deep meaning in them. Once, as an exercise, my director suggested I read the same psalms every day for 3 months. I chose three and read them over and over again. It was a wonderful exploration.
But I have never before read the psalms in the context of King David's experiences. It is really powerful. They are beautiful.
Also, I never noticed that the later psalms are attributed to Asaph. And indeed, they sound different. They have a different 'voice'.
It is interesting to contrast the experience of reading the same psalm daily for 3 months with reading the entire psalter over the matter of a couple of days. I would have thought that the speed reading version would be less satisfying, but instead I am finding it deeply moving. I know, like Job, I will need to go back again and reread it. But in the mean time, I am blown away.
Love+
Rachel
Psalm 67
| To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. A Psalm. A Song. May God be gracious to us and bless us and make his face to shine upon us, [Selah] | |
| that thy way may be known upon earth, thy saving power among all nations. | |
| Let the peoples praise thee, O God; let all the peoples praise thee! | |
| Let the nations be glad and sing for joy, for thou dost judge the peoples with equity and guide the nations upon earth. [Selah] | |
| Let the peoples praise thee, O God; let all the peoples praise thee! | |
| The earth has yielded its increase; God, our God, has blessed us. | |
| God has blessed us; let all the ends of the earth fear him! |
I praise thee, Beloved.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
What is that thing?!?!?!?!?! Why, it's a.....
knee cap.
Yes.
I can actually see that in the middle of my leg there is a boney thing that looks for all the world like a knee. Yay!
I am now, officially, a huge fan of Dr. Jiao. I have had two treatments so far and the swelling is down and I am walking without a cane. The first day I went in, he took one look at the cane and said "No more cane. Cane is for old lady. No more cane!" and sure enough, the very next day I was walking without it.
I had another treatment on Wednesday and today I can see my knee. I even crossed my legs at one point, for the first time in 3 weeks.
But what is best about Dr. Jiao is that he is completely convinced that I have nothing systemic wrong with me. He laughed when I told him about all the tests. He asked me at the first visit if I kneel. I told him that I kneel in church. Here's the funny thing: I like to kneel on the floor at Grace, rather than on the kneelers. The big, hard, floor. So I admitted this to Dr. Jiao and he told me to tell the priest that I am not allowed to kneel anymore. He said that is how I injured myself. It sure seems like a better diagnosis than, say, Lupus.
I cooked dinner this week.
I went to pick up some groceries.
And, I am a new Pampered Chef consultant and had to stop doing my parties for awhile and now am so happy to be able to get back to it. (Kitchen gear is one of my secret loves! How great is a job actually selling the stuff?!)
So, thankyou for your prayers. Thank you, God, for keeping me sane in the midst of this difficulty. And most of all, thanks to my dear dear husband and kids who picked up the slack for 3 long weeks.
A knee.
Yah!
(Beloved, maybe from now on I'll just have to lay flat out on the floor when I pray!)
Yes.
I can actually see that in the middle of my leg there is a boney thing that looks for all the world like a knee. Yay!
I am now, officially, a huge fan of Dr. Jiao. I have had two treatments so far and the swelling is down and I am walking without a cane. The first day I went in, he took one look at the cane and said "No more cane. Cane is for old lady. No more cane!" and sure enough, the very next day I was walking without it.
I had another treatment on Wednesday and today I can see my knee. I even crossed my legs at one point, for the first time in 3 weeks.
But what is best about Dr. Jiao is that he is completely convinced that I have nothing systemic wrong with me. He laughed when I told him about all the tests. He asked me at the first visit if I kneel. I told him that I kneel in church. Here's the funny thing: I like to kneel on the floor at Grace, rather than on the kneelers. The big, hard, floor. So I admitted this to Dr. Jiao and he told me to tell the priest that I am not allowed to kneel anymore. He said that is how I injured myself. It sure seems like a better diagnosis than, say, Lupus.
I cooked dinner this week.
I went to pick up some groceries.
And, I am a new Pampered Chef consultant and had to stop doing my parties for awhile and now am so happy to be able to get back to it. (Kitchen gear is one of my secret loves! How great is a job actually selling the stuff?!)
So, thankyou for your prayers. Thank you, God, for keeping me sane in the midst of this difficulty. And most of all, thanks to my dear dear husband and kids who picked up the slack for 3 long weeks.
A knee.
Yah!
(Beloved, maybe from now on I'll just have to lay flat out on the floor when I pray!)
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Guest Blogger: Noah
Here is my son's "I have a dream" speech: (He's in 3rd grade...)
I have a dream that most mystical creatures set foot on the earth like dragons, harpies and shark men, for a lesson from God. To teach us to work together. All weapons have turned to dust. After we figured out the lesson, all the mystical creatures help us make the world better.
Interesting theology, huh?
I have a dream that most mystical creatures set foot on the earth like dragons, harpies and shark men, for a lesson from God. To teach us to work together. All weapons have turned to dust. After we figured out the lesson, all the mystical creatures help us make the world better.
Interesting theology, huh?
The patience of....
Job isn't that patient, actually. Through the whole book he is railing at God. Complaining, basically, that he didn't do anything to deserve this torture.
The book of Job fascinates me.
It is essentially a dialogue between Job and his friends. He bitterly denies that he ever did anything wrong and his friends reply that he must have because God only punishes the wicked. There is so much to wrestle with theologically.
Up to this point, we have understood God's actions based on his pronouncement to Moses: If you are righteous, you will be blessed... if you do evil you will be punished. It stood to reason, then, that anyone who suffered was assumed to be wicked. God wouldn't be punishing them if they were righteous, now, would he?
Job is the first instance where the innocent suffers. And he gets mighty pissed off about it.
What is so fascinating is that the issue really isn't ever resolved. Job's youngest friend Elihu, timidly pipes up and suggests that Job has no idea what it is like to be God. (an incredibly poetic monologue, if you ask me.) and says that only the son of God could truly be righteous. Then the Big Guy himself comes along and basically reaffirms what Job's friends have said before. AND tells him to quit being a whiny pants or he'll get really medieval on his ass.
All of which finally humbles Job and all is forgiven. By God, I mean.
And one last fascinating detail: Job's new DAUGHTERS are described and named and his new sons are not. I believe that might be the first time in the Hebrew Scriptures that the emphasis is on the women folk.
I think the book of Job would make an amazing play. It is already written in dialogue form. Staging it would bring so much power to these words. It is an amazing book.
I know that it would be a simple matter to pick up my Oxford Bible Companion and see what the liberal eggheads have to say about this book... when it was written and by whom... but I have to say that I am thoroughly enjoying reading these things within the context of the scriptures themselves. I'll save the history of the work for later, after I have finished the whole bible.
And on to the Psalms, which I have read many times before... but never having read the history of King David before. What a difference it makes to read them in THEIR context. Even psalm 22, which is one of the most wrenching pieces of writing I have ever read has a different nuance when reading it as one of David's songs.
A copy of the Zondervan Bible in 90 Days- $19.00
Reading the bible straight through: Priceless.
The book of Job fascinates me.
It is essentially a dialogue between Job and his friends. He bitterly denies that he ever did anything wrong and his friends reply that he must have because God only punishes the wicked. There is so much to wrestle with theologically.
Up to this point, we have understood God's actions based on his pronouncement to Moses: If you are righteous, you will be blessed... if you do evil you will be punished. It stood to reason, then, that anyone who suffered was assumed to be wicked. God wouldn't be punishing them if they were righteous, now, would he?
Job is the first instance where the innocent suffers. And he gets mighty pissed off about it.
What is so fascinating is that the issue really isn't ever resolved. Job's youngest friend Elihu, timidly pipes up and suggests that Job has no idea what it is like to be God. (an incredibly poetic monologue, if you ask me.) and says that only the son of God could truly be righteous. Then the Big Guy himself comes along and basically reaffirms what Job's friends have said before. AND tells him to quit being a whiny pants or he'll get really medieval on his ass.
All of which finally humbles Job and all is forgiven. By God, I mean.
And one last fascinating detail: Job's new DAUGHTERS are described and named and his new sons are not. I believe that might be the first time in the Hebrew Scriptures that the emphasis is on the women folk.
I think the book of Job would make an amazing play. It is already written in dialogue form. Staging it would bring so much power to these words. It is an amazing book.
I know that it would be a simple matter to pick up my Oxford Bible Companion and see what the liberal eggheads have to say about this book... when it was written and by whom... but I have to say that I am thoroughly enjoying reading these things within the context of the scriptures themselves. I'll save the history of the work for later, after I have finished the whole bible.
And on to the Psalms, which I have read many times before... but never having read the history of King David before. What a difference it makes to read them in THEIR context. Even psalm 22, which is one of the most wrenching pieces of writing I have ever read has a different nuance when reading it as one of David's songs.
A copy of the Zondervan Bible in 90 Days- $19.00
Reading the bible straight through: Priceless.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Job
Over the weekend, I was doing much better. The swelling in my knee was going down. The pain was subsiding. I was getting around without my cane. I even got to church yesterday and had a really great experience at the healing service. The accupuncturist seemed to help, too.
Last night, I began the book of Job. I only got a few pages into it, but already it struck me that this was one of the books that I would have to go back to and read at a more leisurely pace. It is packed full of stuff. Mostly, so far, it is about Job's despair at feeling betrayed by God. He can't understand why someone as righteous as he would be punished so mercilessly. He curses the day of his birth. He is a very pathetic puppy.
I have never felt like this health issue was a punishment. I have felt all along that God would be with me throughout it. God is faithful. I have felt the prayers of my friends... real life ones and cyber...
Well, today I have started to have a relapse of some sort. I am a lot of discomfort again and it is clear that my knee has swollen back up again. I am disappointed, it is true. I had made a lot of progress over the last couple of days. I called my husband to tell him. I cried. I went to bed. The kids trashed the house. (5 and 9. Its what they do best!) I got up and made dinner, damn it, for the first time in 2 1/2 weeks.
Beloved, stay close. I trust you.
Stay close.
Last night, I began the book of Job. I only got a few pages into it, but already it struck me that this was one of the books that I would have to go back to and read at a more leisurely pace. It is packed full of stuff. Mostly, so far, it is about Job's despair at feeling betrayed by God. He can't understand why someone as righteous as he would be punished so mercilessly. He curses the day of his birth. He is a very pathetic puppy.
I have never felt like this health issue was a punishment. I have felt all along that God would be with me throughout it. God is faithful. I have felt the prayers of my friends... real life ones and cyber...
Well, today I have started to have a relapse of some sort. I am a lot of discomfort again and it is clear that my knee has swollen back up again. I am disappointed, it is true. I had made a lot of progress over the last couple of days. I called my husband to tell him. I cried. I went to bed. The kids trashed the house. (5 and 9. Its what they do best!) I got up and made dinner, damn it, for the first time in 2 1/2 weeks.
Beloved, stay close. I trust you.
Stay close.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Communion and Kosher Franks
Fr. P came bearing gifts today.
He said a collect.
He read me the Gospel for today, which was the presentation of Jesus in the Temple. We confessed together, then he granted absolution. He annointed me and gave me communion. I admit I was a little weepy.
Later, we shared a meal and prayers and marveled at God's work in our lives.
When I lay down for a nap this afternoon, I noticed that for the first time in two weeks, I didn't feel pain in my knee.
God rocks, doesn't he?
Thanks for all your prayers.
I get the blood drawn tomorrow for the Lyme and Rheumatoid arthritis tests and it'll be a week before I get the results, but I am feeling at peace with things. I feel pretty sure I don't have either.
I have decided to see an accupuncturist, though... so I meet with him after my regular medical doctor tomorrow.
I'll be on pins and needles, LOL!
Edited to add: Lupus is on the table too. My internist was hesitant to even have me tested for it because it gets a lot of false 'maybes' as a result, but I convinced him that I wouldn't hit the panic button, so he went ahead and ordered the test.
He said a collect.
He read me the Gospel for today, which was the presentation of Jesus in the Temple. We confessed together, then he granted absolution. He annointed me and gave me communion. I admit I was a little weepy.
Later, we shared a meal and prayers and marveled at God's work in our lives.
When I lay down for a nap this afternoon, I noticed that for the first time in two weeks, I didn't feel pain in my knee.
God rocks, doesn't he?
Thanks for all your prayers.
I get the blood drawn tomorrow for the Lyme and Rheumatoid arthritis tests and it'll be a week before I get the results, but I am feeling at peace with things. I feel pretty sure I don't have either.
I have decided to see an accupuncturist, though... so I meet with him after my regular medical doctor tomorrow.
I'll be on pins and needles, LOL!
Edited to add: Lupus is on the table too. My internist was hesitant to even have me tested for it because it gets a lot of false 'maybes' as a result, but I convinced him that I wouldn't hit the panic button, so he went ahead and ordered the test.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Grateful place
So why, on this dreary, rainy, New England day am I all cheerful and happy? Why, after a terrible night sleep am I feeling so perky? Because I reread my journal last night and I can't help grinning from ear to ear when I go back and actually see in black and white just how cool God has been to me.
I started my journal the day I got baptised... although the early entries are on the computer. About 3 or 4 months later I got a leather bound notebook for Christmas and started writing in that instead.
It is a gas to go back and read it. Oddly, it feels like it all has happened so long ago. Amazing to think it is only a couple of years.
It strikes me that some of it is like poetry. Some of it is actually very beautiful. And lots of it is embarassingly schmaltzy and would mortify me if anyone ever read it. (I told my husband he can read it when I die, LOL!)
But oh, God's grace abounds. God's love is so apparent in retrospect. I love that I can begin to see patterns weaving in and out of my daily life. I love that I can observe God at his holy work. It makes me grateful.
I am the Lover
And You are the Beloved.
I started my journal the day I got baptised... although the early entries are on the computer. About 3 or 4 months later I got a leather bound notebook for Christmas and started writing in that instead.
It is a gas to go back and read it. Oddly, it feels like it all has happened so long ago. Amazing to think it is only a couple of years.
It strikes me that some of it is like poetry. Some of it is actually very beautiful. And lots of it is embarassingly schmaltzy and would mortify me if anyone ever read it. (I told my husband he can read it when I die, LOL!)
But oh, God's grace abounds. God's love is so apparent in retrospect. I love that I can begin to see patterns weaving in and out of my daily life. I love that I can observe God at his holy work. It makes me grateful.
I am the Lover
And You are the Beloved.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Prayed for....
I can feel it, you know. I really can. Even though there is still a lot of pain. Even though we still have no diagnosis. Even though nothing has actually changed, I still know that I am being prayed for and it is kind of an amazing experience.
This morning I woke up early and in a lot of pain. But as I was laying there, I felt such a sense of love and calm. I just knew that someone was praying for me at that moment. (I suspect it was my Director... who has been praying for me at his services over the last few days.) We have our regular monthly lunch date this week, only this time HE is bringing lunch. And the sacrament. When I asked him to bring communion, I cried. I am not sure why. I think it is because communion always feels like such a love-fest with God. The prospect of having it in my own home, after a couple of weeks without it, feels like and incredible gift. Bless you Fr. P.
This afternoon I went to my sister in law's house for the annual Nguyen Family Vietnamese New Year bacchanalia. I held court in a chair in the corner and was mildly bored having to talk about my health to 20-something relatives, but felt well cared for and loved, nonetheless. Tempura shrimp and Vietnamese New Year's bean cakes go a long way towards curing what ails you.
And tonight, I am turning in early to read more of Hebrew Scriptures, which continue to intrigue and confound me.
God is good. God is so very good.
Friday, January 27, 2006
God of Mercy?
Ok, I promise not to turn my blog into a boring health crisis diatribe. I have done three posts on my knee. There is nothing to report. Still in pain. Still not diagnosed.
Having said that... I do want to talk about the Bible in 90 Days.
I am blown away by it.
First, I am incredibly grateful that a friend suggested reading through the whole thing rather than piecemeal. It strikes me that for the part I have read, at least, continuity is critical. I can't imagine reading Judges without having first read the Torah, for example.
About a year ago, my former UU Minister lent me a book called God: a Biography. I never did get around to reading it (I am terrible that way!) but the basic premise is that you can see God as a character who develops over time. Now, I know that this is not going to sit well with some folks, and I am not going to apologize for the author, especially having never actually read the book. But I have to say, looking at God as a character, in the literary sense, is kind of intriguing. His character does seem to change. There are times when he is loving and merciful and other times when he comes across as a bloodthirsty brute. ("Kill every man, woman, child and infant in that pagan town. Leave nothing breathing....")
The big struggle in the years after the Exodus seems to be that the Israelites were originally pagans and now are trying to adapt to monotheism. And they keep backsliding. They do ok for 40 years, then the King takes on a pagan concubine who convinces him to slaughter a bull on the wrong day and put up a little alter in the living room and all hell breaks loose. Plagues, disasters. You name it.
So much of what I have read so far is this crazy back and forth wrangling between paganism and God. Man-made idols VS. the Big Guy. The Big Guy always seems to win.
The question I keep having is: When does mercy come in? Can a case be made that slaughtering the innocent is a kind of mercy? Is it better to be dead than worshipping some stone idol? I don't believe that literally. I might believe it metaphorically.
But these were literal deaths, weren't they?
Reading this stuff makes me want to sit down and talk to an Orthodox Jew. I want to understand how these stories fit into their spiritual landscape. What is gleaned from them?
For me, the only way I can really make any sense is to see it as a big metaphor for my own struggles. I come close to God, then pull back. I do something completely unChristian. I turn away and then come running back.
What is different is that I never get a sense of being punished. Even this health issue seems loving and benign. Hard, yes. Painful, yes. But I just have faith that somehow it is leading me to a place of Grace. In fact, it already has in a way. I have read the bible at a much faster rate this week because it was about the only thing I could do.
Beloved,
You seem like a stranger when I read about you in the Hebrew Scriptures. You seem so unlike the LOVE that I know you to be. Help me understand these scriptures, Lord. Help me find you in these stories.
Love+
Rachel
Having said that... I do want to talk about the Bible in 90 Days.
I am blown away by it.
First, I am incredibly grateful that a friend suggested reading through the whole thing rather than piecemeal. It strikes me that for the part I have read, at least, continuity is critical. I can't imagine reading Judges without having first read the Torah, for example.
About a year ago, my former UU Minister lent me a book called God: a Biography. I never did get around to reading it (I am terrible that way!) but the basic premise is that you can see God as a character who develops over time. Now, I know that this is not going to sit well with some folks, and I am not going to apologize for the author, especially having never actually read the book. But I have to say, looking at God as a character, in the literary sense, is kind of intriguing. His character does seem to change. There are times when he is loving and merciful and other times when he comes across as a bloodthirsty brute. ("Kill every man, woman, child and infant in that pagan town. Leave nothing breathing....")
The big struggle in the years after the Exodus seems to be that the Israelites were originally pagans and now are trying to adapt to monotheism. And they keep backsliding. They do ok for 40 years, then the King takes on a pagan concubine who convinces him to slaughter a bull on the wrong day and put up a little alter in the living room and all hell breaks loose. Plagues, disasters. You name it.
So much of what I have read so far is this crazy back and forth wrangling between paganism and God. Man-made idols VS. the Big Guy. The Big Guy always seems to win.
The question I keep having is: When does mercy come in? Can a case be made that slaughtering the innocent is a kind of mercy? Is it better to be dead than worshipping some stone idol? I don't believe that literally. I might believe it metaphorically.
But these were literal deaths, weren't they?
Reading this stuff makes me want to sit down and talk to an Orthodox Jew. I want to understand how these stories fit into their spiritual landscape. What is gleaned from them?
For me, the only way I can really make any sense is to see it as a big metaphor for my own struggles. I come close to God, then pull back. I do something completely unChristian. I turn away and then come running back.
What is different is that I never get a sense of being punished. Even this health issue seems loving and benign. Hard, yes. Painful, yes. But I just have faith that somehow it is leading me to a place of Grace. In fact, it already has in a way. I have read the bible at a much faster rate this week because it was about the only thing I could do.
Beloved,
You seem like a stranger when I read about you in the Hebrew Scriptures. You seem so unlike the LOVE that I know you to be. Help me understand these scriptures, Lord. Help me find you in these stories.
Love+
Rachel
Thursday, January 26, 2006
In a hole
I had to have an MRI this morning because me knee isn’t getting better on the anti-inflammatory.
I am hugely claustrophobic, so the person booking the appointment suggested I take a sedative. No, I said. I don’t do well with drugs. Besides, I meditate a lot. I’ll be ok.
I chose Hildegard Von Bingen for music. Nguyen and the kids dropped me off and then went for breakfast. I hobbled through the hospital until I found the imaging unit. They had 2 TVs blaring in the waiting area. What the fuck is up with that? Coffee shops are bad enough, but the bloody hospital? Yeesh. I asked if I could sit somewhere quieter and they said yes.
It was my turn.
I was led to an interior room with no windows. Told to remove my bra and shoes. Laid out on a slab and strapped down by my bad knee. The attendant, Anthony, handed me a pair of headphones, which already had Hildegard playing. I was going in feet first, thank God. Anthony placed my arms at my side and I was slid into the tube. I closed my eyes. The tube actually pressed against my arms. I felt totally disoriented. I felt my breath begin to get shallow. I had my eyes closed, so I didn’t know where in the tube I was. I couldn’t hear anything because of the music. I couldn’t move my arms because they were pinned to my body. Only my hand could move. I pressed the panic button that Anthony had given me.
He came in and pulled me out of the tube. I am not sure I can do this, I said. You can do it. Your head isn’t all the way in the tube. You can see out. Open your eyes.
Duh.
He eased me back in and this time I kept my eyes open and realized that I could, in fact, see a little beyond the edge of the machine. And slowly my gaze focused on the actual edge of the machine, right in front of my face. And there, on the plastic, right in front of my nose, was a little cut out for a laser beam. And the cutout was in the shape of an inverted cross. A cross.
I actually giggled a little. Ok, God. You’re here. You’re here.
I thought of Peter, hung upside down for his crucifixion.
Then I remembered what my advisor, Peter, told me he does when he is doing something unpleasant like visiting, say, the oncologist. He prays the 5 Sorrowful Mysteries of the rosary on his fingers. I decided to try it, since my fingers were about the only thing I could move. At first I prayed in silence, but soon decided to pray out loud. First the Gloria, then the Lord’s prayer, then 10 Hail Marys. I don’t actually know what the Sorrowful Mysteries ARE, so I asked God to show me things to meditate on. Jesus on the Cross. Jesus’ side pierced with a spear and bleeding blood and water. (Mem, again, for those of you following the conversation on Blogging the Bible in 90 days). Mary at the foot of the cross. Jesus being taken down from the cross. Jesus being placed in the tomb. (Something I could relate to, at that particular moment.)
I still had a little time left in the tube, so I started on the Glorious mysteries, again, asking God to show me which ones to meditate on… the encounter with Mary Magdalene, the walk on the road… and then it was over. 30 minutes in the tube.
Throughout, it was very painful. My leg ached to be stretched out. But I was not panicking any more. I felt comforted saying the Rosary. I knew God was with me.
Beloved,
My body is not my own.
My health is not my own.
I am yours.
I am hugely claustrophobic, so the person booking the appointment suggested I take a sedative. No, I said. I don’t do well with drugs. Besides, I meditate a lot. I’ll be ok.
I chose Hildegard Von Bingen for music. Nguyen and the kids dropped me off and then went for breakfast. I hobbled through the hospital until I found the imaging unit. They had 2 TVs blaring in the waiting area. What the fuck is up with that? Coffee shops are bad enough, but the bloody hospital? Yeesh. I asked if I could sit somewhere quieter and they said yes.
It was my turn.
I was led to an interior room with no windows. Told to remove my bra and shoes. Laid out on a slab and strapped down by my bad knee. The attendant, Anthony, handed me a pair of headphones, which already had Hildegard playing. I was going in feet first, thank God. Anthony placed my arms at my side and I was slid into the tube. I closed my eyes. The tube actually pressed against my arms. I felt totally disoriented. I felt my breath begin to get shallow. I had my eyes closed, so I didn’t know where in the tube I was. I couldn’t hear anything because of the music. I couldn’t move my arms because they were pinned to my body. Only my hand could move. I pressed the panic button that Anthony had given me.
He came in and pulled me out of the tube. I am not sure I can do this, I said. You can do it. Your head isn’t all the way in the tube. You can see out. Open your eyes.
Duh.
He eased me back in and this time I kept my eyes open and realized that I could, in fact, see a little beyond the edge of the machine. And slowly my gaze focused on the actual edge of the machine, right in front of my face. And there, on the plastic, right in front of my nose, was a little cut out for a laser beam. And the cutout was in the shape of an inverted cross. A cross.
I actually giggled a little. Ok, God. You’re here. You’re here.
I thought of Peter, hung upside down for his crucifixion.
Then I remembered what my advisor, Peter, told me he does when he is doing something unpleasant like visiting, say, the oncologist. He prays the 5 Sorrowful Mysteries of the rosary on his fingers. I decided to try it, since my fingers were about the only thing I could move. At first I prayed in silence, but soon decided to pray out loud. First the Gloria, then the Lord’s prayer, then 10 Hail Marys. I don’t actually know what the Sorrowful Mysteries ARE, so I asked God to show me things to meditate on. Jesus on the Cross. Jesus’ side pierced with a spear and bleeding blood and water. (Mem, again, for those of you following the conversation on Blogging the Bible in 90 days). Mary at the foot of the cross. Jesus being taken down from the cross. Jesus being placed in the tomb. (Something I could relate to, at that particular moment.)
I still had a little time left in the tube, so I started on the Glorious mysteries, again, asking God to show me which ones to meditate on… the encounter with Mary Magdalene, the walk on the road… and then it was over. 30 minutes in the tube.
Throughout, it was very painful. My leg ached to be stretched out. But I was not panicking any more. I felt comforted saying the Rosary. I knew God was with me.
Beloved,
My body is not my own.
My health is not my own.
I am yours.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Cane
Nguyen bought me a cane today. It isn't a cool one. It is a dorky adjustable model from the Walmart pharmacy. In hideous copper. With a padded handle.
My grandmother had a great cane. It was a branch from a red cedar tree from her place in Georgian Bay, Onterio. A huge wind storm tore down half the trees one year. In the midst of the grief over losing old friends, my dad salvaged at least a bit of a memory by fashioning a walking stick for her from one of the branches. He even fitted the tip with a little rubber stop so it wouldn't mar floors... or worse, slip. Her cane smelled of the island it came from- all cedary and woodsy. The bark began to peel immdediately, but there were little stubborn spots that stuck. She looked beautiful carrying that cane.
Mine is industrial. It works. I can now get up from chairs without too much effort. But it ain't nothin' like Granny's.
My kids want to put up a sign in the living room that shows a sillouette of a woman holding a cane that says:
Mommy Xing.
My grandmother had a great cane. It was a branch from a red cedar tree from her place in Georgian Bay, Onterio. A huge wind storm tore down half the trees one year. In the midst of the grief over losing old friends, my dad salvaged at least a bit of a memory by fashioning a walking stick for her from one of the branches. He even fitted the tip with a little rubber stop so it wouldn't mar floors... or worse, slip. Her cane smelled of the island it came from- all cedary and woodsy. The bark began to peel immdediately, but there were little stubborn spots that stuck. She looked beautiful carrying that cane.
Mine is industrial. It works. I can now get up from chairs without too much effort. But it ain't nothin' like Granny's.
My kids want to put up a sign in the living room that shows a sillouette of a woman holding a cane that says:
Mommy Xing.
Monday, January 23, 2006
On bended knee... NOT!
Went to the Doctor today and discovered that I probably have bursitis, which is an inflamation of the lubrication sacks around my knee. We have no idea why it happened, but I am going to start on a perscription anti-inflammitory and see if it helps. I sure hope so. Last night I cried for much of the night. While I freely admit I am a wimp, I was surprised by the intensity of the pain.
I am greatly relieved that the Doc doesn't think I damaged anything. I was very concerned about having done some kind of structural damage. At this point, he doesn't think so.
I certainly appreciate your prayers. It is a very different world when you can't walk.
Love,
Rachel
I am greatly relieved that the Doc doesn't think I damaged anything. I was very concerned about having done some kind of structural damage. At this point, he doesn't think so.
I certainly appreciate your prayers. It is a very different world when you can't walk.
Love,
Rachel
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