My 9 year old Writing Mentor

Granddaughter Abigail asked me if I would come up for the before bed reading time when I visited them in Kentucky last weekend.  I didn’t fully understand her plan until after she read to me the first three chapters of Thea Stilton and the Ice Treasure.  She then explained to me that I could use the style of writing, telling my story using different characters (in this case, rodents).  She was very earnest as she explained how this could be done.

My other Mentor, the one who has published many books, teaches writing at a university and is an exceptional writer has told me to read, read, read, as I seek to write.  I will add to the list that he gave me (and move it to next on that list) the rest of Thea Stilton and the Ice Treasure.

During that weekend trip, there was also an interesting worship experience.  We attended the early Worship Service followed by an class discussing Science and Religion, a special interest of mine.  There were people there with very different positions but with a willingness to interact without rancor.  The most interesting experience that morning was sitting in on the first part of the later Worship Service which used the music of old Westerns (movies and television) re-worded where needed.  The very gifted Music Director there has a knack for producing extremely reverent improvisations and arrangements of both traditional and contemporary music.  The melodies and songs brought a bit of nostalgia for the “good old days” and were easy for all to sing.

The songs were: Gathering Hymn, a re-worded text to the tune of Back in the Saddle Again; the Kyrie, Jesus Walked This Lonesome Valley; Hymn of Praise, new words to the tune of Ghost Riders in the Sky; Alleluia, new words to a tune from Magnificent Seven: Sermon Hymn, new words to the tune of Red River Valley; Offertory, new words to a tune from Gunsmoke; Holy Holy,to a tune from Cheyenne; Lamb of God, a tune from Rio Bravo; Communion Hymn, tune of Don’t Fence Me In; and the Sending Hymn, tune of Happy Trails to You.

While I might not have chosen to do such a service, it was very well done and I am sure appreciated by the congregation.  In earlier years, I remember hearing parts of the Missa Bossa Nova (a song titled “They’ll Know We are Christians by our love” came from that Mass).  There were many liturgies using Folk Music.  I sang with an ensemble that made a recording of a Jazz Mass composed by one of the students at the Seminary when I was preparing to become a Pastor.   While my personal preference is what might be called traditional liturgical music, there is no limit to the genres of music that can be used very effectively for different communities of folks.  I have been in very moving worship services that used all sorts of styles of music.   One of the most powerful worship services I have ever experienced was done on a gymnasium floor in the large Lutheran High School (900 students) in school year 1971-72 using then popular music.   It was a veritable happening.

A couple of days after returning home, an Ash Wednesday Service provided a combination of good music, an effective message and strong rituals.  The meal following the service was a fertile time for building community.  The next day brought news of her death and the funeral of a strong and gentle lady who among many other good things spent time as one of Mary Ann’s Volunteers.  Francis was a very special person held in high regard by all who knew her.  Again, the Pall given in memory of Mary Ann adorned the casket.  When we went to the cemetery for the interment, the gravesite was not far from Mary Ann’s site.  I had done the funeral of Francis’ husband not too long before I retired.  I want to describe the connection I felt to that event, but I am struggling to figure out how to describe it accurately.  Even though I was only a spectator I felt woven into the fabric of what was happening there.  It was a peaceful sadness of which I felt a part even though from a distance.

That day had begun with a valuable time of sharing with one another in the Spiritual Formation Group that now meets on Thursday mornings at my house.  The day ended with an hour of singing with the choir as we practiced music for an upcoming event.  Actually, after I got home there was one additional encounter.  A very large and stubborn opossum was eating at the platform feeder in back.  I tried to get him to leave before eating too much of the seed (meant for squirrels and birds).  I stood at the edge of the deck twenty or thirty feet away explaining to him that I thought it was time for him to leave.  I made noises to scare him off.  He just kept eating.  I got off the deck and walked toward him.  He still didn’t leave.  Finally when I got close enough and loud enough, he very slowly lumbered off.  He was long bodied and thin.  I suspect he was just very hungry.  Opossums don’t hibernate, but they do sometimes struggle to find food toward the end of the winter season.  I am sure he will be back.  I don’t mind as long as he leaves some for the other beasties.

Enough for now.

No Bedbugs, Just a Bloody Pillow

Traveling isn’t always wonderful.  It is always an adventure.  The only recent review of the motel that I found was after I had already given my credit card number.  The reviewer complained about the bedbugs and the struggle to find a clean room in the motel to spend the night.  In my search for bedbugs I turned over one of the pillows and discovered a round blood stain about the size of a lemon.  It reminded me of the morning after Mary Ann had had her teeth cleaned at the dentist.  Her gums always bled during the night due to the blood thinning medication she took.  When I looked under the pillow case, there was a larger area of blood about the size of a grapefruit.

I chose the motel because I had stayed there on two other occasions when I was planning to stop by to see Brother Dick and Delores on the way to Kentucky to visit Daughter Lisa, Denis, and the Girls, Abigail and Ashlyn.  I was confused when I went to the Super 8 website and couldn’t find the motel.  It was no longer one of theirs.  I can now see why.  There was dirt on the floor, and the vacuum had clearly not made it closer than two or three inches from the wall since that area was white from the dust remaining in the carpet.  When I saw the pillow, I headed to the desk to get it replaced.  At first, she declared it to be a coffee stain, but thought better of it when she looked under the pillow case to see that it was clearly blood.  She then declared it gross and gave me a clean pillow with a clean pillowcase.

I was especially grateful for the clean pillow when very late as I was getting into bed I noticed that the bottom sheet was wrinkled in a way that seemed to suggest someone had already slept in the bed on that sheet.  It was too late at night and I was too tired to mess with trying to get the bed changed.  I concluded that as long as my face was on something clean, the skin on the rest of my body would provide an adequate barrier.  I took a very thorough shower in the morning.  After the shower when I looked more carefully, I saw that the toilet seat had not been cleaned either.  (Sorry, too much information!)  I made sure that nothing other than the bottoms of my boots touched the carpet.  Needless to say the free wireless network would not work.

Otherwise the two visits were great.  I always enjoy time at Dick and Dee’s place.  There are floor to ceiling windows on the back of the house bringing the large pond into full view.  They have multiple birdfeeders on the deck and railing that are always busy with many varieties of birds.  Niece Jill spent time with us.  Her teenage boys are very active and extremely successful in various sports (Golf, Basketall and Football).  Nephew Tom couldn’t join us.  He retired at 42 and has been playing with his Dad for the last fourteen years – cutting wood for their wood burning stoves, woodworking, taking his parents on bird-watching trips and more.  He still does some consulting (banking).  Tom is a phenomenal cook so even though he couldn’t join us his part in the day was providing smoked turkey that was flavorful and moist, along with a pot of split pea and ham soup.  Delores made a couple of loaves of homemade bread (wheat and rye) sweetened with honey from their hives.

We talked a lot about birds, since we all enjoy watching them.  For any who also enjoy checking out the bird population, one bird I mentioned that has visited my feeders only for a few weeks one year has visited them once also in their many years at their home.  When I arrived at Lisa’s house in Louisville, I got out of the car to an unusual but familiar bird sound.  Sure enough, there it was, a Red-breasted Nuthatch.  It is in their back yard that I have seen a Pileated Woodpecker (a huge woodpecker about 17” tall) more than once.  Their neighborhood is a haven for a variety of interesting birds.

Basketball emerged as central on this visit.  The girls are both on basketball teams.  I watched Ashlyn (7 years old) play first.  She is a great ball handler and shooter.  It was fun to watch them play.  She defended well and made more than one basket.  Gratefully at that level they do not keep score.  Lisa and Denis are looking for a good setting in which Ashlyn can pursue the game further.  Abigail (9 years old) played on Saturday and Sunday.  Everyone on the team including Abigail scored during the Saturday game.  They were evenly matched and all played well.  The opposing team on Sunday had some older and bigger girls, so Abigail’s team was outscored.  Otherwise the teams matched pretty well.  Abigail stuck like glue to the much larger opposing player she was guarding and kept her from scoring more than once or twice.  I couldn’t believe how fast paced the play was at that level.  The coaches were positive and the girls seemed to have fun.  Since it was the last game for Abigail Sunday, there was a celebration at a local pizza place with certificates, stars and gifts given out.  It is surprising just how much pizza can be consumed by such young and small people.  It is also surprising just how much noise they can make.

Enough for now.

My Soup Hero

He is the Chef at the Flying Monkey.  I haven’t asked permission to use his name, so for the moment I will call him Sam.  He routinely does magic with ingredients from the ordinary to the sublime.  Sometimes the ingredients have come from a “friend” in some exotic place (chili’s from the Napa Valley of chili’s in Mexico); sometimes they are a local discovery.  They are always fresh and balanced in perfect proportion, accompanied by pieces of bread freshly baked by Sam himself early that morning.  It is not ordinary bread.  The same care and carefully selected, often quite unexpected ingredients, combine to bake into exactly the right accompaniment to that day’s soup.

I marvel at the creativity that Sam invests in everything he prepares.  I remember at some point discovering just how hard it is to produce a meal that is edible and at the right temperature for consumption when mealtime arrives.  While I often lament my lack of ability in meal preparation, I have often written in great detail when I have had some sort of culinary adventure.  Today was one of those days.

Today’s food preparation was sort of a religious experience.  There was a contemplative dimension wound throughout the day.  This morning offered a worship experience with music and rituals and spoken word and friendly conversation afterward.  The food preparation had been on my mind for the last couple of daysadding anticipation to the list of ingredients.  I still had on the counter a couple of lentil soup mixes I intended to combine a few weeks ago.  There was Steak soup mix in the pantry ripe for flavoring a ton of veggies that had been gathering in my fridge.    I had some vacuum sealed (still good) beef in a couple of different forms in the freezer.  Each soup called for beef.

Here is where the Spiritual, Contemplative dimension comes in.  As I was cutting vegetables in preparation for putting them in one of the pots, I remembered a fellow named Fr. Ed Hayes who has written a number of books suggesting ways to pray and meditate while doing routine tasks, whether sitting at the computer, doing the dishes, and in some settings surprised me.  There are monastic traditions that urge doing even the tiniest task with awareness, thinking about that task’s place in the grand scheme of things or just doing the task without cluttering the mind with a dozen other things.  I cut those green peppers slowly and methodically, enjoying the deep green contrasting shiny exterior and rough interior, the feel of the slices in my hand.  No I have not finally gone over the edge completely.

I put on a two CD’s of contemporary interpretations of ancient chants done by New York Polyphony and Kansas City’s Octarium.  Then a couple of Mozart CD’s continued the accompaniment to my contemplative food preparation.  So much of the time when I am doing tasks like that, I try to get to the end of the task as quickly as possible.  Not this time.  It was a good day.  Admittedly, my contemplative mode did not make it all the way through the clean-up, but even that part of the day was satisfying.

The bonus is that I now have fourteen individual meal-sized portions of soup in the freezer (7 of each kind) and enough for two or three suppers in the fridge after having had a bowl of each for supper this evening.  I realize that living by myself and being retired allows me the option of doing contemplative cooking.  When a person is responsible for getting a meal on the table for hungry family members, contemplative cooking is a luxury that most often is out of reach.  It is because life is so full of tasks tugging at us that it seems worth it to try transforming some of the simple, necessary, mindless ones into opportunities for nurturing one’s spirit.

Three of Ed Hayes books in particular suggest prayers and blessings for the ordinary bits and pieces of daily life.  They are Pray All Ways, Secular Sanctity, and Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim.

I Can Still Fly

Here is what I am wondering.  I have said it often in these posts.  I don’t know if it is true.  I don’t know that there is a connection at all.  I think there is.

Tonight I was lifted to another place; a place where life exists with an intensity that can’t be contained by words or pictures or any means of communication available to me that might allow me to describe it to you.   I have never experimented with recreational drugs, but I suspect it might be called a Natural High.

The precipitating event was music, the Symphony, especially a very unusual contemporary Concerto for Guitar and Orchestra by a composer named Richard Harvey.  The Guitarist was Nicholas Ciraldo.   There were unexpected combinations of sounds and styles, rooted in old dance and song forms from different parts of Europe.  There were five movements and I wished there had been five more.  Time ceased to exist.  The Ravel and two Mozart pieces complemented the Harvey piece making the evening a true pleasure.

What I am wondering is if the capacity to experience that sort of a natural high is located near the capacity to experience grief.   I am fully aware that I do not have the power to create feelings.   I can put myself in situations that have in the past sparked certain feelings, genuine feelings.  I cannot make them happen.  I think it is possible to increase the likelihood of experiencing certain feelings by bringing expectations from past similar experiences when those feelings have emerged before.

I have chosen to embrace the grief that the last few years have brought.  There is a worldview rooted in my faith life that frees me to move into grief without drifting into a sort of hopeless despair.  As a result, the grief has been horribly painful at times but not permanently disabling.  Yes, I think there is a connection between the two, the capacity to experience grief and the capacity to be lifted to a place of life with an intensity that is beyond description.

Midday today included a time of quiet meditation in the Sanctuary at the church from which I retired.  It was a short term small group program in which I am participating.  The time in that room was furnished with Spiritually stimulating visual cues, some white noise from street traffic just outside the colorful sculptured glass windows, a poem from Wendell Berry’s Sabbath’s 2006 and a few pages from a book by Richard Rohr on Contemplative Spirituality.  That may have helped set the stage for tonight’s experience.

The afternoon was spent gathering the information for tax time, filling out the information packet so that it is ready for delivery.  Since I am pretty well organized in that part of my life, the task was not a painful one.  It was comforting to know that the day would end with the Symphony.

I chose to reserve a spot at the dinner before the symphony.  The table conversation was interesting.  There were five of us at the table.  Two men knew one another.   They are avid bicyclists.  One of the two, who said he was 77 years old, rides at least two or three thousand miles a year.  He rode his bicycle 750 miles to his 50^th high school reunion a few years ago.  I rode my Honda Minivan 600 miles last summer to mine.  The other of the two had been to New Zealand where he rode a bicycle for four days in the mountains near Picton, where I got off the ferry and began the journey on the South Island of NZ.  We both had wonderful memories of Nelson and other common stops.  A husband and wife at our table mentioned that they had lived in Berlin for a while many years ago.  We could share stories from our common experiences.  At the concert, the fellow sitting next to me was very good friends with one of the folks in my former parish whom I would also consider friend.  There were a number of other pleasant interactions with folks I have come to know over the years here.

When I was driving home, the station I listen to happened to be broadcasting a special on old love songs from musicals since Valentine’s Day is coming.  The music was romantic, touching the feelings I have for Mary Ann.  At the same time, it was not at all a deep grief moment as it might have been months ago.  Feelings were stirring in the place from where the grief comes, which seems to me to lie immediately next to the place from which sprung tonight’s natural high.  In both places, I feel very much alive.

Grieving hasn’t stolen the capacity to fly.   It has helped me locate the airport.

Men Have Boxes, Women Have Wires.

This is a popular You Tube video by a comedian who is describing in a funny way what apparently some studies suggest is so about people’s brains, that women are wired for multitasking and men are not.  By the way when someone said that in a meeting once, I responded that men do one thing at a time and do it right.  The subsequent laughter from all of us was very revealing.  Here is the video: http://timelessfaith.blogspot.com/2008/01/men-have-boxes-women-have-wires.html

There is also a book and a program for couples called: Men Are Like Waffles; Women Are Like Spaghetti.  While it is obvious that men and women are different, I always balk at making observations that make categorical claims about the differences between men and women.  I won’t argue with brain science and the results of well-constructed studies.  I will however observe that there are creative and intuitive thinkers in both genders and people who think in more concrete carefully defined ways (one thing at a time) in both genders.

The reason that these descriptors for human thinking came to mind is that I am trying to move through a time of transition, procrastination and self-discovery concerning how to proceed as I respond to the Call to Live.  So many things have been happening lately, the tragic accident (referenced in the last few posts) raising very fundamental questions, a momentary return to a number of tasks that were part of a former life, reassessing fiscal realities, getting counsel from friends who are writers.

It has been 20 months since Mary Ann’s death.  Elements of grieving will continue for the rest of my life.  I am always reassessing the balance between unhealthy avoidance of the feelings and unhealthy embracing of them.  Since life as I am now experiencing it brings with it times of sadness and times of great joy, I feel good about the way the journey is going.  I feel very much alive.  I am not dreading another Valentine’s Day.  It is a wonderful time for couples to celebrate their relationships.  Of course such a day feels differently to those of us who don’t come as a couple.

With all those thoughts either sitting next to one another in little boxes or rubbing up against one another in tangled wires, I am trying to sort through them so that I can move ahead with the writing project.  The counsel from a very successful Writer friend is to focus on the writing project and give it full attention.  That will mean declining to take on other projects.  He did suggest books for me to read during the time that I am writing.  His position is that to write demands being fueled by reading.

The usual demands of life will continue, the need for social interaction, experiencing music and the arts will continue.  There is an annoying glitch with the Internet that still has to be addressed.  The two blogs that I have spent three years writing must be read – all before there will be any words entered in the word processor.   The past couple of weeks have been full of many things.  There is a trip to Kentucky to visit Lisa, Denis and the girls, Abigail and Ashlyn.  Feelings of urgency are building to get started on the project.  It is my hope that the tipping point comes soon.

Life is calling.

1805 Hits and Counting

The average number of hits per day from the regular readership of this blog is about 50.  Two days added together would be 100.  The last two days at this writing, late in the evening of the second day is 1805.  Here is what that means:  Just the tip of the iceberg of all those who love and care about Pr. Jeff and Jacob, Laura, Joshua and Joy is 1805.  I can’t even begin to imagine how many people that represents.  There are all those who happen not to have clicked on this particular link, those who don’t happen to be connected by Facebook to someone sharing the link, those who don’t happen to be on Facebook at all, those who are not comfortable using a computer.

There is simply no way to begin to count the lives that have been touched in some way by Pr. Jeff and Laura.  There is, of course, the ripple effect.  The impact moves in concentric circles intersecting the concentric circles of other people’s lives as the waves continue to spread.

What is especially thought provoking is how that rippling witness affects those of us who are now trying to incorporate something of what has happened into our lives as we return to our daily routines.  As I was doing some devotional reading this morning, the Writer had something to say that caused me to think differently about that tragic accident.  Certainly what has been said at the Funeral and in the comments of so many of their friends in the social media reflects that different thinking.   On the surface, that awful day is about death, three deaths.  Of course death happened and it was real, but it was a day that was not at all about death.

Death is actually an affirmation of life.  It refuses to allow us to be lulled into ennui or apathy about our daily lives.  Death is what defines life.  Life is “not-death.”  Laura, Joshua and Joy have life.    Pr. Jeff has life.  Jacob has life.   We have life.  Yes, our life here includes pain, horrible, indescribable pain for some.  The ability to feel that pain is a sign that we are alive.  When a limb is paralyzed, it is the capacity to react to pain that signals that life has returned.

Death affirms the value of the life that preceded it.  Memories become more vivid.  Events that seemed ordinary before, become the stuff of great stories, legacies to be savored and celebrated.  The people who have died become wound into the lives of those who loved them as their own lives go on.

Death is about the present most of all.  Those of us who remain alive here have the gift of “Now.”   What effect does that tragic day in our past have on Now?  It certainly shocks us out of the ennui, the apathy.  We are alive, right now.  A gift that those three people who have left our view to live elsewhere have given us is the wonder we have gained at the life we are being given at this very moment.

I suppose the challenge for us is to find ways to remain alert to the immense value of each Now as it comes.  It is unrealistic to expect to be able to spend every moment consciously celebrating the life we are being given.  At the same time, in light of what has just happened, it makes no sense to waste such a valuable gift as Now.

When I started writing this blog after Mary Ann died, I decided that if I was going to do more than simply exist, I would have to make a choice.  I would have to choose life.  The tag line for this blog is: Existence is a gift.  Life is a choice.  It makes a difference how we spend each Now as it comes.   The “Call to Live” urges me to engage people in relationship with as little pretense as I can muster.  It urges me to look at whatever furnishes my moments to see signs of the Presence of God.

As I try to incorporate the loss of Mary Ann, the tragic accident only days ago that has touched so many – as I try to incorporate them into the stream of Nows that will form the days and weeks to come, I am choosing to feel the pain and the joy, the sweetness of relationships with family and friends, the wonder of sunsets and rain, art and music, the routine and the exciting, the struggles and failures, the victories – to see in all of them signs of the Presence of God.

It is past midnight now.  The final count for the last two days is 1837.    Pastor Jeff and Jacob, you and Laura and Joshua and Joy are touching the lives of more than you will ever know.

Her broken watch reads 3:10pm.

At that moment, time stopped for Laura, Joshua and Joy.   Pastor and District President Keith said, “…and at that moment, Eternity began.”  This was a difficult day for six to seven hundred people, but especially Jeff and Jacob who are left to go on with life by themselves.

Even in the face of such tragedy, a community of faith coming together is a wonder to behold.  There was no denial.  There was no pretense that those deaths were not real.  There were tears to be shed, boldly and openly.  Pr. Keith aimed directly at the heart of the matter, our anguished cries for answers.  He also moved out of the way and pointed us to the Source of hope, the only One who has anything meaningful to say in the face of death.  He pointed us to the One who has faced down death and there in the heart of the anguish provided a single answer to all the questions, Unconditional Love powerful enough bring new life out of out of death.

In the face of tragedy, it is tempting to waste our precious psychic and emotional strength trying to find someone or something to blame.  It is healthy to look for causes and find ways to minimize the likelihood of such a thing happening again.  That is a rational response that can produce helpful results.  The need to blame is a diversion from the real need.  The real need is to face the painful reality as we are able, as our defenses will allow us, and move through it so that we can engage life again, as it really is, a daily gift to be cherished.  The benefit of a community of faith is that at its best, it can provide the support that is needed during the trip through that valley that seems so empty of life, the one full of the shadows of death.

Today there were also songs to be sung.  Lutherans can sing.  Music and worship are always woven together when Lutherans gather.  The music touched many deeply.  The Service began with hand bell music.  Soon the congregation was singing.  The readings from Scripture were surrounded by songs.  The words of the Choir’s song touched all our hearts.  After the message a young man sang a contemporary Christian song that broke through all our attempts at keeping feelings in check in that public place.

When all the professional church workers and spouses gathered on either side of the path from church to the three coaches, it was a sight to behold.  There must have been 150 of them.  The Pallbearers carried the caskets by, Jeff weeping. Joy’s casket with very large sparkly letters spelling Princess was enough to bring all of us to tears.  We could now face the loss, feel it, shed tears, but not without hope.

There had been a personal moment for me when the caskets first entered the church.  Each had a white Pall draped over it.  One of the three white Palls is the one that was purchased in memory of Mary Ann.

I debated about joining the procession to the cemetery, about a half hour drive into the country.  It was a very cold day with a wind chill and snowflakes in the air.  I decided that I needed to go.  There must have been nearly a hundred cars in the procession.  The way to the cemetery took us right by the very spot that it had happened at 3:10pm last Saturday.  Someone had placed a large cross covered with fresh flowers in that place.  Jeff had observed that he had turned around to do something with one of the kids and the moment he turned back he saw the red Charger, airborne, coming directly at them.  That was the place where it happened.  We passed through that very space bathing it in the power of life, life more powerful than death.

The cemetery is set in a perfect Flint Hills landscape with no buildings in sight.  We all huddled close to one another on this gray day in the frigid wind that was spitting cold raindrops mixed with the occasional snowflake at us.  Even while shivering in the cold, the beauty of that spot was apparent.

Afterward, the warmth of the church in McFarland where Jeff and Laura had served for many years was increased by the three hundred or so people talking with one another, renewing acquaintances or making new ones.  We all shared the same purpose, to surround Jeff and Jacob, Jeff and Laura’s parents and extended families with love and support.  The Members of that tiny church had come together to provide more than enough food for all who came.

Today’s events spoke in a dramatic and public way a truth that will now be lived out in the weeks and months and years to come.  No one can do the grief work for Jeff and Jacob.  None of us has the power to make the pain go away.  We can only do what is within our power.  That is what we did today.   By our presence, we said what needed to be said.  Our actions spoke.   There is more to be said, more to be done.  Now we seek the wisdom to know what to say, what to do, when to say it, when to do it.   It is what a faith community is about.