so much to say...

so much to do, so little time to do it...

Our life here in community continues to be crazed for the moment. I was away for the last four days on a Cursillo weekend and returned last night. The sister who had been covering all the bases left for her long retreat yesterday at noon, and some of our loyal Associates covered the hours in between. They ordered in Chinese food; everyone had been fed, pilled, and were in good spirits when I entered the room at about 7:30.

I thought I was dead on my feet at the time, but a little leftover rice and Szechuan chicken revived me. By the time I had locked up the house, fed the cat, scooped the poop, tidied up the kitchen, and checked my dozens of emails and phone messages, I was wide awake.

Even the candidates are slightly sleep-deprived on a Cursillo weekend, but for team members it's ridiculous. Two to three hours each night is about the average... our day begins early and ends long after the candidates are in their beds. So... you'd think I would have been ready for some sleep last night. Nope. Memories of various encounters kept flooding my thoughts. (Serving as a spiritual advisor could get addictive.) While I was able to meet with people only briefly, those moments were powerful. The highlight of my weekend was serving on the prayer team at the healing Eucharist.

One of my favorite expressions is: "I'll try anything once." But usually that's only if I'm asked, goaded, or coerced into trying something I never really thought about, nor actually wanted to do. There are plenty of things I've not tried, and laying hands on people and directly praying for them is one. Good thing I had no time to think about it beforehand. It was sort of just sprung on me as we were heading into chapel... oh, by the way, sister... we want you to take one of the prayer stations when the healing part begins.

One of my talks this past weekend was on faith. Time to take my own advice and just do it. My constant prayer throughout was Lord, get me out of your way!!

We talk a lot about being vessels or conduits or channels for the Holy Spirit, but nobody ever mentioned (to me) that the tube actually feels the rush as it flows through. Maybe it was beginner's luck. Thanks be to God.

Feast of the Holy Guardian Angels

"He hath given his angels charge over thee."
... In this, therefore, brethren, let us affectionately love His angels as one day our future coheirs; meanwhile, however, as counselors and defenders appointed by the Father and placed over us. Why should we fear under such guardians? Those who keep us in all our ways can neither be overcome nor be deceived, much less deceive. They are faithful; they are prudent; they are powerful; why do we tremble? Let us only follow them, let us remain close to them, and in the protection of the God of heaven let us abide. As often, therefore, as a most serious temptation is perceived to weigh upon you and an excessive trial is threatening, call to your guard, your leader, your helper in your needs, in your tribulation; cry to him and say: "Lord, save us; we perish!"
— from a sermon on The Holy Guardian Angels
by St. Bernard of Clairvaux

comings and goings

This coming Thursday I'm off for a Cursillo weekend. I've worked on several teams over the years, but this will be my first time to actually serve in the capacity of spiritual advisor... a task reserved for priests, deacons and members of religious orders. I must write and deliver two talks: one on faith, the other on obstacles to grace. The latter is a no-brainer; I've probably encountered every single obstacle the dark force can throw... naming obstacles is easy.

Faith is trickier. I'm working on that in my mind right now. However, I just can't concentrate. I'm still pondering St. Michael and all Angels. (That would be all the good angels) We observed his (their) feast day yesterday. I should be done with Michael, but maybe he deserves more than one day. We're talking one important player here.

Here's what the book of Daniel has to say: At that time Michael, the great prince who protects the people, will arise. There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. But at that time your people—everyone whose name is found written in the book—will be delivered. Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake: some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt. Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever.

On special feast days we use antiphons that refer to the particular feast. Two of the ones we used yesterday were especially cryptic. This one prefaced The Benedictus: There was silence in heaven while the dragon waged war: and Michael fought and gained the victory. Alleluia. Another said: The accuser of the people is cast down and has been overthrown; therefore rejoice O heavens and all that dwells in them.

The accuser of the people, (not the tempter, not the defiler) of course describes Satan. Michael is cast as our protector. Makes me wonder why the principalities would even care enough to fight over us, and what stake Michael has in protecting the human element?

There was silence in heaven: as though the entire cosmic creation were holding its collective breath for the outcome. We hear these stories in the past tense... as if the events were ancient history. But, most of these writings refer to the end times, and we're still waiting for time (as we know it) to end. If this has already happened, well and good. But if it is an event still to come... why would heaven be silent? Warfare is a noisy business, whether it's swords clashing or ballistic missiles rocketing through space. Yet somewhere in the ancient monastic writings, someone described this battle as silent. Gives me the shivers.

It's been a little crazy around here

As a result I've not had a lot of time to post. Sometimes it's better to just think than to talk... that way you don't get so much water in your mouth when you're treading for your life. Be back soon. I hope.

important difference

We can process a lot of information quickly, but it takes longer to discern meaning. It takes an open mind to know anything deeply. Whenever we reach a conclusion, we need to keep checking it out. Wisdom isn't conferred by firm and fixed opinions, but by listening and learning. — Tom Ehrich

Boy, ain't that the truth?

I can remember so many times in my life that I have jumped to conclusions which were later proved wrong. You'd think that after the first few times I'd have learned not to do that. Nope. The only thing I can say for myself as I still continue to do it, is wait... before spouting my observations, my conclusions to the world. Otherwise I eat crow... again and again. Crow tastes awful.

We do process information quickly. But we get that information more quickly than any civilization before us. Unfortunately, a lot of it is incorrect or incomplete. I used to swear by Wikipedia until I found a whole lot of errors in their information. Sinformation is what it is... because not everybody takes the time to cross-reference their research. We grab a sound byte here and a headline there and form an opinion based on the thinnest of conjecture.

I think it's one of the important differences here in the convent. The process they've set up requires me to keep discerning, long after I think I know what I want, know what God wants, know what my sisters want.

time out for a commercial message

I've had a request from the company that makes the calendars with pictures of nuns in habit... you probably know the one. If you're a nun yourself, you may have received one (or several) as gifts.

Apparently they are running out of stock photography... no wonder; many orders (mine included) either don't wear habits at all, or only use them for special (formal) occasions. Nuns having fun in regular street clothes sort of defeats the purpose.

I agreed to use their advertisement blurb on my blog, so here it is:

CALLING ALL SISTERS!!!

We need your help to put together our 2009 "Nuns Having Fun" calendar. We are looking for images of you and your sister friends enjoying your extracurricular time. In past calendars, we have included images of nuns playing sports, dancing, eating ice cream, playing games, etc. The only requirement is that you're all having a good time. We are a nationally recognized publishing company who will, of course, compensate you for any images used. If you'd like to see examples of past calendars, please check out our website: here
All quiries and submissions should be sent to Sofia@workman.com.

And yes, I'm doing this as a favor; they aren't paying me. But apparently they will pay you if your pictures are used in their product... go get dressed and keep you cameras ready!

angels on the subway

Thou only art immortal, the creator and maker of mankind; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and unto earth shall we return. For so thou didst ordain when thou createdst me, saying, "Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." All we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
— from the Burial service, Book of Common Prayer

Those words from the burial service catch in my throat when I say them. I love them, yet they wrench my heart. They speak of another universal mystery I cannot explain in words, but understand with every fiber of my being. I am of the Earth, much as I sometimes like to think otherwise.

I attended a funeral at my old church yesterday... Mundell, a friend from our neighborhood group had died.

It was at that same neighborhood group's monthly dinner (now over four years ago) that I learned I had been accepted as a postulant to this community. I had asked to access my email on my hostess's son's computer... and there it was: the acceptance letter from the novice guardian. I shrieked, and everyone crowded around to view the results.

So this funeral... that gathered most of the people from that other evening's celebration, was a reunion for me. One of the last guys in our group (the other two mainstays have also died) had helped move all my belongings to various locations all over town. He was at the funeral, full of mischief, and intent on getting me sloshed... not especially difficult since I don't drink much these days. Another friend confided that the caterer's tab was $66 per head, and the minimum was 40, so I should eat a few more jumbo shrimp as I chugged my third glass of wine. Yikes. $66 per head?

I sat on the steps with our neighborhood group convener, an idiotic word for a woman who has been the glue that binds this loosely knit assortment of people into a cohesive force of nature. She insisted that I ride the subway home with Jenny. Jenny was the hospice aide who was with Mundell in her last days on earth.

We rode the roundabout route downtown, crosstown, then uptown, and she spoke of her work with such affection and sincerity, I knew I was in the presence of one of those earth-angels... a person sent by God to be in the right place at the right time. That she was a blessing to Mundell I have no doubt, because she was definitely a blessing to me.

unrest

I think there was a time ... when the followers of Jesus were a tight fellowship of men and women who knew that standing with Messiah was dangerous. They knew that going out to serve would mean entering the flame of evil and getting disoriented in the smoky darkness.

They clung to each other ... in the knowledge that God had given them to each other and to a dangerous world, and that they could only serve effectively if they became one and, in becoming one, found an almost-completeness that wouldn't rest until every lost sheep, every weary comrade had come home to God's safety. —Tom Ehrich

Those are eloquent words that ring true in my heart. He doesn't say those early Christians wouldn't rest until every lost sheep toed the line. That every weary comrade would be hunted down and exterminated because his blood was not pure or his morals did not conform to the some current established order. Yet that is exactly what religion has done in the name its various gods and Gods since the beginning of our recorded time.

Perhaps this is one of those ironic, yet universal truths of creation: that when we are in power we cannot be in compassion. To begin to understand God is to begin to understand that the all-powerful God did not get his way with orders for obedience, rules and regulations, exclusive inheritance for the righteous. The Torah alone is testament to the times He tried all that and for one inexplicable reason or another... it didn't work.

The Christian message is too hard to swallow, even for most Christians: that God would renounce all that power, enter frail human form and allow his own creation to kill him with a slow and agonizing death. Instead, we skew the emphasis toward the resurrection... our spin is that death conquered death. Christ has atoned for our sinful nature, and we get to inherit universal life. Hallelujah.

What if we've mixed that message up?

wiped out

I lay in bed yesterday morning feeling totally wiped out. Groggy, half-asleep, but with something in the back of my mind I wanted to post about my vacation. I dozed off and dreamed that I had posted whatever it was I was thinking about. Of course I couldn't remember what it was.

My mattress at home is not as soft as the one at my friend's house. My toilet paper is not as soft either. I pondered those two pieces of information instead of getting up. I was lucky. Yesterday (Monday) was our normal rest day. These days I need a rest day to get over my rest time. When I was younger I would take a red-eye home from vacation and go straight to work from the airport. Those days are long gone.

It's good to be home. I missed my sisters.
Oh yeah... I only gained two pounds. Wahoo!

vacation update

After a gray Monday and a depressingly rainy Tuesday, the weather cleared and it's been gorgeous here in Newport. We've been to the beach twice and I've eaten my obligatory plate of fried clams. Last night we strolled around town for several hours doing a "gallery walk" visiting many of the nicer places to purchase art. The best food (and wine) was at the Newport Art Museum... everywhere else a disappointment. But on the way home we stopped at the Thai restaurant (we've eaten there before) and I was thrilled to find their chicken coconut soup as delicious as the first time.

I've cooked supper once and made scones this morning, but my friend is on weight-watchers, so maybe I won't gain as much weight as I usually do on vacation. (That would be a good thing.) It took three months to lose the eleven pounds I had gained in two weeks the last time.

Gone fishin'

In about ten minutes I'm out of here. (Not forever... it's my last week of rest time.)

I'm taking a three+ hour train ride to Newport, RI, home of my past, and present home of a dear friend who lets me come and stay with her every year. In my mind I can already smell the salt air, taste the fried clams... I have a new book (a gift from one of my sisters who has a knack for picking excellent reading material for me) and my bathing suit, although it looks pretty overcast outside my window right now.

I'm taking the laptop, ostensibly to work on cartoons for a calendar we might do as a Christmas gift for our associates... hopefully this year, but if not, maybe next. If I have internet access I may post. Otherwise, see you in a week.

love...

New addiction

My younger son gave me one of those portable DVD players for Christmas last year. (It came with a special DVD he had made with photos from the baptism of the newest grandchild.) For several months all I used it for was to watch that one DVD, but then I learned that the library loans out not just books, but DVDs. I broke down and applied for a library card, an item I've not had since junior high school.

My first forray into the stacks brought some old movies I had been meaning to see, but never had. Next, a few romantic comedies, a couple of classics I'd seen before but not in a long time, until I'd exhausted the supply of anything I felt was worth watching.

Then, I turned to foreign films with English subtitles. These have never really appealed to me although I've seen a few that have been terrific. I prefer to watch the action, not the dialog. However, lately when we watch movies together as a family, the deaf among us (quite a few) need subtitles even when the actors are speaking English, and I've learned to watch both without much distraction.

I found the Asian films the most beautiful, subtle, with simple, but profound plot lines. Last week I picked up what I thought was a Korean film and checked it out. When the time came to watch it I noticed the label said 900 minutes... Woah, that's a long movie! I opened the case and found three DVDs, each with three episodes of what I could only suppose was a Korean soap opera. I had every intention of returning it to the library unwatched, but one night I couldn't sleep. How long could one episode be?

Titled "Stained Glass" it's a story of three childhood friends (two boys and a girl) who make a pact to be the "Three Muskateers" and the two boys vow to always protect the little girl... as long as they live. One boy is swept away by the river's strong current when he's trying to retrieve the girl's lost ocarina, and his body is never found. He's presumed dead.

This was the background teaser in the opening episode, with just enough hints that when the story resumed (twelve years later) the three would somehow meet again. I was hooked.

The only soap opera I ever watched regularly was Dark Shadows. Once I was home sick in bed and watched an episode of General Hospital. Six months later I happened to see it again, and hardly anything had happened in between. Soap operas move too slowly for me to stay involved; I have no patience.

However, there's something surreal and compelling about watching a story set within a culture so alien to me. The social rules, the idioms that don't quite translate, the beauty of the actors... all work together to create an environment I don't understand, but am still fascinated by. I watched all nine in the series but the story didn't end. I was bereft.

Whatever was going to happen to gorgeous Han Dong Joo and lovely Shin Ji Soo, so clearly in love with each other... but also compassionate friends to the troubled (but also sexy) Park Gi Tai, who also loves Shin Ji Soo? I may never know. The library thinks it may have another nine episodes somewhere, but it's checked out right now. Someone else is watching the incredibly beautiful soulfull eyes of the actors as they sigh and look up to heaven and talk to themselves (but never each other) about their deepest dreams and longings. I am so definitely hooked.

Madeleine L’Engle, way more than a children’s writer, has died

Madeleine L’Engle, born November 29th, 1918, has died at the age of 88.

"Children's Writer Is Dead" said the New York Times, and yes, she wrote books that children loved. But... when my oldest son received the trilogy beginning with a Wrinkle In Time, he read the first book and immediately handed it over to me. "Read this" he said. "You'll love it!" I read it and then bugged him to death to hurry up and finish the next one so I could have it.

Even more than a wonderful story teller, she was a marvelous teacher. She gave writing workshops around the country for many years. I met her through a friend at church, after I'd been living in New York for a few years. My friend had been taking her annual workshop at the Community of the Holy Spirit (does anyone else see a divine pattern in this fact?) for a couple of years herself, and she helped me apply for the six-week course.

Madeleine was an Associate of the community. She donated the organ that sits in our chapel, and she gave the proceeds from the workshops as a donation to the sisters' work and ministry. The evenings began with vespers in the chapel, followed by dinner (with the sisters) in the refectory, and then the class met in the conference room on the second floor. I attended those workshops for three years in a row, until hip (or knee) surgery interrupted her last class. She never taught at the convent again.

She gave us imaginative assignments, practical advice, and gracious constructive critiques. We had most of the week to think about the topic... not write a word. Once we'd thought it through (several times) we were to sit down and write... nonstop for half an hour. Nonstop was the key to no more thinking. Amazingly most of my stories actually had a beginning, a middle and an end, although I wasn't always sure where or what the ending would be. Often the story wrote itself. All I did was hold the pen and keep shifting the pages.

I cherish the memories of those sessions more than any learning experience I've had. I've taken other writing classes which were okay... hers were full of her heart, her wit, her funny stories, and her excellent advice. What a blessing she was in her time on this Earth.

Reason #1

Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us.
—from the mass, Rite II C, Book of Common Prayer

You know the saying: Be careful what you ask for... This sentence from the concluding prayer before communion struck me this morning. In so many ways the request has been granted, time and time again, but the knowledge, the eyes-wide-openness of my understanding has felt very uncomfortable. I've kept it under wraps much of the time.

People look at you funny if you talk about seeing angels in the subway... real angels, not just the metaphorical nice people doing nice deeds. Yet I have seen them. Some roll their eyes if you comment that there are no accidents, or look back on a string of unconnected, supposedly random events and see a divine pattern.

This is one of several reasons I stumbled onto (and into) the convent. I can make outlandish statements about God's will or universal truths and some will actually nod in agreement. Sisters who see it differently do not argue, because one thing we agree upon is that each sister's path to God is her own. Nobody else can decide (or judge) if it's naive, immature, deep or shallow. I do not have to justify to anyone here that I believe in God, that I believe in divine intervention, or that I believe my purpose has been destined from before birth.

I have friends who think my wanting to be a nun is madness, or a lark, or an easy way to get out of the worry of retirement income. Some have witnessed the succession of career shifts, geographical relocations, or my constant search for the perfect life partner. That I can see a holy pattern in all of that is beside the point to them.

No... it is the point.

Making it Legal

So... none of the dream scenarios played out the way I dreamed them. That was nice.

In a multiple dimensional Universe, however, it's possible those dreams were as valid as what I experienced yesterday in the meeting. No matter how many theories and dimensions scientists postulate and science-fiction authors describe, we are trapped on this Earth (and in this time) in dense material.

Yesterday's meeting (THE meeting) was something I dreaded because there was no planning for it. I kept coming back to the scripture that says: Don't worry about what you'll say when that time comes; the Holy Spirit will give you the words you are to speak. Trusting in that was all I could do, but it didn't mean I felt no stress.

My sisters began with gracious comments. They went around the circle and many said nice things about me. (One or two compliments I can handle. A room-full is hard to digest.) The inevitable "yeah, but if you really knew me you'd say something else" flitted across my mind. But I've lived with these women for four years, They do know me. They know where all my warts are, how my temper flares when I'm under stress, how my timing is less than perfect, how bossy I can be.

The most precious comments came from the oldest sisters... women who in some ways are now losing their grip on day-to-day reality. One said, "I sit next to her in chapel, and you can tell if someone is really praying or if they are just there. I can tell you this woman really prays." The other said, "I'm just so happy she's around. I'm glad she wants to stay."

In our community we play down the whole "married to Christ" philosophy, although references to this spiritual union abound in the liturgy and in the rule. Personally, the idea strikes me as kinky, and therefore borderline blasphemy. The church as the bride of Christ doesn't do much for me either.

I can visualize the church as the body of Christ quite easily though. Picturing whether I am a fingernail vs a hangnail gives me great delight. Most days I am probably both.

The inquisition is over and I am not banished to the netherworld (yet). All agreed to wholeheartedly support my next step in the process... making it legal. Wahoo!

A very special birthday...

Be content with what you have...

Luke 14:1, 7-14

Today's Gospel is the one where Jesus has the (dubious) honor of being invited to a fancy dinner party. He knows he's being watched and judged... someone wants to trip him up, pull him down a notch or two. This is one of the things I love about Jesus: he's not afraid to step in it. And he's not afraid to sling it if the going gets tough.

He tells a parable and gives some advice: Sit at the lowest place. That way you don't run the risk of humiliation if someone with more prestige arrives (fashionably late) and you have to give up the choice seat,.. and end up by the bathroom or the kitchen.

I'm not sure how that works today. Sometimes there are place cards, but I've seen people swap them so they didn't get stuck sitting beside the boring aunt. If there are designated tables, the first to arrive take the chairs facing the stage. Nobody tells them to give way to the latecomers. There is no "Friend, come up higher." in our first-come-first-serve culture.

That doesn't mean the spirit of the lesson needs to be lost. Our celebrant distilled the reading into one simple thought: be content with what you have. He equated accepting life as it's given us, not as we wish it to be, as obedience. That's a new twist on the word for me. In some ways I'm pretty good at taking life as it comes... making lemonade out of lemons is an art form I've perfected. But there's more to accepting the hand we're dealt than making lemonade.

Taking the lowest place out of a misguided belief that, as a result, a greater honor will be conferred doesn't really capture the spirit of being in the lowest place. If you know that by doing it you'll gain glory and honor in heaven, then it's simply deferred gratification. Deferred glorification.

I think the pain of being lowly is part of the mystery. That's where God is in the created order. If we really want to meet God face to face, then we have to face our own imperfections and flawed motivations... life as it is, not as we wish it to be.

Let down

The down side to three days of frenzied productivity, is of course, the sense of blah when it's back to business as usual. There's a subtle resentment that creeps in... instead of being grateful for the three days to do whatever my heart and hands desired, I'm grumpy that it didn't last longer, irritated that the normal routine has taken away my large chunks of uninterrupted time. This too shall pass.

I have a lot to show for my time: projects completed that have been sitting around for ages, new ideas fleshed out in surprising ways... and a good bit of new stuff that's almost, but not quite, finished.

September always feels more productive to me anyway. Years of back-to-school anticipation left an indelible mark on my psyche. I always looked forward to going back to school. Summer was a time of boredom then. But even though I'm no longer bored in the summer, I still look forward to fall. I'm so old fashioned. I think school should start after labor Day and women should put away their white shoes.

can you spell c-r-e-a-t-i-v-i-t-y ?

It's "creativity time" again starting tomorrow. We have only three days scheduled, so the time seems tight to me for some reason. I have a list (that keeps growing) of things already started that I want to complete, another list of new ideas I'd like to explore... more cartoon ideas to flesh out.

You've probably heard the expression: I don't have a creative bone in my body? I once told a sister "All I have are creative bones." If that sounds like boasting, I should also mention that I have a very wide definition of creativity: If I can use up three out of four leftovers in my meal tonight... transformed (disguised) from their original use to something new and still edible, then that's creativity. I don't have to be painting or writing. Vacuuming means I get to rearrange the furniture, watering the plants means I get to prune, taking out the compost means I can search for wild strawberries, which leads to thoughts for tomorrow's menu... it's all connected in one intricate (often messy) creative web.

But when we have special creative days set aside... then I sometimes like to be focused and productive with the time. I'm making Christmas presents. (Yes, I know it's only August.) I came from a background of cultural conditioning where most of my gifts would have been purchased by mid-July. Now I hardly purchase anything, although we do receive a small monthly stipend that can be spent however we choose. (Just four trips to Starbucks will blow that away.) So I'm back to making gifts; arts and crafts... my favorite of all the art classes I've ever had to take.

But... most arts and crafts require materials. I spent half of yesterday (and most of my stipend) tracking down heavy card stock... really heavy card stock. Three hours of travel and searching, three stores and 130 lb cover was the heaviest I could find. I think it will work... we'll find out tomorrow.

A dream is a wish your heart makes...

Jesus formed radically open circles of friends. We erect intricate and inflexible institutional barriers that admit only those whom we deem worthy. Jesus stood up to the religious establishment. We are the religious establishment. — Tom Ehrich

Ouch! And yet... right on!

I've been having what my deacon friend calls "cold feet" dreams. Why I didn't expect to get cold feet (at least a few times before my life profession) is beyond me. I guess I expected to sail straight into the sunset with Jesus... once I had said yes.

Isn't that a laugh? Jesus never sailed into the sunset with anybody, whether he got married during his lifetime or not. If he did, that wife was left at the foot of the cross or the door of the tomb, just like everyone else.

Anyway, in my dream I was being cross-examined by my sisters about my cartoons. Some sisters think they are hilarious, some think they are cute, but at least one thinks they are blasphemous and heretical. In my dream she had rallied several sisters (who had never even seen them) to her point of view, and I was being asked to cease and desist if I wanted a "yes" vote from the community. Uh oh. Deja vu time. Didn't we already go round the bush about this with the blogging theme?

Yet in my dream I spoke up quite forcefully this time. "I'm sorry sisters, but I believe I'm called by God to draw these cartoons and I have no intention of stopping. For you or anyone."

Excuse me? So, as the dream progressed to its logical conclusion, I was not voted in and was given the option of hanging around for another year to try it again. I said "Nope, I'm outta here."

Just like that. All that work, all that prayer, all that discernment. "I'm outta here." When I awoke I was flummoxed. Is that how I really feel subconsciously? What about all that talk of accepting the vow of obedience? Ahhh... will have to look at all this a little more carefully... again.

My friend talked about various interpretations, (skirting the obviously silly one that God might be calling me to draw these somewhat subversive cartoons.) Cold feet. You are both individuals... the one for and the one against, the party line and the troublemaker. But one key component was how quickly I jumped at the chance to be kicked out. Aha! Of course that rings true. That way I don't have to decide. It's not my fault. Whatever happens next... I hate dreams that reveal all my inner flaws, don't you?

God isn't "nice"

Luke 12: 49-56

Some preachers will focus on the last verse of today's Gospel, where Jesus tells the crowd they can read the weather but not the signs of the times. In our generation apparently we can't do either; global warming being just one case in point. Our celebrant chose the verses in the middle: "Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?" (Well, uh yes. Weren't the angels singing about that at your birth?) "No I tell you, but rather division."

He related the story of a famous theologian who told his class about the experience of his own Sunday school training: In a Texas drawl: "God is naa-ice. And He wants us to be naa-ice."

Well, doesn't he? There are cute little signs in catalogs that say: Nice Matters. And what about Forgive your enemies, turn the other cheek, run the extra mile, give up your life for your friend? The point was, of course, that these are not matters of nice. These are radical dangerous ideas, counter-intuitive to the way the world runs, and if you follow Jesus' radical teachings, you will be divided, and in radical ways. "Father against son, Daughter against mother. Mother-in-law against daughter-in-law." Our church has been fighting over itself since the early days when it was little more than "the way." We call it the Holy Catholic Church, and then go on to accuse each other of apostasy, heresy, apathy. If Jesus came to bring division then he has done well: we are divided.

But there is more to the reading... the very first verse says: "I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!" We could take this as a warning, or we could think of it as a promise. Fire is symbolic of punishment and judgment, yes. But it also stands for purification, refining, enlightenment. "How I wish it were already kindled." Maybe he was having a bad day. maybe he was envisioning possibility. Either way, he was reminding us that life isn't always nice, and neither is God. I'm reminded of a line from C.S. Lewis referring to Aslan: Is he safe? Well of course, he's not safe. But he is always good.

God knows I'm no virgin...

and neither is my name "Mary", yet here it is the feast of the Blessed Mother herself, and I am ready to hit "send" to the email going out to all professed sisters in our community.

It's as finished as it will ever be—five pages actually, with only a minor addition suggested by my mentor. And... it's pretty much what I wrote nearly a week ago when my deacon friend plunked me down to get busy and just do it.

For those of you who left thoughtful comments with suggestions, thank you. I did glean a little from my old blogs, and I did write snatches of this and that, and pieced those thoughts together in a somewhat rambling, (hopefully cohesive) explanation of my reasons for desiring to move forward.

I'm not young and inexperienced like Mary; I've been around the block a few times, but since these letters only go out to the life professed sisters, I've never seen what anyone else may have written. I'll be number 69 in this community, so sixty-eight women before me have done this very thing.

Hundred of thousands of women have responded with some kind of "yes" to the call for a different life, different than the one they were born into or conditioned by. I'm not unique in any way. As my friend Pat once wrote: "no is just a slower form of yes" and in my case, with this choice, that would have to be true.

putting it all together

Luke 12: 33
Sell your possessions and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.

Our celebrant this morning always thinks it's ironic when she has to preach to us about giving up the things of the world. But once you've basically de-cluttered your life of material possessions, the truth of what this message really requires comes home.

Anything that gets in the way of our relationship with God becomes like those material possessions we discarded long ago... and when there are no possessions to divert, possessiveness still finds its own perverse forms.

Maybe there will be an open need to control our physical space, or a need to be needed (another form of control), or perhaps there will be the sense of righteousness and responsibility for another who seems to us immature or half-hearted in their faith and therefore needs to be "guided" carefully and told repeatedly that they don't measure up. Whatever it is we hold onto will get in the way.

Hebrews 11: 13-16
They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland... they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one...

One message of this morning's sermon was that primarily we are all seekers. We experience an uneasy sense of alienation in this world and are constantly on the prowl for something that assures us we belong. One of the problems with this longing is that our culture has a number of bogus ways to fill the void... our economy pins its profit margins on convincing us that it can be filled... with a newer car, a classier wardrobe, a bigger home. To be "in" means we know the right places to dine, the right clubs to join, the right vacations to book.

But anyone who has had some of these things and subsequently still feels empty, knows deep inside that the illusion of fulfillment doesn't last. And... Jesus' answer is so radical, that even when some of us go the first mile to follow his instructions, we still hit walls of resistance on the deeper levels.

Perhaps part of the problem is we might be meant to feel this way... transient and in transition... always. Can that be? Faith that God knows exactly what is going on, has everything in control, is something I profess with my lips, yet continually try to help along. Like Sarah, in today's lesson about the faith of Abraham: Abraham was old, She was barren. Yet the promise of God was that he would be the father of nations. (Time's a wasting... better help it along with my maidservant.)

Waiting for God to act is no easy feat. The good news is God is still willing to listen, even if not to act (on our timetable). "Come now, let us argue it out, says the Lord..." —Isaiah 1: 18

Harder than I thought...

My Dear Sisters Nope, sounds too much like My fellow Americans As if I'm some president giving some bogus state of my soul address. But they are my sisters, and they are dear.

Dear Sisters, I'm writing this letter as my formal request to be admitted as a life professed member of the Community of the Holy Spirit.

That's it. That's as far as I've gotten in a week. At this rate I'll be on Medicare before I finish the letter. My mentor said the letter should be "several pages." It should explain my discernment process, how I came to this decision, why I think I'm called to go forward with life profession...

I have writer's block. Or a mental block. Or a stumbling block. Anyway you cut it I'm a blockhead at the moment... can't think, can't write, can't sleep at night. All the correct words are swirling around in my brain, but they are in some kind of weird orbiting pattern and won't land. Is this what cold feet is all about? Am I afraid I'll burn up in the atmosphere if I try to come down to earth?

The truth is I won't know what this funk is about until it's over. I never get what I'm going through while I'm going through it. Only afterwards. Then I can dissect the emotional roller coaster and say
"Well, that was the final stage of denial before final acceptance."

It doesn't feel like denial. (Duh... that's what denial is, dum dum.) Oh. Okay.

cleanse and defend?

Let your continual mercy, O Lord, cleanse and defend your church; and because it cannot continue in safety without your help, protect and govern it always by your goodness...

The collect for this week begins with a request, one that seems to be one (if not the) bone of contention in our church right now. Cleanse and defend your church Cleanse... of what? Defend... from what?

There are those that believe deep in their hearts, would bet their immortal inheritance on it even, that this cleansing refers to people who practice abomination. More specifically: sexual abomination, as in gay relationships, or adulterous relationships or marriage relationships not sanctioned by Holy Mother Church. The great rift in the Anglican Communion seems poised upon this head of the sexual pin.

But the prayer asks that mercy do whatever cleansing needs to be done, Does amputation qualify? I don't think so.

I wasn't always celibate. I had hormones and was prone to the same temptations of the flesh as everyone else. I'm hardly qualified to pass judgment on anybody else's response to those temptations, probably not even my own. There were times I feared hell for some of the things I did, but that's not why I became a nun.

There are those who believe Aids is a gay disease. They condemn the use of condoms to prevent Aids, yet allow husbands to visit prostitutes, and then infect their wives and subsequently their children. Where's the mercy in that standard? There are homosexual couples who have remained faithful to each other for years longer than the average heterosexual couple, yet their faithfulness is not rewarded, even recognized, in most states. There seems to be no justice nor mercy in that standard.

An anonymous commenter thought I might be able to draw a cartoon based on some sign on a church: "God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts." Cute, maybe. But it depends on the motivation behind those words whether it's cute or simply another way to judge each other's conduct. Who presumes to know what God wants? Even if we look to the Bible for inspiration, it's so full of inconsistencies you still have to pick and choose which side you'll stand for.

Maybe God is perfectly happy with both fruits and nuts. One thing about the collect for the week that seems pretty clear, the church cannot continue in safety without God's help.

Stage 5: Acceptance

Acceptance begins with little realizations and gains entry into the psyche from there. Not everyone gets struck with a lightning bolt on their own path to Damascus. (Most of us just get an unexpected stone in our sandal and stop to remove it.) Hmmm... now that's an interesting stone. Where did that come from? Beware the Holy Spirit.

Stage 4: Depression

Depression can be as mild as losing interest... or as serious as not being able to get up in the morning.

Stage 3: Bargaining

On the heels of denial and anger comes (for me) the most useless and yet funniest of the stages: Bargaining. Just look it up in scripture... not many ever got away with bargaining with God, not even Jesus. Of course He wasn't exactly bargaining in the garden of Gethsemane... but read between the lines, you can almost hear it in his voice.

Huh?

Anyone who's ever experienced the "five stages" knows that, yes... while there are five, and yes... they do somewhat follow each other in progression, there's no guarantee that once you've passed into anger you don't jump back into denial... or fast forward to acceptance. Life is not a neat and tidy process.

I remember an old Peter, Paul and Mary song, "Best of Friends": Two steps backward and three along... It's like that. But you knew that.

Anger... continued

After a while, you seem to be angry about everything, anything...

Stage 2: Anger

The second stage in the famous "Five Stages of Death" is Anger. As with denial, anger can exhibit its presence in a variety of ways...

Another Birthday!

My grandson John (who is named after his Dad, who was named after a good friend of his Dad's) is celebrating today!

Happy Birthday BooBoo! BooBoo is sort of like Bubba... family nickname. He's one of the sweetest kids I know.

When he was just a toddler he would watch his dad get dressed for work every evening. (A police officer has a lot of gear to put on.) He would put on his own little jacket, baby backpack and ballcap, and wait by the door, ever hopeful that his dad would relent and actually take him along. Then he would sob inconsolably (for about five minutes) each time his dad left. It was gut wrenching. His dad works days now, so he sleeps through most of the early morning departures.

This picture was taken in June when I visited. He has thick brown hair that grows like weeds. His mom finally issued the ultimatum: haircut time!

Queen of Denial... still

Ah... denial, would stinkweed by any other name not smell?
As discernment progresses, so do the manifestations of this insidious stage:

Queen of Denial

Denial is a wonderful state of mind... it acts as a transitional buffer from one understanding of reality to the next. Of course it's not meant to be permanent, but I've been known to carry it to it's umpteenth extreme. The funniest thing about denial is that everyone else recognizes the symptoms before you do...

Fish or cut bait...

So... it's time.

I've known it was coming, I've looked forward to it, dreaded it, pretended it could be avoided... but here we are. Today was my evaluation/formal request/lets talk it over meeting with the community council. All that remains is I write the letter. (Yes, that would mean put it in writing that I really do want to be a nun when I grow up.

My friend, the deacon had a suggestion yesterday. He said I should just draw a cartoon. Well, of course. (Not!!) But the more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me. I've been drawing cartoons about God lately, but why not draw cartoons about myself? They'd probably be less inflammatory, anyway. I've begun with the Kubler Ross Five Stages of Death... nice touch, don'tcha think? The first stage is DENIAL. And here's the first cartoon:

Feast of the Parents of Mary

It's an odd feast day, this feast of Sts. Anne and Joachim.

In some cultures, our celebrant explained this morning, it is more than a feast to honor the grandparents of Jesus. It is a feast to celebrate aging in and of itself, and the mysterious way God works.

One of the myths surrounding these parents is that they, like the parents of Isaac, Samson, Samuel and John the Baptist, waited a long time before conceiving their child of destiny. After all rational hope is literally dried up, God acts. What's with that?

Whether or not this legend is true, it still points to the real fact that in our own culture, where youth and vitality are the prized possessions, God still works through the old, worn out, and frail. As one who has already gone over the hill, I find that, not only a huge comfort, but an inspiration to keep plugging away... to keep creating, writing, drawing, photographing, questioning.

Grandma Moses started painting in her seventies.
I guess I can draw cartoons in my sixties.

"Martha, Martha..."

Sunday's Gospel was the oh so familiar story of tension between Mary and Martha. On one of the apparently many occasions that Jesus visits his friends in Bethany, Martha's doing all the work, Mary's sitting at his' feet, and suddenly, the sparks fly.

"Don't you even care that she's left me to do all the work? Tell her to help me."

How many variations on this theme have we heard in sermons? There's the premise that we all contain a bit of both Mary and Martha in our personalities and the point is to find the balance. There's the theme that we get all tied up in our doing for God and don't spend enough time being with God. There's the whole: you have to take it in context and this was Jesus (yet again) expressing radical views on women's rights...

All are great interpretations. I wouldn't argue with a single one of those explanations of what this scripture means. However, something our celebrant said yesterday hit me. He said: Martha's home was a safe place for Jesus.

Of course he said a lot more than that, but that particular statement got me thinking off on a tangent... about how I act when I'm visiting very close friends and I feel absolutely safe. So safe in their love for me that I know all the inside jokes and tease them mercilessly, as they do me. In those safe encounters I let down my guard, act goofy, sometimes drink too much and always laugh a lot.

What if... this was nothing more than a verbatim conversation about a standing issue between the three of them? What if... they were only teasing each other, yet again, as only close friends can get away with? What if this story was just that... a story, from the life of the very human Jesus?

and your point is...?

Proficiency comes with practice. Nothing new there... except that I forget how easy it can be to add a small discipline to my daily routine that helps with whatever I'm doing (or want to be doing).

I am no longer naive enough to think I have any kind of will power to exercise on a regular basis, or go on a successful diet, or even stick to a decent meditation routine... but these things have a way of accessing my schedule, not by choice, and without my realizing it, until... oh, hello. Am I finally losing the weight I gained on vacation? Did I just sit quietly for a whole hour without thinking of anything? Did I walk the dog four blocks so he could do his morning business?

I love being outside early in the morning... but only when I have to be outside early in the morning. What's with that?

Our interim dog walker is visiting her family this weekend and I am the reluctant backup. Yet it was glorious outside in the park at six a.m... crows were squawking to each other from the trees, there was a fine mist on the river, the normal city sounds: sirens, delivery trucks, garbage trucks, taxis honking impatiently—were non-existent. Cool, quiet, pleasant.

The dog was ready to come home before I was.

I'm also figuring out how to write and draw at the same time. I thought it was impossible... too taxing creatively... something would suffer. And of course something did. But not forever. Maybe that's the point, or at least one of them.

The two's have it

It's hard to believe it's been two years... feels like more than that. I never knew how much I loved to write before this blog, and... (as I've mentioned before) my daughter-in-law can take the credit for getting me started. Loyal readers can take the credit for keeping me going when stumbling blocks of various sizes threatened to put the fire out. Even annoying anonymous commenters can take the credit for keeping me on my toes when I'd just as soon be flat-footed. It's been a great two years. Here's to a couple more... cheers.

the illusion of permanence

...life is about changes. There is no standing still, only movement. What feels permanent is itself dynamic, always in the process of ending so that a new moment can begin. —Tom Ehrich

"make this life in community permanent"
Yikes... did I actually say that? Out loud? In writing?
Hmmm... yes, I guess I did.

But reading Tom's commentary this morning has also reminded me that no amount of planning, imagination, determination, faith or wishful thinking can make things stay the same if they're going great, or speed their passing if they're going badly. Everything changes and life always moves on.

My friend Pat often speaks of life as a dance. It's a great analogy. Sometimes it's a square dance and we have a lot of interchanging partners. Sometimes it's a waltz and our partner steps on our toes. Sometimes the dance is a solo endeavor, and one of the joys in that is you can just sit down when you get tired. I like to dance but I get tired a lot.

no is just a slower form...

A friend of mine posted a poem on her blog here. She writes lots of poems, but the words in this one resonated on some deep vibrational level, so I told her how much I loved the thought.... that in fact, I might even want to steal it for my blog.

Here's an excerpt... the words that struck me especially in the context of my decision to make this life in community permanent:

Yes is yes,
but no is just a slower form of yes
until we learn the steps
because

the dance is all there is.

I thought of all the times I had joked about "running off to join the convent if things didn't work out", about all the prayers to God to match me up with a nice Christian guy who was interested in a life of service, about every time the idea of being a nun flitted through my consciousness I had said: not only no, but hell! no!

Another reader took issue with us, both with her words and then my agreement... as if he knew so much more than we do. She patiently explained her point but he kept at it, and at it, and at it.

And, his point was valid, in the context he was coming from. What rankled was his inability to see any other point of view. This is obviously an intelligent man. But in this particular case, it would appear his need to be right overpowered his own intelligence.

I agree the dance is all there is. But if someone keeps stepping all over your feet, he might want to invest in a course at Arthur Murray.

who is my neighbor?

It turns out that faith is not a secret code of rightness that will unlock the treasure of eternal life. It turns out that faith is a relationship with God and with the world, and that the name of this relationship is love. —Barbara Crafton+

An anonymous commenter responded to my potato salad post: "I'm wondering, Sister (Doctor?), if you might give us an example or two of doctrine as "arbitrary" as dill over sweet?"

Well, first of all I'm generally not in the mood to respond to anonymous anybodies anymore (unless it's my son). If you can't be bothered to type in your name, you don't deserve a reply. Second of all, I'm not a Doctor, nor do I have an MDiv. I do have a Bachelor's in fine art and graphic design... but that's not exactly credentials for interpreting the Word. Interpretation requires no credentials, actually requires less than a brain... I may need my brain to put my thoughts together and type them out in written form, but I only need my heart to recognize the truth.

Still, it's a good question, (especially if you're a lawyer) and even more so if you'd like to put me in my place for spouting unfootnoted opinions about scripture. Maybe it was the word gospel that did it... even though I used a little "g".

Tomorrow's Gospel: (Luke 10: 25-37) the parable of the good Samaritan is as good an example as any, so I'll use that. Luke implies that the question the lawyer asked was meant to trip Jesus up. And Jesus didn't bite the bait, at least not in any way that would be satisfying... he told a story.

He told a story about a man who might be called an unbeliever by some of today's scripture police. This man performed an unsolicited act of charity. He saved a life, took a risk, treated a perfect stranger in need as if it were someone from his own household. The implication to this story was that this unbeliever, having acted with compassion and love to his "neighbor" would in fact, inherit eternal life. (You didn't get that part?)

But how could that be possible? It says in Acts 4:12 that you must believe in Jesus Christ to obtain salvation. (Well at least Peter said you must.) Yet, in Acts 10 this same Peter gets his comeuppance directly from God... and a bunch of gentiles receive the Holy Spirit before they even get baptized.

My priest friend and spiritual director her site is here concluded her thoughts on the good Samaritan parable with these words:

It turns out there's no secret code, no hidden key. There's no need of one: eternal life isn't locked. Anybody can live as a lover of God and neighbor, just by walking out his front door and looking around at what needs to be done. And then doing the first thing that presents itself. And then another. And another. As many as you want — they're all your neighbors. And the Christ who lives in you also lives in each of them.

Oh... by the way, she has the credentials.

surprising neighbors

... faith isn't about doctrine, institution, career, or being right. Faith is about God and the many surprising neighbors God sends to help us along the way. —Tom Ehrich

I wonder why it takes so long to understand these things? And why, once we do understand them, we forget them again?

I remember my move to New York twelve years ago with an entire fantasy in tact of what this city would be like, what this stupendous move would mean. I had been "sent forth" by my loving congregation in Florida, and here, in this amazing city I would somehow find my place, do God's work as well as my own, make a difference.

The reality was nothing like I imagined. Much as I loved the energy of the city, I was overwhelmed by it. I walked to work every day, learned to navigate the teeming sidewalks... learned the rules: (never stop) but on weekends I holed up in my tiny studio, ordered Chinese food delivered to my door, and didn't set foot outside until Monday morning. I'm still like that in many ways. I love going and coming, but only if there's somewhere to go. Otherwise I'd rather just stay inside the house.

The difference now is that I have family inside... a big family by all my old standards. One sister came to hug me last night before she headed off for her trip, another called up to see if I wanted to sleep in an air-conditioned room... little acts of charity that remind me I am here, with neighbors, and... I seem to belong.

Happy Birthday

I have a dear friend who has known me forever... (at least a quarter of a century.)

She brought me to New York to work for her... doing a job for which I had absolutely no experience, yet she was willing to take the risk. She had once worked for me when we both lived in Florida, so we played "turn-about" and I worked for her, until she moved on to another position.

When I left my job in Florida, I had recommended her as my successor, and in New York she did the same for me. They might call it karma in some cultures, but for us it was a unique blend of friendship and common sense. As close as we were personally, it never interfered with our professional relationship.

I was present at her wedding, the baptisms of both of her darling boys, birthday parties and New Year's Eve celebrations. She helped me with our community's benefit last year by providing new talent... she has been an inspiration and a strong support for my "call" to the religious life, not to mention the generous funder of many breakfast and lunch dates when one or the other of us needed to talk.

Today is her birthday.
Blessings (dear friend) to one of the true gifts of my lifetime :)

Independence Day

I'm still pondering last Sunday's readings...

In his letter to the Galatians, Paul talked a lot about freedom (vs slavery) both in the literal sense and figuratively. I have no way to relate the experience of literal slavery, either as an owner or as one owned. I know about prejudice, but slavery? Even my active imagination can't wrap itself around the degradation of that kind of possessiveness.

The early followers of Jesus came from all sections of society, but especially from the marginalized: the poor, the slave, the disenfranchised. Many of them had next to nothing to lose, they'd already lost everything. But some, like Paul, had a lot to lose. Jesus made no bones about the cost of discipleship. he told his followers they'd lose family, status, even their lives if they followed him. Yet they followed him anyway. The freedom he promised was too real to ignore. The cost of that freedom is something I think about a lot.

Today is our nation's anniversary of freedom from European rule... a bold uprising in a backwater colony... Like the early Christians, the early Americans paid a huge cost for the freedom they achieved. I wonder if either group would recognize the current version of what their sacrifices produced?

potato salad gospel

We're getting ready for our 4th of July picnic... barbecued chicken, potato salad, cole slaw... the standard stuff most Americans would eat on the 4th. My first husband taught me how to make potato salad, just as someone else had taught him. He said one of the secrets was to boil the potatoes in their skins and peel them after they were cooked. Today I used red potatoes, so I only peeled half of them, to give the salad some color. He was also a stickler for green onions instead of white, and I always follow that rule. He used sweet gherkins, though, and I prefer dill, so in that sense I've altered the recipe and made it my own. We do that in many aspects of our lives... not just cooking... take someone's cherished idea or tradition, change it just a bit, and make it our own.

The followers of Christianity have certainly done that through the ages... sometimes for good, and sometimes not. Doctrine as arbitrary as a preference for dill over sweet has caused cruelty and untold suffering for those caught in the middle, as well as those defending either side. I wish we could just give it a break, this constant need to be right, this constant need to convert others to our version of right.

Independence Day: "We hold these truths to be self-evident... that all men are created equal." except when those men (or women) aren't doing it the way we think they ought to. Then we damn them to hell. So... will I go to hell for using dill pickles in my potato salad? Maybe, but only God knows that... not all the sweet gherkin advocates.

Facing forward

As the time approached for him to be taken up, Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem. He sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, "Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?" But Jesus turned and rebuked them. Then he and his disciples went to another village.
.....
As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."
.....
He said to another man, "Follow me." But he replied, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." Jesus said to him, "Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God."
.....
Still another said, "I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say good-by to my family." Jesus replied, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God."
—Luke 9: 51-62

As our celebrant reminded us this morning, today's Gospel from Luke is so densely packed it would take four hours of sermons to cover everything. My deacon friend is preaching today on the very last sentence, and has woven his points around those twenty-three words on plowing. Another friend, a gifted writer, priest and spiritual director, wrote about the dead burying the dead.

Our celebrant emphasized the beginning: He set his face toward Jerusalem. He spoke of the rejection in the Samaritan village, of the things Jesus told one potential disciple versus what he told another. In this morning's sermon the focus was that Jesus knew exactly what he was doing and he knew the cost of it. Three different takes on the same lesson... yet... All three of these friends touched on one unifying point: our temptation to live in the past.

As I continue to journey the path God seems to have plunked me down on, I realize that I, too, am sorely tempted to look backwards. I have not set my face toward Jerusalem or anywhere else, for that matter. Not really.

It occurs to me that much of my concern over the relationship with my ex-husband stems from a subtle, yet delusive, desire to recondition and overhaul this failure of my past. Perhaps the fact that I was allowed to "do over" other early failures...[ I quit college (practically flunked) in my third year, yet in my 30's went back and graduated with honors.] I secretly thought of course I'd get to do that one over too. But living in the past creates its own bondage, and if I am to be free to tread this path in peace, then facing forward is the only choice.

stumbling blocks

The longer I stay in community, the more I learn... about why people come here and why they leave. It's a process. as they say, and having experienced much of it, and watched others do the same, I can attest to the simple truth that everyone's journey hits the same kind of stumbling block, no matter who they were before they arrived, or who they think they are when they leave (or stay.)

I'm also pretty sure I (myself) have not hit the huge ones yet. But I have definitely had my fair share of stumbling over the medium-to-large ones. I weathered the "sister-so-and-so-is-always-riding-my-case" scenario, but I have seen others crack under that burden. And... having weathered it once, does not necessarily mean I can do it again. That's the problem. As soon as I think I've got an issue nailed, it springs back to bite me.

There are other rocks along the path. There's the internal: "I'm-a big-fraud-and-if-you-only-knew-you-would-hate-my-guts" rendition, a slight twist on the standard human condition of I'm not worthy. Of course we aren't worthy, we aren't God, get over it. Yet we are worthy, because God said so, and all other scriptural references to the contrary, I choose to believe that over all the other whiny Psalm verses: the ones that cry out for vindication and retaliation for assumed injustices and iniquities.

There's the flip side of I'm not worthy. It's the "why-can't-she-act-like-I-do?" or "why-does-she-insist-on doing-things-her-way?" which implies that not only am I worthy, but even more worthy, so you should follow my example... because of course it's the right way to do it. Whatever it is.

That last one can be a catch 22. In a community there are established ways of doing things, whether because it makes it easier for everyone else or because we've always done it that way... (the ever-constant rock-in-your-shoe.) If stacking the baking pans in order of size is an established way of doing it, then refusing to do it because she happens to think it's a stupid rule, says something very telling about a sister's willingness to "learn our ways", something a candidate promises when she is received.

I have learned one quite unusual lesson in this community: sweating the small stuff seems to be a necessary evil that allows the grace for the large stuff to flow through us like... well, grace. Who knew?

The Big ONE

My youngest grandson Noah is one today! Happy Birthday punkin doodle. Wish I were there to see your giggly cake-smeared face.
love, Grandma

Irresponsibility

There was a fad awhile back when "motivational" posters and mugs were everywhere... you would see them in offices and school classrooms, even police stations. You still find them here and there, but they are no longer the rage. As with all clichés, they wore out quickly. I'm not knocking motivation by a long shot, but our culture's quick-fix mentality has evolved like a fast-growing cancer, even in our motivational thinking. We expect fast food for eating, fast cars for driving, fast computers for googling, fast relief from ailment, and a fast-track to success. Anything short of fast must be bad, or old, or wrong.

I found a site called Demotivators® here that takes a different tack... most of them are tongue-in-cheek, sardonic and skeptical, but they carry an underlying truth that life is not always going to be lemonade out of lemons. Sometimes there's just no water or sugar to be found.


This one on irresponsibility is a good example. Yesterday my friend and I were discussing some of the logistical problems with feeding the homeless. Volunteers staff the feeding program at his church, and the most prominent excuse for not volunteering is "What can I do? I'm only one person." The unspoken flip side of that is: "since I'm only one person, it's not my fault that you don't have enough volunteers."

Jesus was absolutely clear on who's responsibility it is to love your neighbor, to care for the vineyard, to feed his sheep, to do justice. We may try to wiggle out of any (or all) of those commandments because in this country we've been inoculated at birth against hard labor, dutiful response to others' needs, serving the common good.

But... as the flood of our irresponsibility rises, at some point we're going to run out of higher ground.

In the garden

I've always been intrigued with the story of Eden. I've brooded over it and written about it many times, trying to tease out some other interpretation besides crime and punishment.

Adam, God's first human creation, was pretty much coddled by God—fed, protected, cherished, given special benefits. He received a mate because he was lonely, and, he didn't have much to do to earn his keep. He was spoiled. rotten.

It's not rocket science to predict that the only stated rule would be disobeyed. One of the hardest jobs for a parent is to enforce the standards and inflict consequences. Without that structure the child grows up undisciplined, unruly, and unprepared for life outside the home. The consequence in Adam's case was life outside the home. Only there, without all the props and privileges of the garden, would he learn how life really works.

I think we've taken that story and twisted it inside out. We've assumed that obedience and perfection are the points here, when it may be that listening to the advice of one with more knowledge and experience is the point.

Eating fruit that gave useless knowledge (of good and evil) did not kill Adam, but it certainly messed with his mind. He noticed he was naked and felt shame. He noticed he had disobeyed and felt shame and fear. He reacted to both in ways that were easily detected, and when challenged, he blamed his wife. She in turn blamed the snake. Neither had ever experienced guilt before, yet both knew instinctively the worst way to assuage it... blame someone else.

A new life outside... totally new experiences, opportunities to learn for themselves, to work and earn their own living, to trust each other, rely on each other, support each other, rather than blame each other... those were the consequences.

habits and facts meme

MikeF, at The Mercy Blog, has tagged me for a meme. (I know, my New Year's resolution was no more memes, but I've also fallen off the water wagon, so what the heck...) If tagged, and you accept, these are the rules:

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Pretty straightforward, ha! Well, after the last couple of posts I should be able to confess just about anything, so here goes:

1. My favorite number is five. I find great comfort in doing things in fives: I'll wash five dishes, then put five things away in the kitchen, then dry five dishes, etc. I count as I go. I've tried other combinations of numbers but nothing beats five. Even though this meme calls for eight facts, I may only do five...

2. I've had as many jobs/careers as some celebrities have marriages... elf at Santa's Village, Navy photographer, proofreader, bookkeeper, audio visual producer, 3-D animation artist, college instructor, massage therapist, motorcycle safety instructor, print designer, art director for a national publication, and now... nun. Some jobs were full time, some part time, but all were exciting, even the proofreading. (Oh, I did not mention wife, mother, grandmother, singer/songwriter and poet, none of which I got paid for, nor wished to be)

3. I play stupid video games when I'm stressed: Big Kahuna Reef, Pyramids, Mah Jong solitaire. I usually get bored and quit before the end of the game. Even though these games are mindless, I feel soooo smart if I win, which is almost never.

4. I'd like to publish something... someday... just once... a novel, poetry, cartoons... anything. And I want my picture on the back flap, one that looks like me now, not ten years ago.

5. I say what I think and then re-think what I said. It often involves removing my feet from my mouth and apologies and groveling.

6. My favorite place on earth is a beach. I love the sound of surf, the smell of salt air and Coppertone, picking up shells, getting a suntan, walking the callouses off my feet. I've had my best conversations with God at the beach.

7. Look! I'm at seven already... I did not quit at five. (That must mean I don't yet qualify for the obsessive-compulsive diagnosis?) Okay... fact 7: I used to have the most amazing memory. Aging has removed that attribute from my asset category. Oddly enough I am not too upset, because I still remember to talk (ad nauseam) about what a great memory I used to have. I can still recite all the counties in Maine in alphabetical order and the unabridged opening to the Superman (TV) cartoon... "in the endless reaches of the universe, there once existed a planet known as Krypton..."

8. All the foods on my Absolutely NOT list, (either due to high cholesterol, high blood pressure or medication for same) are the foods I like best: bacon, anchovies, shellfish, grapefruit, pasta, butter, cheese... is that not a crime?

okay... eight people to tag to do the same thing:
1. my daughter-in-law (because I love her and she'll probably do it)
2. Zanne (because I love her and she may do it)
3. cat (because I love her and she likes memes)
4. Kim (because I love her and she'll probably do it.)
5. Natty (because she'll think of something outrageous, if she does it. Oh, and because I love her.)

I'm quitting at five. It's my favorite number.

burning bridges... continued

You may wonder why, if I couldn't bear a phone conversation with my ex-husband, how I thought I could handle a face-to-face? Another part of my baggage I think... I don't like the telephone. I was not allowed to use the phone much as a kid, so I don't enjoy using it as an adult. Unless I'm conducting business, I get antsy after two minutes. I have to go to the bathroom or I will say I have to go to the bathroom. Either way, I need to hang up.

To say that my ex-husband has been a huge piece of the puzzle in my discernment to the religious life is an understatement. He was the wild card in nearly every hand I've been dealt over the past four years... coming to a final decision without taking him into account was impossible, is impossible. For awhile I tested the idea that this life was some kind of training ground... a place God had called me to learn whatever it was I needed to know to successfully live with him again.

I'd be in the kitchen, cooking something, and I'd find myself imagining cooking the same thing in his kitchen for him. It didn't occur to me that in this fantasy of being married to him again, he was never around. When that aha finally hit, I realized I couldn't go there. The idea of doing things for him was very strong, the idea of being with him was unimaginable. Face it, I'm denser than Iridium when it comes to relationships

The dream I posted several weeks ago (if you wish, you can read it here) was thoughtfully interpreted by a number of friends, but the one that rang most true was offered by a girlfriend of nearly two decades. She knew me when I was married, has known and supported me through divorce, boyfriends, the move to New York, job changes, more boyfriends... and this choice to become a sister. I was her boss once and she was mine. She knows me inside out like no other friend.

Her take on the dream went something like this: you're seeking a place where your generosity, talent and gifts will be accepted and appreciated. In the dream, you'd already done all the cleaning and cooking and organizing for the party but the soup was still frozen. (It was lentil soup, not important enough to be noticed.) The bowl was too small—because you have so much to offer, you need more than one person to receive; you need God Himself. Even though he tried, your ex-husband could not find a way to accept these gifts, and when you opened the big container, it was full of the baggage (charred dreams and dirt) from your marriage.

Hello. That was insightful as well as prophetic. I haven't had that much profundity smashing the sides of my brain since I quit talking to angels. (Another story... another post.)

to be continued...

burning bridges...

I didn't see my ex-husband on this last trip to Florida. You'd think: So? doesn't ex-husband imply past tense? Who cares? And yes, ex does imply past tense. But relationships are often more complicated than they appear. Ours has been fraught with a number of complicated inconsistencies, and the sum total of our own past tenses did not add up to the thirteen-year-marriage we barely survived, nor the friendship we have since tried to maintain.

When we met, we both expressed the thought that we had known each other before... in another lifetime. I believed it... lock, stock and barrel, and actually, nothing there has changed. It's just one of many reasons I stayed married for so long after common sense said: BIG mistake. There were other reasons: my inability to set boundaries contributed heavily to the mess we were making. I avoided conflict in a number of ways: giving into or avoiding confrontation on his views of politics, art, religion, clutter, spending money... his jealousy of my kids and the time I spent with them was countered by spending more time with him and less with them. It wasn't enough. Eventually I just spent more time at work, where I (the real, the free, the unique I) was appreciated. I was a coward.

I was also afraid of burning bridges. Somewhere in my past it had been stamped into my consciousness "Do NOT burn your bridges."

We had planned to get together at some point, but not much was working out. To be honest, I didn't much care. He had arrived in Hendersonville (unexpectedly) my first night at Kanuga and that had creeped me out. It felt like stalking, and I had no internal resources for handling stalking. The more I thought about it, the more I freaked, so I didn't think about it... until he pressed for a time to see me again.

I emailed him. Email is a cowardly way to carry on a relationship, even one that doesn't exactly exist. It's not pleasant to know that about myself again but there it is.

In the email I told him his surprise appearance at Kanuga had felt like stalking, and that subsequent remarks about my son had ticked me off. I was angry with him, that part was clear, but the rest was a mess. He emailed back, angry now, himself. Wished me a happy life (I could read the gritted teeth between the lines) and... of course I caved. I agreed to see him, but he insisted on a phone conversation. I couldn't bear a phone conversation, so we never did get together.

(to be continued...)

home again, home again... jiggety jig

My wake-up hour for the flight home yesterday was four am, an ungodly hour when bedtime was way past midnight. Our last movie together was Night at the Museum, which the kids insisted I had to see, because it was filmed in New York. Five of us were snuggled on the couch, the four children and me, sharing a huge bowl of popcorn, when the littlest, who was in his big sister's arms, decided he needed popcorn too, and began his eager crawl over arms and laps toward his goal. Nobody stopped him until he was in the bowl, and then only reluctantly. We were all convulsed with laughter as he proceeded to toss popcorn into the air, as well as stuff it into his own little mouth. He is a giggly baby, and his joy is infectious. I realized it was the first time I had relaxed enough to have fun with my grandchildren, rather than watching them have fun with each other. We made a mess, and their mom will be cleaning popcorn out of couch crevasses for months. She didn't seem to mind.

The trip home was relatively easy. Fatigue can either intensify or blur the inconveniences of life, and for me everything was blurred, a blessing. I lay down for a short nap after lunch and woke up at midnight. I looked at the clock (stupidly) and rolled over and went back to sleep. I was tired.

My house-full of sisters was tired as well... not enough hands to make the work light, they had declared today a rest day even before I arrived home. I accepted this blessing too, and am taking the day at a quiet pace.

I am catching up: on my email, on my backyard garden project, on reacquainting myself with the sisters I have missed, but have been out of mind for two weeks. This is my home now, these are my people, and I am glad to be here.

family time... continued

"We call it family time instead of rest and retreat because everyone knows that family time is not necessarily restful."

I understand that comment now, although I didn't when I first heard it. Now I am a few years older, and like my aging mother before me, any disruption in my routine must be handled thoughtfully, with consideration. It used to annoy me when she couldn't get her act together to be spontaneous, when every little exuberant outburst from my two noisy boys would cause her to frown or to shudder, or worse... to correct them and me. She had forgotten what little children are like, just as I have.

She disapproved of the way I allowed them to "run wild", of their lack of table manners, of their grabbing each other's toys. She wanted to take them to a nice restaurant, but not until they could put their napkins in their laps without being told.

I remember all these things as I observe my grandchildren interacting with each other, as I watch my son and daughter-in-law patiently explain (once again) to the three-year-old that no... he may not change his shirt for the fourth time this morning. He wails at the top of his lungs in frustration. I shudder.... and frown. I have forgotten what little children are like.

family time

We have two kinds of vacation at our convent: "rest and retreat" and "family time". I rise early at my son's house. It is the only quiet time here.

When I visit I am never prepared for the decibel levels: loud, louder and loud with explosions. They rise and fall like dictatorships. I am also never prepared for the passionate affection of this beautiful family. I am in awe of my daughter-in-law's equanimity, my son's generosity... but I am already exhausted. How do I explain that to either myself or to them?

We watch TV a lot here. I never (get to) watch TV in the convent, so it is always a novelty for a day or two. Mostly movies, because there is really nothing much on TV... although I did watch several episodes of Top Chef yesterday.

My son and I bond over movies. He has already seen them all and I have seen none, so he chooses. Yesterday we watched The Guardian, and parts of Oceans Eleven, Ultraviolet, Sahara... something else... it's a blur. The kids built a tent out of blankets in the office area (where I am now) and it's still there. I've carefully removed one of the walls to sit at the computer. They also filled the baby pool and splashed around for awhile. Their energy is limitless. (Well not quite... they are still asleep.)

The baby is beautiful. He's still at the age where he's happy with anyone holding him so I am enjoying the unconditional love that only a one-year-old can bestow. Each child is delightful, each in his/her own particular way.

I am inadequate at expressing my enjoyment of their spontaneous antics and outbursts, mostly because of the accompanying shrill screams and loud crashes... I cannot decipher them, everything moves too quickly for me. Are they hurt? Angry? Just screaming for the sheer joy of making noise? I can hear them upstairs now... the Kracken has awoken...

Back to Earth...

It's always strange for me to post from someone else's computer. Like using someone else's bathroom, nothing is exactly where it is in my own space. But flexibility and innovation and making do with what you have are all admirable qualities I (sometimes possess and) always long for. So here I am once again, at someone else's keyboard.

The three of us who were at Kanuga left early yesterday to get "home", back to the waiting obligations of job, family and the funeral. Because of Adelaide's incoming grandchildren I've been relocated to another house, until I shift gears once again to meet my son and his family for the rest of the week. That will be later today, when we can hook up after the reception.

I did not travel in habit this trip. I had not expected to need it for a vacation in the mountains and later (maybe) at the beach. I packed capri pants and tee shirts, one linen dress for dinner out, (when we will celebrate Mother's Day and everyone else's birthdays,) but no habit. I had not planned for a funeral.

My sisters back home had to gather all the pieces and ship them to me FedEx. I opened the box last night to sort everything out, iron the wrinkles, and discovered one piece was missing... the one thing I had not mentioned in my email to explain where everything was in my cell. Oops.

It's not a noticeable article of attire like the cross or the scapular... it's a piece of plastic that slides into the little white cap to which the veil attaches, and it holds the top of the cap in a stiff arc at the top of my head. Without it the whole thing flops and looks stupid. This morning we got out some cardboard and I went to work. I've inserted that stiff plastic thing enough times that I knew by memory the approximate shape and size I should cut out, but the plastic bends and snaps back easily and cardboard folds and creases. Oops. After a couple of failed attempts I got it to slide in without too much crumpling. It ain't perfect, but if nobody pats me on the head, it will do.

"Make do with what you have or do without" my grandmother used to say. So in an hour we will celebrate the life of a particular grandmother, not mine, but one who was herself the epitome of frugality and making do. I hope she likes my hat.