Hope of Advent

 I started this day sitting at the table and spending time just looking outside at the bare trees, the sky, the water, the brown leaves on the ground and an occasional squirrel or bird flying by.  At church on Sunday I picked up an Advent devotional called "The Poetry of Advent" which is an Advent companion to Mary Oliver's devotions.  I don't have that but I  find the poems they referenced.

Here it is Thursday and I am finally doing what I said I was going to do every day during Advent - a daily devotional.  Maybe this is a beginning and I will continue after this.  I hope so.  It is so good for my spirit and my soul.

I take notes from the scripture and the reading: 

The Kingdom is near

Be Alert

"To pay attention is our endless and proper work"  - a quote from Mary Oliver's poem "Yes No"

Be on guard against being consumed with the worries of this life.

I sit and breathe it all in and feel awe just looking at the scene in front of me.  

I read another poem by Mary Oliver - "On thy wondrous works I will meditate (Psalm 145)" which begins:

"So it is not hard to understand

where God's body is, it is 

Everywhere and everything: shore and the vast 

Fields of water, the accidental and the intended

Over here, over there.  And I bow down

Participate and attentive

It is so dense and apparent.  ....."

I wish I could put into words the fullness within me just to spend a few moments like this.  Remembering that God is here and  I can  trust and let go.   

Whatever I write and whatever I say is inadequate.   John comes by on his way to blowing the leaves off the deck and I read what I have written to him and he kisses me and tells me that he loves me.  It is all so good.  At the same time  I have to shut down the voices that say - you are wasting time - you  are pretending to be spiritual - why haven't you done this more?  

The scene that surrounds me in this beautiful home  has a wildness and a desolation.  There are few leaves left on the trees and they are brown and moving in the breeze.  The sky is mottled with a faint line of pink on the horizon.  

I am so aware during this season of my own blessings and privilege.  I continue to be haunted by the events of October 6 and the brutality of Hamas against the Israelis in Gaza.  As some hostages are freed we learn about the inhuman conditions in which they were held and the reality that more people are captive and may never be released.  

So, my devotions come and remind me that God is everywhere - everywhere.  In the wonder of this chapter in my life and in the tunnels underneath hospitals in Gaza.  God is everywhere.  I trust that and live in despair and hope at the same time.  And wait. 

"Be alert" Jesus says.  "To pay attention is our endless and proper work"  writes Mary Oliver.

It is Advent.  A time of waiting and preparation.

Advent

This is my favorite time of the year.  Advent - the four weeks before our celebration of Christmas, a time of waiting and preparation.  Those are the words I would say every year to the congregation to try to explain. What I have learned is that every year is different and this year is no exception.  This year I am aware of the ways in which  new traditions intersect with the old.

  A year ago I sold my house in Columbus and gave away and threw away a whole lot of Christmas decorations.  The artificial tree that I used to set up with my grandchildren is gone  - as are some lights, candles, crosses, nativities, dishes, ornaments, and pictures.  This is a new chapter and John and I are establishing - slowly and somewhat intentionally - new traditions.  Last year we bought two birch Christmas trees with sparkling lights that sit in the living room.  We also got two reindeer that are on the hearth.  An ornament that from  Germany is on the trees as well as candy canes.  There are stockings with our names on them in front of the fireplace. This is a  beginning.

Also on the hearth is a nativity that my mother bought me fifty some years ago.  The pieces are somewhat plain and carved out of wood  and housed in a "stable" with a straw roof on it.  Over the years many of the pieces have disappeared - including baby Jesus.  We are missing a cow, a shepherd and a sheep for sure. There was one year that one of the girls put a ransom note on the manger saying that Jesus had been kidnapped.  I guess you had to be there.  I bought a new baby and manger in Israel that is made of olive wood and it is very meaningful to me.   I also added a large angel over the top of the stable.  I love it for its imperfections and all of my memories of putting it up and putting it down every year.  Sometimes with my daughters, other times with grandchildren and often alone.

Advent for me is really about waiting for Jesus to be born again.  Or to show up.   I love the imagery of the story.  I love the angels that come to Mary and the Shepherds.  I love the dreams that guide  Joseph and the Wise men.  I love the star in the sky that leads the Wise men -  first to Jerusalem and the court of Herod the corrupt and duplicitous King -  and eventually to this humble place where Mary cares for her baby.   I love the song "Mary did you know" and believe  that she did not know at all what was ahead for this child or for herself.  She is a picture of faith -  doing the next thing you are called to do even when you don't know.  You just trust.  

It is often in reflection that we see how the events came together so perfectly to take us in new directions that change our lives and the lives of other people.  But most of the time we live in "I don't know" about the future and just try to take the next step that appears. 

Yesterday morning I stood at the window looking out at Hoover Reservoir which I could not see.  There was a misty fog and I could only see  the bare trees, the leaves on the ground, the  chairs silhouetted against the white haze.  I thought that this is my life this  Advent.  As we put our lives together, as we live with health questions, as we wonder what is coming next we wait.  Waiting for the mist to clear, waiting to see what is next, waiting for the picture to fill in.  

Advent is my favorite time of the year.  The waiting in the darkness at times but always waiting in hope.

 

 

Beside Still Waters

My favorite place is sitting on a chair that faces Hoover Reservoir.  In the morning we sit and listen to “Pray as You Go” and   I write in my journal.  In the evening we often  watch the sun go down.  We are usually quiet - just looking at the scene in front of us.

I’ve learned sitting at Hoover is different every day..  The water itself changes almost moment by moment.  Sometimes it is like a mirror, other times there are little waves or ripples, or it can look like stripes  or even a checkerboard . Kayaks come and go, fishermen wave, an occasional paddle board or pontoon appears.  The watercraft big and small stir the water and leave  streaks and lines on the surface.

We see and hear the birds - the gulls, the ospreys, the ducks, the cormorons,  the egrets, the herons. The eagles.  They come and go and startle us with their grandeur or amuse us with their sounds or amaze us with an unmoving pose on a rock.   

The sky overhead changes with the wind and the weather.  Sometimes mottled grey, other times bright(sky?)  blue, the clouds resembling fluffy  cotton balls or ominous mist.   The birds float and fly, dive and soar and  I sit and watch and see it all.

I think to myself that this is life:  We are interconnected and we affect one another.  Like the wind affects the water, and the water affects the boats. And all of it affects me!

And nothing stays the same  - nothing. I call to John to come see a bird and it is gone.  The sunset is going to be glorious I think and ten minutes later it has dissipated.  I take a picture but it can never capture the subtle colors or the  varied textures found in nature. This is my refuge.

Last Sunday I was so happy to share it with my family.  Following our celebration on Saturday, we  sat in a semi circle  facing  the reservoir and each other.   Geoff and Vicky, Wayne and Gail, Tom, Audrey, Dawn and Jason,  and me and John.  It was a lazy Sunday afternoon conversation - talking about  kids and grandkids, our health and a little bit of politics.  We ate watermelon and savored the blessedness of the weekend.

I brought out the blocks of wood that contain advice for us - the  septegenarian and octogenarian newlyweds.  Each person reads a couple  and we build a tower together.   We laugh at some advice, and nod wisely at other suggestions.

Yes separate bathrooms are good

So is letting Margot play pickleball whenever she wants

And we appreciate the admonitions  to Moisturize and  to  not to get pregnant

Maybe the best ones are the simplest:  Listen, breathe,. Cuddle, say “I love you every day..”

When we are all done we admire the  building that has been constructed  and then Audrey starts the game of Jenga.  It is the perfect game for us.

As each person takes a turn, they remove a block and then carefully, carefully place it on the building.   We want to get it as high as possible.  We work together.

We want the game to go on as long  as it can.   We want the structure to grow.

I look at the faces of my beloved family watching  each person gingerly removing a block - they are smiling and anxious and we are all  rooting for them.  It is as if we cannot breathe for a moment as  our creation moves precariously in the wind. 

We go through one round and everyone gets to play. Then we start into round two.   It  becomes clear that it is harder and harder to find available blocks to remove.  Eventually my brother removes a  block but every time he goes to place it, the whole thing wobbles.  His wife joins him and they try to hold it together but of course, it falls apart.  There is much  laughter followed by everyone literally picking up the  pieces.

These are my people and this is my new home.  We have found a respite this afternoon together savoring the blessing of a summer afternoon and each other.  We each  have lived through and carry the struggles of life within us - a failing business, cancer, family estrangements, broken relationships, financial troubles, addicted children.

And like the scene before us  we know that we are interconnected and our lives will always affect each other.  We will support and encourage each other knowing that nothing will stay the same.  We are a family.

A Four Fold Franciscan Blessing

I saw this on facebook and don't want to lose it!

 

Four-Fold Franciscan blessing…

May God bless you with a restless discomfort about easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships, so that you may seek truth boldly and love deep within your heart. 

 May God bless you with holy anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may tirelessly work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.

 May God bless you with the gift of tears to shed with those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, or the loss of all that they cherish, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and transform their pain into joy. 

 May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you really can make a difference in this world, so that you are able, with God’s grace, to do what others claim cannot be done.

 

Family Matters

 

Family Matters

This morning my brother sent me his late wife’s electronic diary - notes on the summer of 94.  That was the summer that my dad was dying although we didn’t realize it for a long time.

He had been stricken with a bout of pancreatitis in April of that year while visiting the west coast.  He ended up being hospitalized in California.  My mother’s sister and her husband, Sam and Shirley,  drove down from Mukilteo Washington and stayed in a motel for at least a week to support my mother through this difficult time.

Finally, he was strong enough to fly home to Southern Shores North Carolina and their retirement home.  That spring he continued to be in pain and lose weight and endure lots of testing.  Eventually, it was decided that he had cancer in his colon.  In June, Eighteen year old Marnie and I drove there to be with my mother during the operation.  It was strange to see my 6’3” father who was always larger than life in a weakened condition.  We believed that he would soon recover and be back to being his golf playing, barbershop singing, and always joking self.

We saw him again in July as we went down to vacation at the beach.  He was hospitalized again as there was still something wrong.  He told me that he had cancer - they just didn’t know what kind.  I was sure he was wrong - they had found the cancer and it was curable. 

My sister in law’s diary picks up the story in  August as he was again in the hospital in Norfolk.  For two weeks there are lots of notations about phone calls among us sharing the information that trickled in about his condition.  We lived all over the country - I was in Ohio, Wayne in Maryland, Geoff in New York and my sister Ellen in California. 

My mother, who was receiving chemo for her ovarian cancer during this time, would call one of us and report what the doctor said and then we would inform each other.  It was August 18^th that she called me and said that the doctor “can’t prove it but he’s sure Pop has pancreatic cancer.”  The diary reads: “Margot called Ellen.  Wayne called Geoff. “ We kept each other informed all the way.

What the diary reminded me was how my siblings were coming and going to North Carolina.  I was pastoring in Bowling Green and made plans to come in mid September.  Per my brother Wayne’s suggestion, the week before my father died, I abandoned the lectionary and preached from the heart.  I still have that sermon.

The beginning of September we knew that the end was coming.  On September 2nd my mother called  and said plaintively :  “I said good bye to him and went home.  And he did not die.”  I had been convinced that I did not need to say goodbye:   I loved him and I knew he loved me.  After that phone call, I changed my mind and made arrangements to have someone else preach on Labor Day weekend and immediately flew into Norfolk.

September 3^rd  I saw my Dad for the last time.  My sister in law’s diary described him:

“He lies in bed with his mouth permanently open.  His head is very thin and with his teeth very prominent, his visage is almost skeletal.” 

But he was my Dad and I told him I loved him and read to him from the Bible - John 14: 1-6 which includes - “In my fathers house are many rooms, I go to prepare a place for you.”  Six years later I would read the same passage at my mother’s bedside.

Then Wayne and Mom and I left Norfolk and drove  back to Southern Shores. I ended up sleeping on the couch in the living room and at 1 am  answered the phone as the nurse informed me that he had passed away.  My mom woke up and we stayed up for a few more hours talking and crying.  It was a night - and a week - that I will never forget.

The dying and death of my father is probably a touchstone for me in understanding the enormous gift of family.  Carol writes this:

“Every child had a role to play.  Wayne was an organizer of lists (food, lodging, flowers, who to call, what to do) accompanied his mother to the funeral home and probate office, and at the request of Margot developed and delivered a short personal speech about Pop at the Memorial Service.  Margot has been the spiritual and grieving advisor to her mom and siblings.  Geoff did a lot of prep in the week he was there and will take over the payment of medical bills and Mom Mom’s Dupont affairs.  Ellen convinced Mom Mom to get rid of both cars and buy a new one..  I did the food and flowers.”

My mother’s sister and her husband were invaluable at the beginning of this journey and she stayed with my mother for a month after the funeral.    We siblings held each other up and together throughout all the questions and confusion of long distance concern for our beloved dad  and the pain and grief of his  funeral.

As I look back, I wish I had done more and been more available and aware of  my mother’s pain and  fear and grief throughout it all. At the same time, I recognize  my brothers and sisters filled the gaps taking turns checking in and visiting and caring for Dad and Mom.  I live in gratitude to have a family that knows how to show up and be present in the hardest time.

It is true - Family matters.

New Beginnings

A week ago John and I got married.  Our minister, Tim Ahrens, came out to the house and we stood on "Spearhead Point" and said our vows to each other facing Hoover Reservoir.  It was an intimate and meaningful service for both of us.

Afterward we shared a glass of champagne with our pastor.  That evening we saw all the girls and grandkids and shared our news and champagne again.  A day later Kacey posted the news on facebook and now most everybody has heard.

A friend from college, recently widowed texted me this yesterday: "I so admire you for the courage to remarry.  Well done!"

There is no question that it takes courage to begin again in a new relationship.  Especially at our ages.  Both John and I have had to make accommodations as we have gotten to know each other over the past year and a half.  I won't go into the difference between us, but they are there.  For example,  one of us is quieter by nature and more particular in how things are done.  I won't tell which one.  I have a large family and he has been introduced to everyone through several  road trips and all the family holidays that are always noisy and game filled.  We have been to six weddings in a year and John has had to meet lot and lots of new people through me.

We have found much that we have in common. We also have joined a church together and usually our Sundays are worship, lunch, a movie and reading the New York Times together.  We have found a peace and harmony in our daily life and I am aware of what a great team we make as we face the issues of life together. 

I am happy to love again and have someone who loves me.  I am happy to have someone to care for as well.  I found this Poem by Mary Oliver who expresses how I feel about this rare blessing of "Late in life love." It feels like a gift and we both believe that somehow God has brought us together.   We celebrate the new beginning and do NOT want to take our miracle for granted.

Not Anyone Who Says by Mary Oliver

Not anyone who says, “I’m going to be
careful and smart in matters of love,”
who says, “I’m going to choose slowly,”
but only those lovers who didn’t choose at all
but were, as it were, chosen
by something invisible and powerful and uncontrollable
and beautiful and possibly even
unsuitable —
only those know what I’m talking about
in this talking about love.