Small Moments of Grace

Connected

2011-12-22T09:57:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I experienced a slew of miracles. Well, not what you might consider miracles, but pure moments of blessing and connection and awareness of God’s participation in my day. And they all involved people.

I set off early for an emotionally loaded day-long task – to collect remaining items from the house my family has just left, without intention of human interaction. Instead, I had a series of beautiful encounters with people, and every single one of them strengthened me and reassured me that no matter where we go, God presents opportunities to give and receive love. Sometimes with people we’ve known for decades, and sometimes with people we’ve never met. Even though I am leaving the community in which I have lived for 16 years, I know that it continues, it comes with me, and it will meet me in my new place.

I dropped by a friend’s house unexpectedly, and she welcomed me in. Her daughter gleefully dragged me to the back yard to see her new playhouse. I felt so honored that this child invited me into her world. I kicked off my shoes, climbed the ladder, and marveled at the Christmas tree installed in the tiny little room. I’m a fifty year old woman, but felt like I’d been invited to be eight again. I gazed out over the neighborhood gardens, then climbed across the rope netting and slid down the twirly slide. Then I went inside and joined her mom for tea, heard from her brother about Christmas gifts he’d made, and met their grandparents. And I felt so blessed and welcomed and connected.

Later that afternoon I prepared for the long drive back, after finishing some very hectic and dirty work. My neighbor across the street invited me to meet her newborn son and her mother visiting from Mexico. I was embarrassed at how dirty and harried I looked, but I went over. To admire this exquisite sleeping infant, embrace his proud and excited young mother, and talk about faith and community in Spanish with her lovely mother I’d never met before, standing there in my dusty sweaty clothes... It was humbling and wonderful.

The whole day was like that. My 92 year old Buddhist neighbor who sent me off with a “Merry Christmas!”; the phone conversation as I drove home with a friend of 35 years; a rose in my car from a long-time “sister” who has been present through our decision to move and through whom we were led to the house we are settling into; the millions of people on the roads and highways all trying to get home and ready for the holidays. God filled my world with people, and if I’m paying attention, I recognize what an amazing potential gift each of them is.

In the church, we use the word “communion” in several ways, without recognizing that they are the same meaning. Some refer to the bread and wine as “communion” – if they haven’t received the elements, they “haven’t had communion”. Some refer to the mystical union between God and human as “communion” – an experience of an individual relationship with the divine. Some refer to a “communion” as a specific subset of people, which implies exclusion of someone – “the Anglican communion”, or the “communion of the baptized”. And it’s such a rarefied word, so “set apart”, so “Sunday best”. The image I have of Jesus, however, is of God connected. With everyone and everything. Jesus creates relationship like German and Mexican grandmothers bake cookies. He shows up in community, a much better meaning for “communion”. Nothing polished, no fancy clothes, no qualification of who “rates” love, no language or ethnicity or condition of life to be rejected. Each week we accept a wide open invitation to share bread and wine together because God showed up in person to see to it that we knew Him well enough to adore him, and each other. That’s a meal I will never tire of sharing -- with you.

Morning

2010-03-12T06:29:00.000-08:00

I rise before dawn to sit with God in the water and say goodnight to the stars. Thick clouds roll in from the southwest, bringing rain for this afternoon. A white-hot sliver of moon kisses my eye and climbs quickly behind the gray, and where the sky peeks through, my personal shade of blue pales into the one the birds prefer. The moon has gone, but rosy clouds and lightening skies assure me the sun still shines. The callas and the tulips knew all along, and smile good morning.

An old cowboy tipped his hat to me today

2010-03-11T14:25:00.000-08:00

An old cowboy tipped his hat to me today, and with that silent act of grace he blessed my day. A quiet man, sitting out to watch the sky, frost still on the grass of his mother’s suburban home. She died last week, at 92, and we are the keepers of her stories. He has stories too, though I don’t know them. I only know my friend loved her son, and that is enough to be his friend.

Lee’s a poet, and a cowboy, complete with the Marlboro and the match. He’s here from Rocklin to bid Lillian goodbye, and Sandy, a mustang he has gentled, waits for his return. His Rocklin used to be open pastures and bright blue sky, but it has changed. I was just there this past weekend. Now it’s full of new houses and new stores, and busy families just trying to make their way. Trying to live their stories out, learning to love and forgive and tell the truth, just as Lillian and Al did here so many years ago. I am grateful for these new stories too, and the privilege of witnessing them. Regular folks in the heroic quests of life. A young man valiantly making his way through the high school play even though he’s lost his voice – which spoke louder than words to me. Others snort coke at the corner before their college classes begin – if that gets them through class, what will get them through life? What will their stories be – and who will hear them?

Lee will go north after we celebrate Lillian’s life and friendship, bound not for Rocklin, but North Dakota, taking his parents home in small boxes. This is likely to be his final quest. His own health is not very good. He’s found peace, though, and grace to share. I’m just glad I stopped to say “Hi”, and sorry that I did not have more time, to hear his stories, and see his sky. I was rushing off all too quickly, off to work, where I love children and teach them to love stories.

Thus the Monkey Paints the Mona Lisa

2009-09-22T18:10:00.001-07:00

Ok, so I'm crazy. And this is what my dining room wall looks like right now.

After years of meaning to put a mural on that wall, and "knowing just what it should look like" but not having a specific image, I have boldly stepped out into space and started painting on the wall. It will reveal itself. John is away for three days. As he left for the airport, he was nervously amused that I was painting the upper half of a freshly primed wall blue. That was the easy part. I'm going in stages here, and today's stage was geology. I'm not crazy about the green mountain to the center right, but it's growing on me. If ever in my life I had a chance to move a mountain, today's the day!

Tomorrow, we shall make the vegetation...

In the morning, my gal-pals will come over, and they are kind enough not to laugh. They are more talented than I. I'm just crazy enough to paint on my wall without a clue (or training). Can you tell? Tee hee.

This is actually very fun, and what's the worst that could happen? If it reeks, and it won't, I can just paint over it.

25 Things About Me

2009-02-02T10:13:00.000-08:00

I put this together because several of my nefarious friends tagged me on Facebook. Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. For what it's worth, this is what I came up with.

1. If 15-20 years ago you had described who I am today to who I was then, I would have laughed.

2. I am married to the finest man I know. We’ve been through hell together. We think completely differently and agree about very little. He really is the best gift I’ve ever been given. I met him in Moscow (but he's American).

3. I have four kids – two bio, two adopted. They are all spectacular, and completely unalike. Each has their own way of making me crazy.

4. By the time I graduated from college, I had moved 13 times, living in 8 countries, on 5 continents.

5. I have been able to speak English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese well, German and Russian poorly, get by in Italian, and curse in Chinese and Arabic. At this point, everything’s rusty – must travel more.

6. Presently, I edit for two leadership consulting firms, and do almost full-time lay ministry within the Episcopal Church. A very non-traditional Episcopal church.

7. Faith (not dogma) is my interpretive filter. My faith is compiled from many influences and dialogues, and although I am a committed Christian, I have a great deal of respect and gratitude for other traditions. Our God loves diversity, as well as unity.

8. When we lived in Arlington, I took my tiny sons to witness firsthand the inaugurations of two presidents. I really wish I could have taken all my children to witness and applaud the inauguration of President Obama this year.

9. I am a happy dilettante in several hobbies: weaving; machine and hand knitting; spinning; and organic gardening. I belong to several guilds just to learn from some incredibly talented people. I love color and texture.

10. My vices are books, yarn, and plants. I ask for horse manure for my birthday and Christmas, but somehow no one takes me seriously.

11. I dye my hair. I think I’m missing my opportunity to have stunning “salt and pepper” hair. I just have salt and pepper roots.

12. When I was 15, on a ranch in Argentina, I was on a runaway horse and rescued by a gorgeous gaucho named Guenther. Fact.

13. My senior year in high school in Brazil, I applied to only one school (UC-Berkeley) and was accepted. My parents panicked, and “asked” me to find somewhere else. My classmate Julio Castellanos had visited William & Mary and said it was beautiful in the snow. So I ended up at William & Mary.

14. While in college, my summer jobs were at the National Zoo, managing (people)food service stands.

15. In 2000, I had cancer and my thyroid was removed. I went from being a first soprano to a tenor. I still haven’t adjusted. I also can’t yell really loud anymore, which is probably a good thing.

16. I knew I was meant to adopt children when I was 6 years old. We didn’t actually do so until 33 years later. Everything in the interim was preparatory.

17. I want to turn our suburban house into a micro-farm, including a few chickens. Don’t tell John.

18. I have one brother. He’s turned out pretty well.

19. I like to get lost. My kids laugh about it, and it drives my husband crazy. You see and learn a lot more by getting lost. I don’t drive around aimlessly, but I’m quite comfortable not always knowing where I am and what time I’ll reach my destination.

20. Each year I take a large group camping in Big Sur for a week. Very low on amenities, very high on fun. The ones who can’t handle the camping leave after dinner and stay in a nearby inn. I hang out with great cooks, and we always eat very well.

21. Five years ago I left Big Sur for a camping road trip through the Pacific Northwest, with my children and two additional kids. Then a friend and her two kids joined us, then another, then another family. By the time we reached Seattle we were 16 people in four cars. We made it to Victoria, Vancouver, Whistler and back, and are all still speaking to each other. I transported friends' children across national borders without passports or notes from their parents -- can't do that anymore!

22. I believe in generosity as a spiritual practice. Tipping and giving things away is important. It’s not ours anyway.

23. I know the power of a good teacher and a positive word. In 1976, Geri de Souza told me that I was an effective writer, and I have believed it ever since. Thank you, Geri.

24. I am more of a student now than I was in high school, college or grad school. I love to read, and I love to dive into new information and figure out how it intersects with, or challenges, what I’ve encountered before.

25. I am allergic to mangoes, apparently because I ate more than my share. I guess that’s fair, but I still wish I could have more.

We Are One

2009-01-18T16:58:00.000-08:00

Time to start again. And what better way than with a celebration of unity and mutual commitment, of communal celebration, and of prayerfully raising up a new leader who calls us all to responsibility and service. Whatever isn’t right in the world, we are capable of answering with our best.

I would love to be in DC this weekend. My heart is there. I so desire to participate in the gathering, in the fellowship, in the respect for this historic moment. Watching from afar, living vicariously through friends who still live in the city I know so well, loving this moment. Years ago, I took my babies, now adults, to witness two presidents inaugurated, one I had voted for, one I had not. Those were big deals; this is so much more to me. This is my world, where there is unity between people who have been brothers and sisters and not always known it. Where everyone is at the party, and all are welcome. Even though I’m here, in California, my heart is there, and I am so grateful to everyone gathered there to mark this moment and “represent”.
I don’t kid myself that all is right in the world, that the future will be smooth, that we are a nation in which grace and justice and wisdom have won the culture. But they have won this day, and maybe one day at a time, we can live into our best selves and our nation’s premise.

Today, life is very good. Blessed, in fact. What a beautiful day.

All the best to you during the days and months to come!

Happy New Year!

2009-01-12T09:50:00.000-08:00

We wish you all the best this year! From us to you, much love, and prayers for your wellbeing and joy! We apologize if we haven’t been in touch, but that’s how chaotic life is – we know how long it has been since we sent out Christmas cards, because we moved three and a half years ago and we are still getting holiday cards at our previous address! (We have a REALLY forgiving postal carrier.) All that changed is the street number – we moved down the street, that’s all! But we’ve been here for a while and the house puts up with our rowdy life, and we are very happy in it. Come visit, and don’t expect clean.

Our life still revolves very much around our kids and their various activities. They fill our time, and our home has a 24-hour assortment of young people coming and going. Fun, but food disappears quickly and the den’s always a mess. Life is good.

Richard, 20, has transferred from the University of the Pacific to San Jose State. He’s been living at home, combining classes and working for a bicycle shop, and he will be moving onto campus shortly. He’s doing the hard work of figuring out how to take responsibility for growing up, sometimes under pressure. We’re proud of him, and he’s moving forward. Usually very fast, in a red 21-year-old BMW that he rebuilt from the tires up.

Andrew, 18, is at Oregon State, where he is on a Marine Corps ROTC scholarship. When he’s home, he works for Stanford as a security guard (and on Christmas night interrupted a burglary in progress!). His decision to pursue the USMC route sparked some “lively” discussions between his lefty Christian pacifist mother and former Marine father, but we think all the relationships will survive. Andrew is thriving in Corvallis, and spends time shoveling horse stalls and riding in the mountains with Jen’s Aunt Carol and Uncle Mike – leaving those of us down in Mountain View jealous.

Julia is in eighth grade. She is a phenomenal athlete, and her forte is soccer. Given that she’s interested in boys and clothes and hair and makeup, we keep her REALLY busy with sports. We’re having all the age-appropriate struggles about low-rise jeans and makeup and whether to actually do assigned homework. She will get through this, and so will we. At least she loves athletics, so there’s something we can be on the same side about. She’s very fortunate to have a great support network of dedicated teachers, coaches, and “aunts”.

Ana – well, you wouldn’t recognize her. From a tiny, watchful, cute little imp, she has become a rowdy, confident instigator and tiger. It must come from being the youngest. She is also a whole-hearted athlete, active in competitive soccer, and an enthusiastic student. She’s entering a phase where the rowdiness is occasionally excessive, but with two older brothers to egg her on, we just have to wait it out… In the meantime, she and Julia take hours to work together on their appearance, when they aren’t arguing relentlessly.

John is still leading ProHorizons, which is undergoing major strategic growth right now. There was rumor of him taking a month sabbatical in February, which I really looked forward to, but that plan evolved into some other company-development idea. It feels odd for the business to be scaling up when the rest of the economy is uncertain and scaling down, but that’s what’s happening. Other than that, John continues to coach youth soccer, for the 8th straight year. Even though our girls have moved up to higher levels, John still coaches regular season and tournament AYSO soccer, and it brings out the best in him.

John’s mom, Ann, moved here from Florida three and a half years ago, and she has been in very fragile health. At first, she lived in a senior community here in Mountain View, then in an assisted living facility in Sunnyvale, and now in a very good skilled nursing facility, with all-too-frequent sojourns in the hospital. Ann is now essentially in hospice care, and it has been a subdued Thanksgiving/Christmas season for our family. John’s sister Debbie was able to come visit shortly before Thanksgiving, and we have been able to spend time with Ann almost daily.

I juggle, though not always well. My priority continues to be lay leadership – trying to help other people find, develop, and leverage their God-given potential. I work within St. Tim’s and the Episcopal Diocese of El Camino Real in various capacities, and volunteer at an elementary school. For pay (very important!), I edit executive evaluations for a business consultant, which keeps me busy and thinking about effective leadership. My other interests remain fiber arts (weaving, machine knitting, and spinning) and organic gardening, though I claim no expertise; I do, however, get to hang around in guilds with amazingly talented artists and gardeners, and drink from the fire hydrants of their knowledge. My primary vices are books, yarn, horse manure, and The Economist.

We still have Bagheera, the “large” black cat, who is now ageing and cranky. She’s especially cranky because Simba, the feisty ginger tabby, has joined us, and he delights in taunting her. We also have fish – you know, the “feeder fish” children win at carnivals that survive in a water pitcher for a month so you buy the aquarium setup, then they die? Well, two years along, Troilus and Cressida have not died but grown into rather splendid large goldfish. Friends of Andrew’s have also graced us with Kornally, the only colorless betta in existence. My aunt and uncle just sent us a fish training kit to teach them soccer and various other sports. I’m thinking of building T&C a pond outside, to see how big they grow. Do not bring home fish from carnivals.

There have been other highlights this past year. In February, we took a sailing/ecology education vacation in the British Virgin Islands, which was fantastic. In April I went to a family reunion in New Orleans, which was a rare treat and a chance to spend time with people I love, but see infrequently. We have also been able to get up to Oregon on several occasions for visits to my parents, Aunt Carol & Uncle Mike (and the horses), Andrew, and a couple of conferences in Portland. We didn’t camp at Big Sur this year, but wildfires there spared the campground and we will be going next August. My brother Hugh and sister-in-law Heidi, John’s sister Debbie, and my parents have all been here for welcome visits. With all respect to those who do feel otherwise, the Presidential election was for us a profoundly hopeful and exultant moment. We are very proud of this country, and eager to participate in its renewal.

We wish you the best, and hope that you are well and that life is giving you good but not overwhelming challenges. May your families prosper, may your children and pursuits bring you joy, and may you have enough in your life to share.

I hate to slow down!

2007-03-05T13:37:00.000-08:00

I believe in Lent. That doesn’t necessary mean I observe it particularly well.

Some years I’m so clear and faith-aligned -- I move deeper into disciplined listening, and I drink every drop of the readings I’ve chosen, and I wrestle with all my demons, in preparation to feel every pang of Holy Week and rise in ecstasy at Easter. And it’s all sincere. Don’t choke, y’all.

This year, I seem to be challenging Lent to find me and chase me down. I still haven’t surrendered to anything. I definitely still have my head up my a**, which is pretty obvious by my “effort vs. outcome” ratio. If I am drowning in all my interests, desires, and commitments, there’s really only one person who can do anything about that. I’m mature enough not to flail around and yell, “Somebody save me!” but apparently not wise enough to swim out of the current. Which means… I must be deriving some benefit from being overextended and ineffective. Hmmm. We’ll have to look at that.

There are plenty of people who are genuinely beset by circumstances that threaten to crush them. Right now, I am not one of them (unless you count hubris). The more I do my own thing, the less perceptive I am of what God is doing today, and the less responsive I am to go where I am called to be of any value. And you know, really, the more useless I am.

Lent – the antidote to futility. I figure I’ve already wasted a week and a half. Just how much futility does a girl need?

Contents may have shifted...

2007-02-19T23:00:00.000-08:00

We flew into Kona Saturday night, joining friends here for a week together on Hawaii. So far so good. Each of my kids has a friend their age to play with, and we’re having fun designing great meals and excursions together.

The day started well. We bought enough groceries yesterday to open a restaurant, so this morning everyone made their way in and chose their perfect breakfast. We decided on a beach to conquer, and packed lunches and snacks. We are ten people. This is a production.

So by eleven (island time), I’m sitting on Hapuna Beach. Life is very good. Knitting, novel, and kids on boogie boards. Peggy is connected by cell to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, vicariously enjoying the party there. Whales making intermittent appearances beyond the swimmers. Please, don’t feel sorry for me. The passion fruit smoothie got a little messy…

On the way back to Keauhou, I started to work through my wish list of what I hoped to do and see while we’re here. Not a long list, but a few things. Cloud forest, volcano, whale watch, snorkeling, a couple of restaurants. Buy a pair of flip-flops (one cannot say thongs anymore, and expect footwear). I just figure when traveling in a group this big, it helps to get everyone’s hopes out on the table at the beginning, rather than the end of trip. Then we can go home glad to have had each other along.

It was supremely helpful to have them here this evening, when John had to go to the emergency room.

Do not try this at home. Do not try this anywhere. John slipped on wet tile and sailed down several sharp steps, his foot and ankle twisted beneath him. Instantly, Mr. Former Marine turned into a gasping, crying, screaming mess. With a little cooperation, we were able to get him into the car and off to the hospital. This is how to see the real Hawaii.

I’m here to tell you, Hawaiian hospitality extends to the local health care infrastructure. The good people at Kona Community Hospital are very nice. My husband was relieved he didn’t break his ankle and foot. He's on crutches for the duration. We’ll see how much of the above-named wish list survives. Poor baby.

I'm Warped...

2007-02-16T16:06:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I warped the loom. Several projects have been whispering to me, all on very textured yarns that would work better as weft than as warp. I finally carved out enough time Saturday to wind off a warp of fine black merino that could carry each of these yarns, and warped the loom. That would be time-consuming enough for an experienced weaver. I’m not an experienced weaver. I’ve only warped this loom three times, and each time I find new ways to make it more complicated than it has to be. It probably doesn’t help that I wind off long warps, to combine projects. The longer it is, the more likely it will be unevenly tensioned, or tangle. Despite my best efforts, it did both. By the time I had finished, I had run all ten yards through the heddles to help untangle it, and back, to roll it onto the beam at a consistent, even tension. SecondSon, who is sixteen, helped intermittently, and I think he actually enjoyed the process. To look at it now, you would never know I made a mess.

The first project, loosely intended as a stole for a friend if it turns out well, is beautiful. It kind of looks like a mermaid costume. Weaving confines the mohair haze and lets different colors and sparkles show up. Greens and turquoises and deep blues. I loved the yarn in a ball -- I love it even more as a fabric. Yesterday morning I got up before dawn, and watched the sky lighten and the sun rise, as I wove. I didn’t know whether to look up or look down.

Yesterday was a fantastic day. Every once in a while, I just feel privileged to live this life. Anyone else probably thinks I’m bizarre, but I’m being blessed in the commodities that mean the most to me. In the span of a single day, I got to: weave for an hour and a half and watch the sun rise; listen to a gospel read whole; drive to Monterey; agree to write an article explaining stewardship; translate for two Spanish-speaking priests; drive down the Salinas Valley – my idea of heaven; sit over teriyaki chicken and help a mission priest envision new life for a church that was dead; then return home to find that some of my best friends were waiting with cake and gifts for my birthday-to-come. Yesterday will be hard to top.

Weekend in Mendocino

2007-02-03T21:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we ditched. John and I entrusted the kids to my parents, cut out of our numerous responsibilities, and drove up to Mendocino. It is rare for the two of us to go to the movies together, much less go away for a weekend. I’ve been wanting to come up here for years, and finally just made it happen. Mendocino has not disappointed us.

We had our fine dining experience of the year last night, then walked outside looking at stars, with the full moon shining through tall pines. That alone was worth the trip.

Inevitably, when we go out – to the movies or “away” – we go to some heavy war movie and end up completely stunned and subdued. John suggested “Babel” this evening, which I vetoed, so he spent the evening recounting Fields of Fire to me. I love this man, but a romantic he is not. Dinner tonight was takeout sandwiches, cookies, and a bottle of wine from the general store. But no war movie.

I snuck a little fiber retreat into the weekend. I don’t think John has noticed. Yesterday, I set up the spinning wheel and plied some lavender silk/rayon. I still cannot produce a consistent yarn. The important thing is I am enjoying the process, and I’m improving (I hereby so decree).

Today, I made my way through The Magic of Handweaving, which I enjoyed. I didn’t bring the loom, so we have no way of knowing whether I really learned anything. I also knit endlessly on the teal ribbed shell. I cannot knit, watch scenery, and sip coffee at the same time, so I had to rip back repeatedly because I had neglected to decrease. Same mistake, at least four times. Let’s not go there.

And there is swag. Of course there is swag. Mendocino has a wonderful yarn shop. How could I not go in?

This is Chasing Rainbows tencel/merino in the Madrona colorway, by a local fiber artist. The lighting in here does not do it justice. It is like jewelry. I don’t have a weakness for jewelry. I have a weakness for yarn. I’m happy.

We drove up the coast today – so beautiful. Here’s proof. We spotted whales, or possibly the same whale several times. We walked out to Point Cabrillo lighthouse and back. John is really not interested in owl pellets or coyote and wildcat droppings -- what is wrong with this man? He is more worried about whether I’m going to walk over the edge of a cliff.

The full moon and the stars are out there again. Beautiful. (That's a secret greeting to my godson in Virginia...)

Human Sacrifice, or Living Sacrifice?

2007-01-26T17:09:00.000-08:00

Flying home yesterday, I met a young man for whom I will be praying for a very long time. Nineteen years old, from a small city on a bayou in Southern Louisiana, he’d never been on an airplane before. He was extremely anxious, and I assured him that we were banking normally as the plane took altitude. He’d never been north where it was cold either, and didn’t own a coat. I asked where he was headed, and whether he was visiting family. “No, ma’am. I’m on my way to St. Louis, for Basic Training.” In nine weeks, he will go on to field artillery training. After that, he did not need to say. He confided that he didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he enlisted. His mom didn’t take it very well. The Army was going to give him $40,000. When is the last time you had a chance to sell yourself for $40,000, in a town where 30% of the population lives under the poverty line? I suggested that even if it was tough to set aside any of his income to qualify for education benefits, he should do it, and go to college. He looked stunned. “I don’t want to go to school.” “You might want to later. Give yourself that option.”

He gave me his name. I will not forget his beautiful, clear, terrified eyes. I will not forget that he cried when I called him by his first name and gently noted that he would be known only by his last name from here on out. I assured him that he would do well, and with a sense that he needed to hear it, that God would be with him every step of the way. I told him I hoped we would do right by him. From now on, my face on the troops in Iraq is a young Cajun named Tommy. I pray that we help him find a future, not a nightmare. I pray that we will not sacrifice him in our name.

I met another young man during this trip, when we offered ourselves to help with New Orleans cleanup and relief. For the last eight months, Sam has been leading crews of volunteers organized through the Episcopal church as they gut houses flooded following Hurricane Katrina. From Michigan, Sam graduated last year from college, and declined a teaching job to come do this work. Sensitively, wisely, gently, he shepherds people of all ages and circumstances to work together and find meaning in some very unpleasant but necessary work, quietly and discreetly doing the worst of it himself. He coached us how to approach what we would do, and gave us context and closure when we were done. He was mentoring a young woman to lead, and I’m sure he has trained many others. He provides first aid to volunteers who get hurt – ask me how I know, and interfaces with disposal contractors who clear away the mountains of debris. After a long day of labor and leadership, he reaches out to neighbors to find more families the program might serve.

At one point, someone who arrived after we were underway asked Sam, “Are you the leader?” He answered, “No. I’m a follower.”

That about sums it up.

Another World

2007-01-23T08:31:00.000-08:00

I’m in New Orleans, at a conference on stewardship. Or rather, I was in New Orleans – I’m now at a rural retreat center in Southern Louisiana. This is layering on different experiences, and I can’t keep up.

Yesterday, I worked on a crew to gut one of the small houses in New Orleans’ 9th ward. The Episcopal church in New Orleans is one of several groups bringing in volunteers to work. In some cases, volunteers are stripping houses down to the studs so that the reconstruction process can begin. In many cases, volunteers are stripping houses to find that there’s not enough structure to save, but it helps the family come to closure about the past and what decisions now lie before them. It is foul, difficult, sacred work.

We try very hard to honor the family whose home we gut, as well as the neighbors. This is incarnational ministry, and it changes those of us who come to it. In many cases, the houses have been undisturbed since the flood – the owners have simply been unable to face them. In our case, the homeowner had died in the months after Katrina, and we were working on behalf of her sons. As we entered the house, it was clear that she although she did not die in the flood, what remained broke her heart.

We tore out a little piece of hell yesterday. We took out a jumbled, mildewed mess that had been a home. It included photographs, letters, clothing, beds, furniture, crumbled walls, ruined appliances, ceiling tile that had simply dissolved all over everything. The sky was visible through the roof, and the spongy floor gave glimpses of the ground below. I’m sure this house was no place I’d have wanted to live before the storm, but it was a home to a family for several generations, and after Hurricane Katrina, it has kept them from living and moving forward.

I made a mistake, which actually brought me into this a little closer. We had stacked the rubble carefully so that nails were not exposed. Late in the day we were joined by a FEMA-sponsored contractor to remove the mountains of trash and rubble, and a large board got flipped. I was backing a wheelbarrow of rubble along what had been a clear path, and felt a huge nail slide right through the bottom of my shoe and into my foot. Oh, this was not good. It slid right back out. I was so disgusted with myself – I’d been so careful all day!

I’ve now had a tetanus shot, and I’m on turbo-antibiotics, and a doctor has tortured me in survivable ways. My friend Marty came by to witness the fun and keep me company. Now I’m in the company of a bunch of really great priests and lay leaders and my friend Julie, and I’m looking forward to what today will bring. But I will be watching where I walk.

In other news...

2007-01-13T07:32:00.000-08:00

Last night at 9:30 pm, my husband and I emerged from a movie theater into a surging crowd of agitated teenagers. I immediately had flashbacks to gang fights that took place in front of our home in Virginia twelve years ago, and knew we didn't want to be there. As I was holding my husband back from walking to the parking lot, a young man tapped me on the arm and said someone had shot a .22, and someone else had pulled a knife. Just then, we heard tiny little whistling shots. It wasn't a .22, but it was at least an Airsoft pistol or a BB gun. We had just come out of a war movie, and I turned and ran back into the theater. It was surreal. The interior of the movie theater was completely normal, with everyone oblivious to what was happening outside. I asked the manager whether the situation outside was being managed, and he said the cops were on their way. About ten minutes later, everything was under control and we were able to walk out to our car.

I live such a protected, quiet suburban life, with kids who basically avoid trouble, in a low-crime area. As teen violence goes, this was not life-threatening, but it sure jarred me.

For those of you who are following the OldestSon saga -- he will be returning to school. It's been an intense week of him working out what he needs to succeed, identifying how he sabotaged himself, putting together a plan, and communicating commitment. We as parents have had a lot of work and processing to do around this, too. I think we're all feeling good about this decision but it took a while to get here. This isn't going to be easy, but it will make an adult out of him. One way or another.

SecondSon has a pack of teenage boys in the den. We tend to have at least three 16-year-old overnight guests each weekend. They were supposed to go snowboarding today, but the girl whose dad was driving backed out. Some had rented gear, and now have to return it unused. They were upset last night, but have recovered.

Fearless and Searching WIP Inventory

2007-01-13T06:24:00.000-08:00

In the interest of lighter content, here's some fiber reportage.

First, some confession. As I clean up the post-vacation, post-temporary job house wreckage, I am finding all my knitting works in progress. I'm not saying I'm finding and finishing them, but I'm finding them. Finishing them will be another step in maturity we can all look forward to. I usually excuse myself from these transgressions by saying I'm a process rather than product knitter, but this is ridiculous.

There's the bamboo yarn preemie wrap sweater for Isaac, knit on size 0 needles, which has reemerged from laundry time travel. It was sized for a child born weighing three pounds. He's now three times that size, and looks great in a silk dress. This will make a good souvenir, or coaster.

There's the adorable white merino baby sweater for Matthew, which only needs its buttons, ends woven in, and blocking. At this point, I will need to put it on a stuffed animal when I give it to Matthew. Matthew is not a baby anymore.

Then there's the similarly adorable teal merino baby sweater for Andrew. Andrew is a big boy now. All it needs is one button, and ends woven in. There's a little disatisfaction with the underarms on that one, which is why I sort of lost steam when I finished knitting it.

Then there's the heavily cabled Noro cashmere blend baby cardigan I was making for William, Andrew's older brother, who is now five. That one's still on needles. I came into that one backwards, thinking I only had enough yarn for a baby sweater. Then I decided only a fool would give a cashmere baby sweater. Either way, I still owe William big-time.

There's the big Mountain Color Bearfoot sweater I started for John. John was big. That takes a long time. Now, John is losing weight and is not so big. I need to rethink this. In the meantime, John has not received a handmade sweater from me since 1983, before we were married. He thought it was storebought, said "Thanks", and put it aside to open the next gift. I've hidden behind that incident long enough, since John basically funds my yarn habit. There better be a sweater for John in the near future. Maybe handspun on the spinning wheel he just bought me. I love this man -- I just can't finish a damn sweater.

Oh, there's Rogue, which was to be for Claire, whom I missed terribly when she moved away. In the effort to modify it into a zip hoodie, I overengineered it, and ended up ripping out weeks of work in frustration. I also had huge doubt that this wonderful teenage girl would condescend to wear a handmade sweater, with or without Celtic cables. I wanted her to be cool and popular in her new school -- would wearing something homemade hold her back socially?

Which is also what I did to Jonathan's preppy cabled v-neck pullover, which I restarted twice. I was working out a huge amount of grief on that one. It's hard to figure out what size to make a pullover for your baby boy when he lives across the country and you no longer get to watch him grow. I gave up. Hopefully I will be able to come back to another project for Jonathan and actually give it to him.

Way back in the annals of time, there's a front panel for a patterned blue merino sweater for Jonathan's daddy. It's still around. I don't know where the rest of the yarn is. It's complicated to knit for a guy you love like a brother, but who is another friend's husband. Feels too intimate. I would walk through fire for this guy, but I can't make him a sweater. (Nonetheless, it was an impressive start.)

There's a single merino sock in Koigu. I have the yarn for the other. I can't even remember who this was intended for.

There's the very ornately cabled acrylic burgundy torso, waiting for sleeves and a collar. I think that's about five years old. I'm not sure. I don't like the feel of the yarn on my hands, but I obviously spent a lot of time with it, because it's VERY cabled. This was obviously before I became a yarn snob.

I ripped out the Aran cabled torso I did during coverage of 9/11. It fulfilled its purpose, and there was so much tension and horror knit into that one I could never have given it to anyone. Besides, there was a cable that crossed the wrong way way down on one column, and I got kind of paralyzed about that flaw. I know there were ways to fix it, but I didn't want to. Besides, it was just Wool-Ease.

The current "active" project is a sweater from thick Karabella Aurora bulky yarn I've had for a couple of years. It's fat yarn, and knits up quick, and I'd been at a loss for what to make with it. I came across a pattern for a close-fitting jacket with a cabled border that should do it justice, and hopefully I have just enough yarn.

Also still alive is a ChicKnits Ribby Shell in tencel/cotton. This yarn feels wonderful, but it's shedding. This is definitely a hand candy project. I think anytime I wear this with black pants, it will look like a teal lint bomb went off. I'm not talking myself out of it. I'm not, I'm not.

The turquoise Canby cabled socks, knit simultaneously on a circular, have been dormant a while. I'm not loving the way they look...

In addition to all the works "on needles", I have the world's largest collection of fine fibery closet insulation. Maybe not. I figure, I could actually buy clothing to put in my closet, but that would cost more. Anyone who sees me knows that apparel is not my vice. Yarn is. Color, texture, potential, creativity, love for other people, intention, engineering, fellowship with other fiber folks -- there's so much there. I love this stuff.

And there's also weaving and spinning content yet to come.

I'm sure this all reveals my character flaws to the world. Oh, well. Shed a little light on them and I'm more likely to improve. Maybe I'm showing off and only pretending to confess.

The Difference between Joy and Happiness

2007-01-11T08:29:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about joy, lately. I have a joy-filled life. Joy changes the significance of events, unhappy or happy, just as powerfully as depression does. It's not a blanket of happiness that blunts pain. It's more like a deep trust that frees you to find meaning and beauty in what is happening. Sadness is not incompatible with joy -- it just doesn't own the real estate. Joy is a challenge to discuss with others, because we all become very invested in our suffering, and feel betrayed by anyone who does not surrender to our distress. Joy is the peace which passes all understanding.

Believe me, I've had my share of occasions for pain lately. I just lost a friend to cancer, and two more are imminent. My son is working through what he needs to change if he is to continue in college. My daughters' learning disabilities are creating increasing disparities between them and their classmates. My nation is led by a subpar president who is taking us deeper into an unwinnable war. We are apparently choosing to ignore the damage we are wreaking on Creation. I have 36 hours worth of things to accomplish during any given 24 hour day.

All of those are issues that call for a constructive response on my part. Joy makes me capable of that constructive response. Life is a gift. People are gifts, even the ones who make you want to scream. The infinitely varied expression of human life and culture is a gift. Death is a painful but necessary gift. We fail to see the gift, all the time. It's always there.

Here's to the gift.

Going a little differently than I expected

2007-01-04T07:38:00.000-08:00

Apparently the gorilla isn't finished dancing yet.

OldestSon is working through deep denial that he has failed his first semester at college. It's so hard. He loves this school, and loves this program. It is tearing us apart to tell him he can't go back right now. It would be different if he were in a less expensive school. He tends to pretend that nothing bad is happening rather than address a problem before it escalates. He also does not reach out for help when he's struggling -- he checks out. We've had 36 hours now since he disclosed his grades, which he has been hiding for about a week, and he's beginning to figure out alternatives. Not fast enough for his father, who wants to drive his decision process. Dad's feeling powerless, so he seeks dominance, and then he's surprised when OldestSon fights him rather than the problem. Last night, I hung out with OldestSon until 1 a.m. I just asked him questions. It was a good conversation. Today OldestSon will have lunch with an adult mentor he's known for years. Thank God for all the people in our life.

I know my son's a solid guy, and that this crisis is completely normal, and that this is going to turn out well. It just won't be painless.

That point when balance becomes motion

2006-12-31T09:46:00.000-08:00

I’m in transition right now, with an emerging understanding of what I’m doing next. How appropriate for the New Year. People close to me interpret my suspense as irresponsibility, or a need for direction. I’m looking forward to doing some very specific, challenging, and productive things. Until this week, I had a full-time job that prevented me from beginning, or even planning concretely how it will all fit together. I have no desire to abandon my process to adopt someone else’s plan, or to be shifted to a defensive posture. I’m developing a complex vocation and want to leverage forces that are beyond my control as constructively as possible. A friend once described it as spiritual aikido, in which she learned to anticipate and dodge, and eventually use to advantage, things coming her way that would previously have taken her out.

And the challenges are coming. Boy, are they coming. Deaths, long-term illnesses, emotional black holes, children who would prefer not to grow up, stuff and money and time pressures with a life of their own. A society that is driven by self-interest and fear. Big and little land mines that defy me to stay aware, respond with compassion and invitation, and remain focused on the big picture. Not my big picture. God’s big picture. Shalom. We’re working for shalom here. Peace and justice and health and relationship. That’s where I’m headed.

One of the reasons this isn’t just a single-facet blog is that I really want to live comfortable with integrity and complexity. The reading, the writing, the fiber art, the parenting, the pastoral work, the gardening, the activism – how can I steward all of these with integrity and live a useful life? The abundant, joyful life that has been given to me. I'm supposed to share it. To use it to advance shalom.

As we step into the new year, I’m stepping into new life. It’s all good.

Peace be with you.

A little perspective

2006-12-26T20:20:00.000-08:00

Today, I attended a reception for the family of a friend who died two days before Christmas. Ann was one of the gentlest, funniest, most beautiful people ever to walk the planet. She leaves a great husband, and two children the same ages as my two youngest. It's a little surreal, to have this happen during the holidays, while life is already so intense. My parents are visiting, my kids are all in overdrive, our house is full of noise and joy. Needless to say, the church where I work has also had plenty going on for Christmas. I feel like my time for reflection on Ann's passing has been preempted. And I don't want that to happen -- it's just too important. Her life helps keep my life in perspective.

It's not just that a particular friend, a beautiful person, is now gone. Ann is the first of four friends dealing with long-term illnesses who are likely to lose their lives or their spouses soon. All are people who should be in the prime of their lives, most with children still in school. This has given me opportunities to have meaningful conversations with people going through the most difficult transitions in their lives. I feel deeply blessed to know them, and to be able to offer whatever support I can. I'm all the more grateful for my own life, and determined not to waste it or take a minute for granted. I had my encounter with cancer six years ago, and I got lucky.

Ann's death also keeps me working through my faith, as a context for everything. It's deeply personal, and hard to explain, and I respect everyone's right to come to their own conclusions. Faith, for me, gives integrity to life and relationship and loss, and redeems the human condition. Faith helps me value experiences I would not choose, and to act with wisdom or strength I do not have. Sometimes, faith is just that thing I know that makes me get out of bed in the morning, when it would be so much safer to stay under the covers and hide. I have complete faith in the One who created all of us, who loves all of us, and who blesses us through each other. That One loves Ann, too, even if their relationship took a different shape. I'm glad. It makes her my sister.

On a separate note, I went to buy a mezzuzah today as a housewarming gift for an Episcopal priest and her husband. I realize that probably sounds all kinds of strange, but it makes perfect sense to us. (I verified in advance that she would use it if I bought it. It turns out her husband's mother was Jewish, so it was even more welcome than I'd hoped.) We have a mezzuzah on our front door, although the scroll is handwritten, in English. Today, in the lovely Judaica shop where I bought my friend's mezzuzah, the woman assisting me apologized that they only had scrolls printed by machine, not handwritten by a rabbi. I wonder what she would have thought if she'd known it was going to a Christian home. Pleased, confused, or disturbed? I hope she would see it as a connection. I love my mezzuzah -- it reminds me whose house I really live in.

It's tough to think coherently through the noise in my house. A floor-scrubbing robot is wandering around my kitchen, my father is explaining how to fix everything (whether it really needs fixing or not), and two children are stomping Dance/Dance/Revolution (which they spent the last day playing at their best friends' house). I just put on my teenage son's lawn-mowing earguards, like those airport ground crews wear -- my mom is sitting on the couch laughing so hard tears are running down her face. I really should offer them to her.

2006-12-25T19:54:00.000-08:00

Well, it's Christmas, and I'm trying to figure out whether I'm giving myself a blog. A blog is like a pet, or sourdough starter. I can't just get it, keep it and ignore it. I like the thought of tracking what I'm thinking about, what I'm doing, whether I finish what I start, and trying to give others a window into my life. This brings up issues of authenticity and healthy boundaries -- how to convey my life honestly, yet maintain reasonable personal and family privacy? True to form, I'm over-thinking this.

I have to be careful about the desire to entertain -- I use it as a smokescreen, and long ago, a counselor suggested I forgo it. I did so reluctantly, but it really made a huge difference in my relationships, making it safe for people to trust me and be honest. I want to keep that.