my life's journey

In recovery and preparing for the next session

2012-02-12T16:49:00.000-05:00

Turns out that I didn't have to do any painting during the first class. The teacher dazzled us with his own works of art at the beginning of the class, went over the lengthy list of supplies we needed to gather together, and then stunned us all into fearful, respectful, hopeful, and awful silence as he demonstrated how to paint a flower.

He started the painting demonstration by painting a sky and added a purple streak. As he painted, he explained to us how important it is that we move fast while we paint; watercolor is unforgiving. Once it dries, it's there to stay. Acrylic and oil paints can be used one on top of the other and the layer underneath will disappear. Not so with watercolors. Work fast. Keep the paint wet. He explained that when the paint is allowed to dry and then additional layers are added, the outcome is usually "a disaster." I was quick to point out that his disasters would be considered masterpieces to us.

"Other than that, it's fairly simple," he said. "First sketch out the flower you intend to paint. Then pick your yellow... add bits of orange... add green to the same puddle of paint so that it all works together... if you want to make purple, don't use cobalt red, use alizarin crimson instead because... you can fill in the details later."

Flat brushes, round brushes, wash brushes, water buckets, paint palettes, paint tubes, a mixing tray, a kneaded eraser, Arches watercolor paper blocks, and clothes that we can get messy in - all this and more will be needed each week.

I watched, took notes and photos, and then drove home trying not to fall into despair. No one told me I would have to be able to sketch in order to paint. It makes sense, of course, but I didn't think about details like that when I signed up for the class. I reminded myself that he's been doing this since before I was born. The next day, I bought all the supplies, squeezed the paint into my palette, and had fun playing with them. No flowers emerged. A sky did. As did a few footprints on a beach.

There is much to learn, much to create, much to enjoy. Fun, I trust, will be had by all.

One class session down. Nine to go. I look forward to tomorrow night's gathering of artists.

The only class I know I will miss is the first Monday in March.
I'll be on my way back from a five day trip to Haiti...

"Just show up and get wet."

2012-02-06T17:31:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my daughter and I had the delight and privilege to hear Brené Brown speak at a local church here in Charlotte. I've enjoyed her writing, her blog, and her TED talks for two or three years, so it was a joy to hear her in person. To meet her. To shake her hand. And even to get my photo taken with her.

She is a beautiful woman who tells funny, poignant, heart-rending and heart-mending stories about the lives we lead, the ways in which we deal with our challenges, and the necessity of courage, love, connection, and belonging in our lives.

She told a story about her daughter, who used to be a competitive swimmer. This young girl hated doing the breast stroke and admitted that she wasn't very good at it. In fact, she wished she didn't have to compete in the 100 meter breast stroke at an upcoming swim meet. Her coach was unmoved by her pleas. In a pre-race conversation, she and her mother, the thoughtful Brené, agreed that victory in the race would be measured in one simple way. The daughter simply had to show up and get wet.

She was called to the starting blocks, dove in, and, as she expected, she was the last one to finish her heat. By the time she had pulled her exhausted body out of the pool, the girls in the next heat were standing by the blocks ready to begin. She was upset about her last place finish, but with tears streaming down her face, she spoke the words we all need to say more often in our lives: "But I was brave, wasn't I?"

Brené went on to give examples of how we as parents, as spouses, as siblings, as children, we as workers, as friends, and as human beings live in a world at a time when expertise is the only thing that counts. If we can't do it well, expertly, then we probably shouldn't bother at all. If I'm not the best mother at the play group, the best dressed woman at the party, the best writer in the group, the best hostess on the block, the sexiest, the best looking, the fittest person in the workout class, the wealthiest, the smartest, the wittiest, the happiest in my marriage, the most extraordinary, if I can't be the best, the strongest, the fastest, the most ____________ of all, then I may as well stay home. "Go big or stay home," right?

What if we stepped back from the edge of all this competitiveness and angst and gave ourselves, our friends, our family members, and most especially our children, permission to "simply show up and get wet"? What if we found ways to stop comparing ourselves to everyone around us and learned to accept others and ourselves as we are, where we are?

What if my house is not the cleanest?
What if my car is not the newest or fanciest?
What if my kids aren't the best behaved or the smartest?
What if I'm not the most organized?
What if I'm not a great cook?
What if I'm not the most environmentally conscious?
What if I don't know much about politics and don't care to know more?
What if I'm not "extraordinary" at all? (And by "extraordinary," I mean worthy of a reality TV show...)

Brené said something profound, something that we forget far too easily -
Whether or not we are ever the most _______________,
however we choose to fill in that blank,
whether or not we ever get to the pinnacle of whatever mountain we are climbing,
whether or not we have the best kids, the most kids, or no kids at all,
whether we have the best home, the largest home, the greenest home, or no home at all,
whether we are married, separated, divorced, or not interested in any of those categories,
whether or not, whatever or not,
no matter what,
our worth is non-negotiable.
our value is unchanged.
we are all, we are each worthy of love no matter what we accomplish or don't accomplish,
no matter what we do or don't do,
say or don't say,
achieve or don't achieve.
Who you are, who I am, who we are matters
because we are alive, because we were born.

I'm leaving the house in a few minutes to begin an art class - watercolor painting - a continuing education class through the local community college. I haven't taken an art class since junior high school. Despite the voice in my head that has been telling me that my art won't count unless I have a solo exhibit at the local museum of fine art, I am determined to simply show up and get wet. Wet with paint. Wet with tears of joy and delight and embarrassment. No matter what the outcome, I'm going to show up and make a holy mess.

"Welcome home."

2012-02-03T08:47:00.000-05:00

I love to travel. Nuff said.

One of the best parts about travel and one of the worst parts about travel is coming home. I walk down that sloped walkway and turn the corner, groaning at the length of the line of American citizens being steered to one immigration kiosk or another. I wait patiently, knowing that any complaints or rolled eyes could earn me the type of inspection that will most assuredly make me miss my connecting flight.

Finally, I step up to the window and a rather stern looking gentleman asks me for my passport, inquires about the length of my travels, the reason for my trip, and passes my documents through his special machine. He glances up at me once or twice, hands my passport back to me, and says those words that always make me smile:

"Welcome home."

Every single time, no matter how deep the scowl on his face, no matter how few times he has looked up at me, whenever that man (and it always is a man) says those words, I feel a shudder of happiness roll down my spine.

"Welcome home."

No matter where I've gone, what I've done, what I've bought, how fearful I've been, no matter who I've seen, what danger I've endured, no matter how heavy my suitcase or my heart, those words remind me that once again I have have made it back to my homeland safely. Once again, I have overcome. Once again, I have photos to share, stories to tell, journal pages to complete, and gratitude to express.

"Welcome home."

On this Friday morning, I ask myself, to whom do I need to offer that same greeting? Who needs to be reminded that they too have survived, endured hardship, met with and overcome obstacles, and escaped from snares and troubles? Who needs to be reminded that, even if they aren't done with their obstacles and troubles, even if they are planning to walk through some of the mine fields of life, even as they struggle with the deep darkness that can sometimes befall us on this life journey, even then, perhaps especially then, those dear loved ones of mine, you, need to be looked at, listened to, and welcomed home.

I'm not inspecting passports.
I'm not asking for details.
It's none of my business.
But know this, remember this, do not ever forget this:
no matter what,
no matter what,
no matter what,

"Welcome home."

Three rules for a memorable night out with friends

2012-01-31T08:05:00.001-05:00

1. Eat dessert -

I ate every bite of that chocolate-peanut butter cheesecake...

except for the mint leaf.

I would have licked the plate, but the waitress recovered my plate too soon.

2. Wash it down with something sweet and bubbly -

Moscato d'Asti was my choice.

The friend to my right chose Sauternes.

3. Toast to friendship, quiet lounges, and spectacular views.

Drink it down to the bottom,

savoring every sip.

Perhaps I should live more of my life according to these same rules.

What was he thinking?

2012-01-30T19:53:00.002-05:00

Yesterday morning, I sat with a group of people discussing the tragedy of the cruise ship disaster off the coast of Italy. Apparently, the captain of the ship was steering the ship too close to the shore on one side, flashing the ship's fancy lights and tooting its horns for the amusement of the passengers and the people onshore, and subsequently hit a submerged rock on the other side, cutting a 160-foot gash in the side of the boat below the waterline.

What was he thinking?

Source for this photo

Then he made the decision to leave the ship before many of the passengers, offering up the excuse that he would be better able to direct the evacuation from the shore, from a safer, more sturdy and well-lit location, being that there was no longer electricity on the ship.

What was he thinking? Isn't it his responsibility as captain to go down with the ship, if necessary?

In our discussion yesterday, we were informed that there is no legal requirement that captains go down with their ships, but we agreed that the moral, ethical, responsible thing for the commanding officer to do is remain on board until every attempt has been made to rescue all the passengers and crew. Anything less is cowardly, and all the ridicule and punishment that the captain must now face, he deserves.

The question kept coming up: what was he thinking?

Where this photo came from

As the conversation wound down to its conclusion, my thoughts took a u-turn, a "you turn."

What are you thinking, Gail, everytime you toot your own horn and flash your own lights? What am I thinking when I tell stories of my high school and collegiate "glory days"? I can hear myself now: I was such a good runner that... I was such a great speaker that... I was such a notable leader on campus that... I was such an inspiring teacher that... I was such a wise mother that...

The truth is that while all those good things were happening up on deck, I was cutting quite a few gashes below the waterline of my own life. I lied. I cheated. I stole. I coveted. I covered up. I lived a lie. I denied my wrongdoings. I pointed out the minor infractions in the lives of people around me and tried desperately to ignore the rule-breaking, heart-shattering life I was living. I found it easy to point out the ways in which other people seemed to be abandoning the wrecks and ruins they were creating in their own lives while hoping that no one would notice the frantic bailing of water I was doing in mine.

What are you thinking, Gail, everytime you pretend that your life is all gratitude, all joy, all peace all the time, when there are leaks, blown fuses, clogged pipes, settling cracks, and stained carpets in every room of your soul's home? What are you thinking, Gail, everytime you open up a clean page in your journal and lay out yet another escape plan from your life? How many rules are you still breaking, Gail? How many lies are you telling to cover up earlier lies? How are you any better than that captain in terms of cowardice and escapism?

What am I thinking?

Right now, I'm thinking that the story of this shipwreck that is my life is tragic and beautiful, full and empty, joy-filled and tear-stained. It is plagued with pride, deceit, and weakness. But it is also streaked through with laughter, love, and forgiveness.

Right now, I'm thinking that for every betrayal I have perpetrated, for every lie I have told, for every wild goose I have chased, for every sabbath I have not kept, for every idol I have builty up and then bowed down to, for every neighbor's ass I have coveted, grace has covered my sin with still more grace. For every light I have flashed, for every horn I have tooted, for every hole I have cut into the ship of my life, mercy has been multiplied on my behalf. For every time I have abandoned ship under false pretenses, shrouded in weak excuses, I am welcomed to shore. I am welcomed home. I am forgiven. I am unworthy. I am grateful.

When I think about the true story of my life, the stories I will never tell here on the blog, the stories I will never tell anyone ever, when I think about God and how much I have come to believe that God loves me, that like the father in the story of the prodigal son, God keeps running out to greet me everytime I drag my filthy, stinky self back home, when I think about the fact that God knows everything about me and still welcomes me home, I am left with only one question:

What is God thinking?

Water, water everywhere

2012-01-27T19:02:00.000-05:00

Go get yourself a glass of water.
Go ahead. I'll wait.

Look at the water.
Taste it.

Dip your fingers into it. Get your hands wet. Put some on your face and in your hair.
But don't get any on your computer...

What is water? Hydrogen and oxygen molecules combined miraculously to create vapor, liquid, and ice. It is the most important thing in the world - all life forms depend on water in some way. All animals and plants would die without it.

I'm not sure there are many things that fascinate me more than water does. It falls from the sky. It drips from the faucet when I want to fill the kettle, cascades from the showerhead when I want to get the sweat and dirt off my weary body, and bursts forth from the spigot outside the house when I want to wash the minivan.

I stare at it, bathe in it, cook with it, get annoyed with it when it falls on days when I'd like to be outside, but love when it falls on days that I'd like to spend inside reading and drinking tea. I heat it up, pour it out, swim in it, drive over it, clean with it, but somehow never manage to drink enough of it.

Water is truly an amazing thing.
Today, tonight, I am especially grateful for water.

***

Since writing this post more than three hours ago, I've washed dishes, played with watercolor paints, and sucked down more than sixteen ounces of this life-sustaining nectar.

Ask the current and former residents of New Orleans or Aceh or any of the coastal towns, villages and cities of Japan what water can do and how much water can destroy. Ask the current and former residents of the countries of Australian, Ethiopia, Eritrea, and even these United States what the lack of water can do to crops, rivers, and entire ways of life. Ask anyone whose water supply is powered by electricity how helpless they feel during power outages. Ask someone whose house is in flames whether or not having a fire hydrant on the block is a necessity or a nuisance.

Water can wash sand off our feet and wash pollution up onto the beach. Water can wash over us and wash us away. Water can cascade gently over a delicate water feature in a hotel lobby and crash through the wall of a beachfront home. Water can drip annoyingly from a leaky kitchen faucet and roar ferociously over the waterfalls of Iguazu.

Before going to bed tonight, I plan to slowly drink one more glass of cold water
and give thanks for every sweet swallow.
Thanks be to God for this indescribable gift.

What's the worst thing that has happened to you?

2012-01-23T11:23:00.000-05:00

Odd question, I know. But think about it for a moment - what is the worst thing that has happened to you?

Here are a few of the worst things that have happened to me -

* I was hit by a car when I was about six years old. I ran across the street without looking both ways and was struck by a car. My mother was on the other side of the street and saw it happen.

* Soon thereafter, I was bitten by a dog. I was out riding my bike with my brothers and a dog at a local gas station broke the chain that was holding it and bit me on my right butt cheek. Ouch.

* I hit my head on a cement block one summer when I was at camp. I was knocked unconscious and suffered a concussion. I spent two days in the hospital.

* I seriously contemplated suicide after breaking up with someone who meant the world to me. My despair was so deep that I carried a bottle of aspirin with me 24 hours per day for a week or two, so that I'd be ready if "the right moment" presented itself.

* My father passed away in 2001.

* In 2008, my daughter was diagnosed with an illness that she will deal with for the rest of her life.

There are certainly a few other things that are a little too personal to write in such a public place.
But this short list will suffice for the moment.

What I have learned as the years of my life have passed is that every single one of my worst moments has served as a means through which I can help someone who is facing a similar challenge.

The lessons I learned while sitting with my father during his last weeks, days, and hours have helped me to listen, to offer comfort, and to be quietly and persistently present when people I know go through the loss of their parents and other loved ones.

The time I spent crouched on my bed in the middle of the night during my sophmore year in college, crying into my pillow, clutching that bottle of aspirin has helped me to comfort other people when they are feeling the agony of abandonment and wallowing through the deep waters of shame.

My daughter's battle with her illness is helping me support another mother whose son has received the same diagnosis. I'm encouraging her to cry, to journal, to mourn the loss of her old life, and to gradually move into a place of accepting the new constellation of their family and the new ways in which they must live their lives. Mostly, I'm listening to her story, reading her words, and encouraging her to feel everything she's feeling, say what she needs to say, and not feel guilty for any part of this painful process.

Don't get me wrong; I wish I hadn't suffered through any of these terrible times. At one point when my daughter was in the hospital back in 2008, my husband told one of the doctors that he was grateful for the compassionate and competent care she was receiving. One part of me agreed with him - I too was grateful that she was being taken care of so well, but most of me wished I had never met any of those people. I wished that she had never gotten sick and that we had never had to darken the door of any hospital, ever. I wish my father hadn't been diagnosed with lung cancer. I wish there could have been an easier and gentler way for that guy to have released me from our relationship - other than me seeing him with someone else and knowing that it was more than just two friends hanging out together. I wish none of that had happened to me.

But if we must suffer, and it seems that we all must suffer at some point in our wild, precious, and short lives, we should do so with the expectation that these lessons, these tears, these sorrows, these heartbreaks will make us more compassionate, less judgmental, more honest, less selfish people.

Someone once said something like: Treat everyone you meet with tenderness, for everyone is fighting a great battle.

We've all got something.
We've all suffered deeply.
We all continue to suffer.

May we all be willing and able to convert our worst moments, the worst things that happen to us, into places from which we reach out in service and compassion, with both sympathy and empathy, offering the priceless gift of our attentive presence to everyone around us, because we are all either in the midst of or looking back at one of the worst things that has ever happened to us.

The Apostle Paul wrote it this way: Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

Thankful Thursday

2012-01-19T18:12:00.000-05:00

A comment added to this post on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. earlier today reminded me that although we may forget many of the details, the stories, and the moments of our lives, other people do not forget. In honor of Coach D, my son's former basketball coach, I am going to focus my gratitude on people and events from my more distant past. There are far too many to list here, so I will limit myself to 19, because today is the 19th of January.

1. Coach D himself. Thank you for your love for our sweet boy way back when you coached him and for your ongoing interest in him, even though you now live in Texas. Daniel still smiles whenever he talks about you and the team you coached him on.

2. baseball tournaments (I am sooooooo glad that these sunburnt weekend marathons are indeed part of our past... not that it's much cooler on tennis weekends...)

3. watching my little fella sleep soundly in the car. He was ten years old when this photo was taken, but doesn't he look four??? He is truly a sleeping beauty - and always has been. (I took another photo of him asleep in the minivan today. He asked me to delete it from my camera. I didn't oblige him, but I will honor his intentions by not posting it here.)

4. her love of all things natural and all things photogenic

5. her company on the day I got my first and only crown - and no, it wasn't the kind of crown that is awarded at Moms and Tiaras beauty pageants...

6. the Suburban Women's Writing Group - three of the most thoughtful, funny, generous, hospitable, gifted, open-hearted, adventurous women I have ever been associated with. I miss you all more than you can imagine.

7. Jorge, my Spanish boyfriend back in 1986, who introduced me to Madrid and welcomed me "home"

8. the way his wife, Elena, and their daughter, Irene, welcomed me into their precious family back in 2009 and met up with me again in 2011

9. the kind of love that doesn't end because the two people involved marry other people

10. Lisa, Lisa, Lisa!

11. Chris Woodman, my English teacher during my senior year in high school. He invited me to his wedding that year and three years later to his wife's family home near the beach in Normandy, France. I wish they had warned me about the face that it was a nude beach.

12. the fact that I was both modest and confident enough to keep on my one piece bathing suit even though nearly everyone else was in the buff. Looking back now, I wish I'd been bold enough to let it all hang out - back then when nothing was actually hanging...

13. my Spanish mamá, Marta, and this blonde-haired bombshell of a boy, her grandson, who is now a proud older brother. (Mamá, te amo mucho y estoy orando por ti y tu salud. Te echo de menos muchísimo. Te mando dos besos y un abrazo muy fuerte. Cuídate bien.)

16. the beauty of the children in Nicaragua, their hugs, their smiles, their boundless energy, their limitless joy

17. Karen Hughes, the woman who welcomed us into her home that first Thanksgiving that we spent here in Charlotte. She wouldn't tell me why she kept insisting that we come over, but when we arrived at her home and her husband answered the door, I knew why - like us, they are an interracial couple. Or rather, they were. She has since passed from glory to glory.

18. Her gorgeous daughters, Anya and Bekah, who come visit us whenever they are back in Charlotte from their various new life locations.

19. the fact that cameras, computers, hard drives, and journal pages preserve these and so many other life-changing, heart-opening, world-uniting, precious and priceless memories.

Dear Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

2012-01-16T13:07:00.003-05:00

Back in 1983, I wrote my first letter to you thanking you for how the legacy of your life made my attendance at Poly Prep Country Day School possible. An all-boys, all-white school in Brooklyn, New York, opened its doors to girls in 1977, and I joined that first incoming group of girls. In the spring of 1983, I was the first black girl to graduate from that amazing school "way down on the heights called Dyker." As a result of writing that letter, memorizing it, and reciting it in front of the student body, I was awarded a gold medal in Poly's annual Bearns Speaking Contest for extemporaneous speech.

The courtyard at Poly

Six years later, I returned to Poly, Dr. King, as a teacher and college counselor. Soon thereafter, I wrote another letter to you, telling you how much the school had changed in those few years: there were so many more students from so many more backgrounds, with names, languages, head coverings, and holiday celebrations that more closely resemble the reality of the city in which the school stands and the world in which we all lived. I stood at the podium in front of the student body one morning and read the original letter along with the one I had more recently penned. As I read the two letters, I wept, but then again I cry fairly easily. Upon completing the readings, I looked up and through the veil of tears, I watched the student body and faculty rise to their feet and applaud. Together, we were living out another manifestation of your dream.

The stage from which my letters were recited and read

When I returned to Poly for my 20 year reunion, I wrote you a third letter and read it to the alumni gathered in the chapel that day. Poly, with all its faults and deep divides, is a place where students of all religions, races, and backgrounds are still welcome. I remain grateful to this day for the six years I spent there on campus in the shadow of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. The Poly path felt wide on that campus - wide enough for me to grow, to laugh, to run track, to play basketball, to meet my first serious boyfriend, and even to be suspended for drinking while not losing the respect of the faculty or other students. (Sorry, Mr. Jones, for ordering that beer on our choir trip to Washington, DC.)

Today, as we celebrate your birthday, Dr. King, I want you to know that your life, your death, and your legacy continue to cast a bright light into, over, around, and through every area of my life.

As I write this letter today, I sit at my desk in our beautiful home in Charlotte, North Carolina. My white husband is down the hall in his "man cave" watching the Australian Open Tennis Tournament. Our gorgeous, intelligent, fearless two children are in their bedrooms doing whatever they are doing, almost completely unaware of the price you paid so that this family in this home in this neighborhood in this city in this state in this region of this nation could even be possible.

Certainly, they know about the history of this country, especially the South in which we live. They know about sit-ins and marches and lynchings and Jim Crow laws, but thanks be to God and thanks be to your sacrifice, they don't know what it is to not be able to swim in public pools, to not sit at lunch counters and be served, to not be able to play tennis at certain clubs, to not be able to attend certain churches, colleges, or to not be able to see movies while sitting on the first floor of the theater. In fact, I'm not sure if my children have ever gone to a movie theater with a balcony. They have never been turned away from a hotel, a beach, an airport, a water fountain, a seat on a bus or train, or been denied service at a gas station because of the color of their skin or my skin or the combination that makes up our multi-shaded family.

After further investigation, I can report that our daughter, Kristiana, is applying henna to her hair and watching a movie on netflix. Our son, Daniel, is watching tennis on television. And I'm sitting here at my computer, weeping, thinking about your children. They lost you in the battle that made my life, the lives of my children, and our family's life possible. Their tragic loss led to so many tremendous victories.

My soul finds rest in God alone. But today, my soul finds extra comfort and a slightly wider sliver of rest in the knowledge that your life was not lived in vain. There are no words to express my gratitude. But I will use the customary ones offered at times like this - Thank you, Dr. King. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Happy birthday to you.

Forever in your debt, Gail

Twelve Things on the Twelfth

2012-01-12T18:05:00.002-05:00

I'm grateful for so many things these days.
So many people.
So many blessings.
So many memories.
Today I will limit my list to 12 things.

I am grateful for:

1. curtains and blinds, especially the ones in the bathroom

2. the chair in the corner of my bedroom. this afternoon, I sat in it with a big book of painting techniques in my lap. I promptly fell asleep. Lovely nap.

3. that this kind of peace and quietude exist in my house - even when both teenagers are at home.

4. lentil soup with barley

5. yoga workouts with Rodney Yee

6. the sight of beautiful wine bottles, even when I know I will never try the wine

7. friends who call and tell me about the trials and tribulations of dog ownership. we talk, we laugh, we moan, and we wonder what the heck we were thinking. how was it that we didn't think parenting was enough to keep us busy and broke?

8. having all the ingredients for the aforementioned pot of lentil and barley soup at home - not needing to go to the supermarket for anything

9. discovering that my stash of art books and art supplies is more than sufficient for the art I'm creating these days

10. Tostitos stone ground white corn chips with a hint of lime

11. Kiss My Face Cold & Flu Soothing Foaming Bath and Shower Gel - the scent of that soap, the lather - I am very happy when I take a shower with it. And I don't even have a cold or the flu.

12. the sound of my daughter rustling around in the kitchen... what goodies will she create??? (During the time that it took the photos to upload, I went downstairs to see what was going on in the kitchen. My daughter, my magnificent child, HAD CLEANED THE KITCHEN! She put the remaining soup into containers that will go into the fridge, washed the soup pot, and emptied the dishwasher. Where did this child come from? I know not whence, but I thank the Good Lord on High that she was lent to me for these first eighteen years of her blessed and beautiful life.)

Every little once in a while...

2012-01-10T22:31:00.002-05:00

Every now and then, I am stunned by the beauty of a single moment, by the wonder of mid-afternoon sunshine, and by the harmony of concrete and steel and glass.

In a perfectly, extraordinarily ordinary moment, suddenly I am lost in a tangle of thoughts, imagining all the stories that had to be lived out and lived through in order for that intersection to be created. Beams, windows, cranes, forklifts, electricity, wiring, waterpipes, street lights, crosswalks, trees, curb cuts, and statues, that were either built or deposited there years ago. Buses, automobiles, drivers, pedestrians, police officers, homeless men and women, and me. In that split second, there we all were. Breathing, looking, listening, walking, driving, riding, planning, hoping, pleading, searching, wondering and wandering.

This life, these days, this moment - how often I ignore the magnificence of it.
Sometimes, though, the radiance is undeniable.
There is so much beauty.

I am profoundly grateful.
Thanks be to God.

Someone somewhere...

2012-01-05T22:46:00.001-05:00

I read this piece two nights ago on this blog (language warning - she likes the drop word bombs that some of you may not want to read) and was reminded of a line of thought I've been nursing for a while.

Someone somewhere is -

sewing something lovely, something warm, something frivolous,

cooking something healthy, hearty, and delicious,

farming, plowing, harvesting,

milking a cow and laughing at a calf,

packaging up the fruit (or vegetables) of long labor,

stacking boxes, clothing, and food,

driving goods, people, and garbage,

pouring paint, milk, medications,

planning the next great electronic gadget, a sermon, or a meeting,

watching a screen of slow-moving blips - airplanes, heartbeats, and the floor numbers of an elevator,

studying to become a doctor, a lawyer, a judge, a teacher, and a great parent,

praying for peace, justice, and righteousness to reign,

reading words of hope, a love letter, and a last will and testament,

writing a thank you card, a "Dear Gail" letter, and an indecent proposal,

dreaming of a life without suffering, without abuse, grounded in love,

designing a new website, a new way of green living, a new curriculum,

organizing a messy guest room, an overstuffed closet, and an unruly filing cabinet,

ordering the pills you need to take, the spinach you love to eat, and the bolts necessary to fix the rickety bridge you are always nervous about driving over,

making phone calls of condolences, to relate good news, and to ask for forgiveness,

taking phone calls from a long lost child, a distant brother, and a frightened friend,

nursing a newborn baby, a woman in her final days of life, and a lonely teenaged daughter,

making a hearty pot of soup, an often-requested batch of chocolate chip cookies, and a mess in the kitchen,

chopping onions, shallots, and carrots,

cleaning a much-loved minivan, doggie paw prints off glass doors, and toothpaste splashes from the mirror,

rearranging books, children's clothing, and the broken pieces of a shattered heart,

shopping for groceries, warm socks, and a well-worded compliment,

dispatching firefighters, police officers, ambulances, and hugs,

making sure the internet, the phone lines, electricity, and water all keep flowing,

boxing up pots and pans, sporting equipment, and resentment,

unpacking a shipment of produce in the supermarket, a load of Tom's shoes in a small village just outside of a large city, and long-buried dreams.

Somebody somewhere is doing something that will make your life and my life run smoothly.
Somebody somewhere is picking a tea leaf that will show up in my tea cup.
Somebody somewhere is overseeing the canning of my favorite black beans.
Somebody somewhere is wondering when their sick child will be well again.
Somebody somewhere is hoping that the job will finally come through.
Somebody somewhere is pleading for another chance to make amends.

Someone somewhere is thinking about you, about me,
missing you, hoping that all is well in your world,
wishing you well, saying a prayer for your health and safety,
lighting a candle or a stick of incense, smiling, remembering,
writing a note, a card, a text, a blog - and thinking of you.

You are somebody somewhere.
What are you doing for somebody somewhere else?
What do you need to say to that somebody somewhere else?
What are you waiting for?

(Just because I don't want to confuse anybody, I am adding this addendum - I'm not sure why the date on this blog is Thursday, January 5, 2012. I began to write it that day but I'm posting it on Saturday, January 7th at 1:25 pm.)

Thankful Thursday

2012-01-05T18:45:00.000-05:00

Today, I'm thankful for -

* the feather I found in our frontyard while walking Maya this morning. the last time I found a feather was on the final morning of my silent retreat at The Jesuit Center back in July. Feathers make me think of birds, nests, flight, and the movement of the spirit of God, often depicted as a dove.

* a successful and informative first visit to a new internist this morning. I hadn't had a check-up in years, a non-OB-GYN check up, that is. I like her. Her assistant, not so much. But she seems like a good doctor.

* several deep, meaningful, and challenging discussions with my children over the past few days. Setting goals. Choosing dreams to pursue. Who they are and who they might grow up to be. Love, patience, grace, and how they are surrounded by these and many more gifts of God. Reminding them that, no matter what path they choose, no matter where they end up, we will love them and be here for them and with them. Having them listen, smile, and invite me closer for hugs and more conversation.

* I went to the library to pick up a book I've been waiting for since late November, The Warmth of Other Suns, and while strolling around the stacks near the checkout, I found a book that a dear friend recommended to me just a couple of day ago, The Resolution for Women. I almost bought it on Amazon.com - then I remembered that this is my year of not shopping. I was glad that I found it at the library!

* Five days of success in not shopping. As I mentioned, I am hoping to get through 2012 without buying any new clothes, shoes, journals, pens, art supplies, or books. The only foreseeable problem with that decision (other than the daily temptation to buy stuff) is that I'm taking a watercolor painting class starting in early February and may need to buy supplies for that class. Otherwise, I'm going to be using what I have this year - and like most of the people I know, I've got a lot of stuff in my closet, in my drawers, on my shelves, in our art and crafts boxes, on my nightstand, and many other places in my house. I did this "no shopping for a year" thing once before, and loved not only how resourceful I became in doing what I needed to do with what I had, but also the realization of just how much I did have and how little I needed to purchase. I am looking forward to more of the same this time around.

* An unexpected five hours of quietude and solitude in my house. Tennis, the movies, and paid employment distracted the other three people who live in my house. So I walked the dog, cooked dinner, listened to prayers online, journaled, did laundry, sat, stared out the window, and I baked a pan of gingerbread...

* Gingerbread for a private party with Patti Digh and a few hundred of her closest friends. It's a new year's, new life, new dreams party - online. I need a cupcake (I don't like cupcakes, but I do like gingerbread), a candle, a match, my journal, and a fistful of pens. It starts soon... so I've gotta end all this gratitude stuff and get ready in a minute.

What are you grateful for today?
Do share a few things.
I'd love to hear from you.

The Perfect Picture

2012-01-04T21:11:00.004-05:00

Some people say that the week between Christmas and New Year's Day is a tough week. Just after the busyness of all the Christmas preparations, the kids aren't in school, a lot of people (in the banking industry anyway) are off from work, folks are sleeping in, shopping, watching football. All that time together can be tough on the nerves and the house starts to feel smaller than usual.

For me, the tougher week is this week: The week after the new year begins but before homeschooling and college start up again. I'm on call for chauffer duty from 9 am until 9 pm or so. Meals to cook. Laundry to do. But the main work of my life feels like it's on hold - even though sometimes I'm not entirely clear on what the main work of my life actually is anymore... I'm reading a fair amount. Writing some. Sleeping later than usual. Exercising enough to stay warm but not enough to prepare for any races or competitions - not that I ever enter races or compete in any athletic endeavors. Ever.

Today, I dropped my daughter off at her college campus around 11:30 am to meet up with a friend. From there, Daniel and I went to our favorite Wednesday noon church service but had to leave in a hurry when it was over so I could drop him off at his tennis coach's house. The coach and three players were going to set their goals for the year. Not just for the year, but for college and beyond. Draw up maps and plans and schedules for how to get from junior tennis in Charlotte to the US Open and beyond. Great stuff.

The plan was for them to work at the coach's house for an hour, then they would go to the courts, practice for two hours, and I would pick Daniel up at 4 - his usual pick-up time on Wednesdays. So I left him at Ben's, drove home, had a snack, drank a cup of tea, watched part of a movie, Crazy Heart, and then drove to the tennis courts to get my boy. No sign of Ben or the boys. Uh-oh. Called Daniel - "Oh, we're still at Ben's. He's gonna bring me home later." "Why didn't anyone call me and let me know?" "Oh, sorry."

Then Kristiana texted me and told me she and her friends were gonna have Nerf Wars at their church. Fun will be had by all. But she didn't have her Nerf Gun with her, so I drove to a local gas station and waited for her friend to show up so I could give him the gun to take to her. Fortunately, he will give her a ride home later.

Deep sighs. That was my life today. Drive here. Drive there. Sit. Wait.
Drive back home. Watch a movie in three pieces. Talk. Listen. Drive some more.

It might sound like I'm complaining.
And I guess I am complaining a little.
But this IS my life.
Wanna see the perfect picture of how I feel about my life today?
Are you ready?

Happy. Shaky. Confused. Present. A little bit out of control. But okay with that.
Looking straight at whatever is coming my way. Ready to face it all... I think.

This is how I looked just after midnight a few nights ago - Happy new year to one and all.
Gotta love a good glass of ice wine to toast in the new year.

(Don't you love all my party bling??? My husband is the KING of Party City shopping! Need a party planned, shopped for, decorated, and carried off without a hitch or a glitch? He's your man.)

Nesting...

2012-01-01T22:37:00.001-05:00

During the past few months, I have become obsessed with nests. Birds' nests. Especially little ones. When I go out for walks, I take lots of photos of nests. It must drive my beloved Kristiana crazy that every few minutes I stop and stare at a nest, then pull out my camera and try to capture the fragility, the beauty, the precariousness of those remarkable feats of architecture.

that might be a squirrel's nest

how high is that???

During these months when the leaves are gone from the trees, nests are more visible. I'm amazed at how small some of them are, how impossibly located on impossibly thin branches at impossible angles. And yet, despite all the impossibilities, there they are. Nests. In trees that have lost all their leaves. In trees that have lost many of their branches in windstorms and thunderstorms. There they are. There they remain.

what is that nest connected to?

How do birds do it? Who teaches them how to make nests?
How do they build nests that don't fall out of the trees?

the nest of a brave bird

Sure, sometimes they fall. But aren't we all amazed and saddened when we come across a nest sitting on the ground, turned upside down? Instinctively we know that nests don't belong on the ground. They belong in the trees.

hovering over the sidewalk next to a busy Charlotte street

two views of the same nest

How do nests withstand storms, wind, and the ravaging of squirrels? Roofs fly off, but nests remain.

the upside down bird's nest on the front door of someone I know

I'm feeling a little like that bird this evening...

Anyway, after 37 straight days of blogging, 38 counting today, I'm gonna take a few days off to do some nesting of my own, to feather my soul's somewhat battered nest. I won't be gone long. Truthfully, I may be back tomorrow. But this much I know for sure: I won't be blogging everyday for the next 38 days. These aging fingers and this unquiet mind of mine need to rest for a while.

Have you ever stopped to pay attention to nests?
How is your nest?
To whom or what is it connected?
Who or what will keep it from falling during the next storm?

One more thing... and the thing after that...

2011-12-31T18:35:00.002-05:00

One more thing: life is precious. bask in its daily sacredness. celebrate its joys. mourn it sorrows. fight for its continuation. every single day. these last 37 days of the year have been precious to me because i've lived them thoughtfully, honored them deeply, and written something here for each of them. awareness is a gift we give to ourselves and each other.

life is precious. love is even more precious. please be present for your life and for those you love.

me and my beauties on Christmas Day

(if you've never seen the movie, "The Apostle," you should.

robert duvall's character refers to his children as his "beauties" in that movie.)

The thing after that: thank you for being here with me on this blog this year. thank you for reading my ramblings, for commenting (feel free to comment more), and for encouraging me to keep writing. you mean more to me than you know - whoever you are, wherever you are, however how are.

outside one of the bank buildings here in C-town

happy new year.
be well.
be at peace.

this hangs next the door that connects our kitchen to the garage

One question I am pondering today...

2011-12-31T15:28:00.002-05:00

DECEMBER 31 - QUESTION #6

From: Susan Piver
Topic: Spirituality

Question: Where, how, and with whom have my spiritual values manifested in 2011? Where, how, and with whom do I wish to express/manifest/share them in 2012?

The Dalai Lama has famously said, "My religion is simple. My religion is kindness." There are certain qualities that transcend all belief systems and these can be thought of as spiritual values. For me, gentleness (defined as opening to and accepting yourself from moment to moment, feeling what you feel without judgment or agenda), kindness (feeling, knowing, and acting as if all beings are just like me in that they seek love and happiness), and bravery (inviting my fears, confusion, and personal nuttiness as part of the path) are among those values. How about you? How did 2011 meet or defeat your spiritual journey? Where do you long to go in 2012? Use today's question to lead you further along the path.

These photos are the answer to this question for me, two questions actually...

and I hope and pray that 2012 brings many more such moments, travels, and questions to ponder.

Happy new year!!!

PS. Please go to the link provided here and at the start of this post

to check out Patti Digh's many great questions in this final week of the year.

Too much...

2011-12-30T17:00:00.001-05:00

Too much sorrow, too much war, too much pain, abuse, greed, famine, drought, neglect, violence, fear, shame, insult, criticism, complaining, illness, death, homelessness, and too much destruction.

Too much color, too much beauty, too much resilience, grace, mercy, forgiveness, joy, laughter, art, friendship, connection, silence, peace, music, and too many heart-filling conversations.

Too many photos taken, too many emails, too many texts, too many late night phone calls, too many facebook comments, and too many blogs to read and write.

Too much torture, too much denial, anger, divorce, foreclosure, despair, depression, loss, debt, bitterness, unemployment, empty politicking, cancer, heart disease, and too much resentment.

Too much laughter, too much patience, too much trust, sunshine, warmth, journaling, prayer, reading, painting, travel, supermarket shopping, cookie baking, soup making, and too much movie watching.

Too many graduations, too many parties, too many long walks, too many cardio funk and zumba classes, too many visits to Good Will and Cheap Joe's, too much yoga, too much weight-lifting, too many sugar binges, too many days without sugar, too many breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and coffee dates.

There was simply too much to list,
too much to smile about,
too many tears to shed,
too many stories to tell,
too many mistakes to correct,
too many hugs to share,
too much love to lavish,
too many moments to cherish this year -

too much to write about here,
too much to write about in my journal,
too much to give thanks for.

Still, I've tried.
Still, I'm amazed.
Still, I am deeply grateful.

Too much.

Three prayers I come back to often...

2011-12-29T21:39:00.000-05:00

* Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

* We Your servants give you humble thanks, Almighty God,
for all your gifts and graces to us this day;
For the splendor of the whole creation and beauty of this world;
for the wonder of life and the mystery of love;
for the blessings of family and friends,
and the loving care that surrounds us on every side.

And for this day's work, for the things that demanded our best,
for the things that delighted us,
and for the disappointments and failures that lead us to depend on you truly -
we thank you, O Lord.

Stay with us, we pray,
for evening is at hand and the day is done.
Be our light in the darkness and in your great mercy,
defend us from all perils and dangers of this night,
Hear us, O Lord.

(Taken from "Evening Prayer," compiled by Robert Benson in
Daily Prayer: A Little Book for Saying the Daily Office)

* Tomad, Señor, y recibid, toda mi libertad, mi memoria,
mi entendimiento y toda mi voluntad,
todo mi haber y mi poseer.
Vos me lo disteis; a vos, Señor, lo torno.

Todo es Vuestro.
Disponed a toda vuestra voluntad.

Dadme vuestro amor y gracia
que esta me basta.

San Ignacio de Loyola.

(I pray this prayer in Spanish, but for my non-Spanish-speaking readers,
here it is in English -
Take, Lord, and receive all my freedom, my memory,
my understanding and all my will,
all that I have and possess.
You have given all to me.
To you, I return it.

Everything is yours.
Dispose of it entirely according to your will.

Give me your love and grace -
that is sufficient for me.

St. Ignatius of Loyola)

Four special moments from the first half of 2011

2011-12-28T21:19:00.002-05:00

An organ concert with Gibbs at the Duke University Chapel on January 30th.

Lunch with Leticia at Le Pain Quotidien, Madrid, Spain, on February 18th.

Two fearless turtles and an alligator in the pond at

The Shipyard Plantation, Hilton Head, SC, on May 3rd.

Photo/memory album created for Kristiana's graduation from homeschooling,

presented to her on June 17th.

Are there any moments that are more special than those spent with family and loved ones,

listening to music, eating a delicious meal,

enjoying the wonders of nature and

celebrating achievement, courage, and persistence?

I don't believe there are.

Five Wonder-filled Moments Today...

2011-12-27T21:56:00.002-05:00

1. I woke up in my right mind. I stayed in bed, comfy and cozy until nearly 9 am. I had dreamt that heavy rain had broken our house off its foundation. The kids and I floated down our street on the second floor balcony of our home (we don't have any balconies on our second floor), pointing out our neighbors' houses as we floated past (ours is one of the last houses on the street). In the dream, I wondered how long it would be before the electricity would be restored because I didn't want all the food in the freezer to go bad.

Having dreamt all that, I was grateful to awaken to a house that was intact and still planted firmly in the earth with a refrigerator and freezer connected to a steady stream of electricity. It was raining hard when I woke up - which is probably what prompted the dream. Oh, the wonder and joy of feeling safe at home.

I love, love, love my bedroom.

2. Kristiana and I went to the library together. We waited (impatiently) for a car to back out of a space so that we could pull in. Turns out the driver of that car was one of our favorite fitness instructors, Andre Hairston. By the time we got out of the minivan and made our way across the driveway of the library, he had driven around the other side of the parking lot and was driving past us. He stopped, we chatted briefly, and wished one another a belated Merry Christmas. I can't wait to do some Cardio Funk with him on Saturday morning.

3. Once in the library, I pulled a book on acrylic painting off the shelf, flipped through it, and found a $1 bill along with a card that said: "Random Act of Kindness. Please enjoy." I used it to pay my library fine for overdue books - which was exactly $1. In addition to that, we ran into the director of music at a church we used to attend. It was great to see him. He had quite the pile of books - I bet he has a nice break coming after all the work he undoubtedly had to do to prepare for all the Christmas events at church.

4. Kristiana and I went to the movies, but not together. She saw, "My Week with Marilyn." I saw, "The Way" for the second time. Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez on El Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James, from France to Santiago de Compostela, one of my favorite cities in Spain. Being on the way. Alone and with loved ones. A journey towards a city and towards oneself. Recognizing that I also am on The Way. Never alone. Always accompanied. Broken, lost, fearful, joyful, adventurous, excited, and always walking.

5. Sitting in my bed right now, computer in my lap, dog by my side, after another day of post-Christmas shopping, journaling, learning about watercolor and acrylic painting, reading, spending time wandering around Charlotte with my daughter (Steve and Daniel are away at a tennis tournament, surprise, surprise!), planning for a day of delight at the lake with one of my very best friends in the whole world tomorrow (Gibbs, you ROCK!!!), I am filled with joy, gratitude, peace, and wonder. Indeed.

**********
What special things are you doing to commemorate these final days of the year?
Have you looked back at 2011, reflecting on the most uplifting and most challenging times of the year?
What were the best books you read and movies you saw in 2011?
What were some of the most memorable times you spent with friends and loved ones?
What have you lost this year? What have you found?
Who do you love as this year comes to a close?
To whom have you had to say good-bye?
What do you hope to leave behind as 2011 ends?
What do you hope to embrace in the new year?

What will be your "word of the year" for 2012?

What are your dreams and goals, hopes and desires?

Whose life will you impact next year?

Before and after...

2011-12-26T17:28:00.001-05:00

high school senior picture

current "senior" picture

my parents in the mid 1950s

my parents in the mid 1990s

(I sure do miss my dad!)

the Henderson crew in the 1970s

(notice my far off gaze... what/who was I looking for?

I still have that same question for myself today...)

the same motley crew in 1997

(other than standing beside my father's deathbed

at King's County Hospital in March of 2001,

this was our last time together as an entire family.)

Christmas photo in 2001 or 2002

(how bad is it that I don't know which year it was?)

Christmas 2011

What fun the kids and I had last night, looking at old photos at my Mom's place.

We have sure come a long way.

Please pardon the glare and fuzziness of these photos of other photos - taken with my cell phone.

PS. Only five days left in 2011.

So much to look back on.

So much to look forward to.

So very much for which to give thanks.

So, this is Christmas...

2011-12-25T16:38:00.001-05:00

Gifts opened. Oohs and aahs expressed.
Brunch eaten. Dinner eaten. Dishes washed.
I took blurry photos of our Christmas tree and our family.
We went to see the movie, "New Year's Eve."
Absolutely none of it was perfect.

Last night, the pastor said that if Christmas Eve or Christmas day were ever perfect,then it would be phony. After all, on that holy night long ago, the Savior was bornin the backyard, wrapped in torn cloths, and placed in a feeding trough because therewas no cradle in the stable. Nothing perfect about that.

The pastor told stories of cracked and broken people and how those stories are thetrue stories of Christmas. Stories of mental illness, suicide, and two pastors fallingduring the candle lighting during a Christmas Eve service many years ago. One fell while coming down thestairs with the candle in her hand, and the other tripped over the first pew in the darknessbefore the congregation's candles were lit. That was in the same service - two pastors fell. Nothing perfect about that.

Those are the imperfect stories of imperfect people, the very imperfect people that were the reason that precious baby stretched his scrawny arms for the first time in the stable in a backyard more than 2000 years ago, stretched his arms out and died on the cross thirty-three years later, and now stretches his arms - through our outstretched arms - and embraces the world to this very day, offering food, water, medical assistance, crisis management help, mercy, love, forgiveness, restoration, reconciliation, and grace to us and through us.

Today I found out that my Spanish mother is in the hospital.
The sound system in the house is not working at the moment.
One bulb in a security light outside the house is burned out.
Most of my Christmas texts and emails have gone unanswered.
I tried to reach my favorite priest for a Christmas blessing, but he didn't answer his cell phone.

It has been a perfectly imperfect Christmas Day.
Awe and gratitude are still very much in effect.

So, this is Christmas?
Yes, this is Christmas.

Joy to the world -
the Lord is come!

PS. Here is another GEM of a piece about Mary, the Mother of our Lord. Among other things, the author wonders: is it possible that several other young women said "no, thanks" to the angel before Mary said "yes"? Now that is a question that has never, ever occurred to me.

Oh, holy night.

2011-12-24T10:12:00.003-05:00

This morning, I listened to the prayer for Christmas offered at this wonderful website. If you are a Spanish speaker, please check it out. Listen to the prayers. Be swept into the gentle quietness of preparation for this most holy night and then return daily for music, prayer, and Scripture to "pray as you go." For those of you who do not speak or understand Spanish, I offer this crude translation of part of this morning's prayer, which is truly an invitation into Christmas itself.

"It is time to remember with gratitude a story that is both ancient and new, a story that evokes another time, another place, and another era - but that also speaks of today, of here, and of now.

I invite you to contemplate, to come near, as if you were present at that birth, to the story of an eternal God who made himself a fragile baby, to the surprise of The Almighty who made himself weak, to the grandness and graciousness of Love made flesh, and to the truth of a God who is now a human word - a word of affection, of mercy, of love, a word that today is spoken to me.

I invite you to sing with me, with the Shepherds of yesterday, and the men and women who today continue to seek Him, with all those who live on the margins in this world, those who have no lodging, nor many certainties, but who rest in God.

I invite you to sing and be excited about God.

I sing peace for those who have fallen mute because they feel the lateness and absence of peace, those who suffer having lost patience, and those who are silent because hope has been taken captive.

I ask for peace for the many who cannot obtain it because there is no food for their table, because their bodies have forgotten what hugs are, because silence has taken up residence in their homes.

I speak peace, announce, and sing the baby, the Word, the Flesh, and the Eternal God - who sets fire to the darkness with tenderness, who gives light and shelter in deep winter.

I speak of peace, sing songs of Christmas, and tell of the mystery that converts a night into a Holy Night.

I pray for peace. I look at the world and promise to sing peace for those who do not."

Isaiah 9:6 - For unto us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Matthew 1:22-23 - All this took place to fulfill what the Lord
had said through the prophet: The virgin will be with child
and will give birth to a son, and they will call him
Immanuel - which means, "God with us."

I wish you deep peace on this holy night
and a most merry Christmas.

The Long Journey

2011-12-23T21:51:00.002-05:00

from here,

to here,

here,

and eventually out through the dark tomb into the light...

the celebration of the first day of the long, life journey of our Lord Jesus is in two days.

Sweet Mother Mary was in the final days of her pregnancy.
God swimming around in her womb.
Head down, ready to be born.
From eternity into time - while retaining eternity.
From omnipotence into infancy - while retaining omnipotence.
From glory to humanity - while retaining glory.
From love to deeper love.

The mystery of it is beyond explanation.
And yet, we celebrate it. We sing about it. We rejoice over it. We bask in it.
We give our lives, our hearts, our whole selves to that mystery.
We give thanks.

Come, Lord Jesus.
Be born in us.
Again.
Anew.

If only we knew...

2011-12-22T22:18:00.001-05:00

There have been many years of my life and many situations in my life in which I didn't realize I was a slave and that freedom was an option for me. There have also been times in which I was addicted to something or someone, when I was voluntarily imprisoned by some vice or belief system - and even though I knew freedom was an option, I chose enslavement over liberty.

I am glad and grateful that my eyes, ears, and heart are being opened more and more so that I can see the chains, remove them, and step out into my best life.

Reminds me of that famous quote by Nova Knutson: "Hint: the cage is not locked."

Freedom,
like peace,
like joy,
like contentment,
like forgiveness,
is both a gift and a choice.

Thanks be to God.

I almost didn't write it...

2011-12-21T08:43:00.000-05:00

Yesterday as I poured out my angst, my sadness, my frustration, my wishing for a different life into the blog post, I almost deleted it. I almost changed it into another list of things I was grateful for and ways in which Sweet Mother Mary sets the example of true servanthood and helps me take my mind off of myself when I'm having One of Those Days.

I almost sugar-coated my lonely anger.

I almost denied my bone-weariness.

I almost substituted holiness for honesty.

I thought about some of the people who (I think might) read the blog and thought, "What will she think when she reads that I'm not always thrilled to be homescholing?" "What will he think when he discovers that I'm not always glad to be married?" "Won't her feelings be hurt when she finds out that parenting isn't always a joy-a-minute?"

I almost didn't tell the truth. (It wasn't the whole truth, but who ever tells the whole truth in their blogs???)

The truth is that I'm not always excited about doing laundry, cooking, dusting, sweeping, driving my kids from place to place, and figuring out which books my son needs to read before he graduates from our homeschool.

I'm not always thrilled to be cleaning up messes I didn't make, turning off lights I didn't turn on, and tossing things into the garbage or recycling bins - things that get left on the counter even though everyone who lives in this house knows where those things belong when they are empty.

I'm not always excited about looking at stuff on the internet that somebody wants me to buy or hearing stories about television shows I don't follow.

Changing sheets and towels, taking out the garbage, taking the car for its oil changes, cleaning mirrors, scrubbing tubs, vacuuming, walking the dog... the list of things that don't excite me is long.

I almost didn't write the blog yesterday. But those days of frustration and self-pity, the demands and annoyances of daily living, the longing to escape for a few days, those are as much a part of my life as the gratitude, the prayer, the faith, the friendship, the poetry, the painting, the journaling, the good books, the long phone calls, the engaging email exchanges, and the mugs of tea and coffee in the morning.

In fact, days like yesterday, the sad days, the seemingly meaningless, most mundane of days, make the mugs of coffee, the early morning quietness in front of the Christmas tree, the chime of my blackberry when a text message arrives, the perfect turn of phrase in a book of the prayer, the smiling face of a friend entering the coffee shop, and the long, wrist-wringing therapy sessions with my journal so much sweeter.

I almost didn't write it, but I had to. It was the only thing I could say about yesterday. And, just as I'd hoped and prayed, I feel better today. I think I'm gonna go make myself a cup of tea and sit in front of the tree for a while - before the kids wake up and ask if they can show me something on the computer.

Today is so NOT "thankful Thursday"

2011-12-20T16:04:00.000-05:00

Today is testy Tuesday, teed-off Tuesday, tucking-my-passport-into-my-purse-Tuesday so I can tiptoe out of here and find a flight to anywhere but here.

It's one of those days when everything and everyone around me makes me wish I had nothing and no one around me.

One of those days when I want to scream obscenities, kick a hole in a wall, and throw rocks at large plate glass windows.

One of those days when marriage, parenting, housekeeping, homeschooling - nearly everything I've dedicated the last twenty years of my life to - seem like nothing but wasted time, money, and energy. One of those days when it feels like these past two decades was time poorly invested.

One of those days when I want to eat white cheddar popcorn and homemade chocolate chip cookies, drink gin and tonics, and watch a marathon of Law and Order: Criminal Intent with Vincent Donofrio, followed by The Real Housewives of Atlanta, especially the episodes when they are arguing with each other about who has the most money and who is the least classy, a dessert cook-off onTop Chef, and then check out the new show, "Who the (bleep) did I marry?"

{Did you know there is a show on television with that title? There is. I know quite a few folks who are asking themselves that very question these days; to each of you, I offer no wise answer, but rather my deepest love and support as you figure out if there is a reasonable answer to that question.}

One of those days when I don't want to be grateful, kind, patient, loving, cheerful, Godly, forgiving, or attentive to anyone but the bartender mixing the aforementioned gin and tonics.

Today is so NOT "thankful Thursday."
Today is toxic Tuesday.

The best thing about today is the fact that it will end in less than nine hours. Then I get a new day, a chance to get back into the Christmas spirit, rediscover peace, and recapture my deepest sense of self, of meaning, of faith, and of joy on a wonder-filled Wednesday.

The second best thing about today is that in less than three hours I will be in the company of seven or eight soul-sisters whose mere presence will lift my sagging spirits, whose cooking will make my tummy smile, whose stories will make my heart sing, and whose prayers will make my soul soar.

****************
Photos, from top to bottom.
1- Rome's Fiumicino Airport, January 2008
2. the beautiful children of Nicaragua, August 2008
3. Spain, September 2009
4. An airplane wing, September 2009

All four photos bring back great memories of love, laughter, discovery, and adventure.
I need another deep draught of the intoxicating liquor of travel.
"Calgon - somebody, anybody - take me away."

What I learned in the mountains...

2011-12-19T21:07:00.002-05:00

Back in April, I had the thrill and honor of attending the women's retreat for a church I've begun attending off and on. A dearly beloved friend - whose anonymity I will respect here - invited me to be her roommate. I hope I never have to turn down the chance to spend 48 hours in her presence, basking in her generous love, warmth, hospitality, generosity, grace, and inexplicable desire to be my friend.

While in the mountains, I learned a few things. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that I was reminded of a few things -

1. I love crosses. I stare at them, take photos of them, wear them, and cannot imagine the agony, the shame, and the horror of dying on one. I love them - and they make me cringe, flinch, and weep.

2. Stained glass windows are a marvel. Even when they aren't stained. I want to know the stories of who made them, how they were made, how long they took to make, how many broken, warped, mis-colored pieces were discarded before each window was considered complete. I want to know how the windows were conceived, designed, and where the color, the glass, the images all came from. The entire enterprise fascinates me.

3. The same view from the same spot looks vastly different at different times of the day.

Fog lifts. Clouds clear. The sun also rises.

4. Given the choice, I prefer the beach, but a weekend in the mountains isn't so bad - especially in the company of seventy funny, intelligent, welcoming, God-loving, wine-drinking, game-playing, thoughtful, questioning, praying women - and the one man brave enough to be our weekend speaker.

Thank you, my friend. I look forward to many more retreats, coffee dates, lunches, labyrinth walks, and silent sits with you. I do love you - I hope you know that.

A few things I'm grateful for today...

2011-12-18T11:00:00.000-05:00

1. the smell of incense, especially when it was received as a gift from a friend

2. having several hours alone at home - doing laundry, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, reading, journaling, watching mindless television, and basking in silence and solitude

3. painting - adding hot wax and salt for texture and intrigue

4. the final days before the celebration of the birth of Christ - thinking so much about Mary being pregnant with God

5. discovering new blogs, new books, new ways to live a deeper, fuller, more joy-filled life

6. the many blessings of this year - new connections with old friends, discovering more of my creative side, being remembered, graduations, weddings, new babies, new love, opportunities to teach, to write and to travel

7. the challenges also - in some of my closest relationships, on my faith journey, friends facing serious illness, death, broken hearts, loneliness, separation, divorce

8. oatmeal, rosemary olive oil bagels, home-roasted peanuts, and running kale, carrots, apples, lemons, clementines, and a shockingly red beet through the juicer

9. hair color, shampoo, conditioner, rollers, and powerful hair dryers

10. electricity, running water, carpeting, hardwood floors, candles, and warm towels

11. having the luxury of staying at home with my children all these years as a homeschooling mother

12. the newly discovered practice of giving myself permission to say "no" and the power that comes from that tiny word

13. the joy, the excitement, and the anticipation of all that is possible when I say "yes."

14. one of the simplest prayers I know - "Lord, have mercy" - saying it over and over again

15. rest, silence, peace, and simplicity

16. sale prices at the supermarket on the things we like most

17. bad habits broken, good habits begun

18. seeing improvement

19. the Christmas lights, ornaments, and memories hanging on our tree

20. love, plain and simple love, complicated, inexplicable love, long-term love, brand new love, the love of friends, the love of children, the love of a faithful dog, and the anticipation of the love that is yet to come

21. no longer feeling like my lists have to be cleverly produced or end in even numbers

22. all the people in my life who have ever shared a similar list with me

23. recognizing and embracing the enormity of how little I know and have experienced in my lifetime

***************
In the spirit of full disclosure: this blog was written on the evening of Saturday the 17th so that I can take a break from blogging on Sunday. In fact, I'm going to (try to) take a complete break from the internet on Sunday the 18th. I expect that the withdrawal will feel worse than my first day of abstaining from sugar, but I'm gonna try. See you on the other side.

Time to declutter...

2011-12-17T18:14:00.001-05:00

Whether it's dumped out willy-nilly or organized into related piles, this is too much stuff for one person to carry in a purse. Whether I can explain why I'm carrying each item - and I most certainly can explain each item - it's still too much stuff for me to carry in my purse.

Not that you asked, but I'll explain the contents of my purse: The little red pouch with the bird holds my Starbucks giftcard and my Michael's gift card. (I haven't used my Starbucks card very often lately - because of my reduced-sugar thing. Starbucks has retaliated by downgrading me from Gold Card status to Bronze Card status. I count myself blessed that they still send me my "free drink on your birthday" card.) The other red pouch holds lipstick, lotion, perfume, Listerine strips, and hand gel spray. The small striped packet holds my cards - I never know when I may need to give my "digits" to somebody. I always have tissues and napkins and tampons because, well, you never know what misfortunes will come when. The two mint boxes hold medications - ibuprofen, allergy meds, sinus headache medication, and also back up medication for my children. Extra keys in case I lock my keys in the minivan. An icon taken off a keychain I bought in Spain. A pocket knife. Hair elastics. A whistle. Sunglasses case. Music. Tooth care - brush, paste, and floss. Small New Testament with Psalms. Small polka-dotted journal. 2012 calendar - with life is good sticker. 2011 calendar - with Toms sticker. A fistful of pens. My wallet.

Not shown: my camera, my blackberry, and my iPad (happy birthday to me!!!).

It was way too much stuff. Clearly, it was time for me to declutter.
I did. My bag is much lighter. My shoulders and back are grateful.

Someday, I may shock you by taking similar photos and explaining the contents of my minivan.

PS. I just saw a commercial in which Denny's boasted about "Christmas cookie pancakes" - complete with colorful sprinkles. What the heck???

Let there be no confusion...

2011-12-16T20:41:00.000-05:00

Here in Charlotte, we celebrate Christmas. Not "the holidays."

At least that's what it looks like from where I'm standing...

Merry Christmas, friends.

Postscript - More food for thought from someone else's perspective. And a bit of a slap on the wrist related to the angry words and accusations going around about "how the greet people" and "the war on Christ in Christmas." I laughed and cringed and nodded - cuz she makes some great points. It's all right here.

I'm so glad I'm not the only one...

2011-12-15T11:13:00.000-05:00

who sees the deep messiness of the Christmas story.
It wasn't neat or clean or quiet or simple.
It was bloody and sticky and painful and unstoppable.
It was the birth of the promised one, the savior, the messiah, yes.
But it was also the birth of a baby - mother, father, baby.
A serious mess. A seriously beautiful mess. A beautiful, messy, miraculous moment.

Please go read this account. I could not have written it better.
And then bookmark this page and go read more of her writing.
I like what she says and I like how she says it.

I'm so glad I'm not the only one who thinks about Christmas from the perspective of the mother, in labor, pushing, howling, wishing it would stop, even though you know it won't and it can't.

Sweet Mother Mary - once again, you show up as my model, my heroine, my sister-friend.
Blessed art thou, indeed.

Forty-six reasons I am glad to be alive today

2011-12-14T18:34:00.001-05:00

1. because there is no way to put the wonder of life into words or into a list... but I'm gonna try anyway

2. all the books I have been able to read

3. the full moon

4. the Spanish language - hearing it and speaking it

5. falling in love with a new language and culture - Italian

6. turtleneck sweaters, denim skirts, black suede boots, with coordinating scarves, jewelry, and handbags

7. bike rides on the beach

8.

9. having too many friends to begin to list them here - knowing that you know who you are and how much you mean to me, each of you and all of you.

10. Miquelrius journals with thick paper and complete discretion

11.

12. the joy of sex

13. the thrill of pregnancy

14. the agony of labor

15. the incomparable lives of Kristiana and Daniel

16.

17. Spain

18. Italy

19. Buenos Aires

20. Rio de Janeiro

21. all the stops in between

22. Palomino Island, Puerto Rico

23. Costa Rica

24.

25. the public library

26. Williams College

27. elephants, giraffes, and turtles

28. growing up with three older brothers

29. the sisters-in-law they brought into my life

30. the nieces and nephews those remarkable women ushered into the world

31.

32. facebook

33. the internet in general

34. digital photography

35.

36. glue sticks and glue tape

37. laughter

38. warm hugs and tender kisses

39. paper clips and staplers

40.

41. new toys - especially the electronic and battery-operated ones

42. being able to use the off button and bask in the ensuing darkness and silence

43.

44. Illy from the Bialetti

45. someone to hold my hand

46. having such a full life, so many stories, so many memories, and so many photos that I had to sigh deeply as I went through and chose the ones I was going to use in this list.

I have been deeply blessed for these 46 years that I've been alive. I am profoundly grateful. Thank you to all who read these words, the near and dear, the far and missed, thank you for your presence, your love, your words, your silence. Thank you for being a part of why my life is too big, too wide, too deep, to wonder-filled to put into words.

Thanks be to God!

In the shadows, in the tangles

2011-12-13T18:22:00.001-05:00

Life feels tangled and shadowy sometimes.

Much of the time.

The good news is that, even in the midst of the tangles,

I can almost always find a reason to smile.

For one thing - I'm never truly alone.

Oftentimes, that which seems most gnarly and shadowy when I'm in the middle of it,

often looks far less tangled and dark when I'm outside of it.

Sometimes I am the source the shadows.

Sometimes it's a group shadow-making experience.

***********

These photos were taken today outside of the Mint Museum, Randolph Road.

This place is one of my favorite Charlotte haunts.

I keep going back to the same place

2011-12-12T20:13:00.000-05:00

Silence.
Solitude.
Stillness.

I began a book entitled Holy Silence this morning. All was calm. All was quiet here on the home front. I snuck down into the living room before anyone else was awake, plugged in the Christmas tree and opened my heart to a new understanding of silence.

Silence leads us to wait. Waiting leads us to the real presence of Jesus. The real presence leads us to holy awe. Holy awe leads us to a life lived out of spiritual silence. That life leads to "unhurried pace and power," wrote Thomas Kelly. "It is simple. It is serene. It is triumphant. It is radiant. It takes no time, but it occupies all our time... And when our little day is done, we lie down quietly in peace, for all is well." Indeed, all manner of things is well. (pages 33-34)

Even as I type those words, I know that all is not well in the world. Wars continue to rage. Poverty overwhelms more people on a daily basis. Children lost. Illnesses diagnosed. Homelessness grows unabated. Sorrow abounds. Pleas for help go unheeded. I heard a story on NPR today about the ongoing horrors of nuclear spillover and leaks in Japan. Thousands there are still homeless. Towns abandoned and barricaded. The nuclear power plant that exploded has yet to be completely sealed, contained, and not only the temperature but also the radiation levels in the plant remain above safe levels. The argument can easily be made that all manner of things for all manner of people is not well.

But still.

But still, when I am able to find time, when I make time for silence, for prayer, for quietude, for awe, for radiance, for simplicity, I emerge from those times of withdrawal better able to respond to the sorrows that surround me, better able to handle the challenges of my life and those that have befallen my dearly beloved friends and family members, better equipped to face the noise and the funk in the world.

During the darkest days of my life, during my childhood, my college days, my years as a new mother, and in the more recent past, when I grieved my father's death, when I raged against my daughter's illness, when I worried about the outcome of my call-back mammograms, whenever I have faced the terrors that we all face at one time or another, I have found deeper reserves of strength, of courage, of determination after I burrow into silence, secret myself away into solitude, and create time to sit still.

I keep going back to the same place.
Alone with The Alone.
Silent with The Word.

One thing that bugs me about Christmas...

2011-12-11T20:20:00.001-05:00

especially the way it is talked about in many of the (Protestant) churches I have attended in my lifetime is the general consensus that Mary doesn't matter much in the Christmas story. This morning, my daughter heard a sermon in which the pastor intimated that who Mary was and what she did isn't worthy of attention; perhaps her faith was strong, but she herself doesn't deserve special honor.

I disagree. She received the promise of the coming Christ child with faith, not doubt - as her famous uncle Zechariah, the priest, had done. She didn't try to keep her mysterious pregnancy a secret and slink away in the middle of the night as her famous fiancee, Joseph, tried to do. No, she faced the angel, listened to his message, and accepted her assignment, along with all the heartache, fear, insults, ostracism, shame, and mistreatment that surely flowed her way. After all, she was an unwed, poor, engaged, pregnant teenager living in a small town.

I am not ashamed to say, "Wow! What an amazing woman. What courage. What faith. What strength. She is a woman worthy of our gratitude and honor and praise." After all, isn't that what the angel said and what Elizabeth said, and what countless men and women have said about her down thru the ages?

Angel: Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you...

Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God.

Elizabeth: Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear. But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? As soon as the sound of your voice reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished.

I don't care what any of those dudes say about my dearly beloved Mary - and it usually is "some dude" up there speaking disrespectfully of her - she remains one of the greatest women who has ever lived. Mary was the truest bearer of Good News, bringing the Light of the World into the world. Full of grace. Carrying The Truth within her. Highly favored. I could go on...

Instead I will stop here and simply say,
"Thank you, Mother Mary, for all you were and all that you did.
Blessed art thou among women - and men -
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

*******
Postscript: I found this poem written about Mary. Beautiful.

If this is ecstasy...

2011-12-10T20:36:00.001-05:00

I just finished Cutting for Stone, the much praised book by Abraham Verghese. Now I know why I don't read too many novels: I become so engrossed that leaving the book behind and reemerging into my daily life is a jarring shock. This book will stay with me for a good long while.

There's a British surgeon, a hospital in Ethiopia, a series of political upheavals, an Indian nun, a church in Texas, Ethiopian music, words in Italian, discussions of fistula surgery - this book has a little bit of everything in it. Kinda like life.

There's a scene in a church: We lit candles. Hema fell to her knees, the flame throwing a flickering light on her face. Her lips moved. She believed in every kind of deity, and in reincarnation and resurrection - she knew no contradictions in these areas. How I admired her faith, her lack of self-consciousness - a Hindu lighting candles to a Carmelite nun in a Catholic church.

I knelt too. I addressed God and Sister Mary Joseph Praise and Shiva and Ghosh - all the beings I carried with me in the flesh and in spirit. Thank you for letting me be alive, letting me see this marble dream. I felt a great peace, a sense that coming to this spot had completed the circuit, and now a blocked current would flow and I could rest. If "ecstasy" meant the sudden intrusion of the sacred into the ordinary, then it had just happened to me.

Here's the thing: if that is how some define "ecstasy," then indeed I have experienced moments of ecstasy every day of my life. Looking back on my most recent trip to Spain in particular, I had several such moments while in the company of one of my dearest life companions, someone whose words, whose friendship, whose wisdom, and whose presence strengthen and encourage me. I am a stronger woman simply because this person is alive and walking on the planet. We walked, we talked, we ate, we drank. I took photos and copious notes. I wept. I laughed. I closed my eyes and took mental photographs when pulling out my camera felt too intrusive. The sacred intruded into the ordinary at every turn, at some point during every hour. Peace invaded every exchange. I was in ecstasy.

As I spend time in these final weeks of the year looking back on 2011, looking back on Christmases past, looking back at my entire life, I have often fallen to my knees. I address God, my father, mi compañero, and so many others that I carry with me in the flesh and in spirit - and I say, Thank you for letting me see this day, letting me see tonight's full moon, and leading me to so many places so I could take so many photos of so many marble, stone, glass, and divinely human dreams. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Looking Back on 2011, part 1

2011-12-09T09:15:00.001-05:00

I love to travel, hit the road, go on adventures. The fewer people along for the ride, the better. I prefer solo travel over all other kinds. So when I set out for Spain in February, alone, I was in my glory.

Judy hosted me for the first few days - in Barcelona.

She knows the baristas by name and/or face, the best day to go to the best place for the freshest seafood, and which areas of the city to avoid.

She knows that city far better than I know Madrid or even Charlotte - its history, its oldest church, its newest church, its paper stores, its smallest and most intimate restaurants.

She is the consummate Barcelona walking-tour, coffee shop, art gallery, museum, transportation system, nightlife guide.

She is a fabulous story-teller, detailed writer, meticulous planner, respecter of privacy, and an open-hearted woman whose deep faith, zeal for life, love for her family, and longing to live every day to the fullest inspire me, encourage me, and challenge me to be the best woman I can be, to dream big, and to recognize that the best times of my life are yet to come.

Judy is my dearly beloved soul-sister, sister-adventurer, student for life, student of life, and lover of Spain. But most important of all, she is my friend.

Judy, these candles are lit for you, con mucho cariño y amor.

Off the Wagon... Or is it on the wagon...

2011-12-08T13:36:00.001-05:00

I had some friends over for dinner, discussion, stories, laughter, and prayer on Tuesday night. I made two kinds of soup - corn chowder and vegetable-bean soup - cornbread and chocolate chip mint cookies. I've never thought of myself as a particularly good cook, but the ladies were complementary on all counts. Some asked for recipes. Some asked to take containers of soup and cookies home with them. I guess I'm not a complete failure in the kitchen after all.

I ate three cookies that night.
Two more cookies yesterday after dinner.
Three cookies today after lunch.
They are really good, if I do say so myself.
On top of that, I've had my sweet coffee concoction three times this week.
Three shots of espresso, sugar, vanilla almond milk, Starbucks peppermint syrup (purchased by the liter at Target) - perfectly blended, stirred, and sipped delightedly while eating buttered whole grain toast (using vegan "butter," naturally). It is the favorite breakfast of this champion housewife, homeschooler, teacher, writer, and adventurer. Yum, yum.

Today I feel like crap; seriously, I feel awful.
My face is dry and itchy.
Pimples are appearing on my jawline.
I feel sleepy, sluggish, and moody.

Could it be the sweet coffee and choco-chip mint cookies doing all that?
I can't help but think that the sad and joyous answer to that question is: Yes.
Sugar is messing me up. Again.
No more possible denial - sugar is my drug of choice -
and it's time to get it out of my system again.
So here I go: back on the wagon... or is it off the wagon?

PS. I have managed to lose 12 pounds since this sugar cutting, exercise increasing, water guzzling program began. So why would I want to mess with such a good thing anyway?

When your days aren't merry and bright

2011-12-07T18:44:00.001-05:00

Sugar plums don't always dance in our heads around the holidays.
Mistletoe isn't always the best thing to hang overhead.
Sometimes the countdown is not to Christmas itself, but to December 26th -
we wish for the whole doggone thing to simply be over.
We don't want to see family or friends because they drive us to drink.
We don't want to attend Christmas parties or gatherings of any kind.
We want to crawl into bed and remain there until the ball drops at midnight on December 31st.

If that is how you're feeling these days, please go check out the latest ebook by Kristin Noelle. I had the honor and privilege of reading it and writing a review/endorsement. I wholeheartedly endorse it. Go get it. Read it. Apply its wisdom to your upcoming holiday gatherings. Heck, don't wait until Christmas; use these insights tonight with the ones you live with, with the ones you love, with the ones you love and wish you lived with, with the ones that you live with and wish you still loved... you get the picture.

It's time for all of us to Unspike the Holiday Punch.
Let there be hope.
Let there be laughter.
Let there be peace.
And let it begin at home this Christmas season.

Twenty-five days to go...

2011-12-06T22:32:00.001-05:00

There are only 25 days left until the end of the year.
Twenty-five days to recount (pardon the pun) the many blessings that have come this year.
Twenty-five days to recall the challenges of this year.
Twenty-five days to dream, plan, pray, and prepare for the year that is soon to dawn.

Here is a list of 25 people, places, discoveries, encounters, moments that are on my list of blessings for 2011 - with photos from this year sprinkled in.

1. Barcelona, Spain.
2.Valladolid, Spain.
3. Judy Heins, my host in Barcelona.

4. Antonio Allende and Jose Maria Olaizola
5. my sisterhood of writers, bloggers, travelers, poets, art journalers, photographers, cast-aways, preachers, teachers, co-conspirators, freedom-fighters and soul-friends - you know exactly who you are

6. graduation day, Williams College, Williamstown, Massachusetts
7. long walks around and through my neighborhood
8. art dates

9. coffee dates
10. The Untethered Soul

11. Higher Ground
12. Fabriano-Artistico 140-pound hot press watercolor paper
13. Cheap Joe's Art supply shop

14. that wine bar on 7th Avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York
15. Eduardo, Leticia, Alvaro, Jaime, and Marta - my family in Madrid

16. my life group
17. Codependent No More - again and again
18. a self-inflicted haircut

19. breaking my addiction to sugar
20. The Paper Skyscraper

21. Jacob Beaver, Anthony Smith, Toni Cook-Smith and the two angel-prophets at Starbucks
22. eight days of silence in Pennsylvania

23. our house on Hilton Head Island
24. riding a bike on the beach
25. knowing that there are hundreds more people, places, stories, photos, and miracles I could add to this list

What's on your list?

While buying food for my dog...

2011-12-05T10:50:00.001-05:00

I was in the check-out line at the health food store buying a bag of organic dog

food for my dog when the woman behind me asked if I had a dog. Why else would I

be buying dog food, right? So on impulse I told her that no, I didn't have a dog.

I said that I was starting the Wild Dog Food Diet again, and that I probably

shouldn't because I ended up in the hospital last time. I said that I'd lost 35 pounds

the last time - before I awakened in intensive care, with tubes coming out of most

of my orifices and IVs in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially the Perfect Diet and all you do is load your pockets

with Organic Wild Dog Nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel

hungry. The food is organic and nutritionally complete so it works well and I was

going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was

now enthralled with my story.)

Horrified, she asked if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned

me. I told her no. What happened was that I stepped off a curb to sniff a poodle's

butt and was hit by a car.

I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so

hard. Better watch what you ask me and be prepared for my answer.

PS. In the interest of full disclosure: Now that you've read all this way I have to confess, I copied this story from a friend's facebook status and she copied it from someone else. I hope you laughed as hard as I did - we can all use a giggle at this time of year... and any time of year.

PSS. The photos are of my real dog and she really does eat organic food that I buy at the health food store.

Looking to the stars

2011-12-04T17:00:00.001-05:00

Waiting - that cold, dry period of life when nothing seems to be enough and something else beckons within us - is the grace that Advent comes to bring. It stands before us, within us, pointing us to the star for which the wise ones from the East are only icons of ourselves.

We all want something more. Advent asks the question: what is it for which you are spending your life? What is the star you are following now? And where is that star in its present radiance in your life leading you? Is it a place that is really comprehensive enough to equal the breadth of the human soul?

The Liturgical Year: the spiraling adventure of the spiritual life
by Joan Chittister
page 62

The promise of barrenness

2011-12-03T14:27:00.001-05:00

Sometimes loss, emptiness, and barrenness are the very vehicles

thru which new life, new light, and new beauty emerge.

Dormancy. Hibernation. Solitude. Transformed.

Not always, but sometimes.

What if?

2011-12-02T20:22:00.001-05:00

What if all the waiting and praying and hoping actually bring about the outcome you've always dreamt about and hoped for?
What if the greatest gift arrives, but in the least expected package at the most inconvenient time?
What if all your questions about why this can't possibly be what it appears to be don't matter?
What if you've been asking the wrong questions all along?
What if this is exactly what you've been looking for?
What if love actually is all around us?

For NN.

This evening, peace

2011-12-01T18:39:00.001-05:00

Jena Strong got me thinking about tenderness yesterday morning.
I've been thinking about peace all day today.

This evening, peace

for the friend helping her mom move from her home of 30+ years into an apartment
for the friend helping herself move out of her marital home into her own apartment
for the friend who has made that move already and is discovering the joy of living alone
for the friend who is looking for work
for the friend who recently started a new job
for the friend longing for companionship
for the friend unsure of what is ailing her daughter
for the friend unsure of what is ailing her marriage
for the friend who has begun to study something she has always wanted to learn about
for the friend studying for finals
for the friend celebrating the end of an illness
for the friend dealing with long term dialysis
for the friend awaiting the birth of his second child
for the friend longing to get pregnant

This evening, peace

for the friend whose grandson is suffering at the hands of an angry step-father
for the friend whose son faces 15 more years in prison
for the friend wishing she weren't so alone
for the friend wishing for some time alone, even just an hour
for the friend whose ex-husband refuses to pay child support
for the friend whose husband is on his way home from Iraq
for the friend whose husband recently left for Afghanistan
for the friend whose sons miss him terribly
for the friend too selfish to consider the damage his absence is causing to his children
for the friend too afraid to walk away from abuse
for the friend too fearful to stay put long enough to be loved the way she deserves

This evening, peace

for the friend who kicked her daughter out of the house
for the friend who is too proud to admit she was wrong
for the friend who is too afraid to ask for what she wants
for the friend seeking a deeper connection with her daughter-in-law
for the friend wishing her mother-in-law would leave her alone
for the friend who has gained a lot of weight this year
for the friend who wishes she had enough to feed her growing family
for the friend for whom winter threatens her sense of well-being
for the friend whose sense of well-being is increasing with each passing day
for the friend smoking clandestinely outside her mom's house
for the friend lighting a candle and remembering her mother's Christmas cookies
for the friend gathering ingredients for her annual cookie extravaganza

This evening peace

for the friend who has been hurt by my words
for the friend whose words have wounded me
for the friend from whom I feel separated at the moment
for the friend with whom I feel most connected these days
for the friend who asks me questions and then listens to the answers
for the friend who cuts me off and tells me to stop preaching
for the friend whose tears I have wiped and whose sorrows I have borne
for the friend who keeps asking me to tell the truth, even when the truth hurts
for the friend worried about her children and their future
for the friend who has set a vivid example of how to live at peace, no matter what
for the friend who keeps coming back to read this blog
for the friend who reads my words and rolls her eyes with disdain

This evening, peace

for the friend whose 40th birthday celebration and getaway reminded her of how blessed she is
for the friend who has never lost sight of how beautiful she is
for the friend who has no idea how gorgeous she is - and whose glow is undeniable
for the friend whose laughter lights up every phone call and whose words soothe my soul
for the friend who makes me laugh, belly laugh, with the perfect turn of phrase
for the friend whose sketches and wise words drive me to my journal every single time
for the friend whose art work inspires me to create, create, create
for the friend who is bravely telling her story in the most creative way possible
for the friend who reached out to me and wished me peace
for the friend whose tenderness got me thinking so much about peace

This evening, peace

for all men, women, and children everywhere

Grateful for odd things too...

2011-11-30T15:42:00.001-05:00

Today I am grateful for odd things...

- like being one block away from dropping my son off at tennis practice today only to have him receive a text from his coach telling him to go home. No practice today. He'd explain later. What??? Thank you for letting us know fifteen minutes after we left home.

- like receiving a letter from DirecTv granting us three free months of some game channel. Now we get to play Uno and Boggle with our television remote control for three whole months! What? Thank you, I guess.

- like figuring out that my dog was playing with a cricket she had somehow captured, batting it around with her paws on the staircase. What? Thank you for gracing our presence with this poor and terrified little critter... I think.

- like discovering this stuff, whatever it is, at the supermarket. I didn't buy any of it. But it was odd enough to capture in a photo. I cannot imagine what it is, but somebody must eat it or they wouldn't be selling it especially for such steep prices. What? Thank you on behalf of all those who are more adventurous eaters than we are.

- like smiling garage door openers. What? Thank you for making my entrance and exit more festive somehow.

- like the very wet, very large, very inquisitive nose of a donkey pushed through the slats of a fence at the petting zoo we like to visit on Hilton Head Island. Well, hello there, Donkey. Thank you for your wet welcome.

Stonehenge on the table

2011-11-29T07:28:00.001-05:00

This past June, Kristiana and I traveled up to Williamstown, Massachusetts, for my niece's graduation from my alma mater, Williams College. (Go, Ephs!)

On the day before the graduation, we sat down with a couple that I met when I was a freshman back in the fall of 1983. (I'll give you a second to do the math... tic-toc-tic... Never mind, here it is: I will turn 46 in 15 days (there is still time to shop and ship, folks!), and we go back for our 25th year reunion this coming June..)

Anyway, there on the table on their back deck, my friend had constructed a miniature version of Stonehenge - at least that's what I called it. On a glass table. Stones suspended, delicately balanced. All I kept thinking was: "Don't bump the table, Gail. Don't bump the table." Dale assured me that the stones had been there for a very long time and also that the glass could handle the fall.

Oh me, of little faith.

It was great to see Dale and Cindy again. To talk. Tell stories. Well up with tears. Double over with giggles. They are good friends. We share a rich, colorful, and rocky history. I am grateful that we are still friends.

Dale was right in a way he didn't know as he spoke: that a delicate balance has been maintained around and above the table of our friendship for a long time. And the glass, the ground beneath us, can handle the fall. It already has.

Beginning the ascent into Advent

2011-11-28T17:36:00.001-05:00

As the Advent season gets underway, I am being drawn down and back into silence. Into prayer. Into pondering the wonder, the miracle, the messiness, the improbability of a teenager in Palestine being pregnant with God. I understand her question to the Angel of the Annunciation because I would have asked the same one: "How can this be?" Indeed.

I know what it is to be pregnant. I had an simple explanation of how I ended up that way. When I think of Mary's ridiculously incomprehensible explanation of her pregnancy, when I think of the birth of the Christ Child, his life, death, burial and resurrection - my faith must expand exponentially to hold it all within this mind and soul of mine.

Faith, among other things, is the suspension of disbelief, of cynicism, of doubt. This time of year, these weeks leading to the celebration of the birth of Christ, is the time of year when my faith both wavers and stabilizes... Who do I think I'm kidding? That's how my faith feels every single day.

But when doubt rises, when questions come, when my skepticism bursts into full and fragrant bloom, as happens every few weeks, days, hours - I am most grateful that the faith I profess doesn't apply only when life is easy, explicable and enlightening. It is a faith in God that has sustained me during times of suffering, waiting, emptiness, and hopelessness. It is during the darkest times, during the darkest and shortest days at the end of the year, during the longest and most uncomfortable days just before the birth of a baby, that I am most grateful to enter this season of waiting for the arrival of The Light, of waiting here for Love again to be born.

I am grateful for the predictable three trimesters of pregnancy, the four seasons of the calendar year, and also for the liturgical calendar that turns and turns and turns - and returns me to this quiet season of anticipation, of preparation, and of reconnection with the things - and The One True Thing - and the people - and The One - that matter most to me.

Joan Chittister expressed it beautifully in the introduction to her book, The Liturgical Year:

"It is the nature of liturgical spirituality -
the attempt to live the life of Jesus
over and over again all the years of our lives -
that is the essence of this book.
It is about the spirituality of joy and suffering,
of waiting and faith,
of asceticism and celebration,
of loss and hope
that marks all our lives
and that needs to be
strengthened, deepened, revisited,
and rediscovered in the life of Jesus
and the life of the church
every year of our lives." (page xvi)

Anticipation...

2011-11-27T08:31:00.001-05:00

A dear, dear friend gave me a book a year or so ago entitled Simply Wait - Cultivating Stillness in the Season of Advent. Being that today is the first Sunday of Advent, I pulled it out and began my Advent journey with this slim volume serving as my guidebook. I can already tell that it's going to be exactly what I need this year. Exactly what I need.

Here is the prayer of invocation for this week's readings:

Holy Anticipation,
that breathtaking space in-between
what has been, what is, what is-to-come.
Where winter dreams reveal secret longings
and winged angels announce the coming of Love.
You draw us to the edge of Advent possibility
like the song of angels drawing shepherds -
eyes wide and breath held -
waiting, watching.
Come, settle into our living for awhile
and do not let us settle for too little.
Amen.

I know this feeling...

2011-11-26T14:25:00.001-05:00

"Think about what it is like to feel love in your heart. Think about what it is like to feel inspiration and enthusiasm pour from your heart. Think about what it is like to feel energy well up in your heart making you confident and strong." (The Untethered Soul, page 50)

Yesterday, Kristiana and I went out for a 2 hour and ten minute walk - 65 minutes each way to a supermarket I love. They sell bulk spices in small packets, and I wanted some ground cloves. So we set out on an adventure. Ipods in high gear - can you see the wires hanging from our ears? I had my camera in hand. I was grateful for her endless patience with me as I stopped too often to take too many photos.

But as we walked, as I sang out loud, as I took nearly 100 photos, I had that feeling: I felt my heart swelling with joy and love, enthusiasm and inspiration oozing into every pore of my body. It was a gloriously gorgeous day - and I was thrilled that we were outside experiencing it together. It was an afternoon of honoring how glad I am to be alive. Launa said it so well: "We are so alive right now, and we will not always be."

There were no ground cloves at the market. They had sold out. I laughed. I realized that it didn't matter. The joy of that walk, the fresh air in our lungs, the music in our ears, the time with my daughter - those were what I was really looking for. I found them. I was happy... yes, I know this feeling. All too well.

37 Days until the End of the Year

2011-11-25T07:59:00.001-05:00

That's right; only 37 days until the end of 2011. What are you going to do with these final 37 days?

The first thing I would recommend is that you go to this website. Patti Digh has been a writing and blogging crush of mine for years. I own all of her books, except the last one... at least, I don't own it yet. Every time I'm up in Asheville, I look around for that head of white hair, hoping to meet her, get an autograph, and perhaps grab lunch at The Laughing Seed. But so far, no luck.

She planted this 37-day seed in my head and heart years ago -
what would you do if you had only 37 days left to live?
Why aren't you doing those things now?

So about a week ago, it hit me: count off the last 37 days of this year, and then figure out a way to make them count. Not that I'm leaving for Spain or Italy and spending our savings account in five star hotels, drinking all the chianti I can legally purchase, and buying the best that Armani has to offer - if they even had anything in my size. Nor am I eating all the Darrell Lee red Australian licorice that Target has in stock. I haven't made a list of all the people who have ever offended me and sent them nasty notes lined with red ant larva expressing my anger. In fact, none of those things even occured to me until I started typing this paragraph.

What I am planning is to take time each day to reflect on the wonder that is my life and my story. I will spend time each day writing in the special journal I have created for these 37 days. The scrapbook supplies I've been saving for "a special occasion," the stickers that I've repeatedly postponed using, the pens and markers that I have always said I would use when ... something important happened sometime in the future. Well, that future time has arrived, and all that stuff is now bound into 2 inch looseleaf rings, ready to be filled with this year's final thoughts, photos, and quotes.

During these 37 days, I will look back at photos and videos I've taken this year, remember the places I've been, the people I've had a glass of wine with, the graduations I've attended, the visitors I've hosted, the hosts that have welcomed me as a visitor, the prayers I've raised and the answers received, the church I finally stepped away from, the one that is welcoming me in these days, the people I've met this year and the ones I've lost along the way - whether through death or attrition - and the long-term friends that have never considered walking away. These will be 37 days of prayer, music, writing, gratitude, intention and reflection.

They will also be 37 days of eating, drinking, and being colorful.
Days of Mondo Beyondo dreaming.
Days of making plans and lists of goals and hopes for 2012.
Days of reading Uncommon Gratitude, Cutting for Stone and Simply Wait.
Days of waiting for the arrival of the Christ Child, not only in the manger of Bethlehem, but also in the messy, smelly animal stall that my soul feels like most of the time.
Days of counting down towards the New Year that will arrive soon thereafter.

We all have 37 days until the end of the year. I play to use my 37 days to pay close attention to my life, to what is and what is not in it, to what I have and what I am glad I don't have, to who I am and who I am becoming, to everyone and everything around me and within me, and to bask in the love I have received, the grace, the comfort, the forgiveness, the joy, and looking forward to another year in which to live and grow and share myself with others.

What are you going to do with these next 37 days?

Just do it... you know you want to.

2011-11-23T16:12:00.001-05:00

They say that you shouldn't spend too much time camped out in memories, in the past,

in days and lives gone by... whoever "they" are.

I disagree. I say go back, look back, reminisce.

And give thanks.

Today, I am grateful for the deep connection I have made to women of faith this year, not Bible teachers or anything like that, but the women of the Bible. The adulterers. The demon-possessed.

The bloody and the lonely. The mother of our Lord and Savior, especially her.

They have each and all inspired me, challenged me, and accompanied me

on this year's life journey. I am grateful for their faithful presence.

I am grateful for the simple, profound, confounding, assuring, messiness of the life of Christ.

Life, healing, redemption, nourishment, sorrow, pain, accusation, death,

resurrection, reconnection, hope, joy unspeakable.

I am deeply grateful.

The gift of the Eucharist. Body broken. Blood shed. Stories shared down thru the ages. Prayers recited. Peace given and received. Tears shed. Hugs offered. In prayer. In silence.

In the company of so many. In the company of The One who Loves Me Most.

Perseverence. Patience. Persistence. The kind that grows thru the cracks in the stone pathways.

The kind that defies the odds. That peeks up, out, and around, and simply refuses to die.

Light, life, movement, noise, breath, the ocean, hotels, hot water, seashells, mai tais,

laughter, rosemary olive oil bagels, and chocolate bars with almonds.

Flowers, trees, grass, leaves fallen, raked, and bagged, dogs that escape their electric fences to play with the neighbor's dogs, vets that sew up wounded dogs (sorry, Wrangler... I hope you feel better soon), and the unconditional love that my sweet little doggie, Maya, shows,

especially when she can sense that I'm sad or upset.

Even when things don't end well, when the only option is opting out...

Even when you are trying to find your way home, wherever "home" may end up being...

No matter what, no matter where, No matter how dire the circumstances have appeared to be,

I have found that there is always a reason, a motive to smile and to give thanks.

So why don't you just do it? You know you want to.

Look back at old photographs. Recall trips taken this year. Weddings attended. Parties given.

Babies born. New homes purchased. Jobs provided. Healing granted.

Look at the tough stuff too. Marriages dissolving. Relationships eroding.

Promises broken. Hearts shattered.

In every situation, thru every situation, in spite of every situation.

I hope and pray that we will all be able to find reason to be grateful.

Happy thanksgiving!

On the occasion of a 29° morning...

2011-11-19T08:17:00.001-05:00

I was not looking forward to going outside this morning. I wanted to stay inside and pretend it was warm out there. But since I knew I couldn't do that, I scrolled through the photos of our recent trip to the beach and relived a few beachy moments before donning warm attire and heading out into the wild and frigid yonder...

Anytime I see a small body of water, I look for turtles. I usually find them and stare and smile and wish I knew what they were thinking. And planning. And carrying in their backpacks.

Speedo guy made us gawk and giggle. He didn't seem to notice us at all.

That was one fashionable dog, perhaps the best-dressed beachgoer that entire day.

An ominously cloudy sky did not deter my clan from heading for the water.

The wind only served to encourage my son's superhero fantasies.

A goat after my own heart: up on the roof, looking for a way to escape the pen.

Sunrise on our last morning there.

Perhaps tomorrow morning will be warmer.

I doubt the sky will be as beautiful though.

I look forward to finding out.

I wish I could do so at the beach again...

Big Gratitude

2011-11-14T19:44:00.001-05:00

Gratitude has been on my mind a lot lately. Gratitude is always on my mind, but more than usual of late - mostly because I'm coming to the end of a three-part series I've been teaching at a local church on gratitude.

Gratitude to _____________.
Gratitude for_____________.
Gratitude in spite of ______________.

We can all fill in those blanks in a variety of ways. Together as a class, we've been exploring new ways to see and appreciate all that we have and all that we are because of the many blessings we have received and in spite of many of the challenges that we face. Gratitude is always an option. Always.

As I was preparing for our last session together, which will take place this coming Wednesday night, I was reminded of another part of gratitude, another kind of gratitude that I want to discuss with the class: big gratitude.

It is good and right to give thanks for our daily bread.
For the roof that remains over our heads every night and every day.
For friends. For family. For employment.

But there is a broader circle of gratitude, a wider web that I found myself entangled in last summer while sitting at one of my son's many tennis tournaments. The one I'm referring to was here in Charlotte at a beautiful golf, swimming, and racquet club called the Charlotte Country Club. It is truly a hidden gem, one that I am grateful to have discovered; it is a welcome side effect of our extensive tennis tour schedule.

So there I was, sitting outside of the courts in the parking lot in a folding chair I had brought from home. I had found a sliver of shade, graciously provided by a nearby tree and a strategically placed light post. I had my journal in my lap, a pen in my hand, a water bottle at my feet, and my son was playing a great match of tennis.

As I sat there on that early summer morning, I looked around and was struck by the beauty of the location, the sound of the birds singing, the tennis balls being struck by new string, and the scores being spoken aloud by the young players. I looked around, slowly registering the presence of fences around the courts, players' chairs, score cards, garbage baskets, and bleachers where spectators sat.

Gradually and thoroughly, I submerged myself in a deep sea of gratitude. I was grateful for the people who had sat at sewing and weaving machines making tennis nets, tennis shorts, socks, tee shirts, tennis dresses, and the fabric of the chair in which I sat. I was grateful for the electricians who mounted the light posts and connected them to electricity. I was grateful for the people who manufactured and installed the tennis net poles, the folks who made and installed the fences all around the facility, the people who poured curbs, the driveways, and constructed the clubhouse buildings. The makers of Gatorade, coolers, towels, tennis bags, sneakers, shock absorbers, grip tape - they all flashed through my thoughts that morning. I was grateful for the engineers and designers and factory workers who worked together to create the minivan that carries me, my son, and all his gear to so many tournaments all year long.

The tournament directors, the facility managers, the cleaning crews, the maintenance workers, the officials, the parents, the players, the people who paved the parking lots, the ones who painted the lines on the tennis courts, the hundreds, perhaps thousands of people who had worked so hard to make that moment possible for me - I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Big gratitude.

As I watched my son run, reach, swing, serve, volley, lob, and do all the other things on the court that boggle my mind - and not my son alone; I am amazed every time I watch the young men and women who compete in these tournaments. Their skill confounds me - as I marveled at his very existence, this growing boy who for some inexplicable chose me as the antechamber through which he would make his entrance into the world, that morning, my heart swelled and my eyes filled with gratitude, soul-deep gratitude, big gratitude.

Grateful to God and to all the people who made that morning possible.

Grateful for life, health, strength, family, friends, access to money, to a car, the heart, mind and spirit that allowed me to have that profound experience of gratitude, and everything else under the sun. Absolutely everything.

Grateful in spite of my fear of losing it all, in spite of my feelings of unworthiness, in spite of the difficulties that come up, in spite of how nutty people think I am for thinking about my life and the world this way.

Big gratitude.

Francesca Johnson, the heroine in the movie, "The Bridges of Madison County,"
said it perfectly: "There is so much beauty. Go well, my children."

***********
The photos in this blog were taken in Macon, Georgia, this past June, and not in Charlotte a year ago when the incident I describe here took place. On the morning in question, I was too busy writing down all the things I was grateful for to pull out my camera and take pictures.

11-11-11

2011-11-11T16:43:00.001-05:00

How could I not post something on this most interesting of dates?

* Eleven randomly selected truths about me in no particular order:

7. I wear a size 11 shoe.

2. I was 11 years old when I started to really notice that faith in God made a difference in my life.

8. Eleven years later, at the age of 22, I had recently graduated from Williams College, and the faith thing was still really important to me - even though pastors, professors, and friends had predicted that college would be the burial ground of my faith.

3. Eleven years after that, I was 33 years old, the mother of two very young children, taking graduate courses at Wesleyan University, and wondering what I was going to do with the degree I was working on - a Master of Arts in Liberal Studies with an emphasis on African-American Women's Literature.

6. Eleven years later, at 44, I was living here in the South, doing nothing with that degree other than looking at it on my bookshelf, but I was glad to have met Oprah in person at my graduation from Wesleyan. I have a framed picture of the two of us, arms around each other.

4. I'm pretty sure she doesn't remember me.

11. I really could be her other friend, Gail. Perhaps I should let the first Gayle know that I would never be a threat to their relationship, just an addition.

1. I haven't yet hit the "eleven years after that" mark, but I'm sure these years will fly by faster than I am ready to admit.

9. To have a handful of friends who know me, know a lot about me, know how messed up, selfish, afraid, impatient, tolerant, intimidated, indecisive, and passive I can be sometimes, and still love me - that is one of life's greatest gifts. Those friends are worth more to me than pure gold.

5. To have faith in a God who knows me better than I know myself, who hears my every cry for help and mercy, who sees and catches my every tear, who knows the deepest yearnings of my soul, things I have never shared with a living soul and doesn't flinch, and to know beyond everything else I know that it is my faith in God that has sustained me through every trial, every challenge, every heartache, every blessing, every victory, and every joy - that is certainly the greatest gift in my life.

10. I was not born with eleven fingers or eleven toes, but I knew I woman who had eleven fingers. She worked at the elementary school I attended back in Brooklyn, New York. Once, when I asked if I could, she let me touch it. It felt weird, almost like there weren't any bones in it.

Thinking Small, Living Small

2011-11-03T19:03:00.002-04:00

This is a picture of the corner counter in my kitchen - but you probably already figured that out. Notice all the stuff we store there. Not a whole lot of room for chopping or preparing a meal. Back when we lived in Connecticut, this corner between the stove and the sink was the only counter space I had - except for about 10 inches between the other side of the stove and the refrigerator. I didn't have a choice about where I would do my meal preparation: I had to use that corner. I had to keep that corner clear and use the space efficiently. I learned to do that well. Every day meals and holiday meals were produced in that tiny corner between the sink and the stove.

In this new home - well, not so new anymore... as of yesterday, we have lived in this house for nine years - NINE YEARS - I've got counter space on the other side of the sink. Room for more stuff and more food preparation.

And when I step even further away from that counter in the corner, I bump into a lovely island that allows for still more room to work, space for my kids to sit and eat, and for me to sit and write. I'm sitting on the stool on the left as I type this post. It is now possible for all four of us to be in the kitchen, doing some kind of meal preparation at the same time. Not that it happens often, but it's possible. We can pour coffee, hot water for tea, fill cereal bowls, and flip pancakes all at the same time.

When we moved into this house nine years ago, guess where I spent the majority of my time doing meal preparation? At that tiny counter in the corner. I would pile up the veggies for a salad in that one corner. Then I'd prepare any meat I was going to cook in that one corner. Then I'd lay out serving dishes and utensils in that one corner.

Slowly it dawned on me that I was living mighty small in that corner of my kitchen. I had to remind myself every day that I could prepare meals on any of the counters in the kitchen. This new place offers an expanded space for me to do what I need to do in order to nourish my family and myself. Some days, I find myself huddled back in that corner with spoons and knives and colanders and cans and bags and cutting boards - all jumbled together. And then I remember: I don't have to think and live so small.

Do I even have to tell you how often the cycle of

* forgetting how much room I have to stretch and live and be productive,
* complaining about how small my world is and how cramped I feel,
* marveling, laughing, and groaning when I find myself back at "the counter in the corner"
* and rediscovering the wide, wild, inviting, and precious expanse of my real world and my real life

repeats itself in the rest of my life?

Gratitude Practice

2011-10-29T15:49:00.002-04:00

It's another gorgeous autumn day in Charlotte. Bright sunshine illuminates a few wisps of clouds in the famed Carolina blue sky. Brisk breezes blow newly fallen leaves across the driveway and into the garage. It's easy to find many things to be grateful for on a day like today.

1. an excellent Cardio Craze workout today. Andre Hairston is an awesome workout guide.

2. finding organic canned beans for 99¢ per can at Harris Teeter.

3. fresh brussel stalks (brussel sprouts on the stalk), gala apples, and baby spinach from Trader Joe's

4. ordering our kosher turkey for Thanksgiving (food is always on my gratitude list!)

5. greeting my husband and children here at home after they suffered through a difficult lunch with a friend of the family that is here visiting for the weekend.

6. college football on television

7. two new dresses from Synergy Organic Clothing. My son picked out a striped dress for me that I would never have chosen for myself, but it is the cutest thing I have worn in at least two years. I ordered it in navy & white and blue & green.

8. Romare Bearden's show at the Mint Museum. I've seen it three times... so far.

That yellow banner was a magnet for me to fill my shelves with bargain books.

9. a pile of books I'm working my way thru. I'm reading four or five right now - which is not a good idea for me. I have enough trouble remembering what each book I read is about. But there are so many good books around me, so much to learn. I'm greedy; I admit it.

10. tomorrow is my daughter's 18th birthday. we started celebrating her life, her courage, and her strength on Thursday. Recently, I saw a segment on an Oprah show in which a mother and daughter pair worked through a problem that the daughter was struggling with. Oprah had a guest on the platform who asked the mother to look at her daughter and say the following: "You are my daughter, in whom I am well pleased." Needless to say, I wept as I wrote those beautiful words into my journal. And yesterday, at a moment when Kristiana and I were alone, I told her: "Kristiana, you are my daughter, in whom I am well pleased." It was a precious moment between us.

*** Happy birthday, my sweet and brave girl. I love you very much.***

Note to self: addiction hurts

2011-10-28T08:09:00.001-04:00

Five weeks ago yesterday, I admitted to myself that I was addicted to sugar. Don't laugh; it's not funny at all.

I put two tablespoons of sugar and peppermint syrup into my coffee every morning. I ate red australian licorice - a lot of it. If I went out to dinner, I had a sweet alcoholic drink and dessert every time. Every time. At home, I made sweet drinks, baked cookies, made key lime pie, and had stashes of sweets in many places in my home. I reminded myself of Meg Ryan's character in "When a Man Loves a Woman." She had bottles of alcohol hidden in every room of her house. She couldn't go even a few hours without a drink. She neglected her marriage and her children because of her addiction to alcohol. Okay, so maybe my husband and children didn't suffer from my addiction, but I did have candy hidden in many places in this house. I had candy in the car. I had candy in my purse at all times, in the drawers of my desk, in the drawers of the nightstand next to my bed. Nearly every supermarket trip, every stop at CVS, even trips to health food stores were occasions for me to feed the sugar monster that lived inside me. There is no other way to describe the way I was living: I was addicted.

Back in June when Steve and I went to the Westglow Spa in the North Carolina mountains, the time I met Gloria Steinem, I was told about a massage therapist there who could tell when someone ate a lot of sugar simply by the way their body, their skin, and their joints felt in his hands. Needless to say, I didn't book my massage with that guy. But I ran into him while waiting for one of my treatments. At the time, I was sipping a rather potent cup of sweet tea, herbal tea of course - we were at a spa. When I told him what I'd heard about his famed sugar-seeking hands, he laughed. Then he began to count off the many dangers of sugar, the way in which it poisons our bodies and our planet. I was shocked to learn how much damage I was doing not only to my body, but also to this planet I claim to love - simply by maintaining this addiction to sugar.

Between that informative though disturbing conversation and Thursday, September 29th, I continued to hear and read information about sugar's effects on the body. I wasn't exactly looking for that information, but it began to come to me through articles in magazines, in news stories on television, and in conversations with unrelated people. The message was coming through to my drug-addled brain: "Sugar is your drug of choice, Gail. It's time to stop slowly killing yourself and numbing your emotions with sugar. Addiction hurts."

After shocking myself with the discovery of a ten-pound weight gain on the morning of September 29th, I made the decision: the sugar has to go. Cold turkey. No more coffee in the morning because I cannot drink it without sugar. No more licorice. No more chocolate. No more peanut butter chocolate chip cookies from Great Harvest Bread Company. No more key lime pie from 131 Main. Cut out the lemon drop martinis and mojitos and mai tais. No more cinnamon chip muffins from Manhattan Bagel. No more sweet tea. Done.

I thought I would be in agony. I thought I would suffer from migraine headaches and sluggishness. I was convinced that I would be in a bad mood for the next six months. I am glad to say that I was wrong about every one of those expectations.

Within three days, my skin was clearer and less dry. The ezcema patches on my legs began to clear up and haven't returned. My nasal congestion cleared within a week. I no longer woke up with a stuffy nose. The late morning and mid-afternoon energy slumps disappeared. My digestion system began to function more efficiently. I was more than mildly surprised at how much better I felt overall.

That's when I began to do research about what sugar does to the body. I began to read the blogs of other people who have dealt with their own sugar addictions. Some spoke of remarkable weight loss in the first month of cutting out sugar - one woman lost 8 pounds in the first month; another lost 22 pounds. I have lost 7.5 of the 10 pounds I gained. I am thrilled - and I've decided to try to lose an additional five pounds - what the heck? Others spoke of being able to sleep better. Check. Reduction in acne. Check. Loss of swelling and pain in joints. Check. The lists of positive benefits are long.

This coming Sunday, my daughter will turn 18. (Happy Birthday, Kristiana!!!) In true Belsito family style, we began to celebrate last night with cupcakes and candy. Yes, my husband brought five cupcakes and red licorice into this house last night. The cupcake he picked out especially for me was something called "Peanut Butter Explosion." (Note to self: beware of enablers...) I had to eat some, right? It's my daughter's birthday weekend, her 18th birthday, no less.

So I ate half of the cupcake and six or seven of those licorice circles. Delicious.

And then... I walked away. I felt no need to go back and finish the cupcake. I felt no pull to sneak back downstairs later and eat four handfuls of the licorice. I didn't begin to plan my next trip to Fresh Market or Target or any of the other places I used to frequent to get the best candy for my hidden stockpiles. Thanks be to God, I'm free.

Well, not exactly. I woke up this morning with my right nostril nearly completely blocked. Gotta get some water into this body of mine to wash the sweet nectar of death out of my body again.

As I have been doing an inventory of my closets, dresser drawers, and other hiding places, I have been asking myself what else I am addicted to and what else I've been hiding in the secret places of my life. What other habits do I need to break? To whom have I allowed yourself to get dangerously attached? I've already identified a few names and habits that need to be eliminated from my life diet. Some have already been dropped. A relatively new dependence has snuck up and taken over too much of my time and energy, and I already see the negative effects it is having on my heart and mind and life. I've gotta get over this one - quick. It's not that it's a terrible thing in itself. What concerns me is that I'm feeling that old thrill of the hunt and the conquest again - and I like that feeling. The "hit" followed by the "high" - I only want more, more, more.

It hasn't been easy, but the time has come to admit to the truth of my addictive personality and let The Truth set me free. I know I'll face these addiction-inducing situations, those attachments again and again in my life, but if I can overcome a 40-year sugar habit, I know I can overcome these short-lived challenges. I know that not "if," but "when" I indulge and get hooked on something new, I can start again. Go back to Day One and begin the journey one more time. I know that the battles are not over, but I am more than a conqueror through the One Who Loves Me Most.

Note to self: addiction hurts.

"My name is Gail, and I'm an addict."

School Bus Memories

2011-10-20T21:17:00.003-04:00

As I drove home after dropping my son off at tennis practice today, I pulled up to a stop light behind a small fleet of public school buses. The big yellow ones with NORTH CAROLINA PUBLIC SCHOOLS written on the side. These buses looked fairly new and clean. The windows were closed tight and darkly tinted. I can only imagine how hot it must get on those buses in this North Carolina heat; every attempt to reduce the glare of the sun and increase the breadth of the shadows is worth the effort.

I followed those buses nearly all the way home, watching with rapt attention as, one by one, they turned right and left at various corners in order for the students to arrive safely back at home. At one light, two buses stopped side-by-side. Suddenly several windows were opened and many high fives and handshakes were exchanged between students on the two buses. Then when the light turned green, just as suddenly as they had been opened a moment or two before, the windows were closed and the homeward journey continued.

As I watched that exchange of greetings between buses and the subsequent closing of the windows, I thought back to my own days of riding the school bus.

In elementary school, I attended a magnet school a long way from my house. The school bus picked me up across the street from my house in Flatbush and from there the ride was 45 minutes, crossed the great borough of Brooklyn, picking up tired little people at 15 or 20 bus stops, and deposited us at P.S. 307, the Daniel Hale Williams school in Fort Greene. (I just made the connection between my elementary school and the college I attended, Williams College. Plus my son's name is Daniel. Wowza! How cool is that?)

Because my stop was one of the first of the morning route, I would usually sit up front, right behind the driver. My father was a city bus driver at the time, so I felt an instant connection with whomever happened to be the school bus driver. I would ask lots of questions about driving and traffic. I would offer to open the door at the various stops. I would sometimes slip under the bar separating the driver from the students and sit on the box between the driver and the window. Why those men (all the drivers were men back then) ever put up with my antics is beyond me. But I loved riding the bus. I loved school. And I loved being up front - in the bus, in the classroom, at church, in the car. (I still like being up front. Anybody who goes to church with me knows that I want to sit up near the front. Some things never change...)

The afternoon bus rides were often tougher. The younger kids would often get on the bus first and they usually wanted the front seats. So I'd have to sit in the back. The older kids didn't appreciate my camaraderie with the driver or with the teachers and principals at school (I guess I was a bit of a brown-noser, but I truly didn't think there was anything wrong with hanging out with adults - and I couldn't understand why the other students cared who I hung out with.) I had my fair share of fights on the bus. Being the peace-loving, tender-hearted kid that I was, I tried as hard as possible to avoid fisticuffs, but sometimes I had no choice but to defend myself. Pulled hair. Split lips. Torn clothing. Bookbag contents strewn. It wasn't pretty. But I survived.

It wasn't all terror and teasing on the bus. Those same school buses also took us to the Bronx Zoo, the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, the Museum of Natural History, and many other eye- and heart-opening sights in New York City. We went on factory tours and train trips, to concerts and Broadway shows, as well as many other cultural and social events that shaped my malleable mind into the music, art, and travel lover that I am today.

For middle school and high school, I attended a private school, equally far from my house, but at the opposite end of Brooklyn. For six years, the bus picked me up on Ocean Avenue and traversed streets and boulevards heading for Dyker Heights, not far from the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, to the Polytechnic Preparatory Country Day School, known more simply as, "Poly." I loved that place. I loved every minute of my six years there at Poly. I loved it so much that, soon after graduating from college, I went back there to teach for two terribly short years. If I still lived in New York, I would still be teaching there. I wouldn't have homeschooled my children because they both would be students at my alma mater.

Life on the school bus, especially during my middle school years, was quite different from school bus life in elementary school. The main reason for the vast change in school bus etiquette was a kid whose name was Frank. I won't say his last name because I want to protect him from potential prosecution for the behavior he incited and committed on the bus.

There were mustard and ketchup packs boosted from the lunchroom and squeezed out onto unsuspecting people waiting to cross the street after the school bus passed them by. Pedestrians were showered with mustard and relish. I still cringe when I think of the poor woman on her bike, dressed all in white, who was doused in ketchup as we passed her. (Maybe that is why I still am reluctant to buy any clothing that is white.) I wish I could say that I worked hard to stop Frank from doing what he did. I wish I could say that I reported his behavior to the driver or some other authority. I'm glad to say that I never participated in the rampant tomfoolery, but nor did I make any attempt to end it. I laughed a lot on that bus. A lot.

Well, except for the few times when the bus driver would pull over to the side of the road, get out of his seat and come to the back to reprimand us for our noise and for our rowdy behavior. And the day that Frank threw a bus seat out of the window - yes, he pried the bottom pad of the seat off the frame, lifted it to the open window and shoved it out - we all knew, even Frank, that things had gone a little too far. The driver of the vehicle that was nearly destroyed by that flying seat stopped the bus and got on. He was not happy. He came to the back of the bus and let fly a string of epithets, insults, warnings, and threats that every single one of us deserved to hear. I felt bad for the driver. He couldn't believe we had been so irresponsible and reckless, plus he was going to get into big trouble for the missing seat.

It was in the back of that Poly bus that I had my first interracial dating experience. His name was Joe. He was one grade ahead of me and about three inches shorter than me. But we got along very well. He wrestled. I played basketball. He played baseball - or was it lacrosse? I ran track. He played football. I screamed my head off at the games. Our homerooms were a few doors away from each other, mine being the very classroom to which I would return several years later as a teacher. In the morning, we would sit in the hallway outside our homerooms and talk. In the afternoon, we would sit next to each other on the bus and talk. After several weeks of that, we began to hold hands. Whenever anyone walked past in the hallway or came near us on the bus, we would let go. I liked Joe a lot. I think he felt the same. But we never spoke about it. We simply sat together and held hands - as long as no one else was around.

It's remarkable how so much of who I am today, who I live with, who I relate easiest to, what I fear, what I avoid, and what I find funny was established during my years as a school bus rider. Many of the most important lessons of my life were learned while the wheels on the bus went round and round.

Today, as I drove home from dropping my son off at tennis practice, I drove behind a small fleet of school buses. And I remembered my own school bus experiences. I smiled. I cringed. I apologized yet again to that beautiful young woman on the bike and the horrified bus driver. I laughed when I remembered mischievous, young Frank and sighed when I remembered sweet, young Joe. And I reminded myself to be alert and cautious when standing on street corners while school buses are passing by. You never know.

I wonder how Frank and Joe are doing these days.
And I wonder if they ever reflect on their own school bus memories.

Finding Common Ground

2011-10-18T10:40:00.002-04:00

To all my sister-friends who have ever struggled with your faith walk, who have ever questioned your place in the church, especially in churches where women are "silent," (but not so silent that they can't make up most of the singers in the choir, teach most of the children's Sunday School classes, or run Vacation Bible School), who have tried to cling to faith rituals that have lost their meaning, who bristle at the jokes and stories told from the pulpit that are at your expense and the expense of all women everywhere, who long to be truly seen, heard, and welcomed into your own faith community, and may have given up and walked away in despair and disillusionment -

to those who have asked God to speak, to move, to act, and have wondered at the gaping silences, to all people, men and women, who are seeking a deeper faith walk while struggling to make sense of how crazy and lonely and uncertain it sometimes makes you feel to pursue Someone so unknowable and unspeakable -

I want you to know that you are not alone.
That there are others in the same place.
That there is common ground.

Know that all the ground between you and me,
between each of us on this halting, stumbling, confusing,
life-altering, exhilirating, inexplicable journey of faith -
all the ground between us, between all of us, is holy ground.

And if you are in a city where the movie, Higher Ground, is showing,
please go see this movie.
Please, please, please, go see it.
And then stop back by here and tell me what you think.

I saw it yesterday with my daughter.
I plan to go see it again - soon.
I hope to read the memoir it is based upon.

In the meantime, at all times, and in every situation,
remember, you are not alone.
There is common ground.
Stay on the pathway of faith, the way, el camino.

I wish you peace, courage, and hope.
Deep peace.
Profound courage.
Boundless hope.

Keep Parenting - and everything else - in Perspective

2011-10-16T20:20:00.003-04:00

I toyed around with the idea of writing another post, a final post, about my first trip to Italy - the one that ended ten years ago yesterday. One of the best solo trips of my life. I probably will write more about that trip. But not today.

I just finished another fabulous book, The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted - and other small acts of liberation, and thought about writing a post about it. I probably will. But not today.

When I couldn't decide on a blog topic, I clicked over to my facebook page, scrolled down a few entries, and discovered a link to this remarkable New York Times article on parenting a dying child. How does one do that? In the only way you can - for this day, this moment, this hug, this meal.

Here's the truth - that's all any of us are doing - parenting dying children, loving dying spouses, spending time with dying friends. Perhaps we don't have a declared diagnosis. Perhaps no timelines have been drawn up of how much time is left. But none of us will survive this trip on planet earth. And none of us knows how much longer we have.

Love the one you're with.
Or get with the one you love.

Write the letters you've postponed.
Or the emails.
Or the text messages.

Live fully.
joyfully.
peacefully.

Say what you need to say.

I love you. I miss you. I think you are beautiful.
You are dear to me, a soul friend.
I am glad you are in my life.
You are being remembered fondly.
This isn't working anymore.
It's time for us to give each other our freedom.
We need to make some changes around here.
Speak the truth.

Thanks to the aforementioned article, I have been challenging myself to stop worrying so much about grades on math tests, tennis scores, five-paragraph essay forms, whether or not my shirt matches my skirt closely enough, and whether or not I've folded the laundry while it is still warm, you know, so the wrinkles won't set in. I'm gonna drink more tea, go for more walks, read and play more games with my kids, create more art journals, reach out to some of the friends I let get away, accept more invitations from the ones who won't let me get away, and let go of the relationships that have stopped growing and thriving altogether.

I am looking forward to the ways in which I will keep parenting, life, love, and everything else in perspective.

"We are and we are not"

2011-10-13T11:39:00.001-04:00

One of my blogging heroes, Kristin Noelle, wrote a beautiful piece that I must quote and imitate. I don't think she will mind.

The thought in all of this, though, that I wanted to share is this powerful idea that all of us "are, and are not". We are powerful and we are not. We are graceful and we are not. We are confident and we are not. We are experienced and we are not. We are wise and we are not. We are beyond our years and we are somewhere back in childhood. Infancy, even! Sucking our thumbs and wondering about everything, What in the world just happened??

I am powerful and I am not.
I am graceful and I am not.
I am confident and I am not.
I am experienced and I am not.
I am wise and I am not.

I am a great mother and I am not.
I am a loving wife and I am not.
I am a reliable, trustworthy friend and I am not.
I am a good listener and I am not.
I am a teacher and I am not.
I am a writer and I am not.

I love my husband and I do not.

I love my children and I do not.

I am an organized, committed homeschooling mother and I am not.

I am a dedicated full-time, stay-at-home, housewife and I am soooooo not.

I eat healthy, organic, nutrient-rich food and I do not.

I drink six to eight glasses of water every day and I do not.

I have a great life and I do not.

I want a life of passion, wild abandon, and world-wide travel and I do not.
I want to break out of this routine of life that I have established and I do not.
I want to live like some of my blogging and real-world heroes and I do not.
I am tired of living in suburbia and I am not.
I am a big-city dweller at heart and I am not.

I want to get "a real job" and I do not.

I wish I had never given up teaching and I do not.

I want to run away from home and I do not.

I want to downsize and live a slower life and I do not.

I worry about money every single day and I do not.

I am free to write whatever I want on this blog and I am not.
I feel like every blog post has to have something related to Jesus in it and I do not.
I feel guilty whenever I don't say something about God in my posts and I do not.

I do the best I can to be the best I can and I do not.

I practice what I teach and preach and I do not.

I worry about what other Christians think of how I live my Christian life and I do not.

I worry about what non-Christians think of me and I do not.

I wonder what all that means and why it matters and I do not.

I care deeply about what everybody thinks of me and I do not.

I'm gonna stop being so anxious about this stuff and I will not.

I miss going to church and I do not.

I believe that all is well and I do not.

I am a Christian and I am not.

I believe what the Bible says and I do not.

I worry about what God thinks of me and I do not.

I'm boring and predictible and I am not.

I am reliable and dependable and I am not.

I am faithful, loyal, and available and I am not.

I am a pacifist and I am not.

I am certain of many things and I am not.

I am full of questions and I am not.

I have a lot of answers and I do not.

I am full of doubts about things I used to believe without question and I am not.

I am worried about what some of the readers of this blog will think about this list and I am not.

I am being completely honest in this post and I am not.

***************************

I am glad I found Kristin Noelle, her blog, her voice, and I look forward to more of her and the lessons she is teaching me through her writing... and I am not. (Kristin, that's only because you are rocking my world so much, girl. Making me think way too hard and ask way too many questions.)

Another rainy morning on Hilton Head

2011-10-11T09:23:00.002-04:00

We escaped our life in Charlotte on Friday morning and retreated to our favorite home away from home - a rental house on Hilton Head Island. It's our third time staying here - and we all love it.

We rent bikes. We walk on the beach. We eat too much. We laugh. We talk. We disagree about where to eat. We snap at each other's silly comments. We roll our eyes at each other's food choices. We go to our separate bedrooms and pretend that no one else is home. In other words, we take our show on the road. But here in Hilton Head, all our annoyances, all our bad habits, all our selfish tendencies, as well as our love for each other, our enjoyment of each other's company, and our gratitude that we are a family, that we are still a family after all these years, all that we are is surrounded by palm trees, alligators, herons, pine needles, turtles, sand, and surf.

Friday was sunny and bright and warm and wonderful.

Saturday was cloudy and warm and wonderful.

Sunday was drizzly and wonderful.

Monday was rainy, wet, windy, and wonderful.

Today, we go home - which is wonderful, too.

All in all, it was a good vacation. No matter what the weather, we were away from home. We were together. These four days were a reminder of something I said more than twenty years ago... something about sticking together for better or for worse.

Italy 2001 - Day 2

2011-10-06T16:15:00.000-04:00

(If you haven't already read the post I wrote before this one, then this one won't make as much sense. I will confess that it may not make any sense even after you read the first one... but it is what it is.)

******************

I wasn't in Rome long. I went from Fiumicino airport to Termini train station where I caught the express to Florence, known to Italians as Firenze. In the taxi from the Santa Maria Novella railroad station to my hotel, a lovely convent that had been converted into a bed and breakfast, I could barely contain my awe, my glee, my incredulity at finally being in the city I had done so much research on, the city of Brunelleschi's famous done, the Baptistery/Battistero, the Uffizi Museum and much more. I was in Firenze!

Unfortunately it was too early for me to get into my hotel room, but the man at the front desk gave me a map, circled the hotel, circled another spot, and directed me to what he promised would be a fabulous lunch at a little place called Mario's. But I had to hurry, he said, because they were always busy and the place closed promptly at the end of their lunchtime service. Off I went, map in hand.

Within minutes, I was lost. I couldn't find the street signs very easily. It took me several minutes to realize that they were attached to the buildings not on poles. I couldn't tell which direction I was going on any given street. I stopped a few times to try to orient myself at one intersection after another. To no avail.

So I stopped a woman and asked her how to get to Mario's. Actually, I pointed to the circle on the map and shrugged my shoulders. She told me. In Italian. In very fast Italian. And she gestured with her right hand. I set off with renewed energy and hope. Both of which faded rather quickly when I arrived at where I thought she had sent me, but saw no busy restaurant and no sign of Mario's.

So I stopped someone else. Repeated the same exchange of asking with my hands and being answered with her hands - only this time, at the end of the arch of her finger-pointing was Mario's. Or rather a crowd milling outside of Mario's. A crowd of people chattering away in Italian, frequently checking their watches. Uh-oh. This place might close before I could even get it. It had taken too long for me to get there to turn away without trying.

So I stood back for a moment and watched as a few people in front of me gave their names to a man with a clipboard. I did the same. Or rather I tried. Again, the Italian-English language barrier proved nearly insurmountable. But he wrote something down, something that I hoped would remind him of me when the time came.

The time came. He pointed at me and motioned for me to follow him and three other people entering at the same time. I followed. The restaurant was tiny and packed. I saw one empty table with four chairs. What the heck? Are we all going to sit together? No way. I don't know these people. I don't speak Italian. This is not going to work. Immediately, I began to panic and pray at the same time. "Lord, really? This is what my first sit down meal in Italy is going to be? Me sitting with three strangers, hoping they don't interpret my silence as rudeness. Gee, thanks, Lord. Thanks a lot."

Behind the menu, I looked around at other people's tables, thinking that perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to point at someone else's plate and place my order that way. It all looked good. It all smelled good. And I was hungry. So I could only imagine how delicious it would be once it hit my palate.

I lowered my menu and sheepishly made eye contact with the other three people at the table. The two men and the one woman sat staring at their menus. Then one man turned to the woman and asked her what she thought she was going to order. They bantered back and forth about things they had already had and what they wanted to try. The other gentleman chimed in with some suggestions of his own, being that he had been in the city for a few months and had eaten there a few times.

How do I know all this? Because they were speaking in English! I wanted to jump up and go kiss that maitre'd on the mouth. He had fished the four English speakers out of the crowd outside and put us together. I nearly broke down and wept. In fact, think I did get tears in my eyes. Together we decided what to order and while waiting for our food, we got to know each other a little bit.

The man who was there by himself had spent the previous five or six months on sabbatical from his parish in England where he was an Anglican minister. He spoke of missing his wife and children but also about how much he had loved his time there in Florence. He was heading for home just a few days later.

The couple was from California. They were both college professors. The woman was teaching in Florence for the year and that man was in Budapest, or someplace else equally interesting. He was there visiting her for a few days. Turns out they knew one of my college professors, a political scientist who had moved from Williamstown, Massachusetts, out to one of the UC schools, Santa Clara, I think it was. They informed me that she had had a son and was doing quite well.

They asked for my story. I told them that I like to travel alone and do so quite frequently. I told them that that was my first time in Italy and that I had come to Florence for a few days not only to do the tourist thing but also to visit a woman I had gone to college with who was an art history professor there with the Syracuse University program. The woman asked who my friend was. I told her. She informed me that she had had dinner with my friend just a few days before! They were colleagues in the same program.

Unbelievable! Except that it was happening. To me. Right there. In Mario's. In Florence. In Italy.

My prayer changed. No longer was it, "Lord, really? This is what my first sit down meal in Italy is going to be? Me sitting with three strangers, hoping they don't interpret my silence as rudeness. Gee, thanks, Lord. Thanks a lot."

Rather quickly, it was transformed into, "Lord, really? This is what my first sit down meal in Italy is going to be? Me sitting with three strangers, hoping they don't interpret my tears of joy for tears that indicate a nervous breakdown. Thank you, Lord. Thanks so very much."

When I rolled myself out of the restaurant an hour or so later, as I wound my way back to the hotel, all I could do was say, "thank you, thank you, thank you" over and over again, mostly internally, but sometimes out loud. Suddenly, I had a deep sense of peace about the entire trip. If God could orchestrate every detail so that I would take a flight from New York to Rome accompanied by a gaggle of nuns, take a train from Rome to Florence, not be able to get into my hotel room, be given a recommendation and a map to a restaurant I'd never heard of, get lost twice on the way, arrive at said restaurant at exactly the right time, and be put at that table with those three people on that Friday afternoon ten years ago, then I could trust that all of the rest of the journey would be just fine.

It was more than fine. It was one of the best trips I have ever taken in my life.

**************

PS. I'd post pictures of that inaugural journey but the ones I took on that trip aren't digital. And, no, I'm not about to pull them out of the albums and scan them. I'm far too un-technology savvy for that.

PSS. Lest I sound too Pollyanna-ish in the final lines of this post, not that I have a problem with being called Pollyanna-ish as I have been called much worse, let me be quick to add that not every scene of my life has been as well coordinated or as happily concluded as lunch was that day at Mario's. I've sat in emergency rooms with sick loved ones. I've leaned over caskets holding the bodies of people I still loved. I've known the fear of job loss in a tight economy. I've wondered how our bills would be paid on time. I've felt the agony of watching a child writhe in pain and suffer through a rather serious illness. Life has not been an easy journey for me. Nor for anyone. I know that.

But this is something else I know: every time I allow myself to bask in the loving presence, provision, and protection of God and also when I allow myself to scream, cry, doubt, and question God's love for me and everyone else in the world, even then, I am reminded that if God is God, if God is Almighty and All-knowing and an ever-present help in time of trouble, then neither my ability to find a reason for gratitude and subsequently tell a cleverly crafted story nor my persistent complaining and my frequent bad choices - none of what I do or don't do has any effect on who God is or what God is capable of doing. For that, I am eternally grateful.

I Remember Ten Years Ago Tonight

2011-10-04T18:35:00.005-04:00

I was sitting at JFK airport in New York City awaiting my flight to Rome, Italy. Ten years ago today, I took my first trip to that amazing, wonder-filled country. Yesterday I pulled out my journal from that trip and reread parts of it. Here are a few of the highlights from that momentous night.

October 4, 2001 - 6:18 pm - I'm sitting at a table at JFK, watching flights take off. Thinking. Praying. Incredulous about being here. Leaving here. But very excited. So many wonderful people, sights, meals, museums, and experiences await me. I am thrilled. I anxiously await and anticipate a life-changing experience for all 5 of my senses and for the most important sense of all: my heart and soul.

I remember vividly how tense we all were, all the passengers at JFK, just a few short weeks after the horrors of September 11th. No one complained about the new inconveniences related to boarding flights. No one minded being scanned and wanded and asked a dozen questions. Those of us who awaited Alitalia Flight 611 departing at 7:40 that Thursday evening sat quietly, nervously, eyeing one another, measuring each other up, trying not to look too nervous and hoping that no one around us looked excessively nervous. Fear hung thick in the air.

The approaching sound of women's voices speaking rapidfire Italian began to fill the waiting area. It sounded like a posse of very energetic and happy women. To my great delight, it was a group of nuns, all in their habits, simple carry-on bags in hand, plain black sweaters over shoulders, sensible shoes underfoot. A collective sigh of relief went up from everyone in the area. We all knew that we would be fine. If there was going to be a gaggle of nuns on board, then there was also a cloud of saints flying with us. I laughed at how silly that line of thinking was, but I also embraced it as an implicit promise from God. I mean, how could God let an entire gaggle of nuns go down in flames somewhere out over the Atlantic Ocean, on their way back to the Vatican, no less?

The flight crew is being processed. I like the looks of Italian people already. My God, this is gonna be people watching at its very best. Thank God for dark sunglasses. I'm so glad I decided to go thru with the trip, that I didn't back out. This is gonna be really good for me. Excellent. Just said my final goodbyes to Steve. He's so amazing. Beyond amazing. No fear, it seems, at letting me go. Possibly losing me. Amazing. I need to treat him better.

7:50 pm - On board: mother and son team, interracial couple with a new baby, a gaggle of nuns, 4 black women on a journey. I'd love to talk to them. Maybe I will.

I didn't talk to anybody on the flight, except to my journal. Which is filled with such funny little details, questions, hopes, dreams, prayers, descriptions of the flight attendants, other passengers, the "dinner of tasteless fish," and a summary of the book I was reading on the flight, a book I still take with me on every overseas journey, The Way of the Traveler. I read it for the first time on that flight. I have since bought a second copy because I underlined so much and written so much in the margins.

Ten years ago right now, I was sitting at the airport awaiting a flight that would take me to a country that, second only to Spain, is my favorite country in the world. The art, the architecture, the churches and duomos (cathedrals), the language, the people, the food - I loved it all. I wept copiously at the beauty, the history, the trees, the gardens, the sunlight, the way light bounced off of fountains and church facades, the small cups of powerful espresso, the dainty heels on the well-heeled and spectacularly dressed women, and the breath-taking beauty of Italy's handsome men. The respectful way in which the people lived in, across from, and behind buildings that were hundreds of years old reminded me that there are people in the 21st century who care about history, who care about preserving their history, and who welcome others into their ancient way of life - it all awed me.

I remember that there were many times on that trip when I would sit on the back pew of a church, on the steps leading up to a cathedral, on a bench outside of a museum, or at a table outside of a caffe and close my eyes, soaking in the sounds and smells of the place. I would open my eyes and make a list of everything I saw, smelled, heard, felt, and even the smoke that I would often taste wafting through the air. Those lists, those passages are some of my favorite momentos of that journey.

Every one of the ten nights I spent in Italy, in Florence and in Rome, when I lay down to sleep, exhausted, foot-sore after hours and hours of walking, I would close my eyes and, smiling broadly in the darkness, I would say some variation on the same theme: "Thank you, Lord, for every minute of this. Every single minute of it."

One truth penned on that flight ten years ago tonight still rings true: I need to treat Steve better.

Every now and then...

2011-10-03T18:43:00.001-04:00

I come across a blog post or a video that say exactly what I would have said if she hadn't said it first. Here are two such gems that I discovered in the past 24 hours.

The first is a video by Kristin Noelle. It's about ten minutes long, but worth every minute. Kristin writes and maintains one of the most thought-provoking, challenging, encouraging, empowering blogs I read. Please go check out her writing and her beautiful sketches. But watch the video first.

The second is a blog post by one of my favorite writers, photographers, and story tellers, Jen Lemen. Jen is one of my favorite people in the world. I had the honor and privilege of meeting her three years ago in San Francisco, plunging immediately into deep conversation with her and feeling my soul shift on its axis, simply by being in her presence. She's that wonder-filled.

These two women have served as role models for me as writers, as mothers, as thinkers, as adventurers, as honest, vulnerable, deeply flawed, real, loving, confused, beautiful women. They are women of deep faith, of deep love, of deep convictions, deep questions, and deep trust.

And they are both darn good writers.

Feast on their wise, fearless, and tear-soaked words.

PS. I just found another gem. This is a letter directed at "Women's Ministry." It made me laugh, groan, and shout "amen." The same woman wrote this piece about prayer. I think I just found a new writing love. Enjoy!!!

This is it...

2011-09-30T07:17:00.001-04:00

A quote I found this morning in the book, The Cup of Our Life by Joyce Rupp.

For all of a sudden when I saw those lights, I said to myself,
Ivy, this is your life, this is your real life, and you are living it.
Your life is not going to start later.
This is it, it is now.
It's funny how a person can be so busy that they forget this is it.
This is my life. ( Lee Smith, Fair and Tender Ladies)

Yup, this is it. This is my life. I'm gonna turn 46 in December. It's not likely that I've got another 46 years in me after these. But even if I do, this is the one life I get to live here on earth. These are the only days I get to pay close attention to, cherish, and give thanks for.

Each bowl of cereal, bottle of ice water, bagel with cream cheese, and cup of tea.
Each turning leaf, fading flower, and creeping vine.
Each person I look at, listen to, smile at, and dream about.
Each person I laugh with, cry with, and make plans with.
Each trip to the beach, to Spain, to New York City, and all the adventure that accompanies me on each journey.
Each morning that I sit at my desk, writing my morning pages, watching my neighbors leave for work, and greeting the sun when it rises.
Each evening that I prepare and clean up after dinner, fold the last loads of laundry, and kiss my children good-night.
Each afternoon when I get down on my knees to scrub something, to pick something up, or to pray.
Each time I leave this house to drive my daughter to the bus or my son to tennis or myself to Trader Joe's.
Each time I return home, pull safely into the garage, and say, "Thank you, Lord, for keeping us safe on yet another journey, through yet another day."

This is it. This is my life, my real life. These are the days of my one wild and precious life.
Sure, I could complain about what is lacking, what I wish would change, who I wish would change.
Sometimes I do complain. Okay, I admit it: I complain a lot
- even if it's only in my journal and with my closest friends.
No matter how much I moan and groan about it, this is it.
This is my life. These are the ways and the days that make up my real life.
I plan to live these last days, no matter how many or how few that remain with grace, with honesty, with dignity, with faith, with hope, in peace, and with joy.
I'm gonna throw some fun in there too, lots of laughter, and immeasurable gratitude.

In answer to the question, "Why are you so happy?" Heller Keller said, "My child, it is because I live each day as if it were my last, and life, with all its moments, is so full of glory."

What if Jesus was serious?

2011-09-26T17:27:00.001-04:00

What if Jesus really meant what he said when he answered that young man's question about what he needed to do to be saved?

Jesus said, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself. All the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments."

Rachel Held Evans followed that passage with: "Love. It's that simple and that profound. It's that easy and that hard. Taking on the yoke of Jesus is not about signing a doctrinal statement or making an intellectual commitment to a set of propositions. It isn't about being right or getting our facts straight. It is about loving God and loving other people. The yoke is hard because the teachings of Jesus are radical: enemy love, unconditional forgiveness, extreme generosity.

"How ironic that the most important fundamental element of the Christian faith is something that is relative, something that cannot be measured with science, systematized with theology, or managed with rules. How fitting and how strange that God should hide his biggest secret in that present yet elusive thing that poets and artists and musicians and theologians and philosophers have spent centuries trying to capture in some form but that we all know the minute we experience it. How lovely and how terrible that absolute truth exists in something that cannot really be named." (209-210, Evolving in Monkey Town: How a girl who knew all the answers learned to ask the questions)

What if that's what Jesus really expected us to do - love God and love other people? What would that look like in my life?

To love the Lord with my thoughts, my desires, my words, my actions.
To love my husband and children the same way.
To love my neighbors, friends, extended family members the way I love myself.

If Jesus was serious about that, then I've got a whole lot of work to do to put that into practice. I think what I'm gonna do first is go back to the stories written about Jesus and look for the many ways in which he did that when he was here on earth. Then I will try to follow his example.

Loving God comes easier than loving people. God is invisible, untouchable, and perfect. I don't have to smell God's morning breath, clean up the dishes God leaves around the house, or wash God's sweaty workout clothes. I don't have to listen to God ramble on Sunday mornings about issues that have nothing to do with me or forgive God for cutting me off in traffic or teach God how to write essays. I can just shut my eyes, think about the good stuff, and be grateful. I can read the poems, the accounts of miracles, and plunge myself into the stories of the ways Jesus spoke to, listened to, and healed the women who followed him while he was on earth. Loving God, loving Jesus, even loving the Holy Spirit is easy.

It's easy to love my neighbors as myself when my neighbors look like me, think like I do, live like I live, and believe the same things that I believe. But when their political, religious, moral, relational, sexual, ethical values, standards, and lifestyles differ vastly from mine, do I love them like I love myself even then? Or do I come up with excuses for letting myself off the hook on that particular command?

It's fairly easy to show love, respect, honor with my actions. I can speak kind words and think hateful thoughts. I can say, "Sure, I'll pray for you. I'll help. I'll clean up the mess" - but know that I won't pray, I don't want to help, and I have no intention of cleaning up after anybody but myself.

It is not easy to love others in my thoughts. My thoughts can get mean, insulting, judgmental, lusty, angry and greedy. In a hurry. Bringing them back in line, that's a whole lot harder.

My countenance may never change. My mouth may continue to overflow with Scripture, words of encouragement, and politically correct statements, depending on whose company I am in. But my heart and mind are often far removed from what my mouth and my body are doing.

If Jesus was serious about all that, then all I can say is,
"Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner."

**********
I continue to be enormously grateful for this book. As the subtitle suggests, I am learning to release my earlier tendency towards knowing or pretending I knew all the answers. I am enjoying the process of asking more questions than I used to, and I am glad to say that I am also learning to live with the questions, to not rush to answer them myself, and to not even rush to find the answers. Sitting with the questions, marinating in them, writing down dozens and dozens more of them, and allowing them to change me and challenge me to think, to wonder, and not be ashamed to admit that I do not know it all - this is some of the most painful and rewarding stuff I've done since I began my faith journey.

Joining the Pharisees and the "I hate Jesus" Club

2011-09-23T15:00:00.001-04:00

I have been abundantly blessed with great books lately. The latest is, Evolving in Monkey Town, by Rachel Held Evans. She is my hero. She grew up in a "Christian home" like I did. She was good attitude and behavior awards. She memorized Scripture. She learned how to confront her non-Christian friends and help them understand that they were on their way to hell if they didn't believe what she believed. She spend hours reading and studying and singing and praying and loving her life of faith.

And then, during her college years - at a Christian college, no less, she began to ask questions. Questions that caused people to worry about her heart and soul. Questions that caused her pastors and roommate and professors and fellow believers to wonder if she believed at all, to warn her to be careful about what she said out loud, and, above all, to remind her that God's ways were higher than her ways.

One friend said, "God's ways are highter than our ways, Rachel. At some point, you have to accept the fact that you cannot understand everything he does. He is the potter. You are the clay. The clay can't tell the potter what to do."

Rachel responded, "You know what, Sarah? I'm starting to wonder if maybe we made this potter up." (page 115)

I love this book. I think I love this woman.

Anyway, below is the quote that has me reeling at the moment.

"It is natural for most Christians to assume that had we lived in Galilee two thousand years ago, we would have dropped everything we owned and followed Jesus. But I'm not so sure that those of us with expensive Christian educations and deeply religious backgrounds would have fallen in line. I'm beginning to suspect that most of us would have joined the Pharisees and enrolled in the I HATE JESUS club.

"Jesus drank wine with sexual deviants. He committed major social taboos. He spent a lot of time among contagious people, crazy people, uneducated people, and smelly people. His famous cousin wore camel hair and ate locusts and honey. Those most familiar with Scripture called his views heretical, and his own family questioned his sanity. Jesus introduced new teachings not found in the Scriptures and claimed his authority came directly from God. He asked his disciples to sell all their "blessings" and follow him, when doing so could get them excommunicated from the faith or even killed. He was too liberal, too radical, and too demanding. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure that I would have followed the guy, and that really scares me sometimes.

"Fortunately for us Pharisee types, Jesus offers hope in the form of his conversation with Nicodemus. Nicodemus was himself a Pharisee and a member of the prestigious Sanhedrin. He had a lot of questions for Jesus and seemed a bit skeptical, but Jesus assured Nicodemus that if he was willing to start all over again, willing to let some things go and think a little differently, he could experience the new kingdom himself. Jesus said to Nicodemus, "I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again."

"In India, I learned that among Hindus, the goal of reincarnation is to be reborn into nobler circumstances. And in India, I learned that in the kingdom of God, the goal is to be reborn in humbler ones." (pages 155-156)

I'm not finished with this book yet. I'm not sure it will be finished with me anytime soon. But I am loving how open she is about her doubts, her questions, her prayers, her fears, her yearning for more understanding, more peace, and more opportunities to discuss all that was swirling in her with folks who wouldn't immediately question "her salvation," whatever that meant to the one asking the questions at any given time.

I am reeling, folks. Spinning. Twisting. Wondering. Pondering.
Rethinking a whole lot of stuff.
It's so good. So very good.

"A Sky Full of Lighters"

2011-09-16T20:23:00.003-04:00

It's a song my son likes to listen to on the radio when we are in the car on our way to tennis... which seems like it's happening more and more frequently every week - but that's a-whole-nother blog. A few lines in that song by Eminem, Bruno Mars, and Royce Da 5'9 (don't ask; I have no idea who that is or what those words means) jarred me out of my "Oh, Lord, what is he listening to now?" stupor the first time I heard them. Here they are:

This one's for you and me, living out our dreams
We're all right where we should be
Lift my arms out wide I open my eyes
And now all I wanna see
Is a sky full of lighters
A sky full of lighters

I've often wondered what it felt like to stand on a stage in front of a swaying audience, looking out on a crowd of smiling faces, seeing people with one arm wrapped around the next person and the other arm raised up with that hand clutching a lighter. Every one of those twinkling flickers swaying to the left and to the right along to the beat of the song. Every one of those twinkling flickers representing a fan, a follower, someone who loves your music or your performance, your talent, your gift. I suppose the temptation is to believe that every one of those twinkling flickers represents someone who loves you. But that's unlikely, because most of the people holding those lighters don't know you.

They spent money on the ticket to come hear you sing, but they've never spent time to come hear you cry. They bought your cd online or a few songs in itunes, but they haven't bought the right to hold you close when you don't feel like singing. They wear your tee shirts, ball caps, and post links to your videos on youtube, but they have no idea how lonely you feel when the cameras are off and the fine clothes you wore on that stage are back in the tour bus armoire.

I won't lie; I've had my moments of wishing I could look out onto an appreciative, swooning crowd and watch them sway dreamily while I teach a soul-stirring session of journaling as a spiritual discipline, but so far, none of my classes has stood to its feet, lighters in hand. I've had my moments of wishing I could stand offstage at a James Taylor concert or an Oprah Winfrey event and watch the crowd sway to his bluegrass tunes and her belly laughter after a particularly lively exchange with her other friend, Gayle. I've even had dreams of being a personal friend of Roger Federer (who, in my dreams, was both easy to talk to and a joy to watch interacting with his wife and children) and Tiger Woods (who definitely did not take the sage advice I offered him in my dreams). To step into a limo with those two world-class athletes, to walk with them through crowds of screaming fans and know that they had chosen to confide in me - those fleeting, nocturnal mirages are about as close to looking out into "a sky full of lighters" as I am likely to get.

Earlier today as I listened to that song in the minivan for the umpteenth time, this time on the way to the chiropractor for mother and son spinal and cervical adjustments, I had another thought - what if a sky full of lighters is not necessary after all? What if a room full of lighters or, better yet, a Starbucks table full of lighters is all that is called for? Just two friends, two confidantes, each holding up the light of love, a listening ear, a non-judgmental spirit, even a few moments of silence, bathed in the light of mercy and forgiveness and soul prayer - that's about all the light anyone needs these days. Perhaps I should speak for myself.

During the past few weeks, I have had the high honor of walking through the valley of the shadow of many dark and ominous things with a handful of dearly beloved friends. Illusions lost. Relationships ending. Hope drained. Magical thinking abandoned. Loved ones sick or dying. Jobs lost. Futures uncertain. Fear. Doubt. Regret. Sorrow. Loneliness. Pain. Concern. Anguish. Questions, so many questions.

I have made time to sit with them, to write to them, to call them on the phone, to drink tea or coffee with them, to go for walks with them. I don't travel with a lighter, but at some point during each exchange with my dear ones, I have felt my heart light up, the warmth of soul heat rising up through my chest, into my mouth erupting in the form of a smile, into my eyes erupting in the form of a tear, or into my hands erupting as an email written through vision distorted by the aforementioned tears.

I know how lonely you feel because I have felt lonely myself. I know how fearful you feel because I too have been desperately afraid. I too have watched a loved one contorted with pain and suffering in the hospital. I too have been paralyzed with fear over the loss of an income. I too have despaired over the loss of love and companionship in a long-term relationship. My lips move involuntarily with yours as you cry aloud, "Why does this have to be so hard?" "Why does it have to end this way?" "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" "Why has she forsaken me?" "Why has he forsaken me?" My soul sways to the words of your lament.

And I salute your strength, your determination, your longing for another chance at peace, at wholeness, and at healing. I applaud you as you search for the job you need, a new place to live in quietness and rest, for taking the first, unsteady step towards a new horizon, for dreaming a bigger and broader dream, for not giving up on finding the refuge and fortress you desperately need to shield you from the harm and danger you have endured for too long.

To each of you, I raise a banana daiquiri and offer these rewritten lyrics as a toast, as a prayer:

This one's for you, my friend,

Living out your dreams
You're right where you need to be
I lift my arms out wide

So open your eyes
Now all I want you to see
Is me waving my lighter
Yes, I'm waving my lighter

Peace be with you. Deep peace.

All shall be well, my dear.

All shall be well.

We must never forget September 10, 2001

2011-09-10T19:21:00.001-04:00

The truth is that I don't remember much about September 10, 2001.

I know that it was a Monday. My children were 7 and 4 years of age. We were homeschooling, probably reading together, doing math problems on the white board in our lower level homeschool room in Norwalk, Connecticut, in a cute little corner of that city known as Silvermine - hence the address of my blog and the name of our homeschool.

We probably ate lunch together at the dining room table, painted, went for a walk, played catch in the yard. We probably went to the supermarket - I don't tend to go shopping on Sundays, so Mondays were often a day of food shopping for the new week.

We probably visited with our neighbors - those poor kids had to go to public school. We felt sad for them so we probably walked to their house and asked how their first days of school were going.

We had no idea how much our lives would change the following morning. We had no idea how much our nation would change the following morning. We had no idea how much our world would change the following morning.

Actually, my children's lives didn't change much at all. Thanks to the blessed ability to protect them from the big, bad world, we didn't tell them much about the specifics and the horrors of that fateful Tuesday morning for a very long time. I didn't tell Kristiana - who was 7 at the time - that the towers that had been hit were in New York City until six months later when she and I were driving along the FDR Drive in Manhattan. I pointed out the gap in the sky and informed her that the Twin Towers had once filled that space. Daniel, at 4, was far too young to understand, so we didn't tell him for years.

As unpopular a sentiment as this might be, it behooves us to recognize that many people's lives didn't change on or as a result of September 11, 2001. For the average person alive on that day, who didn't have electricity or access to a television, who didn't live in a large city, who didn't have access to airports or any reason to fly anywhere, who didn't know or care much about the United States of America - which includes most of the people on the planet - that day was just like any other day in their lives. They don't remember any remarkable details about that day any more than I can remember anything remarkable about September 10, 2001. Not everyone looks back on that day and sees it as the day that changed their lives and their nation forever.

Another unpopular sentiment that it behooves us to recognize is that every day is "September 11th" for somebody. Maybe it doesn't involve terrorists or plane crashes or collapsed skyscrapers - but every single day somebody's world come crashing down around them. They hear of a devastating medical diagnosis. A job is lost. A loved one dies unexpectedly. A house burns down. A hurricane knocks out the bridge between their quaint village and the mainland. An earthquake shakes them to their foundation. A forest fire consumes a home. A flood or a mudslide or a broken levee washes away lives and livelihoods. Starvation claims the life of another child or adult, a parent or grandparent - as do AIDS, drug addiction, and gunfire. Dogs attack a toddler and kill her. An abusive spouse rapes and kills a helpless woman while the children look on in terror. A depressed dad takes his own life. And nothing in the lives of the survivors will ever be the same. That date will be etched into their minds forever. I've certainly got my share of unforgettable dates. March 22, 2001. December 24, 2001. November 15, 2008 - to name just a few.

Nope, it's not always 3,000 people at a time. Although sometimes it is - let us not forget the tragedies in Darfur, Somalia, Rwanda, and Eastern Europe as wars raged in so many nations there twenty years ago.

It's not always plane crashes. Although sometimes it is. Someone who meant the world to me when I was in college was killed in a plane crash in Nicaragua - a crash that didn't make the news here in the United States. And when the bombings happened in the train stations in Madrid on March 11, 2004, there wasn't nearly as much attention given to it in the news here in the United States although it was just as devastating to that sovereign nation as our tragedy was to us.

Ten years later, on September 11th, 2011, the tenth anniversary of one of the worst days in the history of this nation, there will be commemorations, ceremonies, moments of silence, flags raised, flags lowered to half staff, and memorials of all kinds offered. Videos will be shown again. Phone calls will be heard again. Stories of heroes, stories of loss, stories of sorrow will be told again. Tears will flow again. Hearts will break again. As well they should. Many will promise to do whatever it takes to prevent such catastrophes to befall us ever again. We must never forget.

My prayer is that ten years later, on September 11, 2011, we will welcome and be grateful for a new day, a chance to start again, to find new ways to pick up the pieces not only of a terror-stricken nation and a war-ravaged world, but also the pieces of the shattered lives, devastated relationships, and broken hearts that are much closer to home and that are experienced over and over again every single day.

We must never forget September 10, 2001.

Or September 11, 2001.

Or September 10, 2011.

Or any day for that matter.

We must never forget.

The big things

2011-09-07T23:20:00.002-04:00

This past weekend, we went to the beach. A quick visit. Less than 48 hours.

We ate too much, talked too loud, cut each other off, wouldn't sit still long enough to take decent photographs, and didn't put on enough sunscreen.

For the first 24 hours, I was definitely not "living in the moment."

I was worried about a friend in pain, sending wishes for peace and wisdom.

By late afternoon on Saturday, I felt my heart finally arrive at the sea.

I accepted the invitation to sit. To listen. To laugh. To read. To wonder.

To give thanks for the sun, the sand, the clouds, the strength to stand and walk in the sand,

for eyes to see it, ears to hear it, and a heart in which to treasure it.

Sunrise. Sunset.

Solitude. Silence.

Color. Texture. Scent. Sunshine. Rented umbrella and chairs.

Mai tais. Creme brulee. Bagel sandwiches. Milk chocolate turtles. Ice water.

Wordless awe before indescribable beauty.

Tiny birds with the impossibly fast and spindly legs.

Watching a bird make its way across the beach from surf to stairs, from shell to stick,

oblivious to all the people was a reminder that sometimes the small things,

the tiniest details are the ones that create the biggest and best memories.

With fires, floods, earthquakes, bombings, corruption, greed, war,

sorrow, isolation, loneliness, meanness, fear, and anger

flowing ceaselessly around, through, and in the world,

last weekend I was reminded to stop taking blessings for granted,

to stop ignoring the need to make changes in situations and relationships that are failing,

and to pay close, clear attention to what is happening in my life.

I took several long, hard looks at what is real in my life these days.

What was real on Saturday included the splendor of the sea,

the gentle rhythm of an early September day on the South Carolina coast

and the precious moments of solitude when I was able to ponder it all -

I found myself saying, "thank you, thank you, thank you" over and over again.

The heavens declare the glory of God,

the skies proclaim the work of God's hands.

Day after day, they pour forth speech; night after night, they display knowledge.

There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.

Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.

(Psalm 19)

Enjoy the little things. One day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

(Robert Brault)

On Silence

2011-09-02T07:56:00.000-04:00

Finishing up Naked Spirituality by Brian McLaren. Two of the final chapers are about silence, a topic, a practice that is dear to my soul, to my survival, to my existence.

This is the quote at the beginning of chapter 26, which is entitled, [ . . . ]: Naked, Clothed in Silence.

Silence is the language of God, and the only language deep enough
to absorb all the contradictions and failures that we are holding
against ourselves. God loves us silently because God has no case
to make against us. The silent communion absorbs our self-hatred,
as every lover knows.

Richard Rohr.

Thankful Thursday - back to basics

2011-09-01T10:52:00.002-04:00

In light of all that is going on in the world at the moment:
the flooding and power outages up in the Northeast,
the heat, drought, and fires in the southern plains and desert southwest,
the famine, drought, starvation, and tortures over in Eastern Africa,
with so many people who are unemployed, homeless, and living in unrelenting poverty,
with so many people fighting not only against illness but also against the medical system,
in nations of political and military unrest, where the innocent are slaughtered as "collateral damage,"
in nations of political, religious, and intellectual persecution,
today my gratitude is centered on the most basic and often the most overlooked gifts in my life.

Today, I am grateful for -

1. food - the farmers that grow it, the workers that pick and process it, the drivers that deliver it, the employees that shelve it and sell it at the supermarket and the local markets as well

2. electricity, running water, natural gas, the sewer system, phone service, Directv, police officers, fire fighters, public transportation, along with all the other private and government-provided amenities that make my life immeasurably more comfortable

3. a strong, solid home that is still standing, but not standing underwater

4. old friendships that deepen over time and new ones that surprise me in their honesty and depth

5. the internet with its access to people, places, and information that would otherwise be out of my grasp

6. the freedom to attend the church of my choice

7. the freedom not to attend church at all

8. ongoing full-time employment for my husband

9. the freedom I have to not work so that I can homeschool my son

10. clothing in the closet and the dresser

11. appliances like the stove, refrigerator, microwave, vacuum cleaner, washer and dryer

12. a car that runs well and is fully paid for

13. the public library

14. music

15. the beautiful natural world: squirrels, birds, frogs, turtles, dogs, cats, trees, flowers, lakes, ponds, rain, to name precious few of the miracles that surround me on a daily basis. And don't even get me started on the remarkable people that I come across every day: beauty at every turn, in every curve, under every heavy eyelid, every solid collarbone, every curl, every elbow, every kneecap. Don't be fooled: every single person alive is a wonder, a miracle in the making.

16. love, joy, peace, patience, and kindness

17. grace, mercy, forgiveness, and acceptance

18. the realization that this list could go on for pages and often does go on for hours and hours in my thinking each day - I am blessed indeed.

19. the many opportunities I have been given to be surprised, to be stand in awe, in wonder, and in gratitude for such a wide array of bountiful blessings.

20. life itself - the ultimate gift of life. It's not always sweet, easy, or exciting. It doesn't always feel abundant or free. But life is a gift. Every single day. Every moment is a gift. For which I give thanks. Thanks be to God.