moon moment

Posted on June 13, 2014 by isplainasjane

It’s Friday the 13th, full moon, and I’m sitting on the deck of our beach house (ours in the sense that we have rented it for a week!) watching this big beautiful ball rise over the gulf. The glare from from my ipad is no match for the intensity of the moon’s reflective intensity scattered over the shoreline. I’ll take a picture with my phone, but it won’t do justice. The stars twinkle awe at it’s beauty. My husband and I have now been at the beach with our daughter, her husband and their two precious girls (they each shine a light into the lives and hearts of Tom and me) for 5 days. Five days of a 7 day vacation we have planned for months. A week that is flashing by like the speed of light. I wish I could freeze time and watch this moon and keep my family this close forever.

I understand that this full moon, in June, on Friday the 13th, is the first of its kind in over a hundred years. A long time in my frame of reference, but I suppose a blink of the eye in the history of being. Most things are a matter of perspective aren’t they. But here I sit, on this particular evening, watching the moon while my dear loves sleep, perhaps to the sound of the waves, steady and gentle in their rhythm. And I feel both a joy and a peace that stems from a gratitude for being able to witness and appreciate beauty that I cannot understand, and love that is so strong It aches deep in my heart. Oh, if I could just freeze this moment.

But even as I observe this big and mysterious moon in all it’s glory and beauty I see that time passes whether we want it to or not. And with the passage of time, things change, again whether we want them to or not. As each moment ticks on the clock (although the clock in “our” beach house is broken…hmmm) and the moon rises higher and higher, it has changed from a deep hue of yellow/orange to pale ivory. It is whitening with each second, and it’s reflective light is ever more expansive over the gulf waters, giving them an opal like iridescence that stands in stark contrast to the usual murkiness of the daytime Texas gulf waters. A magical bright spot in the midst of the darkness of night.

As much as I want to freeze this moment I realize how foolish that would be. For that would take all the life out of it. All the mystery. Time indeed does march on, and things do change. Eventually my sleepy eyelids will win the demand for me to go inside and give my body a much needed rest. And things will be different somehow in the morning light. But the good news, no the great news is, that the mystery and the wonder of life will remain. Maybe there will be clouds or thunder over the horizon. Or maybe it will be one of those glistening days at the beach. Whatever the change, there will be beauty to behold. And love. The love will be there on the morning light. Just as it has been in this big beautiful, century anticipated, Friday the 13th, June full moon.

May you experience the fullness of love in the midst of it all.

Something to chew on…

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hill country confession

Posted on June 8, 2014 by isplainasjane

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The last several weekends have been a time of celebrating connections.  New connections, renewing connections, remembering connections.  And, all this connecting has made me realize just how easy it is to become dis-connected.

We had the wonderful opportunity to spend a weekend in the hill country with a lovely couple, playing golf, hiking up Enchanted Rock (a granite cut that, at the top, provides a mighty fine 360 of some of the beauty of Texas), imbibing in some good wine and great conversation.  It was fun getting to know more about this couple and their stories, moving from acquaintance to friendship. A beautiful discovery of shared interests.  One of those shared interests is golf.  I’m terrible at golf but have loved it for as long as I can remember and it was great fun being reconnected to the beauty and challenge of trying to discipline my body to do what my mind clearly wants to do….hit the ball.  Super mind and body disconnect for me most of the time!  How can it be so difficult?? And yet, I love the challenge and also the pleasure of being outdoors.  Some people say that golf takes too long but, that is one of the things I love most about it.  When else do you “have” to be at play for 3 or 5 hours?!  It was a fun weekend of being physical and playful and I am reminded of the importance of being connected to that part of me. Something that I have, all too frequently, sacrificed in my striving to be who I thought I was supposed to be.

The next weekend we traveled back to the hill country to spend the weekend with longtime friends, the kind of friends with whom we share history, knowing both the joys and pains of each other’s lives and value each other’s presence through it all. We didn’t play golf but we spent time outdoors, playing washers and watching fireflies.  Fireflies!  I just love fireflies!  Maybe one of God’s most creative endeavors.  Their fragile beauty, so easily missed if one is not paying attention, is incomparable as far as I am concerned.  I never see fireflies in the city, and I hear they may be in danger of extinction due to all the pesticides.  I pray it isn’t so.  For there is nothing that makes me feel more connected to nature and God than watching the night gently come alive by the light of these little creatures.  After the fireflies came the frog symphony.  From baritone to tenor we were treated to a nighttime awakening that was at once symphonic and hilarious. And finally, as if right on cue, the stars appeared in full view.  It was all a stunning reminder to me of how much beauty there is in the world and how often I am totally blind.  I see but I do not see.  It was such a privilege, convicting and encouraging, to be reconnected to God who is so far beyond anything I can possibly imagine and yet as intimate and close as the summer night.

Our Texas hill country trilogy ended with a trip to the home of more longtime friends.  We’ve been in each other’s weddings, the birth of each other’s children, and also shared in the pain of loss in each other’s families and in the joys of new beginnings.  We celebrated our reconnection by dancing the Cotton Eyed Joe at a famous Texas country dance hall, dancing to the Almost Patsy Cline band and drinking long necks.  I hadn’t danced in a long time and although my body felt the brunt of this reawakening I loved every second of it.  I love dancing perhaps as much as anything else in life.  To think that God created humans to have rhythm, some more than others, just makes me smile.  To dance is to surrender to the moment and to anticipate nothing more than the present beat.  To dance is to be fully present and yet taken away at the same moment.  To dance is to be fully connected to the body and mind in a way that blends the best of both.

My reflection on all this is my confessional of both praise and repentance to God.  I have so much to be thankful for in the way of family and friends, and life and purpose.  God has firmly connected me in love and to love.  But sometimes I let other things distract me from allowing myself to be fully connected to the gift of this moment, this life.  So….on this, my 60th birthday I declare….here I am to live and love and be connected to God, beauty, family, friends, you…

Who says an old dog can’t learn a new trick?

It is this connection, this abiding, that Christ’s love brings to us.  Even when we’re feeling disconnected.  May you feel the full connection to your life and your loves this day and always.

Something to chew on….

 

 

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her hands

Posted on May 10, 2014 by isplainasjane

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My hands are much like my mother’s. Average in size, with gnarly knuckles and age spots galore.  But my mother’s hands were much more talented than mine ever have been or ever will be.  At least they were when she was a young mother, before the arthritis set in. Her handwriting was beautiful and made a grocery list look like poetry.  She was always creating something with her hands.  For some, having to wear a homemade dress was a thing of shame, a symbol of not having money.  Not for me.  I would be invited to a party and would come home from school to see something special hanging on my door.  A true one of a kind party dress.  I don’t know for sure if the dresses were really that cute, or if it was the way in which she presented them with such confidence and love.  But I grew up feeling confident that I would always have just the right thing to wear for any occasion.

My mother had a neighbor who was even more creative with her hands than she was, and when they got together, well; it was nothing less than magic.  During my Barbie doll years they would make the most amazing dresses, and even hats, and put them in tiny boxes, decoupaged with the paper from the sacks of Lubbock’s (my home town) finest department store, Hemphill-Wells.  I’ll never forget (at least I hope I never do) Christmas morning when I saw this trousseau of Barbie fashion.  It was heaven on earth!  I’ve looked at Barbie doll dresses recently in anticipation of my granddaughters’ futures, and I have to say, nothing I’ve seen comes close to the seam work or creative genius of my mother and her friend.  Some things just simply require a personal touch in order to be a thing of beauty.

As I consider Mother’s Day this weekend, I am filled with gratitude for the special care my mother showed to detail and the way she made the simplest things seem so special. And, I am filled with gratitude for the opportunity to be a mother myself to the most amazing daughter anyone could’ve ever hoped for.  I was not as creatively talented with my hands as my own mother had been, but I am hopeful that my daughter felt the special care of this mother’s love and touch.  And, I am thankful beyond measure at the mother that she is today.  Her two little girls are cared for in such beautiful ways that it is hard for me to find the words to express just how proud I am of the woman she has become.  And, to be a grandmother to her two girls…well it brings the sweetest caress of joy.

But, in all of my musings today I am struck the most by the example of a “mother’s love” that can be found in the book of Genesis.  Yes, I know, I said mother.  In the middle of “The Fall” no less!  Now, before you go thinking I’ve lost all sense of good theology let me explain.  Bear with me.  It’s right there when Adam and Eve have eaten the darn forbidden fruit and are being sent out of the garden to “serve the soil from which they came”.  Right before they are sent away God makes them clothes.  Makes them Himself.  Out of skins.  Adam and Eve had hurriedly thrown on scratchy and flimsy fig leaves, but God had a more protective and comfortable plan for their wardrobe.  And of course, skins grow on animals so that meant that God had made a sacrifice, it had cost something to provide these garments of grace.  But here’s the best part to me.  Right there in Scripture it says that he dressed them himself.  God didn’t just throw the skins at them and tell them to leave.  He took the time and care to dress them personally, just like mothers do every day before sending their kids to school, out in the world to learn how to serve and get along.  God’s grace was fulfilled through the love of Christ, but it was there in the garden as well.  As gentle as a mother’s touch.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you mothers, or anyone else who has ever shown care to another out of love.

Something to chew on….

 

 

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learning what it means

Posted on April 21, 2014 by isplainasjane

ImageIt has been over a month since I have posted.  I haven’t had much to say. I’ve been getting used to unemployment, sabbatical, or retirement, depending on the perspective of the moment.  I finished my term as the interim pastor for a small church on the southeast side of Houston on March 23.  And there is, at this time, no next thing.  I had interviewed for a call to be the Designated Pastor for a small church on the west side of Houston but I did not get it.  Aside from a momentary ego crisis, I wasn’t  disappointed though because I hadn’t really felt “called” to it and had  even prayed that if it wasn’t the right thing that God would slam the door.  If I’d been offered the job I would’ve taken it, called or not, because I so feared not having a pay check. Doing a ministry simply for the paycheck is not a calling.  It’s a mistake.

But I can tell you that, after almost a month of not having a pay check…life is good.  My husband, love of my life who I have bragged about before, is being super supportive as always and I think he is enjoying me being at home more and enjoying me being more present when I am at home.  I’m even making him a smoothie every morning as he leaves for work! Seriously. And I am enjoying being able to play with my precious granddaughters, Eloise and Avery, and in general be more available to others.  I’ve even made connections with some friends I hadn’t seen in years. And I’m resting.  And reading for fun.  And exercising! All in all, it feels like a super sweet spot.

At first it was a little hard to exhale.  I hadn’t realized just how much stress I had been carrying around and how shallow I had been breathing.  It’s taken this month to really let go (or, let it go) and begin to relax.  During the decompression process, I’ve gone through several levels of self-doubt, analyzing why it took me eight years to get through seminary and the ordination process only to end up only being in ordained positions for almost, but not even, three years.( Not even enough to be vested in the retirement plan!) I worried I might be a disappointment to others because I hadn’t lived up to their encouragement and support of me. And for the first time I woke up to the fact that, while I may be fairly new in ministry…I’m old.  I’ll be sixty in June.  And let’s face it, the church job market is at its most practical a job market, and younger is definitely better in the eyes of most search committees.  At first I kept chastising myself for being a failure.  For a day or two I wallowed in a concoction of guilt, self-pity, and depression.  But that was absolutely no fun and, thankfully, I woke up to the fact that I did not have to go down that old and worn out road.  I have preached grace. Now it’s time to live it. Heck, now it’s time to enjoy it! 

When I first sensed a call from God, it was not at all about the credentials or the title or the money.  It was about a heart-deep yearning that came from God’s wooing to be a source of encouragement to others.  About participating in something that was better than anything I could have possibly imagined on my own. To be a proclaimer of God’s grace and love which is so much more expansive and far reaching than humanity has ever accepted.  And from the very beginning God opened doors and used me in ways that were just plain crazy by the world’s standards.  But somewhere along the way I begin to strive and pursue and work for a way “in” to the institutional system because it seemed like the necessary thing to do.  My focus slipped from the gift of opportunity that God was laying before me and, instead, I became slave to the demands of my own insecure vanities.

I’m grateful for the seminary education.  Very grateful!  But, on my last day of class I was struck by the truth that it too, just like my call, had been a gift from God, meant to build me up and equip me for what God had planned.   I had failed to enjoy and soak it in as fully as I could have.  Foolishly I had seen it as a necessary evil to get the credentials which I thought would serve as a key to the elusive door of human validation.   I was looking for permission from the world instead of seeing the gift of affirmation from God!  I almost missed it completely, and would have had it not been for God’s gentle nudging as I walked across the bridge over the creek to my campus apartment on my last day as a student.  I don’t know if it was the familiar creaking of the bridge or the way the light danced on the rocks as the water splashed over them, but there was something in the moment that spoke beautiful truth to me in a way that I was able to recognize. Oh, that I would have recognized it sooner! 

And, I’m thankful for the opportunity of ordination.  Again, very thankful!  Being able to walk along side others by officiating weddings, baptisms, communion, and funerals is a privilege and a humbling honor.  Being allowed in those sacred moments of life with others is a joy that goes deeper than words.  But, sadly, after my ordination, it didn’t take me long to get stuck in the muck and mire of church politics and to come head on with the ugliness of the institutional aspects of church and my part in it.  These are anxious times for the denomination into which I was ordained, times of separation and strife.  I fear our witness for the love that Jesus embodied has been weakened and I wonder what the world must see.  We have something beautiful and life giving to offer.  But is it evident in our current divisive rants and decisions? How can we offer a message of grace to the world when we don’t even extend it to one another?     

So, now, I find myself, ordained and credentialed to officiate weddings, and preside over funerals, baptisms, and communion, but a pastor without a congregation.  A pastor on the outskirts of the institution I strived so hard to enter.  In my wallowing, I asked the question, “Can a pastor be a pastor without a congregation?”  Thankfully, God spoke, through a wise friend and former supervisor, telling me that being a pastor is not what I do but rather what I am. It is what God created me to be, but what that means has turned out to be different from my preconceived notions. Surrendering to that reality has now freed me up to, as I said before, let go and enjoy this sweet spot of life.  Scripture tells us that God’s calling is irrevocable which reassures me that, whether or not I have a job in the church, I have a purpose in living out who I am in Christ and to be an encouragement of love to any and all neighbors… family, friends, strangers….you. This calling is a gift to be received, not a prize for which to strive.  A gift to be explored, enjoyed, and shared.  It seems clear to me now, but what a crazy path to get to this promised moment.  I suppose I’m not unlike the Israelites, who had to wander around in the wilderness for 40 years before they were ready to enter their promised moment in time.  Thankfully God’s grace has been with me all along, even when I didn’t recognize or lean in to it.  Again, much like the Israelites.  

My hope and prayer is that you, today, know how loved you are and that you are receiving your life as the gift it is and one that is meant to be enjoyed. A beautiful gift of wonder in relationship with the One who holds us all.  There is nothing you could ever, ever do to make God love you any less.  And there is no striving you could ever do to make God love you more.  God simply loves you more than you can possibly imagine.  And that’s the good news of Christ. That’s Jesus. That’s Love.

Something to chew on….

 

 

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park bench prophet

Posted on March 15, 2014 by isplainasjane

He looked like a young Hungarian Bob Dylan, complete with frizzy hair, crooked teeth, pasty face, and those beady eyes.   I had traveled many miles for this moment, and yet it was something I never expected.   The Missions Director had informed me that God told her I was supposed to go on a trip with a team of young musicians and vocalists that were traveling to Budapest, Hungary for the purpose of partnering with an evangelical ministry located there.  Often during the days leading up to the journey I doubted she and I listened to the same God as I could see no reason or purpose for me going.   I was at least twenty years older than anyone else on the team and to hear me sing is to hear a cat’s mating screech.  And most importantly, I never ever approach people about Christianity.   Where exactly did I fit into this scenario!!  And yet here I found myself in the middle of a foreign city park talking with a young man who was the spitting image of the hippie songster with the prophetic voice.Image

We had gone to this particular park because it was a popular gathering place for young people.  The team band was performing their version of U2’s “One Love” and those on the team who were not currently performing were milling around talking with the locals in the park.   I looked around and finding a bench to sit on I remember insisting to God that if I was supposed to talk to someone they would have to be personally delivered to the bench.  I wasn’t about to embarrass myself by approaching one of these young Hungarians who I was certain had no interest in talking to an old American lady.   I had no more than uttered my prayer of conditions than the young man appeared and sat next to me on the bench. 

I said hello to him and off on a tirade he went.  He spoke English clearly and his first few sentences were woven so tightly in profanity that I had to will myself to stay seated.   I’ve heard and participated in quite of bit of cussing in my life but I did not think it was actually possible to use the “f” word that many times in a sentence and still actually communicate a message. When he saw that he had not scared me away with his abusive language he snarled at me as he called me a “Christian”.  The way he said it made the word sound even more disgusting than the cuss words he had been spewing.  He bitterly informed me that Hungary didn’t need me or my fellow travelers to come over to his country to sing pretty songs or to try to fix them with our formulaic agenda.  His devotion to his country was evident as he lamented that his people had real problems which called for real solutions. Oh boy. Was it only a few seconds ago that I had prayed that flippant prayer about God delivering me someone to talk to?  Now I prayed fervently for God to give me some sort of guidance with this young man.  I sensed anything I said would be wrong, yet his persistent stare demanded a response.  I rather lamely told him that we hadn’t come to fix anything but to share what we knew of God’s love.  Was that even true?  Hadn’t we come over thinking that we were bringing the light of Jesus to the darkness of the rest of the world? Hadn’t we come with the answer to their problems? I knew even as I was saying it that it was wrong but I was certain at the moment there was not a correct response.  No words of mine were as important as what he needed to say. 

I guess there was something safe in the way I simply sat there, for he began to spill out his life troubles and the troubles of his country.  He couldn’t be more than nineteen but he had been on quite a journey of drugs and alcohol and mayhem and poverty.  As he got deeper into his story he told me he never prayed, hadn’t in years, but that every day he asked God to help him be sober. His honesty and vulnerability before God was startling. Puzzled, I asked him if he realized that when he talked to God he was…praying.  He looked shocked and quickly informed me that to pray was to recite the formal written prayers while kneeling in the Cathedral close by, the one he pointed to in disgust. The Cathedral and religion he gave up on long ago.  He was truly astonished to think it might be possible to pray any other way or to consider he might actually have more of a relationship with God than he knew.  We talked for about thirty minutes and by the time he left, much to my surprise, he actually let me pray for him.  No, it wasn’t a sinner’s prayer, he didn’t make any sort of faith declaration, and there was no joyous thank you Jesus moment.  He simply let me touch the top of his frizzy head and pray for him to know that God loves him in the midst of all the uncertainty.  I have no idea if this brief encounter had any lasting impression on his life.  I only know that it has continued to impact mine and for that I am truly grateful.

There were many lessons I would learn on that adventure in Budapest. I would learn the country of Hungary bears a turbulent and weary history of being conquered repeatedly. I would learn that by the time the Nazi regime came to Hungary the evil was so completely ramped up that there were more Jews killed there in a shorter amount of time than anywhere else during the Holocaust.  I would learn, with pain, that the Church, which is called to reflect the love of the One in whose name it was established, in trying to survive, turned a blind eye to much of the persecution.  I would learn that during the Communist terror years trust deteriorated between even family members as all were afraid of the torture.  I would learn that, through it all, the people of Hungary were and still are a resilient, yet maybe wearily so, beautiful people who love their country with heart and courage. I would learn why Simon had every reason to doubt, yet lived in belief in spite of those doubts. 

I also learned things about myself, things I am still processing almost seven years later.  Many lessons but none more significant than those learned from the young wild eyed prophet, Simon, who, in his authenticity, forced me to consider the honesty of my own relationship with God and how that might be reflected through my life. I learned that I am not called to defend God. God needs no help from me in that department.  In fact, I can’t find anywhere in Scripture where Jesus commands us to defend him. Follow him. Yes. Do as he does. Yes.  Love God and love our neighbor (which includes all “others”). Yes. Make disciples of this way of loving and baptize in the name of this Love. Yes. But nowhere do I find the command to defend.  Of course Simon taught me how utterly useless it would be to try to do so.  I learned there is a better way to show Christ and (to my surprise and delight) to see Christ in others.  A way that begins with being fully open to opportunity without the need to control it.  A way that requires me to be present in the presence of another.  I learned how important it is to take the cares of others seriously and treat them with respect without trying to “fix” them.   I learned that I absolutely cannot assume I know the way that will bring light into another’s darkness.  I learned that listening in the love of Christ speaks much louder than preaching ever could.

As I look over these lessons I realize that I have not learned them yet. But, thankfully, I am learning. Here’s to Simon!

Something to chew on…

 

 

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banana peel theology

Posted on March 1, 2014 by isplainasjane

banana peelWhat is your most embarrassing moment?  I mean, when was a time that you truly wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole?  Please, tell me.  I really want to know.  Not because I’m a masochist but because I want to know I’m not alone.  I need  to know that I’m not the only one who seems to make an art out of slipping on the banana peel.  Thankfully, I have learned to laugh loudest at myself.

I have literally slipped on produce in the grocery store.  Walked into and used more than one men’s restroom. In very public places. Of course I didn’t realize it until I saw the urinals; on the way out.  I’ve called people by the wrong name more times than I’d like to count.  I’ve walked out with toilet paper on my shoe.  Lipstick on the teeth is a common accessory for me.  All these things are all part of being me, I suppose.  But there is one moment that stands out (well, maybe more than one but one is all I’m sharing today) as a moment that can make me blush even all these years later.

It was 4th of July.  We’d driven in to Houston from Corpus Christ to attend a celebration picnic that was being given by the company a friend of ours was associated with.  There were about 20 or more in our group.  It was a perfect day, complete with brilliant sun and crystal blue skies.  The kids were having a ball swimming and taking turns going on boat rides.  There was something for everyone from young to old.  Even a bingo game!  Now, I’m not usually a big bingo player but it was, after all, the 4th of July.  What is more old time Americana than bingo?  Except for maybe barbecue and beer, and there was plenty of that being enjoyed.

The bingo game was held in an outdoor pavilion and was complete with rickety cards and screeching microphone.  It was one of those carefree moments with friends, all of us cuddled up close on the benches of picnic tables.  I was sitting next to one of my closest friends in the whole world and across from her brother.  (Spoiler alert….)  I don’t remember how far into the game we were.  I was busy talking and laughing and imbibing ever so slightly the available beer.  Could life get any better?  And then it did.  I looked down and right before me was the perfectly completed bingo card. Wow, I hadn’t realized I was getting this close.  “Bingo!” I shouted proud and clear.  My table cheered for me as I took the victory walk forward to the somewhat stern looking lady with the screeching microphone.  Apparently I had interrupted the flow of her calling.  I, rather defiantly, handed her my bingo card and awaited official confirmation of a well deserved victory.  And maybe a prize?

But, my boastful glee quickly turned into despair as she repeatedly called out the squares on my card that had been incorrectly closed. The screeching microphone suddenly seemed to project way too clearly.  I had perhaps gotten one of the squares correct.  How could I have done this? My mind refused to take in the reality of my faux paux.  But the 100 (or was it 1000) people playing with me could, and did.  There was a dull roar building as some people realized they had cleared their card for nothing.  Because of this loser trying to pull a fast one.  Because of me.

My victory lap painfully became the walk of shame as I apologetically made my way through the angry mob; I mean nice folks out for a holiday.  I could not get back to my table quick enough.  There I would be able to lick my wounds in safety.  In comfort.  My friends would all tell me that all would be well.  Well, I guess they would’ve if they hadn’t bodily turned their backs on me.  Every one of them (12 or 20, it doesn’t matter).  A space had been cleared for me.  At the end of the bench.  The chill from them was palpable.  Apparently I had not only embarrassed myself.  Even my tears avoided me.

As I was sitting there worrying how I could I have possibly messed up a simple bingo game so completely and brought such disgrace to my crowd, I began to see shoulders shaking on the backs of my “friends”.  At once they turned to face me and there was all out guffawing going on.  My friend’s brother then proudly told me how easy it had been to distract me and move the squares on my card.  I had never seen it coming.  I had been duped.  I wasn’t an inept bingo player after all.  Just easily influenced and gullible.

Now I could have gotten my feelings hurt.  Or been angry.  But, if memory serves me correctly, I didn’t.  Oh, I feigned a little revenge seeking for a while, but knew I would never be a crafty match. But upon reflection, I realized that I had been pranked (or duped) by a family who loves to prank each other and by pranking (or to be more current, punking) me I had been gathered in to their family fun and bonded to them in a weirdly wonderful way.  And honestly, I needed toughening up a little.  Often one to take myself way too seriously, I have always blamed myself for whatever happens around me, and I needed to be loosened up from that just a bit.

Learning to laugh at myself,  without condemnation, has proved to be absolutely essential in my ministry journey.  In my faith journey. Humor is a great perspective keeper.  I have found that when I fall, or fail, or mess up, if I can look for the glimmer of humor and laugh at myself, I am much more open to experience grace in the moment.  I’m not perfect at this.  But I keep getting opportunities to learn.

Like the time I was preaching before a particular congregation for the first time. When my microphone did not work, I looked toward the back of the sanctuary at the sound guy and asked him if he could turn me on…and he had; just at that precise moment.

Ok, your turn.  I’d love to know I’m in good company.  Confession is good for the soul.  So is laughter.

Something to chew  on….

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Grace Received

Posted on February 11, 2014 by isplainasjane

The piece below was written several years ago.  This month marks the 22nd anniversary of my mother’s death.  I still miss her….

answering machineI listened to the answering machine for the third time.  She’d asked me to call if I ever had time, leaving her first and last name and telephone number.  First and last name, for crying out loud!  She knew what buttons to push.  We both did.  Well, this time I wouldn’t fall for the guilt button.  I would call her back, but not today.  I’d give her a day or two to learn she could no longer shame me into trying to please her.  When I returned her call we had one of those stiff, passive aggressive conversations.  We had too many of those.   I would do or say something disappointing, and she would do or say something annoying.  The problem wasn’t a lack of love for one another.  The problem was I was hitting my stride in life just as she was losing her balance.  It was time for me to pull away and claim my independence; stake my claim as a grown woman.  I’d show her!  And, I guess I did.  This time when we said good-by I didn’t tell her I loved her.  I always say I love you when I get off the phone.  But not this day.  Come to think of it, she didn’t either.  We just said good-by.

I didn’t call again.  I knew I needed to, but I kept putting it off.  Then the call came to me ten days later on a Sunday evening.  She had collapsed in the den from a stroke.  She was in a coma and it didn’t look good.  We’d better hurry.  Nothing made sense to me as we packed the car and began the journey from San Antonio to Houston.  As I looked out the window into the dark night I tried to make sense of my feelings and get a grip on the present reality.  I fought hard to remember the source of my anger toward her.  What had she done so wrong?  What was it exactly she had said that had irritated me?  What was so urgent about claiming my independence?  I couldn’t think it through.  At the moment I was sure of nothing except a terrifying sense of loss and a deep yearning to once more be the child, safe in her arms, proclaiming my love and adoration.   I needed to hear she loved me too. There were many times in the next thirteen days when I told her I loved her.  I’m hopeful on some level she heard me in those days before she quietly died, surrounded by those whom she loved.

After my mother’s death I struggled with the lesson of regret I learned from neglecting a crucial opportunity to speak words of love into the heart of the one who had given me life.  I learned the lesson of regret that comes from being a broken human being in a broken human relationship in the midst of a broken world.  Weeks later I received the gift of a dream I believe came from God.  In this dream my mother appeared to me, beautiful and whole, and she told me she knew, she’d always known, I loved her.  My regret was soothed by her words of forgiveness, but even more significant than her words was the tangible comfort of her embrace.  I can still feel her arms surrounding me in love as she cradled me to her breast.  Grace flowed through her touch.

Lessons of regret are lessons we bring upon ourselves, hard lessons learned and even harder to forget.  Lessons of grace are hard to learn, maybe even harder to receive, but lessons of grace are not of our own doing.  They come to us as a gift in the form of a prayer, a word of forgiveness, a touch, the bread and cup shared in community, or even a dream. Lessons of grace are lessons that reach deep into our brokenness, beyond the words we speak, and the words we’ve left unsaid.

Something to chew on….

 

Posted in Faith, family, Lessons Learned, mothers and daughters, unconditional love | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Along the way

Posted on January 31, 2014 by isplainasjane

photo (7)I’m at a crossroads. Again. I can’t really see that any path I have taken thus far is actually leading anywhere.  I thought the destination was clear.  I thought I would take up permanent residence here. Or there. Instead, I have become a reluctant itinerant.

Fourteen long years ago I first sensed, heard, felt my calling into – what is still being determined, much to my surprise, frustration, and delight.  In the sterile fatigue of a hospital bedside, as I stood watching life slip away from an all too young family member, a gut level voice broke through my weary dullness. Hospital ministry. That was it. Two words and the journey began; the impossible path of trying to understand what it means and how I am supposed to live out those words.

It has been a long and winding journey to say the least, one that has been mostly backwards instead of forward. And yet it is a path I would never exchange. My first response was to apply to a chaplain residency program for which I was entirely unqualified. To the surprise of both me and, I believe, the interview panel, I was accepted.  It was during that year, among the sickness, death, and hope that something significant was born in me.  I experienced the kind of connection to others that transcends race, gender, creed, the many things that categorize us and are all too often used as exclusion criteria.   These connections were established within the context of illness and healing, life and death, and were bound by the chords of hope, fear, grief, and joy, all held  together in balance by the force of an infinite Love.  There’s no time or room in an emergency room, or hospital room, or waiting room for pretense. The connections are quick, intense and brief for a chaplain. I learned very few names but had the privilege of learning from many beautiful hearts.  One of the major lessons I learned, and which I continue the need to learn, is that I was not called to “fix” things for people, but instead was called to be with.  For a fix it person this is an excruciatingly difficult lesson to learn.  But oh so important.

I then served as a hospice chaplain, a time in which I had the humbling honor and privilege of being allowed into that sacred role of companion to many as they walked the valley of the shadow of death and grief.   It was a holy time in which I further came to appreciate the yearning to be with.  The rhythm of saying hello and goodbye gave me a much needed lesson in the necessity of letting go.  I had spent a lifetime of holding on in fear of just that, letting go.  But I was learning that it is only in the letting go that I could hope to have the openness to truly be present for another.

As fulfilling as it was, after a while fatigue and cowardice set in and I drifted back into the abyss, and safety, of the business world for six years. Now, the business world is an essential world in society and I’m certainly not knocking it.  My particular job was a safe and certain haven, but it began to drain the very life from me. It simply was not where I belonged. In staying in safety I was scraping against the grain of my soul. At some point the haunting became so strong that I could no longer resist. I once again stepped out in faith, knees shaking all the way.  I was hired by a church to do pastoral care while traveling through the long and cumbersome process of education and ordination.  The path has pushed me past any limits I could have safely set for myself.  Each time I thought I had reached the impossible obstacle (more likely excuse) something, someone would propel me forward and I’d inch on a little further beyond my imagined boundaries.

Seminary was the biggest stretch for many reasons, not the least being the challenge of commuting to another city, spending time away from my husband, my anchor, my sense of how I was doing.  I will be forever grateful for his patient encouragement to me and his belief that, yes, I was called to do something in response to those two words I heard all those years ago, even if it meant turning our lives upside down.  (How can I ever repay that kind of love!) When I left for seminary an old and wise pastor told me not to let seminary taint me or cause me to lose my faith. I believed him. On the first day, the President of the seminary preached in a sermon that we would be turned upside down and everything shaken out in order for us to have the opportunity to put faith back together again in a way that would be ours to claim. I now see this for the word of exhortation and encouragement that it was.  Back then I only saw the danger that was threatening my deeply embedded rules of engagement. I would get up at 4:30am to make the drive to Austin and clinch my fingers on the steering wheel, while clinching my mind and heart even tighter.  This was just supposed to be about the credentials.  This was not supposed to mess with my mind or my heart. Thankfully both were totally messed with.  A bit of reluctant transformation happened along the way.  That spark that had ignited in my time as a chaplain was beginning to take flame as I realized God’s love is much more expansive than I had ever considered before and that the connectedness of humanity is more essential to the message of Jesus than I had ever realized.

Upon ordination I thought I had arrived!  I loved the people of the church I was called to serve and thought that all the journey thus far had been to equip and credential me for this one happily ever destination. But it was not to be so.  Things had changed. I had changed and no longer fit the role I had been prepared for. After a year and a half I left to take an interim position for a small church. And, now, not quite a year and a half later the interim work is done and it’s time to go. Only to what is uncertain.  As of this moment there is no concrete next thing.  Which both terrifies me and excites me.  Terrifies me because, well, I mean, isn’t it obvious?! Where am I going?  What’s the next destination?

And yet, excitement hovers over me like a brooding spirit because, while uncertainty might feed my urge to fear, uncertainty holds within it the gift of possibility. And the gift of possibility holds within it; creation, dreams, imagination, hope. In truth, I suppose I’m back where I started.  Back when I heard those two little words and I trusted.  Not in the certainty of a destination, but rather a knee wobbling trust in a Love that breaks through barriers and promises to be with on the journey regardless where It leads me.  My guess is it’s never been about the destination.  Maybe it’s been about the opportunity to learn along the way.  To learn to stretch my mind and heart further than I thought possible.  To learn to grow and to learn that growth has its price.  To learn to participate. To learn grace from the inside out.  Hmmm, lessons learned, yet so many more to learn.   The possibilities are endless!

Something to chew on….

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band of boomers

Posted on January 22, 2014 by isplainasjane

photo (6)Last fall my husband, Tom, and I traveled to a small town out on Long Island in New York, where he grew up. The old hometown! We went there to see a friend of Tom’s he had known since he was six years old. This childhood friend had just lost his wife of 20+ years to ALS, an insidious disease. We went because we love this man and hurt for his loss and wanted, at the very least, to be there in solidarity with him.

We don’t get back to New York often so when we do there is always the sentimental journey taken through the neighborhood. The family home was typical of the modest houses built in the midcentury, post -World War II days of rapid growth, triumphant patriotism, and unbridled optimism. Located on a cul-de-sac, this house, this yard, and neighborhood had been the center of a young boy’s universe as he spent countless hours alongside a gang; his gang, baby boomers who would rather be outside playing sports than anywhere else in the world. As we drove up to the house Tom commented on how small the backyard looked, not at all the way he remembered it. This yard and those around it had been baseball diamond, football field, and basketball court to a group of young aspiring athletes for whom the future was most assuredly of major league proportions. Once the hub of dreams, it was now strangely unfamiliar in its smallness, not even big enough for the memories that had grown there.

The boys grew up to be men, and the responsibilities of adulthood outgrew boyhood dreams. Their lives are much larger now. Marriage, children, grandchildren, divorce, life, and even death have replaced their innocent bravado with seasoned maturity. However, they have never outgrown the bond of their friendship. The impact of the history they shared with one another has grown in depth, enduring time, distance, and sometimes neglect. While there may be significant gaps between visits or communication, there is an unspoken code that brings them together for the significant life passages.

Whether it was weddings in their twenties and thirties, high school reunions in their forties, or now in this moment of losing a spouse, they are there for one another. Some may not always make the occasion with their physical presence but there is always a touch, either through phone call or email. And when they get together…well it’s really hard to see that any of them have actually grown up at all. It is a wonderful thing to watch! They still give each other a hard time, reliving old childhood antics, making some up as they go along I suspect. The more “adult beverages” consumed the more boyish the stories become. Talking sports and neighbors and cute girls that got away. Embarrassing stories. Funny stories. Life giving memories that hopefully they’ll never outgrow. It does my heart good to see the refreshment on Tom’s face and hear his unabashed laughter.

The curious thing is, when they get together, there’s hardly ever talk about what they do for a living, what accomplishments or disappointments they’ve had through the years in their careers. I haven’t heard them talk about whether or not they lived up to their boyhood potential. Because when they get together, it just doesn’t seem to matter who does what. There’s something much more significant happening beneath their carefree and sarcastic banter. It’s about who they are to each other and who they are when they come together. It’s something almost beyond description, but, to me, most closely resembles unconditional love. And unconditional love is something that can never be outgrown but expands with time. Something to chew on….

Posted in boomers, Faith, friendship, Lessons Learned, Life, unconditional love | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

Wise enough to yearn

Posted on January 7, 2014 by isplainasjane

wisemenThe last time I wrote was Thanksgiving Day. I was listening to Christmas music, eager to celebrate the holidays. Today as I write, I’m a bit weary, but joyfully satisfied, from all the celebrating. We had more company this year than we’ve had in a long time, perhaps ever. I worked harder in the kitchen than ever, keeping in mind that I hardly ever work in the kitchen. I absolutely loved every minute of it. I loved having the house full of people, full of voices, full of life. I loved it. But Eloise, my 22 month old granddaughter, loved it even more. She, with her mom and dad and baby sister, spent much of the holidays over at our house visiting with the out of town company, and she became better acquainted with cousins, aunts, uncles, and her paternal grandmother, all people who love her and hold her roots inside of them. She would grin with glee when she entered the room and constantly and consistently wanted to be sure everyone felt included in her joy, even her tiny baby sister, Avery. To watch her appreciate each moment was a reminder to me of how important it is to live in the present. As trite as it sounds, I was reminded of the gift of the present.

Eloise would go like the Energizer bunny (for those of you too young to know the Energizer bunny, well…I can’t help you but just think go go go) until she could just go no more. Several nights she would spend the night at our house in the crib that is in the “grandkids” room. I try to stay stocked with diapers, pj’s, toys, books, and blankies and pacifiers. I figure one small gift I can give my daughter is for her not to have to load up the house before coming over. Of course there is a method to my madness. If I make it easy as possible to come over….

Most of the time Eloise just falls to sleep in this home away from home room of hers, content to be secure with her blanket and pacifier even when the fun continues downstairs. But as the holidays wore on, she became keyed in to the fact that….the fun continues and if she’s upstairs the fun is continuing. Without her. And the more she became clued in to this truth the less willing she was to call it a night quietly. Last Saturday night we were all sitting around the backyard fire pit talking, telling stories on one another, and generally acting as people who have known and loved each other a long time. (By the way don’t you love how beautiful people look in the firelight? And don’t you love to be with people who know you? And love you anyway?) Eloise was upstairs and her dad was trying his best to get her to fall asleep as she was practically incoherent from all the playing she had done with her cousins. But she would have none of this sleep her body so desperately needed. You see she knew she was missing out on something special, and in her mind the most important thing was to get outside to see what was happening in the firelight. That was more important to her than sleep for her little body. More important than the comfort of her “paci” or blankie. More important than anything. Finally, her dad brought her outside and let her see the fire and soak up the moment with everyone before they then left to go home where she would fall fast asleep in the quietness of her own bed.

Now, I didn’t think too much of this at the time, and before long the fire was down to embers and we had all retired to the quietness of the night. I knew I needed sleep in order to be able to preach the next day. Bright and early I would preach to the congregation I presently serve on Matthew’s account of the wise men traveling, following the light of the star, to see the Christ child, born in a stable. I had poured over the text, consulted the scholarly commentaries, and prayed to God for fresh insight that would bring forth a word of encouragement and exhortation. That insight came to me unexpectedly when I reflected back on the absolute resolve Eloise had shown in her refusal to miss out. And I realize now that this absolute refusal to miss out on something that is sensed to be more important than anything else was the true wisdom of the wise men.

I really don’t care if they were kings or not. I really don’t care if there were three of them or a hundred of them. I really don’t care what their names were or that their gifts mysteriously foreshadowed the royalty, divinity, and suffering of Christ. What I care about, and am grateful for, is that they had some sense and yearning that, no matter what, they refused to miss out on the opportunity to see and “pay homage” to this wee one who would change the world. Change everything. Change me. And that they would have the courage to look beyond what they knew in order to follow the light that would beckon and lead and protect them in the process. The light that continues to beckon and lead us even today. It’s there for us to experience if we will only have the courage to be open to the yearning.

It’s sad to me that the religious scholars, the ones consulted for directions where to go to find the reason for this light, had every bit of knowledge they needed to know that something world changing was happening. But they apparently didn’t have the yearning for it. Maybe it was the comfort of keeping the status quo of their religion. Or the fear of the unknown. Or the dullness that comes from overdue expectations. You know, when you expect something to happen in just a certain way and when it doesn’t you sort of fall into shut down mode because, well, it didn’t happen the way you expected it to. I think that’s the saddest part. We miss out on the yearning and the excitement of what’s happening because it’s not what we expect. And if it’s not what we expect, it’s not what we can control. Eloise had no preconceived expectation. She just knew she wanted to be a part of the joy she was hearing outside. Part of the light she could see through the blinds on the window. She didn’t have to know what we were doing exactly. She wasn’t trying to control or understand it. She just wanted to be a part of it. Eloise yearned, as the wise men, who followed a yearning to be in the presence of something, someone, who they sensed held the key to wonder, and to joy and to something beyond what they had experienced in the limitations of their own royal knowledge.

This year I pray for that kind of wonder and I pray that kind of wonder for you. I want to yearn for God in a way that moves me beyond my expectations. Moves me beyond the need for control or certainty. I want to lift my head from own little self-confined thoughts in order to catch a glimpse of what God has prepared for me, for us. Because I sense that it is far more fulfilling and life-giving than I could ever imagine, hope for, or expect. And I want to participate in that! This year, like Eloise, I refuse to miss out. What about you, what are you yearning for? Something to chew on….

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