The keys and screen of my laptop have opened up a new and wonderful dimension of life for me through this activity called blogging.  I’ve been introduced to some amazing people, read about inspiring work of everyday people, been inspired by the words, images and art of great artists, and traveled to far away places.  I realize that one could spend day after day reading only blogs and would only scratch the surface of all that’s out there, but the ones that I follow offer a rainbow of life.  Christine offers rich words and images that stir the mind and soul.  She now hosts a bi-weekly Poetry Party: she posts a photograph and invites submissions of poetry or other writings, at the end of the week she randomly draws a name and gives away one of her zines or prayer cards.  From her site I found others that delight my days.  I’ve traveled to Paris with Lucy whose trip was inspired by a quote.  Jen felt a call to travel to Rwanda to share some love and hope in a simply amazing story.  Milton combines theology, food, good music, and travels.  Carla makes and sell beautiful candles.  Kathryn writes from a hearth.  Bette offers delightful haikus and woodblock prints.  The cyber community is amazing, diverse, intriguing.  It’s like a rainbow, each blogger offering her or his own color to the rainbow.

Equally interesting are the readers of my blog.  They come from east and west, north and south.  Some from here in town, others from Japan, Australia, or India.  Some read just once, others read regularly – one reads from home, work and while he travels out of town.  A few offer comments or invitations to further ponderings, many just read and move on.  All add more colors to the rainbow of this community.

Wherever you are, whatever your walk in life, it is my prayer that some word or image in this cyber community offers life, beauty, hope or faith ~ whatever it is that your heart and soul desire this day.  

Come join the Poetry Party at Abbey of the Arts        

“Spinning and Still”

somedaystheSpiritblows

fiercelyfromalldirections,

theclanklymetalwhalealmosteatinghistail

ashespinsfromonesidetoanother,

heading

e

  a

     s

        t

                     then

                             w

                            e

                          s

                       t

now

s

o

u

t

h,

now north,

backagain

                  w

               e

           s

        t

it’s exhausting

spinningaroundlikethis.

other days

it.

stands.

still.

so, which way am i to go?

just where am i headed?

oh, how i long for a spring breeze to gently blow,

with a clear invitation,

“Come, let’s go this way…”

Poetry Party #15 at

The Abbey of the Arts

For ages she

has kept vigil,

collecting bits of

wisdom and

lore that are

worth remembering.

For generations she has

kept watch,

resting her pen

from thyme to

thyme,

reading instead

of writing,

sharing the bits

of wisdom and

lore to any who

will listen.

Today, the lichen

and moss, the chips

and cracks

add testimony

to the truth

of her words.

 ”They withstand the test

of thyme and life.”

Tomorrow, she will

still be here,

with or without pen

in motion,

reflecting the

Holy Presence

in our lives.

Easter Sunday:  Pine Island Presbyterian Church

A  few years ago at Christmas time I pondered the weather ~ wishing for snow instead of rain ~ and was reminded that God does not need the ideal conditions for Love to be born.  That seems in part having to do with the gift of grace but that’s a thought for a different day.  As snow fell this past Friday, lots of snow, at least ten inches of snow…

I pondered again how God works in wondrous and mysterious ways in less than ideal conditions.  Most of the people I spoke with recently had hopes for pleasant, 30 something degrees on Easter, without a pile of snow.  Certainly all those who planned Easter Egg Hunts in city parks for Saturday morning had hoped for spring-like weather, without a pile of snow.  And this morning, instead of standing on a hillside, watching the sun rise on this Holy Morning, I stood in my backyard and watched the moon set behind the trees, just above the crystal white blanket of snow.

I was reminded that this cycle of life and death and new life is so much larger than our individual lives, that it is lived out within the natural order of things, and that it is inner resurrection, hope renewed and revived within the human soul, that can happen regardless of the weather outside.

There may have been snow outside but our Table and Worship space inside reminded us of this inner beauty.

And we heard the story once again of the resurrection, of life and love having the last word, of hope rising up in what certainly was less than ideal conditions.  We sang of hope within us: “Because You live, O Christ, the spirit bird of hope is freed for flying; Our cages of despair no longer keep us closed and life denying.”

And, “Break the bread of new creation where the world is still in pain…Drink the wine of resurrection, not a servant, but a friend.”

May hope, may the persistence of love,

rise within you and around,

even in the midst of less than ideal conditions,

for our God is a God of great mystery!

Alleluia!!

It lies deep within us.  It’s been with us for ages and ages.  But over time lament has become muffled.  Silenced.  Forgotten.  Repressed.  It was acknowledged in the days of Sarah and Rachel, by the voice of the Psalmist, by the women at the foot of the cross.

A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him.

We live in a culture that tries to hide the uncomfortable and anguished dimensions of our lives.  But this is a necessary part of our lives.  The book “Circle of Stones” asks questions such as these:

“How might your life have been different, if, as a young woman, there had been a place for you…when you had feelings of darkness?  to be with you in your darkness, until you spoke out your pain and anger and sorrow?  …you learned to no longer fear your darkness, but to trust it?”

To sit with such questions one has to first give darkness permission and voice.  To acknowledge its rightful place in our lives and our souls.  That can be darn scary.

 Last night at the Maundy Thursday Service there was simple, beautiful, deeply moving song.  Her voice filled the room in a hauntingly beautiful way that reached in our soul.  Touched us deeply.  Moved us to tears.  Reminded us that lament is part of our story and the Story.  Offered a safe place to enter our darkness as we remembered the One who has gone before us and entered the darkest of dark.

What language shall I borrow  To thank Thee, dearest friend,

For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?

“What wondrous love is this…”

 “Sorrow and love  

flow mingled down…

Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all.”

May you journey fully, completely

with the Holy One, the whole one, this week,

moving every closer to the Fullest Gift of Love Possible.

I received an email response to my previous post that reminded me of a very earthy Ash Wednesday experience.

Five years ago I was serving First Presbyterian Church of Cadillac and on Ash Wednesday Paul and I led the Ash Wednesday Service together.  After the others had come forward we offered the imposition of ashes to each other.  When he dipped his finger in the bowl he ended up with a large clump of ashes.  Try as he may to make just a cross on my forehead the whole clump fell apart and I ended up with ashes on my glasses, nose and forehead, perhaps looking more like a raccoon than an Ash Wednesday worshipper.  And try as we may, we couldn’t quite stifle our chuckles.   This was my invitation to a very incarnational Lent.

I had been experiencing leg pain while sitting but as Lent started the pain got worse and within 10 days I was off work.  I half jokingly said that I gave up church for Lent ~ a peculiar predicament for a pastor.  As Paul reminded me that was 5 years ago.   This 5 year journey has taken me down paths I couldn’t have imagined: struggling to receive disability benefits as pain is difficult to document; moving to a new community and creating a new and extended network of support; ending my marriage and claiming my new life; leaning into the lessons of living with chronic pain and its limitations ~ all the while discovering the endless ways that God provides: the love and care of family, friends, and the wider community of saints, deepening faith, layers of trust and healing, opportunities to peel away who I am not and embrace who I am.  Lent was, and continues to be, a physical experience linked closely to pain. 

Three years ago, after ranting and raving in my journal about pain, the words below found their way to my page.  I shared these words before but since pain has many faces: physical, emotional, spiritual, relational, environmental, communal, global ~ I still ask these questions:

Can I honor this pain?

Can I dare call it sacred

     and believe that You are

     right in the midst of it?

Are You inviting me to call it holy

     and receive it with compassion?

     To know this pain, like all other pain,

     is on the cross

     because of Your unending love for all?

Does redemption, healing

     come by entering the pain

          rather than asking

          that it be removed from me?

Not many images come to mind for this post but I have a figurine of open hands… as I try to live with open hands ~ open to receive, open to let go, open to be led ~ I offer them here, for all who wrestle with pain, who open their hands and hearts in the midst of struggle and during Lent…

We are definitely in the Winter Wonderland ~ so much winter that most area Ash Wednesday Services were cancelled and worship Pine Island Presbyterian Church, on this First Sunday in Lent, was also cancelled.  I’m able to recall the words and intent for each day but I find myself wondering what it means to begin this season of Lent without community: hearing the words read thou art dust and to dust thou shall return; and Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil, singing the familiar songs, passing the Peace, and receiving the blessing ~ all of these just aren’t the same when recited within the mind.  Sometimes we have to lose something before the true value of it speaks to our soul.          

Yet the irony is that, although I didn’t receive ashes on my forehead this year,  I do feel innately connected to the earth as I watch, for the umpteenth time this winter, the snow swirl across the road and around the trees and wonder if there will be yet another snow day tomorrow.  Perhaps the temptation in this is to continue believing the earth serves us and that sometimes the weather simply gets in our way.  Perhaps the call in this season and beyond is to re-think our relationship with the earth, our stewardship of this planet we call home and whose resources support our living.  Reading entries at To Inspire and Moblize: Earth Ministry’s Blog on Faith and Environment  offers encouragement to stretch one’s thinking and daily practices during Lent.  Living in Lent, Caring for Creation is a resource that offers 40 Ways to Fast and Feast for God’s Creation. 

The focus of Lent is just outside my door, and its chill settles quickly in my bones, as I remember the journey toward Easter was a journey walked on this earth as food was eaten, parables of yeast and lost sheep were told, stones cried out, and a body was anointed.  This week, as meals are prepared and eaten, snow is shoveled, and wintry roads are navigated I’ll hope for clear skies and dry roads next Sunday so we can gather as community and continue this journey in each other’s company.

The first day of my 50th year on this earth was spent making a drum.

I didn’t plan it that way, at least not intentionally.  But seemingly Spirit had her hand in the thyming of events.  And it was good.  Many months ago I felt a stirring within to try drumming and this was even before I learned that drumming would be a part of the Spirations program that I have begun.  And then Bette wrote about her drumming experience ~ as I reread her story I was reminded that it was for her 50th birthday. 

The “drum kit” arrived a couple weeks ago and my friend Mimi and I set a date that worked for both of us ~ today.  Earlier this morning I had set the frame on the table in the kitchen, and, if there’s anything to sit in Brita will find it.  So upon my return to the kitchen I found Brita sitting in the frame.  Kodak moment.  Then Kendall appeared next to Brita as if to say, “What about ME?”  Another Kodak moment. 

The hide and lacings had been soaking in the washtub.  Mimi arrived with Native American tea and 4 Native American CD’s to choose from.  We enjoyed lunch, started the music, then set about birthing my drum.

We spoke of gifts of and gratitude for the one who gave its life for this drum.  I offered words of thanks and blessing.  And we began: working with our hands and hearts, sharing stories as the drum took shape.  When we weren’t sure what to do, we consulted the guide and spoke a truth that as one begins 50 years of life, rules are followed when they seem appropriate, and from there we decided what to do next.

I tied lots of square knots, and then untied a few, giving thanks for my years as a Girl Scout.  I was grateful for my midwife, who literally and symbolically put her finger on the knot to hold it for me.  At this point Hershey became very interested; perhaps he smelled the rawhide and hoped for a treat.

When the drum and drum stick were complete to our satisfaction, and we marveled at our work, Mimi had more gifts to share:

~Story: She read the creation story of the Manitous.  Earthy, grounded, feminine.  “And she breathed the breath of life, growth, and abundance into the earth.”  A beautiful story full of affirmation of the feminine.

~Wapum: Something of her own to give to me.  She brought 2 talking sticks and I was to choose one to keep.  The first had a spiral carved handle and laquered bubble-like rattle on the top.  The second was a deer’s jaw attached to a stick with feathers hanging on one side, and a turle painted on the jaw.  They both spoke to me but I chose the first for its spiral handle, and because it doesn’t have feathers for the cats to chase and maul!

And now we wait for the drum to dry and for Spirit to present the next offering and opportunity…

The invitation:

Come…bundle up with your boots and woolies to gather under the almost full moon and around the bonfire!

Come…celebrate the darkness on the Winter’s Solstice Eve and give thanks for the Light that is coming!

Come…there’ll be hot cocoa, wassail*, and s’mores.  Bring a plate of cookies if you’d like but it’s not required.

Come…Friday, December 21, 6:30 – 8:30; come for 20 minutes or stay for 2 hours!

Come…follow the luminarias to the barn in the back!

   The luminarias were lit…

The fire roared…

The table was spread…

A snowperson was built (at least 8 feet tall)…

And, Winter began!

*Wassail:

Mix together 1 gallon of apple juice, 12 oz can of frozen orange juice and 3 cans of water, and 6 oz can of frozen lemonade and 3 cans of water.  Put in cheesecloth or teaball: 1 teaspoon cloves, 1 teaspoon cinnamon or 2 short cinnamon sticks, and 1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg and put in the pot.  Bring to a boil, then simmer for 30 minutes or more.  Makes your house smell wonderful.  Serve hot!