Archives for December 2011

Five Minute Friday: Color

December 10, 2011 By Diana

I’ve missed a few weeks of this very fun exercise, but I’ll give it a shot today – while it’s still Friday! Our assignment is to write for five minutes flat – no editing – on the topic for the week. And we all sign up over at Lisa-Jo’s place to share our very different responses to the same prompt. Check it out – I think you’ll like it a lot!

Today’s prompt is:

COLOR

GO:

I’ve spent most of this week elbow deep in color – Christmas color. Reds, greens, golds, silvers – all the rich, jewel-like tones that have come to symbolize this season of the year. I’m not done yet, either. The lights are on the tree, but the ornaments? That takes some doing and we’ll have to carve out a few hours tomorrow afternoon to get those beauties dangling.

I am a clear-color-lover. Don’t give me a dusky or muted palette – it will drive me to drink! I like lots of color around. Take a good look at the world in which we live most of the time. Is it not rife with glorious, eye-bending color collages? Yes, I think it is. And so, I revel in it.

But I’ll tell you this: as much as I enjoy adding all the razzle dazzle of this holiday season to my home, I am also very glad indeed to take it all down again in January. Why? Because I have come to love the colors we live with year-round – they speak to my heart of home and happiness and I miss them when they’re gone.

When we re-modeled our home about 4 years ago, I ordered new Fiestaware. I had never bought a set of dishes like this before and I was delighted to pick out: Sunflower, Turquoise, Chartreuse and Blue. They made me happy. So happy that I planned the entire renovation around my new dishes. And I’ve never been sorry. To me, these are the colors of creation – at least the parts of creation that resonate most strongly with my spirit. They speak of life and hope, of springtime and growth. And I LOVE being surrounded by varying shades of these 4 plus light-toned woods and white trim everywhere.

And people who visit seem to respond exactly the way we do – they tell me they feel happy and welcome when they get here. And that’s what it’s all about, right?

STOP

Filed Under: God's gifts, Home, hope, Wonderings in the World

Family Portraits #6: Uncle Chuck

December 8, 2011 By Diana

This series began as an invitation from The High Calling to write a short, descriptive word picture of someone from our childhood who had an influence on us, either for good for not-so-good. I so enjoyed that invitation, that I kept going. Then Thanksgiving was upon us all, and my Wednesday Family Portrait page (I wish for the life of me I could figure out how to ‘do’ pages on this blog!) has been seriously slighted for several weeks now. No longer! I am back at it, with a list of names still to be written about. Trying to keep it to 5-600 words has been a challenge, but a worthy one. Here is the latest entry in the log:

He was a larger-than-life person to a little girl. Dark hair, swept away from his face, jowls that made you think of Santa Claus – without the beard or the white hair – and a laugh that invited you right on in. He was handsome, he was charming, he was fun and he was crazy in love with his wife and family. I loved to be around him.

And that’s a good thing, because in my earliest growing-up years, we were around him a lot. Chuck was married to my mom’s sister, Eileen (the first in this list of family line drawings). They were young when they married, and he had a little girl who was two years old. Then they had another girl and then a boy – very close in age to me and my next youngest brother. And they lived 3 blocks from us for about eight years. Many days after school, I would stroll over to their place as easily as I would my own.

We had meals together every so often. We went to Daily Vacation Bible School with their kids. Chuck met Jesus as an adult, a dad who loved his kids and wanted a good life for them. And he decided that the best life to be found was that of disciple. For years, our little family was the only one in my mom’s extended family that went to church, committed to following in the Jesus way. Then Chuck and Eileen stepped onto the path. And off again for a few years, when their beloved pastor was mistreated by his congregation. Chuck was a tender man underneath the laughter and the joie-de-vivre. And injustice was very hard for him to grapple with.

Chuck worked in the grocery industry and he worked hard. Long hours, some traveling, worries over the bottom line – these added lines to his face and stress to his life. But whenever our families gathered, all of that faded away. And we laughed together, we sang together (my mother and her sister used to sing a duet of “Whispering Hope” that wildly embarrassed their children!), we played games together. And we took some vacations together, too. I remember getaways to Rick’s Rancho Motel in Santa Maria. And I remember wonderful times at Newport Beach and Balboa where we would rent a house or apartment for the whole tribe of us.

After all of us grew up and began growing families of our own, Eileen and Chuck and my mom and dad took some wonderful trips, just the four of them – to Europe, to the British Isles, to Canada, to the northeast to see the fall colors, to the south to see the Outer Banks. And they had such a great time. Their love for each other, the fun they found together, their shared sense of adventure – these are the things that marked me deep, as a kid and as a grown-up. My father was a quiet man, very reserved and private. But he loved Uncle Chuck’s gregariousness, his social ease and his ready sense of humor. When Chuck became suddenly and seriously ill about 8-10 years ago, and then died within a matter of weeks, my dad suffered greatly. In truth, I think Chuck’s death hastened his own, which came just a few years later.

I miss that laugh. I miss the sweet singing, and the dancing that often went along with it. And most of all, I miss all that love.

Filed Under: family, Family Portraits, family tree, memoir

Returning to Silence

December 6, 2011 By Diana

It’s been about five months since I’ve been able to attend the Immaculate Heart Center’s monthly invitation to Silent Saturday. A half day spent in centering prayer, short silent walks, individual reflection.

While I was working, I somehow missed this delightful half-day journey into silence.

But since retirement began in January,

I made the effort to be there every month I was in town.

And then…we were gone for about three first Saturdays.

Then I was in spiritual direction training.

Then my mother was visiting.

And before I knew it, a very long time had gone by.

And I missed it.

There is a 4 or 5 person leadership team that sets this up each month, all of them trained in Thomas Keating’s methodology for contemplative prayer,

each of them gracious and kind.

One is a nun, the others are committed laypeople, and one of those laywomen sets out a lovely table each month.

Saturday’s was done in the royal colors of Advent.

The table sits in the center of the large room that once served as the chapel for the convent housed in this gracious building, and it serves as a focal point as we begin to settle into the silence.

Surrounding the table with its central candle are about thirty arm chairs where attendees sit quietly, meditating on their chosen ‘word’ for three different 30 minute sessions of quiet reflection. Two of those sessions are followed by slow, deliberate walking in silence for ten minutes. The third is followed by about 45 minutes of individual silent or written reflection. There are large, beautiful grounds to be explored during those minutes and usually,

I wander off to the creek or around to the garden.

This time, I chose to sit in an old church pew located

on the front porch of our gathering space.

I loved the way the light and shadows played with the bike against the stone wall. And the tropical look of the bouganvillea and the tall palm, despite weather cool enough to require multiple layers as we sat in the sun.

Every detail of this space is lovely, adding depth to the experience of quiet attentiveness and listening.

Because I was meeting a friend for lunch, I opted out of the final walk and headed back to my car. And on the way spied this glory, a bunch of narcissus shining brightly in the cool sunlight.

These sheltering oaks brought me gently back to the ‘real’ world,

the one where I talk as well as listen,

the one where I buy cute Christmas clothes for the grandgirls,

where I make returns and pick up groceries and visit the drycleaners.

But somehow, these hours of centering inhabit the crevices of my mind and my heart in ways that surprise me.

I’m not particularly ‘good’ at quieting my mind.

I find rabbit trails galore.

And yet…

And yet, something happens in me.

Things shift around a bit, become more comfy.

There is space for thoughtfulness,

for carefulness, for mind and heart-tending,

even at the mall.

So I rounded out the day by heading to the beach at sunset, choosing to walk vigorously for about 45 minutes, thanking God at each bend of the road for the day just past, celebrating the return of intentional silence to my life.

Do you have a retreat center anywhere near where you live?

Have you tried taking some set-apart time to be quiet?

Joining L.L. Barkat and Laura Boggess for their Monday invitations to write about place and about ‘playing’ with God. Thanks for the regular invitations, friends. Love the company you keep.

Filed Under: Wonderings in the World

Advent Sunday 2: The Truest Meaning of Comfort

December 6, 2011 By Diana

“‘Comfort, comfort my people,’ says your God…

He tends his flock like a shepherd:

he gathers the lambs in his arms

and carries them close to his heart;

he gently leads those that have young.”

Isaiah 40:1 & 11, part of the Advent text for the 2nd Sunday, year B

I drove down to the beach for my evening walk on Saturday.

It was cold for these parts, with a brisk breeze making my cheeks burn,

forcing hands into pockets.

The sun was setting, casting a pathway of golden light on the water in front of me.

And I thought of this passage from the prophet Isaiah,

these 11 verses in the 40th chapter, verses that contain not only the beautiful words quoted above, but also these:

“Prepare ye the way of the LORD…

“And the glory of the LORD shall be revealed…”

Starting in about the 8th grade, and continuing until the last few years,

I have sung in choirs of all different kinds, sizes, styles.

And these words from Isaiah 40 have been a part of the repertoire of almost all of those choirs, most often set to the music of Handel in, “The Messiah.”

I have heard at least a dozen different tenor soloists ring out with the sweet sounds of, “Comfort Ye My People,” and probably a couple of dozen altos sing of our Shepherd. In fact, I think I even had my arm twisted and became one of those 2 dozen at a Christmas concert about 25 years ago.

But in all those years of reading and listening, of studying and wondering, I don’t think I ever put those verses together in my head and in my heart – the one from the beginning of the chapter and the one from the end of the Advent reading.

Yesterday’s worship service helped me to do exactly that.

Do you ever really think about the word, the idea of ‘comfort?’ Most of us can think of things/people/events/foods that help us feel comfortable, that help us feel secure, that help us celebrate the simple gifts. Because that’s what comfort is really about, don’t you think?

The simple things.

A hug when you’re not expecting it.

A word of kindness when you’re blue.

A dish of ice cream in the heat of summer.

A cup of cocoa in the crisp coolness of fall.

The assurance that, ‘All shall be well,’ when it feels decidedly unwell all around us.

A reminder that God is faithful, even when – perhaps most especially when –

we are seriously doubting that truth.

And for me, those reminders of God’s faithfulness are often small, simple gifts.

A giggling toddler.

A rainbow.

Birdsong.

The smell of a wood fire.

The angle of the light as the days grow shorter and the shadows longer.

An earnest word of thanks – delivered in person, by phone, in the mail,

or on the blog post.

An unexpected moment of quiet in the midst of the rush-rush of the day.

A sudden onslaught of tears which speak

so strongly of God’s imminence and kindness.

Strange to think that tears can be comforting.

Yet I have learned that very often the Comforter is moving in our tears,

speaking words of love and recognition through that sudden saltiness that brims and overflows.

I found myself in tears tonight, praying for a new friend.

There was the gift of insight with those tears,

the wisdom of an older friend of Jesus melding with my own God-sensed ideas about her situation, and I knew

that I had been given the briefest of glimpses behind the curtain.

And that was such a comfort as I wrestle my way to becoming increasingly sensitive to the story beneath the story, the truth below the surface.

Yes, these tears brought comfort.

I deeply desire to be one who prepares the way of the Lord, who is open to the possibility of glory, who offers comfort to others. But for those things to happen in and through me, I must first be the one who is comforted.

Paul spells this truth out for us in his second greeting to the church at Corinth:

“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 receive from God.”

Yesterday’s sermon helped me to connect the dots, to see that God’s ‘coming at us with arms outstretched’ (the literal meaning of the Hebrew word for ‘comfort’) is the basic building block upon which the entire story of the Bible is built.

“The glory of God is a human being fully alive,”

Iraneaus wrote over 1900 years ago.

And the glory of the Lord,

the way that is to be prepared,

all of it comes to fruition in us,

as we allow ourselves to receive the comforting grace-gift God holds out to us,

the one held out with so much love.

May you, dear readers, experience the comfort of our God this Advent season.

And then, even as you have received, may you help prepare the LORD’s way by offering that same comfort to others.

Offering it for Jesus’ sake,

that great Shepherd of the sheep who gently carries us close to his heart.

Connecting with several kind invitations tonight – Deidra’s new “Sunday” party, which probably really doesn’t want so many words as I’ve put down here this time; Jennifer’s spankin’ new GodBumpsGod-intentions,” Michelle’s “HearItUseIt” meme, Jen’s Solideogloria sisterhood and Emily’s “Tuesdays Unwrapped.” Whew! Did I forget anyone?? YUP. Forgot lovely Emily over at CanvasChild and her Thursday invitation to offer some ImperfectProse:

Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

Advent: Remembering the Ways of God

December 2, 2011 By Diana

“Oh that you would rend the heavens and come down,

that the mountains would tremble before you!

Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived,

no eye has seen any God besides you,

who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.

You come to the help of those who gladly do right,

who remember your ways.”

Isaiah 64:1, 4-5

Reading for the first Sunday in Advent

The prophet’s cry echoes down through the centuries,

right into the middle of my central California lifestyle.

Each and every Advent, sometimes multiple times during these four weeks,

I find my spirit singing Isaiah’s words of praise and longing.

And I stretch my mind to do what he asks:

to remember the ways of God.

To remember that the ways of God are not our ways.

To remember that the ways of God are small and surprising
more often than large and predictable.

To remember that rending the heavens will be saved for another Advent,
one for which we still wait.

So as Advent begins to unfurl each year, I remember.

I remember the ways of God.

The small and hidden,

quiet and secretive ways of our great God,

King of the Universe,

who entered the Virgin’s womb

to become as one with us.

Out of the chaos, order.

Out of the darkness, light.

Out of death, life.

And then, in stunning reverse:

out of the glistening, glorious starry heights

into the dark and murky fluids,

the blood and the water,

the reliance upon another for nurture and nourishment,

the vulnerable, tender uncertainty of the human condition.

And I remember the ways we have seen the Baby in our midst,

in our vulnerable, tender and uncertain condition.

I remember the ways we have found the small,

the hidden,

the quiet;

the unnoticeable notices

of Emmanuel, God with us.

“O come, O come, Emmanuel…”

I sing a verse of remembering for each of these

splendid small stories:

marrying my hero one week before Christmas
and buying our very first tree for 50 cents on Christmas Eve,
a tiny thing, scrawny and misshapen
but so beautiful to us;

standing in the starlight on a moonless Advent night in Zambia one year later, marveling that our families were

celebrating the same Infant Savior 14,000 miles

around the world from us;

carrying our second baby, birthing her in December, wondering if Mary felt as overwhelmed with the wonder and beauty of it all;

being gripped with fear as our youngest entered the hospital in Advent,
a tiny invasive bacteria literally eating his heel bone;
then bringing him home on Christmas Eve,
rejoicing in the goodness of God and the gift of antibiotics;

joyfully displaying an increasing supply of home-grown Advent art as our family grew up; gently saying ‘thank-you’ for each of our children as the paper became more and more tattered over the years;

learning about Lucia at our Swedish church, each of our daughters taking her turn to wear the crown of candles, ushering in the Light of the World

on the shortest, darkest day of the year;

absorbing the wonders of the liturgical year at mid-life,

forming a home-grown wreath

and lighting the candles each week;

creating Advent worship experiences with a team of talented musicians/dramatists/graphic artists, each one offering their gifts in thanksgiving and praise;

preaching my very first sermon on the 2nd Sunday of Advent in 1990, and just before I began, being gently told that the husband of a dear friend had died the night before, underscoring for me the smallness of all human endeavor in the face of eternity – a great place for a preacher to be;

offering the body and the blood to the community of faith every Advent for 17 years, each time amazed and overwhelmed at the power of such simple things:

bread and wine –

the whole world contained in ordinary fruits of the soil:

dusty gifts for dusty people.

“O come, O come, Emmanuel…”

Life is filled with such splendid, small stories.

And every year, I ask for eyes to see,

for a voice to tell,

and a heart to remember

the ways of God at work in the world,

at work in my everyday,

oh-so-messy yet glorious world.

“May Jesus Christ be praised.”

Responding to Charity Singleton’s kind invitation to join The High Calling Community in sharing Advent reflections. (http://charitysingleton.blogspot.com/2011/11/week-1-day-2-advent-writing-project.html) This one is more general in scope than might have been asked for, but this is where I am in life – looking backward a lot, with deep thanksgiving for growth along the way. Tiny shoots of hope and life here and there, reminding me of God’s faithfulness in the everyday.