Diana

The Deep Sadness: Losing Her, Piece by Piece

October 9, 2011 By Diana

Joining with Bonnie after several weeks away. This post may not read like it is exactly in tune with the topic for the week – which is prayer. But please believe me when I tell you, that this experience is one of the deepest prayer times of my life. I find myself begging the Lord for mercy, for clarity, for charity, for patience, for faith-amidst-the-questions, for a deepening of love even as there is a lessening of the woman we once knew. At any rate, I offer it because I must – every word poured out like a prayer.

She is sitting in an over-stuffed chair in the hallway, her walker in front of her. Across from her, a group from her living unit are in rows, listening to a woman about my age (which, believe me, is YOUNG in this crowd) read the daily newspaper.

Her eyes are vacant as she scans the room, turning her head as we walk in. She stares at me for a good minute, not a hint of recognition in her gaze. This is a first. I point to the man next to me, who is her son, and she begins to sense that we might be somehow connected to her. She is confused as we stand beside her, asking if she’d like to walk down to her room so that we can visit a little while. She makes no effort to stand, unusual for her.

We’ve been gone for two weeks. Her daughter, who sees her several times a week when she is in town, is also gone, caring for her newest grandbaby in Montana. She has not seen family since September 25th. And that time line is just long enough to cause a memory gap.

As we move slowly down the hallway and turn into her room, I turn on the light and open the drapes. She prefers the room dark and spends many hours in bed each day, fully dressed, sometimes with a nightgown over her clothes. As we enter the room, I can see that she has recently left that bed and it is now 4:00 p.m., with dinner to come in 45 minutes.

We check the calendar for the week and notice that there was a pianist visiting during the last hour. We ask about it. “She was terrible,” she says. Then she waves toward the large print crossword puzzle book and says, “I did a few more of those.”

“Good for you!” we both exclaim, eager to grab any snippet that might lead to actual conversation. But this line yields no fish today. Instead, we hear about the large poster on the wall.

Again.

It is a family picture taken in 1988, the year after our eldest daughter was married. She recites what she remembers of the story line we’ve told her many times:

“It’s so sad – that one over there, he died. And that little girl in front, she just had a baby.”

The references are to our son-in-law and our niece. She does not know their names. She does not know that she is in that picture. She does not know who anyone else is in the picture, nor is she interested.

There is a silence that grows increasingly heavy. We ask her if she wants to join the Bingo group. “Oh, they don’t play it like they used to! It’s all just a big bin and they tumble all around. What good is that to anyone?”

So, Bingo is out.

We attempt a few other conversational trails, failing each time and eventually, after about 30 minutes, say that it’s time for us to go.

She remains seated on the end of her bed. Again, no movement to get up. This is a first experience for us and we are both emotionally and physically distressed by this turn of events. Eventually, with coaxing, she rises and moves slowly back to the hallway.

An aide comes out and greets Mom cheerfully. “Did you see that woman who played the piano?” I hear her ask, crossly. “And did you see the way she was dressed?” My husband and I look at each other across the top of her head, widening our eyes and just slightly shrugging our shoulders. Who is this person??

This, this is my second mother. This is the woman who cared for my children at a moment’s notice, who found us our first house, who taught Bible studies, who mentored younger women, who laughed loudly and loved life. This is the woman who made delicious meals, who always had an empty seat – or three – at her dining room table, who knew what her gifts were – and what they weren’t. This is the woman who quietly made a break from her very conservative church upbringing by refusing to be baptized until she was 34 years old. Because when she was young, to be baptized meant letting your hair grow long and wearing a bonnet over it at all times. She never let that hair grow!

This is the woman who grew anything – gardenias, violets, ferns, spider plant – anything in a pot thrived under her watchful eye and green thumb. This is the woman who came to UCLA and invited me to tea when it began to look like I ‘might be the one’ for her son. This is the woman who folded me into her family with love and grace and who adored my children and my nephews and niece. This is the woman who was the ‘glue’ in her family, the one who maintained contact with all manner of kin, both far and near. This is the woman who quietly gave her life away to her family, to her faith, to her Lord. This is my mother-in-law, a pillar of the earth, a saint of the Lord, a gift of grace in my life.

And I miss her so much. Oh, how I miss her.

Even though she’s still here.

Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
My soon-to-be 96-year-old mother-in-law at my mom’s 90th birthday party last June. With my husband’s amazing sister.

Filed Under: Wonderings in the World

Family Portraits #1: Aunt Eileen

October 5, 2011 By Diana

Written at the kind invitation of Jennifer Dukes Lee for the High Calling’s group writing project. The assignment? Describe someone from your childhood who influenced you in some way, either positively or negatively. Use lots of detail and keep it to 300-500 words. If you’d like to join in, hop over to this post at Jennifer’s site: http://gettingdownwithjesus.com/gladys/

Photo taken two years ago this month, October 2009. Such a sweet face, such a dear aunt.

To me, she was beauty and grace personified. She was fun and flirty, blond and soft-spoken, with a lovely soprano singing voice. She had a great laugh and she wore cat’s eye glasses through which her eyes always twinkled.

My mom was the second of my grandmother’s four kids, and Eileen was the baby. Mom got about 99% of all the drive in that quartet and Eileen? Well, Eileen was a softer person than my mom in many ways.* My mom wanted our rooms, including the woodwork, scrubbed every Saturday. Eileen didn’t seem to notice or care all that much. She lived with orange crates for furniture for a lotta years, and I found that charming somehow.

Eileen married a big bear of a man, whom she adored. I can see my aunt looking lovingly at my Uncle Chuck to this day, the two of them dancing to love songs that they sang to each other at our family gatherings. I loved watching them.

I was a weird duck as a kid, but she loved me anyhow. I read all the time. Always a book – sprawled on the couch, in the bathroom, even while brushing my teeth. There was usually one propped on my white wooden chest of drawers while I languidly dressed for school each morning, and another one under the covers at night, read by flashlight. That love of books came from my mom, but a very different kind of reading love came from Aunt Eileen: Hollywood glamour magazines.

So delicious, so forbidden! When we went to their house, I knew exactly where she kept them and I’d take a stack, throw myself across their bed and start reading, from cover to cover. My mom would not abide such things in our home, so this was my chance! And I took advantage of that chance every single time.

Mom always wanted me to be ‘more social, interact with people!’ But I preferred reading about starlets and limousines. And Aunt Eileen breezily told my mother to leave me alone. An aunt who was an ally – who could ask for more? Especially when gossip columns were there for the reading.

You see, I was too tall, too bookish, too awkward when I was growing up. My mom worried a lot, transmitting those worries to me in such a way that I became terribly self-conscious. For my aunt, however… Well sure, I was a tall girl. And I did like to read an awful lot, but … I was interesting. I was a bit of a puzzle and she was intrigued. Perhaps because she didn’t have to raise me, she could look at me in a more disinterested way. She liked what she saw and I knew it. Can you imagine what a priceless gift that is for an insecure young girl?

I love you, Aunt Eileen, and I thank you for loving me even in my weird duck-ness!

*Lest you think my mom was a harsh person, may I refer you to this post, which talks about her in a more fully-orbed way.

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

Imagine This: Hills and Canyons in Texas, Part II: Arriving at the Frio

October 5, 2011 By Diana

For the first part of this post, click here.

Down the back roads and by-ways of Texas hill country you continue to roll. As you head slightly south, the roadside grasses shift from brown to light green, signaling a shift in terrain to match the shift in the temperature.

It is still hot.

But it is no longer beastly hot.

The directions to your next location – the last of this particular journey – are both clear and puzzling:
       “Follow the interstate to Texas Highway 41.
       Go 23 miles to Highway 83.
       Look for the sign to ‘Foundation Camps’ on the right side at the 15- mile point.
       Turn left onto a steep gravel road
and continue traveling about 1.5 miles to the river road.”

The river road – sounds innocent enough.
What you don’t yet fully realize is that the river IS the road.
Yes, you read that right.

You drive on the limestone bottom of a shallow river for about 1/3 mile and then turn sharply up to the left.

“Nowhere else but Texas,” you softly whisper.
The Laity Lodge hangs over the cliff of a small canyon carved into the rock by the Frio River.

Beautiful, clearly marked pathways, hand-laid stone walls, delicately worked wooden doors, oversized wrought iron hardware,

lovely, creaking wooden swings hanging from tree limbs all around the grounds.

Sigh.

You’ve come to a place where beauty and excellence are prized, celebrated, encouraged. The shade of a thousand trees, the gentle sounds of the river, the babble of excited conversations echoing in every corner – each of these does wonders for the knotted muscles along the left side of your neck and back. You can almost hear them un-kinking as you move into your room.

Your home for the next three nights is clean and welcoming, with care taken to provide comfort. You are late, but just squeak in a partial un-packing, a change of clothes and a hasty arrival at the opening reception.

And then – there they are.

All these ‘friends’ you’ve been making over the cyber waves these months. Smiling, offering hugs, making warm eye contact, seeing you, really seeing you.

A few more muscles un-kink and you begin to believe you’ve come to the right place as you move into the dining room – and find tables set with candles and real linen napkins and of course, the food!

Home-made bread, a fully loaded salad, pasta tossed with chicken and fresh veggies, the moistest chocolate bundt cake you’ve had in a long while.

The richness, warmth and attention to detail bring you to the edge of tears as you settle in for the evening session. Yet, still you wonder…why are you here?

This is a writer’s retreat – yet you don’t consider yourself much of a writer. A learner, perhaps, an admirer of the words and works of others.

So… why are you here?

It takes a while to realize it – most of the weekend, in truth. But slowly – in morning worship,

at workshops, during meals, in the art center,

on the dock,

watching the play of leaves and sky across the waters of the Frio,

walking in the early morning or late afternoon –

you begin to see that what you’re doing here…
is finding a community of kindred spirits.

People who wrestle like you do, articulate people who help you put words to some of your own struggles, your own questions, your own experience.

Because one of the things you’ve become painfully aware of during this first year of retirement is that you need this. You need it in all kinds of ways you cannot yet name. Just like the spiritual direction training you walked through in July, this is a brief taste of the heavenly table. A chance to be with fellow travelers on the way, many of whom have taken very different roads to get where you all end up. And that is a very, very good thing. A good thing, indeed.

“Many will come from east and west and from north and south and sit at table in the kingdom of God…”

– from Rite 1, Holy Communion, Covenant Book of Worship, 2003.

A few snapshots of some old/new friends from this weekend away.

Sharing with Jen at “Finding Heaven” and the soli deo gloria sisterhood

and with Laura at The Wellspring and her wonderful “Playdates with God” series.

Filed Under: Family/Travel, Wonderings in the World

Just Imagine – Hills and Canyons in Texas

October 1, 2011 By Diana

It is hot.
Beastly hot.
Sweat running down the middle of your back,
under your breasts, around your waist hot.
As usual, you have over-packed.
Way over-packed.
Lugging heavy bags in and out of a car in this heat is sweaty work,
and for the zillionth time, you are embarrassed
by your own inability to make wise and concise decisions in regard to wardrobe.
The temperature is nearing 100 as you pull away from your city hotel,
headed out into the west Texas countryside.
Maps are spread out, navigating instructions offered as needed.

Eventually you are headed toward a canyon,
a place you have never been and cannot quite picture,
despite a plethora of photographs online.
But before you arrive,
your traveling companion –
who is basically along for the ride on this one –
wants to check out some historical sites.
Approximately 120 miles out of the way, all tolled.
Because this is a companion you love and have lived with for over 4 decades,
and because his idea is a good one, you acquiesce.
And the journey begins.

The land is parched.
Not enough rain for a good long time now.
Live oaks begin to dot the landscape as the detritus of urban life
disappears into the rear view mirror.
The sky seems larger, and the clouds are roiling and boiling across it –
sometimes forming huge thunderheads,
sometimes spreading themselves into feathery strips, light as gossamer.

The turn-off from the throughway comes sooner than you expect
and you head off to the north a bit,
looking for a town with a strange name for Texas – Fredricksburg.
And when you find it,
there are lots and lots of other German names sprinkled everywhere you look:
Vogel
Engel
Goeblein
Schnitzersneibel

Finally, you see the sign you’re hunting –
Lyndon B. Johnson Historic Park –
and you make a quick left onto a narrow road.

Some who analyze such things have said
that it is impossible to understand the presidency of LBJ
without visiting the ranch, the country where he lived,
the country that he loved.
So, you have come.
Do you understand?
A little better perhaps
You see his birthplace,
his first one-room school,

his grandparents’ home,

the show-barn where he loved to ride, and lasso cattle,
the hangar where the small shuttle plane still sits (officially, always Air Force One), ready to take the President wherever he needs to go.

And you get to tour the Ranch House, only open to the public for the last 3 years.

And here, in this house, in this home – you get a feel for the man,for his wife, for the life they loved here.
No photographs are allowed inside the house –
a place of warmth and graciousness despite its 8500 square feet.
It feels like a home for ordinary folk, warm and welcoming.
A place where real people lived and fought
and made decisions and learned about life.

And death.
LBJ died here, only 64 years old.
But so much life in those years, so much of our story as Americans.
The hideous war in Vietnam.
The miracle of the Civil Rights Act.
A look at the clock confirms that you will be late for this place in the canyon,
with 90 minutes more driving to do.
And the tension builds within.
Patience grows short.
Do you need gas? Do you not need gas?
Are you on the best route? Should you try this way?
The thunderheads gather overhead, as well as inside your spirit,
dropping their load of long-awaited moisture all over the road ahead.
And the temperature drops right along with it.
Relief.
Space to breathe.

And then it hits you.
This feeling – this tenseness inside,
this knot growing in your belly,
this crazy, hyper-critical thinking –
this is very familiar.
It happens every time you’re nearing something new,
somewhere things are ‘expected’ – at least in your own mind.
You wonder if you will fit,
if others will notice you,
welcome you,
listen to you,
see you.
It’s the treacherous, life-robbing cycle of fear, that’s what it is.
The stuff that crowds out the wonder,
the thick, syrupy, invasive thief of all that is good and holy.

And the only antidote you know is this one: love.
The only one.
So you silently begin the Jesus prayer,
“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
Big breath in.
Big breath out.

More love, Lord. More love.
Love for this man who patiently drives you across this desert land.
Love for this land,
this view of big sky and big valleys,
of rolling hills and rocky crags.
Love for this adventure, this opportunity, this challenge.
Love for you, Lord.
And the trust that can only be grown in that soil.
Trust that reminds you, ‘all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.’

to be continued… click here to read the follow-up.
Joining with LL Barkat at SeedlingsinStone for her weekly invitation:

3 additional photos which speak to the quiet beauty of this space

Filed Under: Family/Travel, Wonderings in the World

Shifting Gears…Moving Towards Retreat

September 29, 2011 By Diana

We’ve been on a journey the last week or so.

A journey across time and geography,

and a journey that’s taken some interesting

twists and turns.

Tomorrow, that journey heads inward

and things will take a definite change in direction.

The first journeying days were spent crossing time

as well as half the country.

We spent 5 days in Nashville,

visiting some good friends from many years ago.

Friends whose lives have taken them down different byways
than they could ever have foreseen –

some of them wonderful,

some of them hard and thorny.

It was good, really good, to be with them,

to see how their lives have unfolded,

to realize their children have grown to adulthood,

only one of their three left to fledge,

and he’ll do that at the end of this school year.

Wasn’t it only yesterday that I was the coordinator

for their wedding?

And then another yesterday when their daughter

was flower girl for our eldest daughter’s?

Then we flew to San Antonio.

Why?

Good question.

Our plans got changed and I think maybe

God might have had some small thing to do with that.

And no, I’m not going to get all

weird and woo-woo-ey on you here.

It’s just that there are those times when

things come together in surprising ways,

ways beyond your control, ways that cause you to

take a deep breath and ask,

“Really, Lord? Really?”

The result is that tomorrow morning,

we drive from this very hot, but beautiful city

out into the Texas hill country.

We’re searching for a place that could probably

only be found in Texas:

a retreat center that lies at the base of a

canyon and whose main access road

is literally ‘through the river.’

There’s this writer’s retreat, you see.

And I thought it might be a fun thing to do.

It also terrified me to think about being there,

and that little frisson of fear coupled with

excitement has often been the nudging of

the Holy Spirit in my life.

If it scares me to death, it’s probably something

I ought to be doing!

So, we’re going.

My husband is quite content to explore

on his own while I am in workshops.

Both of us are looking forward to seeing a place

completely new to us,

and I am looking forward to learning

more about writing well –

using fewer words and more heart,

showing rather than telling.

At the request of my workshop leader,

I am allowing my very feeble submission

to be ripped apart by the group.

Talk about terror.

But I am game and here is why:

I don’t really have a clue what I’m doing out here,

writing a couple of times a week on this blog.

I love words,

I love communicating with others,

I have been writing nothing but sermons and prayers

and notes of encouragement for the last 15 years.

Now I need to know how to write

for completely different reasons,

and with a broader set of tools in my box.

So, I told him, ‘have at it.’

And I meant it.

I think.

Big gulp.

Away we go.

Today was Alamo day here in San Antonio.

It’s a very small building.

It was a very hot day.

Enough said.

But today was also the day to ride the riverboat
around the Riverwalk area where we are staying.

Now that was right up our alley.

On the water, in the heat,

enjoying the beauty of trees and brightly colored umbrellas.

This was the river view of the restaurant at our hotel, where we have enjoyed breakfast every day.

It was a lovely way to spend 40 minutes.

Then we came back and crashed, hot and sweaty and

surprisingly tired for not much activity.

But taking a dip in the rooftop pool helped a bit.

The water felt great – but it dried SO quickly.
Folks, it was 97 degrees at 8:00 p.m. last night.
Now that is hot.
We hear, however, that it has been raining buckets
out near where we’re headed,
so here’s hoping for a bit of relief from these 100+ degree days.

It was too hot to eat lunch, so we opted for an early dinner and had that lovely patio all to ourselves.

We did, however, ask the waiter to leave the door to the inside open,

which allowed some air-conditioned breezes

to waft their way around our table.

The dinner was delish, the setting peaceful,

but the very best thing about this early evening

al fresco experience?

Seeing this gorgeous guy join the ducks

for a little drink of cool water!

Owls are not usually out and about at 5:30 –

but there he was, staring right at us.

My big lens was up in our room,

but we still got a full face,

looking inquisitively our way.

Somehow it seemed fitting.

This big bird was out of place here and he knew it.

So did the ducks!

But eventually, everyone made him feel welcome

and he hung around for a bit,

eventually heading up into the trees and drawing quite a crowd of people

whipping out their phones for a photo.

Maybe we’ll eventually feel at home, too.

At any rate, we are outta here at 11:30 or so tomorrow morning.

Prayers much appreciated.

Filed Under: Wonderings in the World

Five Minute Friday: Growing…

September 24, 2011 By Diana

Yes, I know it is Saturday. But life loses its structure a bit when you’re traveling. So, I’m joining the chorus late this week. Interesting prompt, let’s see where it leads…

GO:

I want to grow until I die. I want to keep reaching up to the light, searching for water, sending roots down deep. I want to bloom wherever I’m planted, as hackneyed as that phrase has become. Growing elicits only positive images for me (most of the time, that is – until someone I know is afflicted with cancer – then I don’t like the idea at all!) Growth is about lots of things, isn’t it?

It’s about learning.

It’s about trying new things.

It’s about learning to adapt to new environments.

It’s about opening your heart, your home, your life to lots of different kinds of people and experiences.

It’s about pushing against the edges of the ‘pot,’ about sending feeler roots deep into the earth, searching for nourishment, soaking up what is necessary for green leaves and blossoms above the soil line.

It’s about leaning into the sunlight, reaching for it, sometimes from behind barriers, corners, or larger, thornier plants.

It’s about keeping the parts of yourself connected – roots – stems – flowers – fruit.

It’s about being grafted into the vine, espaliered against the Rock of Ages, trained to go up and out and around and through.

It’s about life, thirsty and hungry for it, lapping it up, drinking it in, celebrating, enjoying, weeping in the seasons of drought as needed, but always, always ALWAYS searching out truth, meaning and love.

STOP

Filed Under: Wonderings in the World

When God Asks the Questions: who do you say that I am?

September 22, 2011 By Diana

I am quite late this week in joining with Michelle at her lovely “Graceful” blog, hooking into her weekly invitation to “Hear It on Sunday/Use It on Monday.” And the soli deo gloria sisterhood at Jen’s blog, “Finding Heaven,” where the community is thriving. I’m late because we left CA this a.m. on a 12-day trip, landing in Nashville tonight for a 5 day stay with some long-time friends. Then to San Antonio for 3 days of sight-seeing, then to Laity Lodge for the writer’s retreat there and home again on Sunday, October 2.

As always, the ideas you find here spring directly from the pastor’s fine preaching, sifted through my memory and life experience. This week, Don Johnson brought the word.

We jumped to the New Testament on Sunday, to the 8th chapter of Mark – the very center of this gospel. Up to this point, the rapid story-telling of Mark has been focused on the things Jesus did in his ministry; now the focus zeroes in on who Jesus IS. He gives the disciples a bit of a mid-term exam at this point, asking them a string of difficult questions, most of them centered around this idea: “Hey, do you guys get it yet?”

The question under the spotlight this week is actually about question #11 in this chapter – most of them indicating a bit of impatience, even annoyance. There is an all-too-familiar feel to this line of questioning, leading to a rather paradoxical conclusion: those who profess to know Christ the most often significantly misunderstand him.

Ouch.

Have you seen this happen to others? To yourself? A developing rigidity of thought, a desire to keep God in a box of our own design? If so, then this question is of central importance to you. The answer might well determine the trajectory of your entire life:

Who do you say that I am?

Light.

Rock.

Keystone.

Holy and anointed One.

Risen and exalted One.

“Honey on my lips.”

“Water to my soul.”

A lamp unto my feet.

A strong and mighty tower.

A shelter like no other.

My light.

My salvation.

God’s only Son.

Binder of broken hearts.

Counselor of the confused.

“I will be who I will be”

YHWH.

These are some of the names for God we offered in worship this past Sunday –

in song, in prayer, in scripture.

But the question of the hour truly remains:

“Who do YOU say that I am?”

As Jesus began to ask his closest followers about what they were learning

about him,

about the kingdom of God,

about the purpose of the life they’ve been living with him,

he asked first:

Who do PEOPLE say that I am?

And the disciples were at the ready with some great answers!

“Some say John the Baptist,

some say Elijah,

and still others, one of the prophets.”

Not bad, right?

A prophet, a teacher, a powerful speaker of truth,

one who calls others to repentance.

But…

Jesus pushes in a little harder, doesn’t he?

“So…who do you say that I am, friends?”

As he is often prone to do,

Jesus gets up-close-and-personal,

cutting to the chase,

and putting his friends on the hot-seat.

And Peter – bless him! – Peter

has a moment of astounding insight,

a rare ability to immediately

come up with the best of all

possible answers to that question!

“You are the Messiah!”

The chosen one,

the anointed one,

the one sent by God,

the one promised of old,

the one with true authority,

the one who shows us God.

In that moment of divinely inspired speech,

Peter lays it out there.

You, Jesus – you are the ONE.

But here is the rest of that reality:

Peter – and the others with him –

do not yet understand what it means to give Jesus this title.

Their ideas of “Messiah” are miles away

from who Jesus truly is,

why Jesus came to this earth.

They haven’t a clue what is coming for him – and for them.

So, from here on in Mark’s gospel,

Jesus is very intentional about showing them,

teaching them, living with them, modeling for them

what God’s Messiah looks like.

And they don’t like it.

Not one little bit.

Suffering is coming?

Ah no, Jesus, that can’t be right!

Peter – the very one who spoke such beautiful truth –

pulls Jesus aside and rebukes him!

And that’s when the famous line,

“Get thee behind me, Satan!”

flies from Jesus’ lips as he looks at his disciples,

focusing particularly on Peter.

A cross?

And an empty tomb?

Nah, Jesus – that’s just lousy marketing!

Let’s jazz it up a little, talk about defeating those Romans,

create a high profile.

And Jesus will have none of it!

“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves

and take up their cross and follow me.”

Jesus wants so much more from us than pretty words and classy titles.

He wants so much more than pat answers,

attendance at weekly worship services,

paying of a regular tithe.

He asks faithful, thoughtful discipleship.

Openness to the brokenness of this world.

An embrace of the difficult and the troublesome.

A willingness to make the hard choice because it is the right choice.

A desire to go deep,

deep in the Word,

deep in prayer,

deep in service,

deep in devotion.

No matter what.

Because that’s what he did.

He lived a life of prayer,

he left healing and wholeness in his wake,

he came to show us how to live outside the box,

and inside the fellowship of the Triune God,

connected at a soul level with others

who are on the same road.

Jesus came to be our Savior, oh yes, he did.

But Jesus also came to be our Lord.

To be the one who counsels us on how we

spend our time

spend our money

spend our lives.

So, I guess the question to me (and to you) is this:

are we willing to step both outside and inside with Jesus?

Outside the box we too often build around our understanding

of who he is and what he asks of us,

and inside the eternal fellowship of our God,

learning what it means

to wrestle it out,

to lean hard into life,

to take the teaching of Jesus,

the living of Jesus,

the suffering of Jesus,

the rising of Jesus,

the intercession of Jesus at the right hand of God,

all of it! –

to take all of it, embrace it with abandon,

smile inwardly and shout loudly,

“Ah, yes, THIS, this is living.”

Who do we say that he is?

Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

Five Minute Friday: JOY

September 16, 2011 By Diana

This week’s topic is bittersweet. Lisa-Jo has written about her friend Sara Frankl in her intro to this week’s theme and all of us who have participated in her Friday invitation are very aware of Gitz’s wonderful contributions each week. They will not come again. As I posted earlier today when I wrote this post, Gitzen Girl’s chosen blog title is “Choosing Joy.” Each and every one of her blog posts over the last three years is a reflection of Sara’s intentional posture of doing exactly that – despite the restrictions, pain and isolation of a serious chronic disease. Over 600 folks have commented on yesterday’s post, compiled by Sara’s dear friend Shannon, where it was announced that Sara is now on hospice care and will not write again. I will try to do this topic justice tonight.

GO:

In all my years of pastoral ministry, I did both weddings and funerals; not often, as I was never ‘the’ pastor, but with some regularity. And typically, we think of weddings as occasions for laughter, high spirits and yes, joy.

And that is usually true. But if I’m being honest, I would have to say that some of the most remarkable experiences of my life happened at funerals, not at weddings. I’ll try and ferret out why in this space, only skimming the surface in the alloted five minutes.

Certainly funerals, graveside services and memorial services are reason for tears, for sadness, for regret and for grief. BUT, they are also amazing times of celebration, story-sharing, deep connections between people who may not have seen each other in a long while and also – an acceptable place in which to worship God through lament. And what I love about lamenting is that it is REAL. And it almost always leads to thanksgiving and to praise.

Check it out in the psalms. There are more laments than any other type of psalm in our psalter. And every single one of them except one (I believe it’s 88) ends with rejoicing of one kind or another. That to me, is the essence of joy: turning the corner from sorrow to praise.

Because let’s face it, life sucks sometimes. Life sucks a lot of the time. It’s hard to be human.* People and relationships break, wear out, get sick, die. But see, here’s the thing: if you come together in community when those things happen, if you come together in worship as a community, little miracles start to sprout up. People laugh in the midst of tears. Memories come flooding in, both good and bad, but most often, the good ones win out. Grief is not an easy road – but oh, it’s so much better to walk it with others, and to walk it with God.

Joy comes in the morning. And joy comes in the mourning, too. Oh, I want to choose joy!

STOP

*And I will add quickly here that life is also wonderful, beautiful, glorious and rich…at times. I took two minutes extra tonight to finish and added italics and photo after the buzzer.

Filed Under: Wonderings in the World

This Strange World of Cyber Friends

September 16, 2011 By Diana

How do I explain these tears?
They leap out of my eyes, coming from someplace deep inside.
They are hot and painful, coming in waves,
sometimes accompanied by heaving sobs.
This makes no sense.
At least not in the way I have always experienced life,
relationships, connections, community.

Until, of course, I began exploring this thing called the ‘internet.’
‘The Web,’ we used to call it in its earliest days.
And that’s an apt description for what I have learned since January of this year.
There is an immense, tangled, wonderful web of connections
out here on the cyber waves.
Lines crossing every which way,
connections showing up in the strangest,

most serendipitous places.
I have tried many times to reconstruct how it happened.

How did I become entangled in this massive silken structure?
I simply cannot follow the threads back to their origins.
I think it started with Ann.
Voskamp, that is.
And Gordon.
Atkinson.
One of them led me to the other and I can’t tell you who at this point.
But I know I was reading Ann a lot during the last year of my pastoral life,
printing off blog posts, passing them around at centering prayer retreat days.
And I know I sent the link to Gordon’s former website to my colleagues, saying, “Here’s someone who speaks the truth with love (and humor!) – check it out!”

So, when I discovered all this ‘time’ on my hands in early January,
I began checking out things like:
The High Calling and
(in)Courage.
And, in an effort to see what was really out there,
I’d follow comments I liked back to their author’s websites.
And somewhere, very early on, I discovered The Gitzen Girl.
Sara Frankl,
an angel in human flesh.
Living the most contained, boundaried life I have ever read about,
never leaving her condominium home,

(for the last three years!)
seldom leaving her bed,
Sara had the miraculous audacity to title her blog,
“Choosing Joy.”
Because that’s what she did, that’s what she does,
every single minute of every day:
she chooses joy.
Accompanied by the wondrous Riley, a white puff of a dog who always knows exactly what to do to bless his sweet owner’s daily life, this woman has written powerful truth,
sometimes with tongue firmly planted in cheek,
sometimes with heart bleeding visibly on sleeve,
always with depth and truth and love.

So I explored her blog, peeking into the three years she has been recording her life,
answering the questions of her readers,
posting photographs of her lovely small nest.
And I learned about her dreadful health situation.
And her amazing singing voice..
And her remarkable way with words.
I felt my spirit brighten every single time I saw her name in my inbox, and almost always, I read her blog before any others.

Her story was simply remarkable, almost not to be believed –
and yet there it all was, in black and white and living color.
Using arm braces and immense powers of will and spunk,
she wrote life-filled words and took lovely, informative photos.
Though no longer able to lift her voice in song,
her written words sang to so many of us.
They sang of a good and generous God,
even through a life of constant difficulty.
They sang of a faithful Savior, a gentle Shepherd who worked in her a series of real, deeply true miracles.
Not physical ones, but spiritual, emotional and mental miracles,
helping her to discover, within the confines of her limited life
that the human spirit can indeed be limitless
when relinquished to the care of a loving and ever-present God.
The closest parallel I can come up with is Anne Frank –
both young, beautiful women whose lives speak of intense suffering.
Both writing of hope, with humor, vulnerability and love.

Her name didn’t show up a couple of weeks ago on Thursday night.
She is always among the first to respond to Lisa-Jo’s Five Minute Friday posts, and being a night owl (as I am), she generally wrote hers in the very early morning. When I didn’t see her smiling face, I got this funny feeling in my stomach:
“I wonder if Sara is all right.”
Several days later, a friend posted that she was taking a
‘sabbatical’ to rest for a while, as her body was struggling more than it usually did.
Yesterday, that dear friend, using Sara’s words from a previous post, wrote the most eloquent announcement of her impending death.
She is on hospice care,
friends and family have gathered,
she is peaceful, able to talk (carefully), and listening to her loved ones read to her from the hundreds and hundreds of comments that
‘Heading Homeward’ post has received.
I subscribed to the comment feed and they are pinging with regularity, all last evening, all during the long night, all day thus far (nearing 600 at this moment).
Friends gathered outside her window with candles and sang hymns last night.
Sarah in Vancouver, Lisa-Jo in the suburbs of D.C., me in Santa Barbara and dozens of others lit candles during our own evenings, thanking God for this life.

I do not know this woman personally.
I have never spoken to her or seen her.
She has replied kindly to a couple of comments I left on her blog.
That is it.
And yet, finding those words late yesterday afternoon caused the most spontaneous and deeply felt grief – it literally hurt to read them.
I know she is heading home, home were she will be whole and free
and filled with joy.
And I am joyful for her and with her.
But I am also so, so sad.
I will miss her very much.

And that, my friends, is a very good thing.

Can you see it?
This wonderful, amazing web:
it can most assuredly be used for much that is evil and wrong.
But, oh my – it is being used by our God for
the sharing of beauty and grace, courage and hope;
there is a real and meaningful co-mingling
of laughter and of tears,
there is community.
I don’t understand it.
I just know it’s very, very real.
Thanks be to God.

I wrote this post this afternoon because somehow – I had to. But I’m sending it over to Bonnie the Faith Barista’s link today, the one on friendship. This is not exactly that – my relationship with Gitz was not two-sided in the traditional sense of the word friend. Yet, I am indeed gaining friends via this unique and expressive information highway. Some of them I will actually sit in the same space with in just a couple of weeks. And some of those dear folks ARE actual, real-life friends with Sara.

So call me a shirt-tail friend – I’m proud to be one!

Also sending this one out via Richella’s Imparting Grace and Emily at Imperfect Prose:

Filed Under: Wonderings in the World

Guest Post: Dancing With God

September 15, 2011 By Diana

A couple of weeks ago, I left a comment on my blog friend Deidra’s site. Linda Thomas read it and asked if I’d be willing to expand it into a full-on blog post for her. I was delighted to help because I love all of Linda’s encouraging and practical words about writing spiritual memoirs as a legacy for our families – what I try to do in this space, actually. Here’s a snippet and a link on over to her spot where you can read the rest…

As is my habit, I took a walk around my driveway one evening last week. And afterward, I sat in our tree-swing to cool down, looking over this property and home that we love, and I asked myself a hard question: “Why, Lord? Why do I have so much while so many others have so little?” Each day as I walk, I try to be thankful, specifically thankful, for the gifts of the day. And always, always, I am thankful for this house, this yard, this place that feels like gift every single day we’re here. And on this day, this particular day, after reading beautifully written and poignant posts about starving children in the Horn of Africa and children needing sponsors through World Vision or Compassion International, I was feeling overwhelmed by the discrepancy between my life and theirs.

And then, I remembered some of the bits and pieces of my story.

Hop on over to Linda’s to read the rest…

http://spiritualmemoirs101.blogspot.com/2011/09/dancing-with-god.html

Filed Under: Uncategorized