Diana

The Sunday/Monday Thing – in which I do not go to church at all…

April 7, 2011 By Diana

Joining up with Michelle this time, over at “Graceful,” one of my favorite new discoveries as I sift through literally hundreds of blogs – who knew? There is an entire world out there, filled with interesting people, good writers and photographers, lovers of words and the Word. So…here’s what I did this weekend:

I am a number one daughter from a moderately conservative church-going, Bible-believing family. I am the wife of a number one son from a moderately conservative, church-going, Bible-believing family, the mother of three grown children, all of whom attend church at least semi-regularly and the grandmother to 8, all of whom have grown up (or are presently growing up!) in church-going families.

But this last Sunday, there was no church for me.

My husband had a birthday at the end of March and our children came up with a brilliant idea for a birthday gift: a kitchen garden. Something we have never really had and now – in our early retirement – seemed to us like a great idea. Thankfully, my husband remembers things like watering new plants and seems to enjoy getting his hands dirty. Me, on the other hand? Not so much. But…I’m willing to learn and I’m more than willing to harvest!

Plans were made for a weekend in mid-March to do this work, but the rains that soaked California for much of the month made that date completely unworkable. So we checked the weather forecast, found a window between storms and agreed that Sunday, April 3 was going to work the best for the most of us. We’re talking 15 people here, so scheduling anything is often a minor miracle.

And of course, it rained on Saturday. Not all bad, because the ground was damp enough to work with but not wet enough to consider planting rice. We have this long narrow lot because of all kinds of interesting easements and our house is fairly close to our neighbors to the south. The side yard there is narrow – and until about 3 years ago – was almost entirely composed of large squares of pebbled concrete. When we did a kitchen remodel, we yanked some of those squares out and planted some sea lavender and penstemon, added a small bird bath and garden art and gave ourselves a pleasant view from our new kitchen windows.

An ideal spot for veggies and herbs, right?

Yes!

So…here’s what it looked like before we started:

And here’s what it looked like about midway through: (Can you believe it? They even brought tomato cages, a bean teepee and all the equipment to install a drip irrigation system with a timer! I think maybe they know me too well!!)

And here’s what it looked like at the end of a long, fruitful (pun intended) day.

Everyone worked well together, I kept the food and cold drinks coming (and watched the one-year-old) and we had a great time together. We ate a simple supper, thanked God for the food and the family and the joy of good work and celebrated my husband’s birth with his favorite – lemon meringue pies, made by our middle daughter.

It wasn’t church – and it was. In the best sense of that term – community, thanksgiving, the work of our hands – all of it offered to the God who gave us each other.

“Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. And whatever you do in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Colossians 3:14-17

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Comments on Courage

April 7, 2011 By Diana

This small story illustrates courage better than almost anything else I can think of today. I learned so much from my kids as they grew up (and continue to do so as they move through adulthood) and this lesson has stuck with me, even heartened me when I’ve had my own scary demons to conquer.

She stood there, shivering. At the end of a line of fidgety 4-year-olds, I watched her long slender body literally shake from fear. Arms pulled tightly against her body, hands clasped in front of her chest, she was dripping wet from the nearby shower. It was the height of summer in the east San Gabriel Valley, so the air was more than warm. But I knew she was cold as ice on the inside.

I sat in the bleachers of the high school swimming pool with my toddler boy while my girls took their swimming lessons. Elder daughter loved the water, jumped in heartily and was already swimming laps. Younger daughter lived another reality altogether. The water mystified and terrified her. Her eyes were as big as saucers as she faced down her fears. Slowly, she moved forward in the line and I could see her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Silently, I prayed: “Lord, have mercy on this, your small daughter. Help her to move through her fear and find the joy that waits as she discovers that water can be her friend, even her refuge in this hot summer sun. Guard her fierce heart as she readies herself, Lord. Still her and steel her by your grace!”

As she neared the lip of the pool, the trembling slowly increased. Thankfully, the young teacher was sensitive and kind, offering encouragement with words and open arms. And off she went – jumping into the abyss of her deepest fears. Gasping as she surfaced, she turned to find my eyes in the stands. “See, Mom,” she seemed to say. “I am a brave girl.” Yes indeed, my darling daughter – you are a very brave girl indeed.

Joining with Elizabeth today at http://www.elizabethfoss.com/reallearning/2011/04/small-steps-together-encourage.html with some reflections on courage

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5 Minute Friday: A few of my favorite things…

April 1, 2011 By Diana

Linking up with the very tired by oh-so-blessed Gypsy Mama again this week. How I love this woman’s blog! As always, 5 minutes on the clock of unedited thoughts on the topic at hand – this week? A few of my favorite things…

GO:

With the opening disclaimer that my absolute favorite things in all the world aren’t things at all, but rather people and experiences – I will submit the following list, restricted – for the purposes of this exercise – to actual things:

My Macintosh laptop computer, graciously given to me at my retirement by the church I served for 14 years

My books – every last one of them – and there are way too many to count (though I am culling a bit as I move out of my office at the church s-l-o-w-l-y in this new year). Tops on that list are anything by Eugene Peterson/Frederick Buechner/Madeleine L’Engle (except that novel about David!)/Barbara Brown Taylor/Walter Brueggeman/Marilynne Robinson and too many others to count

Anything created for me by my grandchildren – from photographs to primitive drawings

The 100 year old oak tree in our front yard

The 60-70 year old ginko tree in our side yard

The view out my bedroom windows (all right, I’ll admit – that’s not a thing, either!)

Our home – love it, love it

My daughter’s wonderful artwork

Photographs of all those I love more than life – and there are a whole lotta those, too!

STOP

Pictures added later:

The oak tree – recently “laced” to prevent breakage and toppling after losing a wonderful old friend in another part of the yard.

A little bit of the gingko outside our bedroom

a peek at the house we’ve loved and welcomed so many to since 1997

All of us as of August of last year – such gifts these dear ones are!

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At Sixes and Sevens…

March 31, 2011 By Diana

I sit here tonight wondering. Where am I headed next?

The thing about moving from a highly structured life to a pretty unstructured one is this strange feeling of being unmoored.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy the feeling. In fact, I’m beginning to think I’m enjoying it just a little too much.

I like having fewer commitments/responsibilities/appointments.

I like having more discretionary time.

I like being around my husband all day – and all night.

I like being at home more – we’ve worked long and hard on this place and we love it.

I like having the freedom to help our kids with their kids.

I like this sense of shrugging off a heavy coat that had become more burdensome than I knew.

But….

I feel the need to find the ground again,

to be more centered in myself and in the Lord.

So, what am I going to do about that?

Lent seems like a good time to wonder – and to wander a bit. It is a wilderness time, after all. A time of intentional slowing, of purposeful giving, of paying attention.

And during this particular Lent, about 80% of that ‘paying attention’ has been happening online. Even though this blog has been open for a number of years, I am a rank beginner at it. So I’ve been checking out a whole lotta bloggin’ out there in cyberspace. Some of it is even providing me with helpful tips about how to be more technically savvy, how to write blog-style more effectively. And one of those blogs led me to a new book I’ll begin reading soon – @stickyJesus: how to live out your faith online.

I’m doing some Bible reading online, too. Trying to follow the historical guide provided by the good folks at Life Church, the largest church in our denomination, located in Oklahoma. It’s interesting reading the Word on my computer.

And my husband and I are following a Lenten devotional guide I discovered online. And reading it while using a beautiful candlelit Lenten labyrinth I purchased from another blogger’s son.

So, the internet is where I’m doing a lot of my wondering right now. Wondering if there is room in blog-land for an older woman’s voice, an older pastor’s voice. Some of my discoveries in the last few days have given me hope that maybe, just maybe, there may be a door for me.

In the meantime…I wait. I pay attention. I wonder:

is there more for me to do, Lord?

is there more for me to be?

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Red Writing Hood: Pink with Red Sprinkles

March 25, 2011 By Diana

The assignment this week is to respond to a picture, fiction or non-fiction, in 600 words. The picture? A scrumptious looking donut, one of many, slathered with pink frosting, dotted with red sprinkles:

“Well, of course,” she said sweetly. “Talk to you later.” The phone slammed into the cradle as Amy’s frustration broke through the facade. If only her boss had any kind of clue what real life looked like. If only he had the slightest inkling of what her life was like. If only she herself had the chutzpah to tell him what her own reality felt like at this moment.

One more assignment. One more level of responsibility. One more series of decisions to be made. Decisions that could mean the difference between pink slips or green lights for people she cared about. Decisions that had her literally tied up in knots just about 24/7. Decisions that felt impossible to make. Amy felt as if she was drowning.

She looked at the piles of paper spread across her desk and wondered to herself how she had gotten to this point. But she knew. She knew she was good at what she did. She knew that she was capable, competent and oh-so-anxious to please, to be seen in a favorable light, to be perceived as the go-to gal, the one who would pick up the pieces, the clean-up batter for the boss. But this?

She hadn’t really bargained for this when she took the job. Promotions? Yes, ma’am. That will do nicely. Approval? Of course, please – and lots of it. Acceptance? Uh-huh – Amy’s middle name. But…maybe…just maybe…you could be too good a worker. Is that possible? Could you make yourself so useful that you became indispensable? So malleable that you were perceived to be a different person than you really were?

Is this what she had worked so hard to become? The person who was given the task of firing people? Could all her hard work, role-playing and nice-girl stick-to-itiveness have come to this?

It was just too much. She could not deal. Swiveling her chair away from the mess on her desk, she stood up and strode purposefully out of the office. Tunneling her way down through the building via the high-speed elevator, she emerged on the street level and walked quickly to the corner.

The smell hit her as soon as she rounded the building. Ah, yes! That delicious, heart-warming reminder that everything and anything could be resolved with the ingestion of a soft, warm doughnut. What kind today? she wondered. What wonder-working circle of sugar and fat could she choose for today’s agony?

And there it was. Right smack dab in the middle of the case. A lovely, softly melting cake doughnut. Perfectly frosted, and flourished with bright sprinkles. And it was pink – just like she was. Because underneath all that competence, underneath all that hard-working, load-bearing, look-at-me-I’m-superwoman exterior was a soft and shy little girl who simply loved pink.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she bought that lovely thing, took it outside in the fresh air with a cup of hot tea and she savored. She savored every single bite. After all, when the feelings rise up and bite you – the best remedy in the world is to stuff them with something divinely good to eat. The quickest, surest way to relief from the bite was to bite back.

Tomorrow, she’d deal with the decisions. Today, she was eating that doughnut.

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Remarkable Faith: Reflections on a Funeral…

March 25, 2011 By Diana

I met her the summer before I was married. I was 20 years old and she was a couple of years older, married to one of my soon-to-be husband’s best friends. She was, in many ways, everything I was not: a black-haired, vivacious, flashing-eyed fashion plate. She was also deeply kind and a lot of fun and we hit it off almost immediately. As she and her husband went through our wedding reception line six months later, we laughingly said to each other, “Well, I guess we’ll see you in Africa!”

And that’s exactly what we did. Both couples sailed across the Atlantic on a freighter (different ships) to live and teach in central Africa as short-term missionaries. We lived there for two years and were stationed 500 miles apart. Getting together was the highlight of our school holidays – and we got to ride a steam train overnight to do it. She and I shared a deep commitment to Jesus, a healthy pleasure in the joys of married life and a wacky sense of humor. She was a good cook and taught me a lot. I learned to sew and taught her a little.

When we were back in the states, we lived about 90 minutes apart for nearly 30 years. And we got together with some regularity. As our families grew, we spent New Year’s Eve and Day together for many years and even camped together a few times. It was a deep friendship, based on a shared story at a critical time in our lives, and I valued it more than almost any other relationship I had.

Then came the phone call. “Are you sitting down? I have stage 4 breast cancer and we don’t know what we’re going to do…” The four of us went away for the weekend, prayed together and she made the decision to try an alternative approach in lieu of the recommended medical treatment. She was gifted with about a 14 month remission in which she gave praise to God, speaking at women’s gatherings all around her hometown.

At this point in my own life, I graduated from seminary and began a part-time pastoral role in our home church. She and I celebrated together with notes and phone calls and occasional visits. Then she invited us to come to a college not far from our home to see her son in a play. She stood in the back the whole performance and when I asked her why, she said, “My back hurts.”

And I knew. And she knew that I knew. But. She wasn’t ready to move from the place of hope and healing she had enjoyed for a little over a year and she didn’t want anyone around her who had any doubts about the outcome. So…she pretty much cut me out of her life. I sent notes. I called her husband to see how she was doing. I followed from a distance. And it hurt. It hurt so much.

I received a call to serve a church over two hundred miles away from her and agonized about how we could maintain contact with her failing health. In early November, her husband called and said that she had come to realize that her life was coming to an end and she wanted to meet with a few people she had cut off – could I come and see her the following Saturday? Oh, yes. I most definitely could.

But. On that Thursday morning, her husband called to say simply, “She’s gone.” And I was more grief stricken than I had ever been in my life. Oh my, the pain of that loss! I was asked to give the eulogy at her funeral – something I felt honored to do. The service was filled with loving comments from so many people! The young women’s group at their church who came and gave her manicures and massages during those last few months. Friends of short and long term who spoke of her strong faith and her sweet spirit.

My words? I tried to share something of the woman I had known and loved all those years. In the turmoil at the beginning of this last journey, she had shared with me that one of her greatest fears about dying was that no one would remember her. Now that I could speak to – and I did, loudly and clearly. My sweet, brave friend will always be remembered by everyone who knew her. It’s been 14 years since she died, and occasionally, the tears still flow when I think about her. In those 14 years, I’ve been privileged to plan and lead many memorial and graveside services – each one a gift and a rich experience of worship and remembrance. But that one, that one stands out. The friend of my heart, the friend of my youth, my dear, deep friend in Jesus is gone – and she is still missed.

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5 Minute Friday: Waking Up…

March 25, 2011 By Diana

Joining the Gypsy Mama’s Friday group once again this week, with 5 minutes of unedited writing on this week’s topic: Waking Up…

I am most definitely NOT a morning person. Never have been, never will be. My clock runs so very differently from many – I like to be up late; I like to sleep in. But there was a stretch of time – during one of my several past lives (and yes, I’ve lived long enough to have several of those…) when early morning was one of my favorite times.

For seven years, (4 years of which I was a seminary student – but that’s from another life!) I ran a small (very small) floral business out of my garage. Started with daughter #1’s wedding and ended with daughter #2’s. At that time we lived in an eastern suburb of LA and to gather flowers for any given project, I needed to drive to the downtown area of that sprawling megalopolis and visit the Flower Mart.

There is no place on earth quite like the Los Angeles flower market. Stretching about 2 long city blocks in each direction, it is a bustling hub of activity from about 2:00 a.m. til noon. And it smells fantastic! If I had a wedding or a party to do, I’d set my alarm for 5:00 and head out as the sun first began to peek over the eastern hills, tooling down the Pasadena freeway and pulling into the multi-level lot.

There must be at least 200 different vendors – selling everything from the common (carnations/roses/greens) to the extraordinarily exotic (orchids/protea/wildflowers). I loved it! Picking out colors and textures, sizes and shapes, stocking up on supplies at the upstairs supermarket-of-all-things-floral. That was one time in my life that I didn’t mind waking up early, although I’ve got to be honest here….I don’t miss it one little bit.

STOP.

Wow – five minutes is not very long, is it? Would love to have told you that this vast array of beauty was a primary source of inspiration and God-breathing for me – but…no time. :>)

I have no digital pictures from that time of my life (let’s see it was TWENTY FOUR years ago that I began that life!), but here are a couple of recent shots of the kinds of flowers I loved to work with – top to bottom: red ginger; coral bouvardia; tuberose (white) and pink ginger; purple dendrobium orchids.

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Remarkable Faith: Reflections on a Wedding…

March 19, 2011 By Diana

Oh my goodness, I was young. Not quite 21, struggling to finish the first semester of my senior year in college AND planning a wedding…for 600 of our nearest and dearest friends! Needless to say, the grades suffered.

I met him in my freshman year, taken by those big, brown eyes and impressed that our parents had known each other years before, when they were college students themselves. We worked through a few tough spots, but really – as I look back on it now – we were in no way prepared for marriage. But then – is anyone?

He was a person of faith and commitment. So was I. Each of our families was very traditional – stay-at-home moms, hard-working fathers. Each of us was involved in Christian organizations on campus and each of us believed that God had brought us together. We were both first-borns, strong-willed and highly verbal. We loved to laugh, we loved to dream about the future, we loved each other.

So…the wedding. Well, it was a different era. No dinner reception – there was no money for that. We even shared the floral bill with a wedding planned for later the same day. My pastor and his uncle, who was bishop in his small denomination, did the ceremony together. But…and maybe this should have been a clue for what was to come later in our life together…I wrote the ceremony. I did some research, found wonderful liturgies with beautiful words and put together what we both thought was a ceremony that spoke of us and spoke of God. I insisted that the word ‘obey’ be included in my vows. How times change…

My uncle was the organist and he did such a beautiful job, but…he missed one cue. There was to be a formal introduction of the newly married couple to the congregation at the end of the ceremony and Uncle Charles began the Toccata recessional just a tad too early. So I leaned around and shook my head at him and the music instantly stopped. To this day, that’s what a lot of folks remember most about my wedding – the bride telling the musician to stop the music!!

But that’s not what I remember. I remember two very nervous kids, lots of friends and family all around us, an almost palpable level of love in the glorious old sanctuary of the Presbyterian church where I had spent my adolescent years. I remember feeling grateful that we were together forever and I remember feeling excited about whatever might come next.

From that initial sealing of our lives together we have: traveled to Africa and back, living there for two years; had 3 children and 8 grandchildren; walked some dark roads of death and loss; been through the adjustments of my mid-life education (seminary) and career (pastoral ministry, where that early ceremony-building has come in mighty handy!); been down some interesting and complicated health detours for both of us; begun – just this year – what we hope will be a good, long time of retirement together.

And all along the way, we’ve learned a whole lot about what marriage is and is not. It’s a lot more than the wedding, that is for sure. It’s about ups and downs and ins and outs and give and take and laughter and frustration. It’s about compromise and cooperation, dependence and independence, partnership and problem-solving and promise-keeping and prayer. And it’s always about a great adventure – ours is at 45 years and counting.

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The RedDress Club: Red Writing Hood – Detour

March 19, 2011 By Diana

Joining this week’s meme – describe a detour in your life or a character’s…where were you heading, where did you end up?

The path had been set out for me by my family and its borders were clear-cut and not-to-be-argued.

And it began here: be smart, but not too smart.

a.) Smart enough to go to college. But not smart enough to intimidate potential partners.

b.) Smart enough to attract (and keep) a fine man.

c.) Smart enough to get married and then live nearby.

d.) Smart enough to figure out how to have babies AND smart enough to stop at two.

e.) Smart enough to realize that my entire raison d’etre would be to devote my life to husband and kids but not smart enough to question that devotion – to wonder why, to yearn for something more, something different, something outside the pale of how-things-are-done.

And I pretty much bought it. I was raised in the 50’s and early 60’s, I loved and was grateful for my family and I believed what I was taught. So…I went to college. I met a fine man. I married him in my senior year, at the tender age of 20. But the detour began fairly early on and it was a good one.

Instead of moving near either of our families, we boarded a freighter 8 months after our wedding and sailed to Africa, living for 2 years in Zambia to teach school. That fine man I married didn’t fit the pre-determined mold in some ways and together, we began to cast our own.

I did have those babies, but shocked all by adding a 3rd one to the mix. I did stay at home to raise those kids and was (mostly) glad to do so. But always, always there was a pull, a restlessness, a conviction that there was more for me to do somewhere, somehow.

I was active in volunteer work, in both church and community, so some of that restlessness was soothed by creative opportunities to think outside the box – just a little bit! – and to make contributions that were valued and useful. Things like producing an original musical, raising funds for the local hospital, offering moms younger than myself a bi-weekly opportunity for community, childcare and conversation. I entertained a lot, I decorated my house up the yin-yang; I encouraged my kids to build strong characters and to dream big dreams. I was a good girl for 20+ years.

Then, as my youngest entered his senior year of high school, I took a terrifying detour – at least for me, given my story: I went to seminary, entering the world of academia at the age of 44. And I absolutely loved studying. And I loved teaching (I was a TA for six years) I surprised myself and everyone in my family by pursuing ordination. Fourteen years ago, I took a job 125 miles away from family and was stretched in ways I could not have imagined in my early 20s. And my husband said, “For 30 years you’ve been building your life around mine; now it’s my turn.” And he commuted that distance for over 10 years so that I could do this work. It’s been a good trip – but not one taken on the prescribed pathway – not at all. And that is a very good thing.

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5 Minute Friday – Waiting…

March 19, 2011 By Diana

This is the place where once a week we take the chance to
just write, and not worry if it’s just right or not.

For five minutes flat.

Here’s how the game works: you simply stop, drop and write. Set your words free. Don’t edit them, don’t fret over them, don’t try to make them perfect.

That’s how Five Minute Friday was born. Want to play? It’s fun. And it’s never too late to link up.

1. Write for only five minutes.
2. Link back here and invite others to play along.
3. Go high five the word artist who linked up before you with an awesome comment.

Begin:

Seems to me that life is one long series of waitings:

We wait to be born…

We wait to be fed…

We wait to be comforted…

We wait for our muscles to catch up to our vision so that we can begin to manipulate our world…

We wait to be asked to play…

We wait to go to school…

We wait to learn as much as we can learn, some of it easy for us, some of it very hard indeed…

We wait for recess…

We wait for home…

We wait for meals…