Diana

Monday musings…

March 14, 2011 By Diana

It’s a lovely place, Lord. And so nearby, too. Close to the mission – which I love – and close to the foothills – which I also love. Not too far from the beach, either. And not too far from home. Home, of course, being what I love most of all. But is it the right place, the one for me at this point in time? Is this where I’m headed next? I’m in a period of stepping back just now, you see, a time for reflecting, gathering resources – both internal and external – and deciding which way the road is turning as I step out into this strange, new territory called ‘retirement.’

Fourteen years, working as a pastor in this stunningly beautiful community. Fourteen years of handling situations and complications that I could never have imagined when I said yes to God’s call those many years ago. Fourteen years isn’t much on the scale of most people’s professional lives, I suppose. But then, I’m not most people. I’m a strange hybrid, an anomaly of sorts, someone who never quite fits into anyone’s mold.

Married at 20, while still in college. Traveling 14,000 miles from home while still a newly wed to live in Zambia for 2 years, teaching eager students, learning about married life and – surprise! – motherhood. Three kids in 4 years, 21 years stateside as a stay-at-home mom, wife, volunteer. Then…a strange and scary invitation to consider seminary training. Terrified, I needed friends to walk with me into the admissions office to drop off my application. Four years of education, loving every single minute of it (after the first quarter, that is, when I lived pretty much in terror every single day!). Learning to preach – oh, my, how I loved it! – teaching preaching as head TA with many different students over about six years. Hearing a clear call from God to move into pastoral ministry, jumping through denominational hoops to ordination, working for 3 years without pay to keep those hoops open. And then, the call to Santa Barbara – an adventure at age 52, a husband willing, even eager, to support this call by agreeing to commute to LA for TEN YEARS, finding a home which has become shelter, retreat, hospitality central, the source of peace and rest and deep comfort.

Then came the decision to retire. It was such a hard one for me to make – I loved what I did, I loved the people I worked with and for, I felt God’s call to do exactly that…until the spring of last year. I had made the decision to begin training in spiritual direction the year before, and had traveled to Chicago for a week-long, very intense session at our denominational seminary that summer. And as part of the discernment process for continuing in this 3-year program, had labored over a photo-essay book to submit to the on-line instructor of the year-long class which followed that week in the midwest. But what had come to me in that process was more than a ‘yes’ to continue my training. What had come clear as well was that now was the time to step back from my role, my title, my position, my place. So at the end of 2010 I retired from pastoral ministry and am now taking a four month time away to recuperate and re-group.

I felt a deep peace about this choice, grateful to God for the time I had enjoyed, hopeful that transitioning into a new role as certified spiritual director would provide just enough ‘professional’ identity to fill both hours on the calendar and that space inside my spirit called ‘pastor.’ But the road took a strange and unexpected twist: I landed in the hospital in late spring with blood clots in both lungs. And my body simply would not allow me to travel to Chicago last summer, forcing me to withdraw from my training cohort, leaving me to prayerfully consider how God might redeem this loss and point me in new directions.

Through a series of marvelously providential connections, I discovered that there is a school for spiritual direction that meets right here in Santa Barbara every summer – and it is co-led by my own director. And I was invited in for a peek – a weekend class last summer and a winter retreat last month. So now, the application for this summer’s class sits in my book bag, waiting my time and focus. Is this the next step in God’s continuing call on my life? Should I switch from the training track I have already begun to this new one? The timing is identical – two more summers with year-long reading and learning in between. The one here in town is Benedictine – Roman Catholic – and I have loved the worship and the differently focused theological underpinnings to the coursework I’ve done. Perhaps immersing myself in this very different environment is what I need just now. Perhaps this is the way the road is turning. “Lead me in the paths of righteousness, O Lord, for your name’s sake!”

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Sunday Surprises

March 14, 2011 By Diana

As noted earlier this week, we’re in a strange season in our lives. Taking a break from our home worshiping community for four months – and visiting others, both nearby and further away. Last night we had a list of about four choices and opted for the mainline option located on upper State Street. First Presbyterian has a beautiful plant and campus, three completely different worship services and a fleet of 3 busses they use to transport senior citizens from a number of different retirement communities in Santa Barbara. We’d been there once for worship – about 10 years ago – and once for a concert, so we knew that the sanctuary was large and lovely. Pretty certain that we’d see a smattering of grey heads and not much more at the latest service of the day (10:30 a.m.), we went in with not much anticipation or expectation.

Well. It was a truly wonderful morning, filled with surprises for both of us, but maybe most especially for me. I thought I had already done most of my grieving at leaving my position of the last 14 years. I thought I didn’t care so much anymore for an entire service of traditional hymns, organ music and a choir. I thought nothing in a Presbyterian worship service could surprise me. After all, I WAS a Presby for almost 20 years, from the ages of 12-30 and my mom and both of my daughters have attended Presbyterian churches for many years – so I knew what to expect, right?? Wrong.

Yes, there was a fair amount of liturgy. Okay by me – I love liturgy. Yes, we sang from the hymnal. But at least one song was completely new to me and really lovely. Yes, the choir was quite small (I counted 17). But wow, could they belt out Mendelssohn’s “He, Ruling Over Israel,” with the best of them. Yes, the pastor wore a long robe and there were portions of the service that were almost stiffly formal. But the general feel in the room was a relaxed one – quite proper, for sure – but laughter was easy, the pastor tripped over his own words a couple of times, and it felt human and welcoming, even if a little more circumscribed than we are used to. We missed the children’s sermon and we missed the contemporary music and we missed the people we love – but… we gained a lot this morning.

First of all, this is a little of what we got to look at:

Sorry I didn’t capture the whole sweep of this large, lovely room, but I think you get the picture. It’s a beautiful space, and despite its large size, very conducive to worship. Very early in the service, a small baby boy – in a tremendously long gown – was baptized. And the pastor of this church led in the baptismal liturgy, accompanied by one of the elders, a very smartly dressed and articulate middle-aged woman.

But the one doing the baptizing happened to be a relative of the baby’s mother – her aunt, from Tennessee – also an ordained Presbyterian minister. She was dressed as I always wished I could dress when I pastored – in a lovely, loosely fitted black cassock with a button-front, a mandarin collar and a beautiful stole – purple for the Lenten season. She took that little boy and spilled water over his tiny head 3 times – in the name of the Father, Son and Spirit. She said lovely words of blessing and thanks – and I began to quietly weep, just a little. Offering the sacraments, both at table and at the font (or in a pool or the ocean) was probably my very favorite part of ‘the job.’ Such a privilege, such a picture of grace, such a unifying act for the community to share in together. I miss that.

Surprise number two came at the reading of the morning psalm – about 20 verses from Psalm 139 – one of my favorites. There was a printed musical response in the bulletin, which the pastor led us in learning. And then…. and then…. the pastor sang the psalm – stopping about every two verses for us to join in the sung response. He had a good, strong voice – not a great voice, not a trained voice, but a pleasant and inviting voice, which was just right. It was beautiful, moving, surprising. There’s something about having the Word of God sung to you that causes even very familiar words to take on new luster, deeper shades of meaning. It was, simply put, marvelous.

Surprise number three came with the sermon. The pastor is doing a six week series, looking at the faith traditions outlined in Richard Foster’s book, “Streams of Living Water: Celebrating the Great Traditions of Christian Faith.” There are six of those streams – contemplative/holiness/ charismatic/evangelical/social justice/incarnational – and today’s focus was on the second of those streams. Coincidentally, both my husband and I began our faith journeys in holiness churches – me in the United Methodist, from birth to age 12 and he in the Brethren in Christ/Mennonite from birth until he married me. We brought our mixed traditions to the Evangelical Covenant Church in 1975 and have never regretted that decision, relishing the rich mixture and wide acceptance of varying traditions within this small but steadily growing denomination.

So to read 1 Timothy 4:6-10, and to hear the pastor encourage us all to a.) avoid the potential pitfalls of this mindset (legalism, self-righteousness and perfectionism) and b.) heed the 4 lovely hallmarks of this tradition: 1.) scripture – everyday, time in the Word; 2.) service – everyday, doing something for someone else that you don’t ordinarily do; 3.) praise – everyday, being grateful, giving praise, paying attention to the graces of dailyness; and 4.) prayer – everyday, in all situations, offering this simple 4-word prayer: “Lord, open my heart” – well, it was just about perfect for us this week. It was a great reminder of where we’ve been in our journey together these last 45 years. It was a great encouragement to remember that our heritage is rich and real. It was a lovely morning of surprise and serendipity and we are deeply grateful.

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A little bit different Ash Wednesday…

March 12, 2011 By Diana

This is an odd season in our lives. I retired from active, pastoral ministry at the end of 2010. And as part of that decision, we very deliberately chose not to attend our worshiping community through the first quarter of this year, returning to worship and serve after Easter. I say deliberate because I know myself too well. If I were there, I would too quickly fall back into old patterns, assuming responsibilities that are no longer mine to assume. And I also know that others in our community might do the same thing, expecting me to continue to ‘be there’ in the ways that I have been for 14 years. So, we opted to make a break. We reasoned that it would be great fun to check out other worshipping communities in our area, we could have more freedom on weekends than we’ve had in nearly 20 years, that we could spend time with our kids and visit their churches. Etc., etc., etc.

The truth of this situation? We’re adrift a bit, cut off, by our own choice, from the people and place that feels like home. And, let me be quick to add, there are many good pieces to that. We all need reminding from time to time that ‘this world is not our home,’ that God is present in many places and in many ways, that other communities are valid, creative, worshiping, serving, caring outworkings of the Spirit’s life in The Church (caps intentional).

But we’re acutely aware, especially as we move into Lent and all that this rich season of the year means, that we’re in a different place than we’ve ever been in before. Sort of betwixt and between, neither fish nor fowl, at sixes and sevens – to use every cliche I can think of that’s relevant to this idea.

So as Ash Wednesday approached, I pondered what might be best for us to do. I contemplated attending another church’s service – something I’ve done before (in addition to our own), but this year, that was difficult for us to do. You see, Wednesday is Lilly Day for us. We keep our youngest, newly-turned-one granddaughter – something we LOVE to do, enjoy immensely, wouldn’t give up for the world, and yet also find exhausting in the extreme. Can’t quite put our fingers on why we feel so tired with one day’s worth of watching such a beautiful, charming, fascinating child – but we do. Probably has something to do with our advancing age, which only serves to underscore our ever-increasing delight in the truth that we did this as parents when we were quite a lot younger!

So attending an early or even midday service was out. And the thought of getting dressed up a bit and hurrying through dinner to attend an evening service didn’t call out to us, either. So, I went a different direction.

Last year, I ordered this beautiful wooden labyrinth style Advent and Lenten worship aid from a young man in Canada. His mother writes a beautiful blog, which I began following shortly before my retirement and last year at about this time, she began posting beautiful photos of her son’s work and I thought it would be a great ministry tool. When it arrived, I kept it out for a long time, enjoying it’s simple beauty (two pieces of the spiral come off to make a 24-candle-hole Advent ‘path.’) But I didn’t use it at church. I carefully put it away with my fine china and enjoyed knowing that it was there.

So, I got it out on Wednesday. I had bought some lovely spring flowers at Trader Joe’s earlier in the week and I moved that centerpiece back on the table, giving more focus to our hand-hewn journey-marker. Another blogsite (you see, this is what I do these days – explore the world of blogdom, hoping to find my way to more writing opportunities as I learn about what’s out there, and what’s not…) offered me the lovely gift of a Lenten devotional guide, free for the printing and I put it into a folder and placed it on the table, too.

For whatever reason, Dick and I have gotten into the weird habit of keeping the TV on during dinner – usually tuned to the PBS Newshour (or Jeopardy, if it’s a later dinner!). So for Lent this year, I offered the suggestion that we give that up, replacing the noise with candlelight, brief devotions and discussion. Dick thought that was a good idea – so that’s what we did.

This may be a scandalous thing to admit in such a public forum, but we’ve never been big on family devotions in our house. We’ve done them from time to time, when the kids were younger, and we certainly made a huge point to be together for as many meals as possible while our children were growing, we prayed together over the food and we talked easily and openly about matters of faith. We memorized scripture together, we did service projects together, we taught our children to come to God with thanksgiving and concerns from an early age. But my husband grew up in a home with mandatory morning devotions – and he hated it. And he made it clear very early on that he was not interested in repeating that pattern. So we didn’t. We found our own way, we talked a lot, we explored our faith together and we have enjoyed finding ways of making that faith real in the context of home, work and world.

But this is the first time in a long time that we’ve had any real structure to that – and so far (one week in!) we’re liking it a lot. I missed having the mark of the ashes on my head – and more than that, I missed being one of the persons who imposed that mark on others, offering the wonderful words: “You are but dust and ashes. Repent and believe the gospel.” But I was glad and grateful to be in our home, really looking at each other over dinner by candlelight, and sharing together briefly from the Word and from life. A different Ash Wednesday. But a good one.

Linking today with:

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ShoutLaughLove: stories of the broken, beautiful church

March 12, 2011 By Diana

Linking with somuchshoutingsomuchlaughter.blogspot.com tomorrow on the topic, “the broken, beautiful church…”

It was a strange afternoon for November. The air was sparky – almost tangible electricity all around as 11 women gathered in my living room for a brain-storming session about how we as a church might be ‘near to the broken-hearted.’ We had a good, productive, prayerful time together, deciding on an evening event with a guest speaker as precursor to some Sunday morning learning and sharing opportunities.

As the last woman headed out to the driveway I walked with her and said, “I don’t like this weather! It’s hot, really hot for 6:00 p.m., and the wind is blowing so fiercely. It always makes me nervous somehow.” I glanced up at the foothills just above our home as I said these words, feeling uncomfortable, even a little frightened. Of what, I did yet know.

Within 15 minutes, my phone rang. A neighbor calling to say that there was a fire racing down the canyons above us and we would have about an hour or two to evacuate. We ate our dinner standing up and gathered together photographs, important documents, art work and loaded both our cars and a nephew’s, who had come by to help. We drove 15 minutes south to stay with our son and his family and began to pray in earnest for all the people in our congregation who would be directly in ‘the line of fire’ as the evening progressed.

Perhaps it might be good to tell you that I was, at that time, the Associate Pastor for a congregation of about 350, worshipping in a beautiful new worship center directly in the line of the flames on the side of a Santa Barbara CA foothill. Our senior pastor had flown that morning to the east coast, where he would officiate at the memorial service for his wife’s mother and that meant that the major burden for decision making fell on the office staff and on me. And I was now a dozen miles away. We kept in touch by email through the night – until power outages made that difficult. We made phone calls, sent text messages, watched the news in stupefied horror as the flames raced through entire neighborhoods – neighborhoods where people we knew and loved had homes and memories and precious possessions.

The next day, we held an emergency staff meeting in the home of our bookkeeper, who lived in a non-evacuation area. A few key lay leaders also joined us, as we prayed and planned and brainstormed. “How can we gather?” we wondered. “Worship is at the center of who we are as God’s people on Cold Spring Road. And Loving One Another is our second greatest mandate – how can we do that well in the midst of crisis and loss?”

One friend called a local country club. “Yes,” they said, “you can use our space for your Sunday morning gathering.” Several of us laid out a liturgy that allowed space for grieving in the midst of praise. We planned to share stories, without a sermon, and beginning that Sunday morning, we began to provide material help to those in our midst who were bereft.

In total, 20 families suffered loss. Fourteen of those lost everything they owned. And ALL of us came together that Sunday morning – we sang, we cried, we prayed, we loved each other, and we thanked God profusely that no life was lost. There were new stuffed animals for each child who had lost every treasured toy. There was Benevolence money that day, one check per family – to help buy groceries, toothpaste, toys – no restrictions on usage. There were plates put out for extra compassion funds – and more poured in from distant members, even from sister congregations in our denomination. Two weeks later, at our first Advent Supper, we gathered donated Christmas decorations from retailers and congregants and put out an abundant supply of lovely things, with shopping bags to fill for each burned-out family.

Within 24 hours of our hastily put-together worship gathering, we were back into our church facilities – graciously spared any serious damage. My husband and I moved back into our home, no damage there either. And over the next few weeks, I watched in amazement and grateful awe as people cared for one another with grace and wisdom.

One woman, a neighbor whose house survived but needed some major repair, began a small group for her sisters who were left with nothing. We opened the doors of our church campus to a local neighborhood association so they could gather insurance information and begin the long, tedious process of jumping through city and county regulation-hoops. Many of those new friends joined us at our weekly Advent Suppers and spoke of how loved and welcomed they felt. It was a terrible, wonderful time in the life of our congregation. God was palpably present in the midst of calamity and terror – and the church was at her beautifully broken best.

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RemembeRED for March 15th

March 12, 2011 By Diana

Joining a new ‘meme’ group today – assignment?
This week, we’d like for you to write about your favorite fresh fruit or vegetable.
Share a memory of when you first tasted it, where it came from, when you last had it, a favorite way to prepare it, and such. 700 words

This love bloomed late in life – not really sure why it took so long to make this discovery. All I know is that I am so glad I did.

It was a hot, humid summer vacation, spent at one of God’s most beautiful places on this earth – Maui, Hawaii. We were staying in a large, older condominium development just south of Lahaina, where the buildings were low to the ground, the pools were heated almost beyond comfort, and our grandchildren ran with delight down to the beach each day. Not too far from our particular building, there was an enormous tree, with dark green leaves, a profusion of thick branches and green-burnished-with-rose oblong fruit hanging by long, tough stems. That tree was loaded with these oval jewels, and every day a new supply dropped to the ground with a soft thud-thud-thud. Almost daily, we walked over to that shady giant, gathered those fruit that were not too bruised and brought them back to our little kitchen, cradling them like long lost children.

Once in the kitchen, the peeling began. A sharp knife was required to lay back the skin and reveal the brilliant orange-gold flesh of this precious cargo. And a particular skill was developed over the 10 days we spent gathering, peeling, dicing, slurping, dripping with this nectar of the gods: the skill of separating fruit from….hmmm… what shall I call it? Not exactly a seed, but not exactly NOT a seed, either. Each golden treasure was firmly joined to a spongy, pithy center that was not soft and delightful, but fibrous and distinctly not delicious. While we honed this technique, the juice of these lovely things dripped everywhere – down our arms, off our elbows, onto the counter, into the sink, sometimes even onto the floor. And the fragrance was sweet, sweet, sweet.

We cut these beauties into fruit salad, we lopped them into the children’s open mouths, as they waited like baby birds for yet another taste of heaven. We made interesting sweet-spicy salsa, we sucked the centers as dry as we possibly could, we oohed and ahhed and sighed and smiled. Our very favorite thing to do that hot summer holiday? We cut them into chunks, dropped them into the blender, added some skim milk and vanilla ice cream and drank down the sweetest smoothies you can possibly imagine, the perfect remedy for a parched throat. I was nearly 60 years old when I first tasted a mango – and it went immediately to the very top of my favorite foods list – not just a list of fruits or veggies, but food in the largest possible sense. Everything about it pleases me – the flavor, the fragrance, the texture. And, of course, the fact that it grows in the tropics and reminds me, every time I eat it, of that summer sojourn.

I look for them now, at places like Costco or my local grocery produce section. Somehow, they almost never measure up to the ones we gathered for ourselves that summer at Puamana. Not ripe enough. Too ripe. Not flavorful enough. Too pithy. Too pale. Too firm. Still, when I do find a good one – I eat it with relish and delight, thankful that such treasures exist, grateful that I can enjoy them with all my senses. Better late than never!

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5 Minute Friday….

March 12, 2011 By Diana

This week’s prompt from Gypsy Mama is: “I feel the most loved when…” 5 minutes of unedited writing on this topic…

Starting…now:

This is a really tough one for me. Not sure why, I just know that I’ve put it off this entire day because I am struggling with what to say in this space. I’ll give it a shot – maybe I’ll surprise myself.

I feel the most loved when…

I know the people I love are well and safe

my husband cleans up the kitchen every single night that I cook

anyone pays me a compliment of any kind (does that make me hopelessly desperate??)

I see dolphins at play in the water when I sit at the beach in God’s presence. For some reason, dolphins are carriers of God’s love to me, especially when I am feeling cut off from God

when the sun is shining

when my husband gives me an unsolicited back rub

when my children or grandchildren seek out my opinion or presence

when my youngest granddaughter smiles at me

when friends drop a line or a note – for no reason but to say ‘hi – thinking of you’

when I read beautiful writing — because deep down, I am sure that those words were written just for me when I needed them

when I hear beautiful music (Durufle’s Sanctus gets me every time!)

when I am overwhelmed by creation’s beauty – which to me is a reflection of an intensely beautiful God who speaks my particular love language…

time’s up.

Photos added later…

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Five-Minute Friday: when I look in the mirror, I see…

March 4, 2011 By Diana

Wow. This is a tough one. It’s not quite Friday, but as Friday is jam-packed with traveling, I’ll put this one to bed early:

I see a face that too often surprises me. It’s gotten so old. I still like the face and that’s a good thing – but wow, time does a number on us, doesn’t it? I see eyes still blue, but tired and lived-in. I see hair that is now quite naturally very light – not exactly blonde, however. :>)

I see broken teeth that have been covered by crowns, one of which is not quite the right shade of yellow-white.

I see a smile that is just a tad too gummy, but usually pretty warm and welcoming.

I see too much jewelry – but then I like jewelry and I’ll wear it when I’m even older and grayer than I am at this moment in time.

I see a body that has carried too many pounds for far too long, but is carrying just a few less than a few months ago. And that’s a good thing, too. Long ways to go..but I’m suffering far less angst than I have in a very long time over the whole idea/issue/situation/reality/neurosis.

I also see an overall image that reflects pretty much who I am – and that is also a good thing. I am female. I am a wife. I am a mother to 3 amazing grown kids. I am Nana to 8 remarkable grandkids. I have pastored all my life, even before I knew I was a pastor and that shows too, somehow. I am a daughter of the Most High God, created in God’s image, called to live a life of freedom and joy, filled with gratitude for every step along the journey, even the painful ones.

Time’s up.

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Discovering ‘memes’….

March 4, 2011 By Diana

There is a whole world of blogdom out there that I haven’t had a clue about – not the slightest clue. So…in my retirement weeks, I’ve been exploring. Kinda interesting, to say the least. And I’ve found a number of blogs I really like, a few that drive me bonkers and several that offer a weekly invitation to participate on a theme….which I am gathering is what a ‘meme’ is. I’ve done a few 5-Minute Fridays from the Gypsy Mama (and if this ‘button’ from today’s adventure works, I’ll post her button the next time I try one of her challenges. Not at all sure how to make such buttons line up on one side of the blog – but that’s a project for another day. Today, I’m answering the queries listed below:

1. March 2nd is Dr. Seuss’s birthday so I’m wondering…do you like green eggs and ham? Okay-how about this instead…how do you like your eggs? Or don’t you?

I actually LOVE green eggs and ham if the ‘green’ is avocado in a scrambled mix of goodies. Not crazy about the color, but love the flavor. It’s a toss-up between scrambled and over easy on toast or a half baked potato for my favorite way to eat them. Both my mother and my son think I am nuts for liking runny eggs – positively makes them gag. Oh well…

2. Is March coming in like a lion or something less ferocious where you live?

Where I live, it’s been rainy since March opened its doors. Not exactly either lion or lamb. But then, I live on the central coast of California where the seasons are slightly more subtle than in other parts of the world.

3. Do you work better or worse under pressure?

I have always, ALWAYS worked better under pressure. I need deadlines and schedules and assignments. That’s why retirement has always seemed such a fearsome thing to me. HELP!! What do I do without all that?? Well, so far, I do pretty much whatever is at hand to do – and that’s been kinda nice, actually. So maybe in my old age, I’m giving up the stress-obsess of my past life? Time will tell…

4. March Madness-are you a fan? It’s college basketball in case you’re wondering. And if you’re outside the USA tell us-is there any sort of ‘madness’ taking place during March in your part of the world?

My husband and son are fans – I am not. I used to be – a little bit. But I’m married to a man who LOVES all things sports – well, almost all things sports – there a few he skips. And at age 66, I’m about done with sports on TV. So, I read, I surf the internet, I watch tivo’d programs, I talk to my kids or my friends. I don’t do sports programs very much at all – except for tennis. But once it gets down to the final 4 or so in all that March craziness, I’m interested in who wins – though not quite interested enough to actually watch any of it.

5. Under what circumstances do you do your best thinking?

It varies. Most often, I think best when I’m alone, sitting in my car on the bluffs above our nearest beach. But often, my thinking is jogged/challenged/excited/spurred/changed by discussion with others whose mouths are as quick as their minds. My mouth is not so much – I need to process a bit – but I enjoy the challenge of discussion and that can often really spur my thinking in good directions.

6. What item of clothing from your wardrobe do you wear most often?

Probably the comfy sweatpants and sweatshirts on my closet shelf this season of the year. Jeans a close second.

7. Do you use sarcasm?

Hmmm….does one ‘use’ sarcasm? I guess I do – a little. I try not to be truly sarcastic, maybe more ironic?? And if I am sarcastic, it is most often directed at me.

8. Insert your own random thought here.

I haven’t a CLUE what I’m doing with all this new techno blog stuff – when I preview this written excerpt, it looks as though every line is underlined – and I have absolutely no idea why. Maybe I need to add some schedule to my life and TAKE A CLASS ON ALL THIS!!

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5-Minute Fridays – 5 Years Ago

February 25, 2011 By Diana

Five years ago, our kitchen/family room/dining area/living room looked like this – CRAZY MAKING. And it looked like some version of this for almost a year. We cooked, ate and lived in the back bedroom and bathroom.

But that difficult year quickly disappeared from memory as the new space began to appear. Part of it shows in the picture below – bright, cheery colors, new appliances, new window seat, fun living and gathering space.

But the real joy of this space is perhaps more perfectly shown in this picture – celebrating our eldest grandson’s 19th birthday last year. The ‘joys’ of remodeling are nicely replaced with the true joys of family life.

Five years ago, the bigger of these two precious girls was a newborn (as was her equally fabulous male cousin). And the littlest one wasn’t even on the horizon. How quickly things change, how blessed we are in most of those changes.

But five years ago, we still had our son-in-law with us. Five years ago, we still had my youngest brother with us. Five years ago, my husband did not have prostate cancer. Five years ago, I had no major health issues. Five years ago, I was working as a pastor, a ministry I loved and was called into. Five years ago, life was different in some much-missed ways, too. Thankfully, during each of those 5 years – and every event in them, both large and small – God showed up. Not always in the way I might have imagined, not always in the way I would have chosen – but God showed up. So, overall – I stand at this end of those 5 years and say, “Thank you.” Thank you for presence, thank you for promise, thank you for lives – as well as houses! – remade.

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Changing Seasons…

February 8, 2011 By Diana

So, I’m retired. What the heck does that mean? For one thing, it means not having a schedule requiring me to be anywhere official. For another, it means an awareness of how very tired I have been for a very long time. And for another, it means a strange sort of free-floating anxiety, a sense of uncertainty, a lack of rootedness. Not having the schedule is lovely – at least for a while – and feels like a gift. Strangely enough, acknowledging my deep fatigue is also a gift, of sorts. Stopping for a while somehow gives my body permission to say, “Whoa, it’s about time, sister.” And that’s a good thing in the long run, even if it feels a bit disconcerting in the moment. But that last piece – that semi-anxious uncertainty….not so much a gift. At least I haven’t found the gift angle to it yet.

It was to be expected, I think. We moved to a community new to us so that I could take the job I’ve just left. It wasn’t THAT far from our home of almost 30 years, but just far enough so that it wasn’t easy for long-time friends to see me or me them. Family made the effort, for which I am deeply and continually grateful. But…this was a place where we came to work. And now I’m not – working, that is. Funny thing is…it sometimes feels more like I’m not, period.

It took me a long time, a time of praying and talking and several complicated and interesting dreams, to understand that my biggest fears – fears about my loss of identity in this place if I were no longer a pastor – were pretty groundless. I AM a pastor, whether I’m paid to be one or not. But I am now a retired pastor, without a congregation to serve, without a title, without a space and a role that is mine to fill. I am almost embarrassed to put that into writing. What’s in a title, for heaven’s sake? What is a ‘role?’ Was I created and called to a title? I don’t think so….so there’s the pride thing to let go of, first of all.

And then there’s the ‘what’s next?’ part to grapple with. And I’m still there. Still grappling, that is. Wanting to do more writing, but terrified of it at the same time. Wanting to learn more about spiritual direction, but still so tired as to feel overwhelmed by it all at times. Wanting to go deeper spiritually – but frankly, a little scared about that, too.

It’s a time of changing seasons in life – and this season is the last one, pretty much. That is a sobering truth, causing me no small amount of angst about how and when the end of my life will arrive. So, as I try to navigate my way through this brand new territory, I am slowly learning more about trust, about breathing in God’s grace from moment to moment, about relishing the joyful beauty of the ordinary, about beginning and ending each day with gratitude, about leaning into the mystery that is the source of all life and hope and peace. It’s early yet – not quite six weeks into this strange new place – so I’m on the lookout for clues, small pieces to the puzzle, evidences of good things still to come. And last night’s sunset helped a whole lot in that department!

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