A Quiet Moment

February 19, 2012 By
“For each perfect gift of Thine,
To our race so freely given,
Graces human and divine,
Flowers of earth and buds of Heaven.
Lord of all to Thee we raise,
this our hymn of grateful praise.”
Last verse and refrain from the hymn, “For the Beauty of the Earth,”
written in 1864 by a man with quite the name: Folliott S. Pierpoint.
He was all of 29 years old when he wrote these words and was said to be
mesmerized by the beauty of the countryside that surrounded him.
That pretty much describes my response to the sight of these pink
blooms suddenly appearing, hanging over an alleyway while I
took a walk around my daughter’s neighborhood in the Los Angeles suburb of Monrovia, CA last week.
John Rutter’s glorious setting of these words (well, almost – he uses the alternate wording of ‘joyful praise’ for the last line of the refrain) is one of my very favorite choral pieces ever. Enjoy this rendition, sung by the choir of a girls’ school from Singapore. Happy holiday weekend, everyone.
 Joining with Sandy King and Deidra Riggs and their restful invitations to quiet this weekend. 

Filed Under: biblical reflection, Photo Essay

Five Minute Friday: DELIGHT: A Photo Essay

February 18, 2012 By
I’m about out of words for this week.
I’ve written my heart out for the last two weeks or so, 
trying to be more ‘vulnerable’ in my reflections.
Net result?
Fewer readers, many fewer comments.
A couple of those were ‘entered,’ if that is the right word, in an open invitation, a highlight-will-be-featured kind of event.
Never yet made a cut at any of those,
so I know there is something missing in this place.
I’m just not sure what that is.

So, I’m taking a bit of a break from words just now.
I’m heading out for this three-day weekend,
spending it at the mission,
a reunion with the folks from the school where I am in training for spiritual direction.
I will not be posting or checking facebook for a while.
So to transition myself from too many words to none,
I’ll reflect on Lisa-Jo’s invitation this week with photos from the last two weeks, photos that reflect that intake of breath when I see something wondrous,
delightful.
I am grateful beyond words for these God-given moments of bliss, particularly during this difficult season of slow loss,
the fading away of our moms.
These photos range from a surprising surround-sound sunset as I walked circles in my front drive,
to a glorious pink-flowered tree as I walked in my daughter’s neighborhood on Monday,
to beachside stops for lunch and prayer,
to a few shots of our local-est grandkids.
All.of.it.delightful.
Thank you, Lord, for these good gifts.

Thanks, Lisa-Jo, for this great prompt. Delight is a gift of grace and it’s always fun to reflect on how we meet grace in the everyday.
Check out some of the other entries over at TheGypsyMama: 

Filed Under: Family/Travel, God's gifts, Photo Essay

An Early Valentine’s Day (Even Though This Post Is Late)

February 16, 2012 By
Valentine’s Day was a bit of a bust around here.
We were on the road,
tired, cranky, heading home.
Emotional time with my mom for me,
head-warping time with the tax accountant for him.
So we had a tough ride home.
Sometimes the steam collects,
and instead of venting it in small quantities,
over time, it comes out like a TNT explosion,
sending shrapnel bouncing around the place.
As painful as that feels when it happens,
the grace in it is this:
we can get back to center in short order.
In earlier years, that part of the process could take days,
sometimes weeks. This time, we were both able to say, “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I know this weekend has been hard for you.”
So I spent a little time today, while Lilly was napping (finally!), looking at photos from a truly lovely day earlier this month.
It was a good reminder that in and around the tough stuff,
we manage to make memories that are life-giving and hope-filled.
 I started that day with Silent Saturday,
always a healthy, hopeful thing for me to do.
Three hours of centering prayer and reflection,
sitting, walking, thinking, praying.
We were in a different place this month,
crowded out by a large retreat gathering.
Still oak trees of glory,
still room by the creek.
 It was a good time, though I was more distracted than usual.
Distraction is the name of the game some days.
Later that day, I picked up my husband and we drove to the tiny town just south of us, parking on the bluffs
overlooking Summerland Beach.
The same place where I sat by myself  
The view from up there was just as spectacular.
It was later in the day this time, and quite a bit warmer, so we opted to take a long walk on the beach.
 The walkway down to the sand was lined with bright yellow wildflowers, the angle of the light exactly right.
 If you’ve followed my blog at all,
you’ve seen lots of pictures of the bluffs along this stretch of coastline. Rosy gold to rich coral in color, beautifully eroded with striations, even large cave-like openings,
they epitomize central coast natural architecture.
 Single shorebirds showed up at various points along our venture – this curlew, a lone pelican on the water, a cormorant sticking to the rocks even when pummeled by the waves.
The rock formations – above us to the north and sprinkled throughout the water to the south (yes, our beaches face south on this peninsula) – 
are wonder-filled and beautiful.

 

 As we walked back, the horseman we had seen from the bluffs came galloping by us, heading home;
a teenaged boy carried driftwood back to his friends,
busy constructing something wondrous.
 The sun was not yet down, so we climbed into the car and drove a little further south, heading to a favorite restaurant, recently under new ownership, a place where you can eat outdoors, picnic tables and thatched umbrellas spread across a lovely lawn while the kids play in a nearby designer sandbox.
And we relished those burgers, oh yes, we did,
as the sun slowly sank into the sea.
 And that very night, my husband built the fire that inspired 
Who says Valentine’s Day needs to be on the 14th anyhow?
I will join this one with L.L., Laura, Jennifer and Ann. It was a lovely day, a beautiful place and a great memory, too.

On In Around button

 
Filed Under: family, Photo Essay, Wonderings in the World

Waiting: How Long? How Hard?

February 14, 2012 By
 One of my favorite pictures from the last ‘fun’ trip we took with my mom – wildflower hunting in the spring of 2010. This is a little known reserve called
the Carrizo Plain, located in central CA, midway between Santa Maria & Bakersfield.

First, gut-level response?
Step into a hot, hot shower.
Let the water sting and pummel,
wash and re-wash every piece of me,
pounding and prickling, and rinsing it all away.
The sadness,
the creeping sadness, pervasive and thick;
that strange coating I feel as I walk from my car into the house.
A thick layer of 
sorrow,
age,
fragility,
forgetfulness,
anxiety,
confusion,
teariness,
pain.
The exhale that sticks to me with every breath my mother breathes these days.
The one that makes me cry,
“How long, O Lord?
How long?”
The one I know I must get used to;
that I need to learn to feel and endure the weight of,
perhaps even to welcome.
Because this is what is these days.
This is what is.
I do not like what is, that much is clear.
I resist it,
I resent it,
I rant to heaven about it,
I want it to go away.
I admit to ugly feelings of envy when I hear
of mothers who go home to Jesus forthwith,
with little disintegration,
little pain,
no sense of hopelessness,
of being forever lost.

I don’t like these feelings in my spirit.
But I must face into them,
I must acknowledge this shadow side,
this hard wrestle with what is.
And I think,
in fact I know,
that God honors my honesty,
even as God asks for my acquiescence,
my gradual acceptance of this ‘is-ness,’
this hard, steadily familiar reality.
She vacillates between delight at the sight of me
and despair that she cannot remember I was coming.
One minute, smiling and expectant,
the next, weeping and lost.
Appetite declining,
back aching from a fall,
hiding out in her new apartment far too many evening meals.

With me beside her, she ventures out,
 proud to introduce me to her friends.
Her natural extroversion carries her,
the steadiest, surest her.
It brings her momentarily back to the surface 
and she engages friends well,
using social skills honed over years of practice.
Back in her room,
her shoulders visibly slump,
a loud sigh escapes,
releasing pent up sorrow and fear.

And I wonder,
how long will she be in this never land,
this in-between space of who she was
and who she is becoming?
How long will we enjoy even a piece
of who she was
in the middle of who she is?

And I know the word is still ‘waiting.’
And I still don’t like it very much.
But I’m here, Lord.
Still leaning,
still looking for glimmers of that shine I’m seeking.
But a shower was what I needed tonight.
What I may still need for a long, long time.

I am finding that I need to write about all this inner tumbling, this distress and nascent anger. I am prayerfully hoping that what I am feeling is akin to the ‘indignation’ (sometimes translated ‘compassion’) that Jesus is described as exhibiting several times in the gospel record. Each of those times featured a confrontation with illness/darkness/death and the word seems to indicate the depth of Jesus’ sadness at the results of the sin and brokenness in this world of ours. And the ravages caused by these self-eating brain disorders are surely among the hardest of those results. Kyrie eleison.
I don’t think what I’ve written here is exactly right for joining with most of my Monday bunch. The last two days have surely not been a playdate, nor are they particularly centered on place. Nor are they filled with the wonder of ‘God-Bumps,’ nor are they reflections on Sunday worship. And they wouldn’t fit very well with Ann’s gratitude list, either. So I will link with Jen at the sisterhood and Heather at “Just Write” and leave it at that for now.
Back again on Friday morning, deciding to add this into Bonnie Gray’s invitation to be “Vulnerable” this week. This one is about as vulnerable as I’ve gotten in a while, so maybe it will fit there. I’m thinking this is a topic most people don’t want to read about – it cuts too close, maybe? But believe me, it happens to all of as at some point…and we’re never quite ready for it.

Filed Under: family, Wonderings in the World

Weekends Are for Quieting: “Teach Me Your Paths”

February 12, 2012 By
“LORD, make me know your ways.
LORD, teach me  your paths.
Make me walk in your truth, and teach me,
for you are God my savior.
In you I hope all the day long
because of your goodness, O LORD.
Remember your mercy, LORD,
and the love you have shown from of old.”

Psalm 25:4-7
The Grail Translation
(commissioned for liturgical use in the Benedictine tradition.)
Joining this weekend with three gatherings where quiet reflection is encouraged. Sandy King, “Still Saturday,” Deidra Riggs, “Sunday,” and Katie Lloyd, “Scripture & a Snapshot.”


 
 

Filed Under: biblical reflection, biblical studies, Photo Essay

Synchronicity: The THC Book Club

February 10, 2012 By
I have thoroughly enjoyed reading the Book Club selection this time around – David Brooks’, “The Social Animal: The Hidden Sources of Love, Character, and Achievement.” 
Yeah, I like it a lot. 
But writing about what I’m reading? Not so much. No, not so much. It’s a tad overwhelming, that’s what it is. It’s a whole lot of factual information coming from the worlds of neuro-science, anthropology, sociology, psychology and a whole bunch of other ‘ologies,’ and there are times when it feels like I’m trying to drink from a fire hose. So, I missed last week’s go-round. And I almost missed this week’s, too. It’s called procrastination and it’s my middle name. So far, there hasn’t been a study to explain why some of us do this so very well, but there really should be. Sometimes it feels like a real, textbook disease!
So to make up for this lapse in my notoriously short-circuiting attention span, I am going to attempt the impossible tonight: I’m going to write about SIX chapters instead of the usual weekly three. How’s that for crazy??
Using his central characters Harold and Erica to help illustrate the information he has gathered, Brooks looks at the following topics over the course of these 100 pages: Intelligence (which includes other factors besides IQ), Choice Architecture (basically, a chapter on marketing psychology), Freedom & Commitment (a brief glimpse into how we grow our most intimate relationships), Limerance (where the kind of happiness that results from ‘falling in love’ leads to a repeating rhythm of ‘difficulty to harmony’ rather than any kind of a ‘golden mean’), The Grand Narrative (how the basic human tendency toward overconfidence can lead to the spectacular failure of a system or a business), and Métis (a French word meaning a ‘mental map,’ which allows a person to ‘know,’ both rationally and intuitively, how to proceed in any given situation.)

As I read through these chapters, I found myself becoming increasingly excited to discover that so much of what Brooks’ research has led him to conclude is in remarkable synch with a whole lot of other reading I’ve been doing in the last few years. Specifically, I am finding a lot of synchronicity with the work I am doing both to learn about and to practice the discipline and art of Spiritual Direction. So much of what I’ve learned – and am also beginning to experience  – of spirituality in the 2nd half of life is centered around the interaction between our conscious and unconscious selves. Growing deeper spiritually necessarily involves letting go of a lot of ideas and behaviors learned in the first half of life. Richard Rohr, Gerald May, Margaret Guenther, Basil Pennington, Thomas Keating, my own spiritual director and his teaching team at the Charismatic School for Spiritual Direction where I am enrolled – all of them talk, write and teach about the search for wholeness, the integration of the self, the fine-tuning of our spiritual eyes and ears to catch glimpses of the work that is going on underneath the surface.

And woven all the way through these chapters – peaking with the last one – I found many of the same ideas. The terminology used is much more academic (Level 1 and Level 2 thinking, British vs. French Enlightenment, Epistemological Modesty), but the resonance is there. These two quotes could have come directly from some of my other reading, without missing a beat:

“Our hypothesis leads us to the radical suggestion that the critical difference between the thinking of humans and of lower animals lies not in the existence of consciousness but in the capacity for complex processes outside of it.”

“Epistemology is the study of how we know what we know. Epistemological modesty is the knowledge of how little we know and can know. Epistemological modesty is an attitude toward life…built on the awareness that we don’t know ourselves. Most of what we think and believe is unavailable to conscious review. We are our own deepest mystery…And yet this humble attitude doesn’t necessarily produce passivity. Epistemological modesty is a disposition for action. The people with this disposition believe that wisdom begins with an awareness of our own ignorance…that there is no one method of solving problems…most of what [we] know accumulates through a long and arduous process of wandering…the wanderer endures uncertainty…possessing what John Keats called negative capability, the ability to be in ‘uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.'”  quotes taken from pages 245-248

Learning to balance these different kinds of knowing – the knowing that comes from fine-tuning our conscious mind’s ability to use logic and rationality AND the knowing that lies submerged at the level of the unconscious, things we don’t even know that we know – this is where I believe the work of the Holy Spirit is most powerfully revealed. And this is what each of these chapters, in its own unique way, underscores by means of research data engagingly presented. 
Please understand that this is most definitely NOT a book about human spirituality. Brooks is writing for the popular, mainstream culture; he is not writing about the work of the Holy Spirit. But what I see as I read is heavily influenced by what I am learning elsewhere, by what I have experienced through my own integrative process. (Which is, by the way, far from complete.) As a person who has wandered many years now, who has learned to be more and more at peace with the many uncertainties of this life and to relish a good mystery on occasion, I found these chapters affirming, encouraging and captivating. I don’t know where he’s going with these characters of his (they seem to have gotten shoved to the background behind all the data in these pages), but I am looking forward to seeing how it all ends up, that’s for sure. And for me, that is a sure sign of a ‘good read.’
Please hop on over to The High Calling and check out our leader, Laura Boggess’s take on the book thus far. 
The High Calling is one of the finest websites out there for thinking Christians. Check out their other resources while you’re over there.
Filed Under: Book Review, Wonderings in the World

In Which I List the Ways That Pastoring is a Lot Like Mothering

February 6, 2012 By

I didn’t ask to be a mom. I didn’t have to work too hard to become a mom, either – at least in the biological sense of that word.

Our first daughter arrived five days after my 23rd birthday. I was 14,000 miles away from home and had no pre-natal care except the advice of experienced missionaries living nearby and the limited resources of a used gynecological textbook from some nursing curriculum somewhere. Yes, there was a doctor – and a good one – but he was stationed at a hospital 40 miles away, over a very corrugated dirt road; I saw him a total of three times before Lisa was born.

This is what I remember: all of a sudden, I was pregnant – and then, all of a sudden…I was a mother.

There she was, in all her amazing perfection and beauty. I had no parenting guides, no clue where to begin, so I just…began. By the time babies #2 and #3 came along, I was once again living in the land of high-tech hospitals, bookshelves lined with how-to manuals and more people willing to tell me what to do than I could count. But I continued as I had begun: I muddled through.

I made a lot of mistakes. I blew it with dreadfully predictable regularity. I yelled too much, relied on television too much, fed them food with too much sugar too often, dragged them around in cars without seat belts, much less car seats. And somehow, by the grace of a faithful God, they all lived to tell about it. Not only that, but they flourished – my myriad mistakes and all.

Sometimes they hated me – I know this because they told me so, one with alarming frequency. And sometimes, in and around adoring them with every fiber of my being, I hated them, too. That was only when I was exhausted, exasperated, confused or frightened, of course, but between those four emotional coordinates, I’d say that was more often than I’d like to admit. And I don’t REALLY mean I hated them – it was actually more like I hated what happened to me when I was trying my darnedest to be a ‘good mother’ to them and it all fell apart in my face.

When my youngest was a senior in high school, I went back to school – to seminary, actually. And by the time I began working in my profession, all my kids were married and I was a grandmother, on my way to eight grandkids. And guess what? I discovered that all that muddling through I did as a stay-at-home mom? Well, it came in mighty handy when trying to pastor a congregation of 350 highly individual individuals.

“How is that true, Diana?” you might ask. “What possible parallels can there be between parenting and pastoring? “  “Ah,” I would say right back to you, “Let me count the ways!”

1.    Authenticity

Now here’s a paradoxical/oxymoronic statement for you to chew on as we begin this counting thing: Even when I haven’t known who I was, I have still managed to be the real me. From the time they were itty-bitty babies, I have talked to my kids like I talk to my friends like I talk to the people I meet almost anywhere. God has been in the process of forming me/shaping me/changing me – sometimes with a great deal of reluctance on my part – for a very long time now. Since I was about 11 years old, in fact, and went forward at a revival meeting in my home church in downtown Los Angeles. I’ve gotten detoured, lost, overwhelmed, discouraged and embarrassed multiple times along the way. But I’ve always been who I was at any moment in history – not any more than I was, but not any less, either. And I’ve always talked about the processing going on as honestly and openly as possible. For as long as I have known them, I have loved to be around my kids, loved to talk to them, to show them what’s going on in the world around them, to invite discovery, to laugh and to cry when things were appropriately wonderful or terrible. And while I did all that, I pretty much let it all hang out – the flaws, the overwhelm, the not knowing. Also, the thirst for knowledge, the eye for detail, the quick sense of humor, the willingness to work hard. What they saw was what they got.

2.    Encouragement

I never had the looks or the coordination for the job, but I coulda been a GREAT cheerleader. I believe in encouragement as a force for world peace, reconciliation between warring tribes, the solution to global warming. I cannot think of a single negative thing that comes from encouraging someone else on their journey of life. Not one. I was a huge fan of each of my children – still am, as a matter of fact. They are, without a doubt, the most brilliant, kind, compassionate, creative, loving human persons who have ever graced the planet. Well, other than Jesus himself, of course. And their children are following right along in their parents’ footsteps. I believed in my kids, even when I didn’t know if that was the smartest row to hoe or not. They were not perfect – but then, neither am I, neither is their dad. But those kids came dang close, I’ll tell you. And when they had a down day, I was there to tell them it would look better in the morning. And generally, it did. It really did. Encouragement is the name of the game. And I think the apostle Paul – and yes, Jesus himself – would agree with me on that one.

3.    Nurturing

At the risk of sounding like a particularly sappy Hallmark card, this is what’s at the heart of mothering, is it not? Protecting those chicks, even when they’re bigger than you are. Providing a safe haven, a cozy nest. Paying enough attention to know when they need a ‘mental health’ day off from school but not so much attention that they feel suffocated. Packing lunches (or double-checking the cash reserves for the cafeteria); baking birthday cakes (or buying exactly the right kind at the corner bakery); knowing what they like and what they don’t like – for dinner, in their closet, coming out of your mouth; knowing who their friends are, praying for friends if they don’t have any (or if you think they need a little broader selection).  Paying attention and being there – pretty much sums it up.

4.    Listening

I’ve already mentioned that I spent a lot of time talking to my children when they were young. But I spent a lot, a lot, a LOT of time listening to them as they got bigger. Some of my kids were better talkers than others. The one who is male clammed up at about age 12 and I had to carefully figure out ways to continue the conversation. This is what I discovered: if we were in the car, where we did not have to make eye contact, my son would open up like he used to before the hormones began flooding his lanky frame. (In two years, he grew ten inches and gained about fifty pounds of big bones and solid muscle). Sometimes I didn’t like what I heard, but I kept on listening, trying not to react, cringe, frown or otherwise shut down the flow. Making space for the other person to talk, even if that talk is painful confession or emotional outburst, is really a requirement for any kind of meaningful human relationship, don’t you think?

5.    Teaching

This might seem to be the facet of mothering with the most direct carry-over into the pastoral life, and in some ways that is definitely true. But maybe not in exactly the ways you might imagine. From the time my kids were about 18 months old, I invited them to make choices about their lives, starting with the small stuff. What would you like to wear today? I’d ask. And that made for some fascinating fashion statements at times. As they got bigger, I’d gently comment that maybe we could choose pants OR the skirt, or perhaps both of those busy prints might look more restful if they weren’t worn together. But initially, they wore what they wanted, even if people thought I’d pulled their outfits out of a dumpster somewhere. And I applied that principle across the board. The encyclopedia, the dictionary, the daily newspaper, the Bible – all of these became rich resources in my efforts to help them become their own persons, with their own ideas. If I knew something about a topic they were interested in, I talked about it or I showed them how to do it for themselves. They all got reasonably good at doing laundry, cooking a basic meal (although I was never a good cook and they are all far better at it than I ever was), doing basic household chores. They also learned how to read and to write critically and well, how to wrestle through hard ideas and issues and how to take care of one another. You know, the basics – the essential skills needed to live life in a sometimes crazy world.

6.    Releasing

This was the hardest part of mothering for me, bar none: letting them go. And I had to begin doing that when my eldest was a lot younger than I wished. She got married when she was 19 and she basically shifted her primary focus to the man she married when she was just a slip of a girl at 16. The Lord and I wrestled hard about all of this for each of those three years and I continued to wrestle with it for a lot of years after she was married and gone. I had never asked to become a mother, but once I was one? It became my primary identity and mission in life. I loved every thing about it, even the hard and ugly stuff. But what I learned during those years of wrestling was this so-important truth: my children were not mine. They were entrusted to my care, they were among the greatest of God’s gifts to me, but they did not belong to me. They were their own unique selves, gifted and shaped not to become mini-me’s but to become Lisa, Joy and Eric. And for that to happen, I had to do a whole lot of work up front and then get my mucky hands off. I had to stand back and watch them move out into the world all on their own. They made mistakes, they fell down – hard, sometimes – but oh my, what magnificent people they are! Each one of them an individual of irreplaceable giftedness, heart and finely crafted personality.

I’m not sure if what I’ve written here exactly fits into the category of ‘practices of parenting.” Nevertheless, I am contributing them to Sarah Styles Bessey’s Blog Carnival of ideas and suggestions. She’s issued a wonderfully warm invitation and many of us are joining the party. Come on over to her place and check them all out. I will also add this one to the new meme forming to help cover the absence of Emily Wierenga for a while. I’ve done her “Imperfect Prose” for almost a year now and so enjoy the company of that place. But Emily’s life is over full just now, so Kim at “Journey to Epiphany” has stepped in with a temporary community gathering space called, “Painting Prose.” Thanks, Kim!
EmergingMummy.comJourneyTowardsEpiphany

 

Filed Under: family, Marriage, memoir, personal journey

I Do: Long-Term Love

February 6, 2012 By
He comes in regularly and stirs the fire.
And every single time, 
I am struck with gratitude and wonder
that we chose each other so many years ago.
It’s such a simple thing, stirring those logs around,
just a few moments of time.
But I know this – it is an act of love, this fire-tending, 
an act I deeply appreciate.
An act that is emblematic,
representing the story of who we are somehow.
Not all of who we are,
but kind of a meta-picture,
a summary statement.
Because the truth of our story is this:
we grew up together.
We were so young, you see.
When we met, I was seventeen, he was barely twenty.
When we married, I was the 20-year-old,
mid-way through my senior year at UCLA.

That summer, we moved to Zambia for two years,
traveling by freighter over a choppy Atlantic Ocean
for eighteen long days.
The sunsets were glorious;
the storms terrifying.
Not a bad description of the next 25 years or so, actually.

We had so much to learn – beginning with ourselves.
Raised in ‘traditional’ 1950’s Christian homes,
we had a whole lot of firmly held opinions 
about what marriage and family should look like 
and we did our darnedest to live up those.
I put together our wedding liturgy (I loved liturgy, even then),
and I searched for the old wording to be sure and include the word ‘obey’ in my vows. Those who know me at this end of the last 46 years 
might be surprised by that small piece of trivia.
But they would probably not be terribly surprised to learn that it was my husband who first chafed at the thinking behind it,
that it was he who began to call out my gifts as a teacher and leader.
I was too frightened at the prospect of ‘messing up’ my marriage 
to go there for a very long time.
Together, we’ve changed up the dance,
trading places – both literally and figuratively – as time and circumstance demanded.

We’ve hit a few rough patches along the way, that’s for sure.
We went to a counselor for a while at about year 25,
when I was in the midst of seminary and carrying a couple of part time jobs and we both felt confused and angry and badly disconnected.
The best thing that came of that experience? The last twenty years.
Somewhere during that time of counseling,
we looked at each other and said,
“We’ve got a good thing going here; let’s make it better.”
And, by God’s grace, we have.

We are very different people – different politics, different temperaments, different favorite-times-of-the-day, different tastes in television 
(except for Downton Abbey!).
And guess what?
We are never bored.
Yes, we can get snarly sometimes.
We can get our feelings hurt and our feathers ruffled.
But we make each other laugh louder than anyone else we know.
We have spent so much time together that we seldom have to guess 
what the other is thinking.
We each think the other is the finest person on the planet.
We adore our children and our grandchildren.
We are committed to faith and family above all else.
And most of the time,
we really, really like each other.

We’re even learning to do this thing called retirement,
which for a couple with very busy schedules 
for very many years, was a somewhat daunting prospect.
While I was pastoring, my husband was commuting 
for three-day stretches away from me every week while he continued to work in southern CA.
During those mid-week days, I grew to understand the deep dividends of solitude.
For the first time in my life, I was spending time alone –
and I was loving it.
How would we manage being together 24/7?
Well, one way is this:
in the evenings, he watches sports in the family room;
I write in the bedroom.
And during the winter months,
he builds me a lovely fire in our bedroom fireplace.
About every 90 minutes or so, I hear him coming down the hall, 
to peek in and make sure
that fire is performing as a properly built fire should perform.
And that small act tells me what I most deeply need to know:
my husband values who I am and what I do.
In this quieter season of our life together,
it’s an echo of sorts,
an echo of what he said to me when it began to look like we’d be moving to Santa Barbara so that I could take a job.
“Honey, for the last 30 years, you’ve built your life around my career choices. You’ve supported me through all the twists and turns my professional life has taken. Now, it’s my turn to adjust, to let you flourish and grow and become more of who God designed you to be, just like you’ve always done for me.”
He values who I am.
He values what I do.

I value who he is.
I value what he does.
Even now, we want 
to keep learning, keep growing,
keep leaning into Jesus and one another.
We want the fire to burn bright,
so we’ll keep tending,
keep stirring,
keep enjoying the light, the warmth, the beauty.
Even when he’s in one room,
and I’m in another.



TheHighCalling.org Christian Blog Network

This essay was written at the invitation of Jennifer Dukes Lee and The High Calling. I am joining the community writing project at THC by signing on with Jennifer’s weekly meme. Ann Voskamp is also encouraging essays about love this  month, so I’ll put it there as well. And with all the sisters at Jen Ferguson’s place, the soli deo sisterhood. And, at the end of the week, with Bonnie’s discussion on Love Unwrapped.
 



Filed Under: family, Marriage, memoir, personal journey

Still Saturday/Sunday – “The Heavens Proclaim..”

February 5, 2012 By
“The heavens proclaim the glory of God,
and the firmament shows forth the work
of God’s hands.
Day unto day takes up the story
and night unto night makes known the message.”
Psalm 19:2-3
The Grail Translation
Joining with Deidra at “JumpingTandem” and Sandy at “SandraHeskaKing” for their weekly invitation to quiet worship, Sandy at “Still Saturday,” and Deidra at, “Sunday.”
And re-joining with Katie at “KatieLloydPhotography” for her weekly “Scripture and a Snapshot:”

Filed Under: biblical reflection, Photo Essay

Five Minute Friday: Real

February 3, 2012 By
Can you believe it’s Friday again? Already? Me, neither. But that’s what the calendar is telling me….almost. Still 30 minutes to go here on the west side of the land, but I’m ready to try this five minute things anyhow!
Joining with Lisa-Jo once again over at The Gypsy Mama for her weekly invitation to ‘just write.’
“I don’t think that it is always necessary to talk about the deepest and most private dimension of who we are, but I think we are called to talk to each other out of it, and just as importantly to listen to each other out of it, to live out of our depths as well as our shallows. We are all of us adolescents, painfully growing and groping our way toward something like true adulthood, and maybe the greatest value we have both to teach and to learn as we go is the capacity to be amazed…which is a power to heal us and bless us and in the end maybe even to transform us into truly human beings at last.”

Source: The Clown in the Belfry, by Frederick Buechner

This week’s prompt: REAL
GO:
This quote really jumped up and bit me tonight as I was scurrying through the long list of unread emails in my inbox. This was the devotional thought from The Church of the Savior in Washington D.C. for today and it invites serious thinking about some of the very things I’ve been pondering these last few days.


So to find this quote – and to see Lisa-Jo’s prompt – made me wonder: What am I supposed to be seeing/learning from all this synchronicity?

Here are a few (very few) initial responses to that inner query:

That authenticity and vulnerability are beautiful things, that they need to be honored and held lightly, that they need to be protected and valued. 

That we don’t need to spill every intimate detail of our lives into each and every conversation we ever have, but we do need to be sensitive to the movement of the Spirit within for those times when appropriate and helpful sharing could facilitate healing and health in ourselves or others.

That there is always, always something going on around or within us that could, if we stopped long enough to notice it, cause us to drop that jaw in amazement, gratitude and joy.

That giving the gift of ‘real’ is a matter of both discretion and trust – ultimately, trust in God’s grace to bring healing, and trust in the other person to hold confidence and to offer listening that goes deep.

STOP

This just may be the strangest response to a Lisa-Jo prompt I’ve ever written! (About one extra minute – and links were added after the time limit.)
 
Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World
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