Uncategorized — Page 22

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…

We wait for friends to come and play…

We wait for daylight savings time and the extra warmth and light…

We wait for summer vacation…

We wait for the end of summer vacation!

We wait to graduate to the next grade…

….or the next school…

We wait to be kissed…

We wait to fall in love…

….to marry…

…to have children…

We wait for those children to do and learn all those things we did and learned…

We wait for answers to hard questions…

We wait for life to get easier…

We wait for good health to return…

We wait for the end of a loved one’s suffering…

We wait for mercy…

We wait for Jesus.

STOP

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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!”

Linking today with:

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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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