photography — Page 4

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 20 AND 5 Minute Friday – LOOK!

October 20, 2012 By Diana

Every Friday, she pulls one out of the hat.

A word or a short phrase.

And we’re supposed to set the timer

and free-write in response to that prompt.

Lisa-Jo Baker is dang good at this prompting business

and a couple of hundred people join in the party

each and every week.

I’m late this week . . . but I’m here, for the first time in several.

Hop on over to her website and check out a few:

Today’s prompt?

Look . . .

GO:

Idou –

a tiny Greek part of speech

that imitates an earlier Hebraic one.

A small word that modern translations

don’t even bother with,

but oh! SUCH a good word.

It means . . . LOOK AT THIS!

And it’s usually translated, “Behold!”

Think about all the places in scripture

where you’ve seen that word!

“the handmaiden of the Lord,”

and “I tell you a mystery”

are the first two that spring to my mind

in these five minutes.

The Incarnation

and the Resurrection,

bookends, in a way,

of our faith,

of our story.

And what a beautiful,

mysterious,

glorious story it is.

And you know what?

I think there are evidences of these ‘beholds’

all around us, every dang day.

We are invited to be the incarnate Word

in the lives of our families,

in the neighborhoods in which we live.

We are encouraged to be Easter People,

shining forth hope

of better things ahead.

And if we stop,

if we slow,

if we open our eyes,

and loose our ears,

and tune our minds —

we can not only look,

but SEE.

The Glory of the Lord

is present in our world,

and in every one of us.

Imagine!

Look!

Behold!

Idou!

STOP

Yes, I thought about this for more than 5 minutes. But I did not write for more than that.

And here, in these pictures, most of them taken with my not-so-smart phone

are some real-life examples of the glory of God made real in this world of ours.

LOOK. SEE. BEHOLD.

A lone young woman, journal in hand, sitting on the wide sand, looking. Looking.

Off in the distance, a cruise ship –

. . . a reminder that sometimes we might feel invaded

by uninvited tourists making demands

upon our time, energy and resources.

But.

Every person on a cruise ship is also made in the image of God, whether they know and acknowledge that or not.

So maybe I need — in general — to be more welcoming,

and gracious to those who feel to me like. . . interlopers?

And sometimes those might even be members of

my own family?

A wide stretch of sand

on a beautiful sunny day.

Behold! The goodness of God.

Friends, neighbors and strangers —

out for a walk, just like I am.

Can I be a grace-filled, smiling co-conspirator

in the joys of life?

And that water, lapping on the sand?

Pure refreshment,

reminder of all things good and lovely.

So, hop on board,

set your sail into the wind,

and see where Ruach* takes you next

But never forget that sometimes

the very best adventures of all

happen under a striped umbrella,

alone on a wide beach,

reveling in the beauty around you.

LOOK!

*Ruach is a biblical word for ‘wind’ or ‘spirit.’

I use it here for Spirit, Holy Spirit, God’s Spirit.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, 5 Minute Friday, God's gifts, photography, The Sea

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 19

October 20, 2012 By Diana

Today we got frustrated,

and disappointed,

and enraptured —

all at the same time.

We drove across town to the Old Mission.

Our assignment?

Get fingerprinted,

so that a background check could be run,

so that we could serve as volunteers

at our soon-to-be-seven-year-old

granddaughter’s school.

Our daughter-in-law carefully

researched the date,

wrote us some instructions

and said in passing,

“It says to call ahead and make

a reservation,

but we just walked up and got

in line. You probably don’t need to.”

Wrong.

So we’ll wait til next time.

But when I turned around from the office

complex, I realized that the early morning

cloud cover had burned completely off,

and we had a lovely shot of one of

the most beautiful buildings in our state,

the Queen of the Missions.

I didn’t have much time,
as my husband was peeved and restless,
but I aimed my camera and rattled
off a few shots, wondering
what I might have captured
in the three minutes I grabbed.

Someday, I will post some interior shots on this blog,
but today, I was fortunate to get these angled exteriors.
To tell you the truth, everything
about this site is lovely.
Standing on those front steps,
you can see all the way to the ocean.
And you can imagine Father Serra
surveying this beauty and sighing,
as he traveled the Camino Real up and down
the coast of Alta California.

These bells actually ring,
reminding parishioners to pray,
calling them to mass,
inviting people to stop,
for just a moment or two,
and remember that being busy
is not all there is to this life.

There is a fountain here that is as old as the Mission,

part of the original aquaduct system that brought

water to the crops,

supplied the laundry workers,

and provided drinking water for everyone,

priests, soldiers and Indians alike.

The angle of the sun was just right today,

and the gently rippling water

caught the reflection of Mission Santa Barbara.

She is a lovely old thing, isn’t she?
And she wears her years very well, indeed.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, Beauty, photography, Santa Barbara

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 18

October 19, 2012 By Diana

Depending upon the time of day,

walking at Butterfly Beach

can be a very different experience.

Earlier this week, I wrote about the joys of both sitting and walking in this spot.

And this is what it looked like just three days ago.

The beach was wide,

with lots of sand for walking,

or digging,

or lazing around.

And some rocky shoals, which are hardly ever visible,

were eagerly explored by young beach-goers.

There is something soul-expanding about seeing

that much level beach —

an invitation to come on down,

breathe deeply,

get your toes wet.

Today looked decidedly different.
There was no beach,
not an inch of sand that could be walked upon with confidence.
No space for sitting,
relaxing,
toe-tipping.

Instead,

the water pounded right up to the wall,

stunning in its proximity and power.

The weather was similar —

warm, sunny, clear.

The long-range view was basically

the same — islands in the distance,

oil derricks a little further in,

the curving peninsula of the mainland

visible toward the southeast.

But it felt profoundly different.

A shift in time,

a moody pull of the moon,

a portent of stormy weather ahead?

I do not know how the tides shift.

I just know that they do.

And that makes all the difference.

High and low each have beauties of their own —

an invitation and a warning,

a welcome and a reminder.

Life is a little like that, I think.

Some days, all looks level.

Others, there is no sure footing to be found.

Nothing else has shifted,

the ingredients are the same basic mix —

but some days feel like invitation,

and others feel like warning.

I love them both.

The allure of a wide beach is

wonderful and warm;

the power of a surging surf is

heart-stopping and thrilling.

I think you have to experience

both to fully appreciate each.

Because we need both kinds of tides.

And we need both kinds of days,

both kinds of living:

resting on the sand and

enjoying the view for a while

and standing with arms wide

and hearts open to

receive the beautiful,

sometimes terrifying power

of life itself.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, Beauty, photography, The Sea

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 16

October 17, 2012 By Diana

It was darkening by the time I returned from the store.

That’s happening a lot earlier these days,

and I am not pleased.

I love the sun.

I love a reasonable amount of heat.

I like long days,

with lingering sunlight,

lengthening shadows,

sunset coloring the sky for a good, long while.

So as much as I enjoy the onset of fall-ish weather,

and as glad as I am to re-enter some

semblance of a schedule with the

start of the school year,

there is a part of me that feels

a little bit lost,

and a slow, creeping sense of sadness

as the dark claims more and more of the day.

But in just the two minutes

that it took to drop my purse on the bed,

look for an anticipated email,

(it wasn’t there),

and rattle down the list

in my head of what needed to be done

in the next 45 minutes,

I glanced out the screen door

and saw this glorious spilling

of crimson,

lightening and brightening the

growing gloom of too-early nightfall.

The last gasp of summer,
radiating hope
and light and
stunning, stop-me-in-my-tracks beauty.

What is it about red roses?
Something about the depth of color,
the strong, familiar scent,
the sturdy call to pay attention?
I’m not entirely sure,
I just know I love them,
and they always stir
something joyful in my spirit.

I like them best
when they’re on the bush,
lending their glamour to the garden,
forcing me to look,
and to look again.
It seems almost a sacrilege to cut them,
although I do it from time to time.
Even red roses need pruning,
dead-heading,
trimming back.

And soon enough,
this one will be trimmed, too.
But right now,
tonight,
when I’m pondering
a proposal that surprised me,
wondering if this is what’s next
on God’s plate for me,
I will enjoy their vibrant cry
for my attention.

Red is the color of hope,
I’m told.
And of life.
It is a scarlet thread that weaves
its way through scripture
and my life,
splashing passion,
crying ‘courage!’,
promising good things ahead.

Joining with Jennifer, Duane, Emily and Ann tonight:

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, Beauty, God's gifts, personal journey, photography

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 13

October 14, 2012 By Diana

When I spend time in my daughters’ homes,

I am reminded of many things.

First and foremost,

of how very well they mother their sons.

And secondly,

how they have taken some of my

patterns and traditions and

greatly improved upon them.

I was – once upon a time – a great

seasonal decorator.

I saved art work for years and put

up my children’s creations

for every holiday.

I shopped the sales at Michael’s

and gathered a lot of

decorative detritus

that we used for a long time.

Joy is doing the same thing.

And she is doing it so much better.

Her sons love this tradition

and beg her to pull out the bins

and put up the cute stuff.

Take a little look.

The manzanita branch

is used with a different set

of hanging ornaments for Halloween,

Thanksgiving, Christmas,

Valentine’s Day,

St. Patrick’s Day,

Easter.

And every one of her Mission style door frames

has a decorative object or arrangement

that fits the season.

These photos only capture a little of the fun,

and in about 3 weeks,

they’ll be switched out for

Thanksgiving decor.

This is the beautiful family room they added

about 10 years ago.

A lot of good memories have been made here.

Their home is always open for

friends,

family,

church youth groups,

neighbors.

They are superb hosts,

unfazed by groups sized anywhere

from 3 to 50.

I stand in awe.

And pictured below is our home-away-from-home

whenever we come down to see my mom,

who lives about 30 minutes from them.

This is where Dick stayed from Tuesday through Thursday

every week for ten years while he worked

in southern California before he retired in 2010.

Here is one of the really great things about retirement:

our schedule is flexible.

Packed and ready to return home last night,

we discovered that two of our grandsons

would be playing basketball games

as part of the YMCA fall season

this morning.

So, we unpacked,

enjoyed dinner & some good conversation,

and woke up just in time

to go to Griffin’s game at 9:00 a.m.

Griff plays with the 5-6 year old team –

half court, no score,

frequent substitutes.

He is one of the older members

of his 4-person team

and for the first time in his life,

one of the tallest.

He is a dedicated b-ball player and

it shows.

Good game, Griffin!

This is his team.

Holding his team treats after the game.

Colby is 11 and one of the younger and
smaller members of his 11-12-year-old team,
but he is scrappy and quick
and played well today.

Big brother Wesley and little brother Griff on the sidelines,

otherwise occupied.

Colby had a bigger team, they played the full court,
they kept score.
And they trounced the opposition.

Colby played most of three quarters,
and in between
sat on the sidelines
sucking down water.

And a picture of Colby with his after-game snacks,
but apparently,
an 11-year-old is a little too sophisticated to smile.

The trip home was spectacularly clear after that volatile
thunderstorm blew threw the area on Thursday.
These are the foothills in Ventura,

and a quick shot of a small slice of Halloween on the highway,

This is our favorite 20 acres on the side of the road north,
where we’ve watched strawberries,
lettuce,
tomatoes,
beans,
and now berries-under-plastic
thrive for sixteen years now.

And then, around the next bend, we begin to see the coast,
and we know we’re almost home.

Every single time I make this trip,
I am grateful
to live where I do.
Close proximity to the ocean
is nourishing to me in ways
I cannot put into words
and I am still amazed
that God brought us to this place.

I have loved every place we have lived –

six months in a 1-bedroom apartment

in Santa Monica as a newly-wed college student;

six weeks in a single room at a

Christian camping center

right after graduation;

a concrete block 3-bedroom house

on the savannah of central Africa

for two years;

an apartment in West Los Angeles

and a rented house in Eagle Rock

when we returned to California;

three homes in Altadena,

each with memories and beauties

all their own.

But this one?

This ranch house we’ve pushed and pulled

and added onto and made to fit us,

this space that God led us to

just as we were ready to

purchase another,

far less desirable place –

this place is a gift of grace

and beauty

that God has used

to save me day, by day, by day.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, family, God's gifts, Home, photography, Travel

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty – Day 12

October 13, 2012 By Diana

This weekend, we are traveling,

heading south to be with family,

in parts and pieces,

for just a day or so.

And as we leave,

the first storm of the season

is building in drama

and beauty.

As we round the curve on the 118,

heading into the hills and canyons

that separate the valleys

San Fernando and San Gabriel,

we can see what we’re heading into.

We have splashes and splitches

on the windshield as we drive

the two hours,

listening to a play-off game on the car radio.

But after we are safely ensconced in our

daughter’s small, cozy guesthouse,

the clouds burst their seams,

pouring water,

hail and something new to our ears,

graupel,

all around us,

looking for all the world like

small pellets of styrofoam packing material.

Time with mom is good.

My brother has made the long trek

from northern CA

and she is delighted to

have her two remaining

children (and her daughter’s husband)

in the same space,

making her laugh til her sides hurt –

even when she can’t quite understand

everything that is being said.

I take a walk in the late afternoon,

around my daughter’s beautiful, old

neighborhood,

filled with Victorian cottages,

bungalows from the turn of the

twentieth century,

and a bounteous buffet

of doors and porches.

This old codger was somehow

both delightfully out of place
and quite comfy
in this collection of
oldies, but goodies.

The street just to the west of our children
is filled with magnificent
old jewels like this shingled glory,

mixed nicely with smaller, more modest
abodes.

This lovely avenue positively defines
the term ‘tree-lined street,’
and is always deliciously inviting.

Turning the bend below the elementary school,
brings a bright row of small charmers,

and the delightful surprise of a healthy,
blooming plumeria plant,
six feet tall and thriving in this
decidedly non-tropical environment.

And this is a garage.
Oh, my.

This small gem, with its bright red door,
stands diagonally across the corner
on the street where we are staying.
When I see it,
it always seems to call out,
‘welcome!’

One more small Victorian on the way up the hill,

and then I’m back where I began,
the charming Sears & Roebuck bungalow,
which our children have tastefully and carefully
enlarged and improved,
and where we are always received
by grace-filled, loving hearts.

I think this front door is my very favorite of all.

The beauty found in
thunder storms,
architecture,
history,
neighborhoods,
city streets
and warm welcome
is saving me
right here, right now.
And I am thankful.

Much longer than usual for the weekend quiet hosted by my friends Sandy and Deidra, but this is what I’ve got for now. I hope to do a simpler one for Sat/Sun, which means I will not quite make all 31 of the 31-day challenge.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, Beauty, family, God's gifts, Home, photography, Quiet for the Weekend

Quiet for the Weekend – September 14-16, 2012

September 15, 2012 By Diana

“This is what the Lord says,

he who made a way through the sea,

a path through the mighty waters . . .

‘Forget the former things,

do not dwell on the past.

See!

I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up,

do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness,

and streams in the wasteland . . .

to give drink to my people, my chosen,

the people I formed for myself,

that they may proclaim my praise.”

Isaiah 43:18, 19-21.

Join me in proclaiming the LORD’s praise this weekend,

even if we do it quietly?

Joining with Sandy and Deidra, dear friends who invite us all into the quiet as the weekend dawns.

Filed Under: biblical reflection, God's gifts, photography, Quiet for the Weekend

5 Minute Friday – Focus

September 14, 2012 By Diana

Five minutes. That’s the rule. Five minutes for free-writing, whatever comes into your head, whatever the prompt elicits. And it’s crazy fun. Come on over to the Gypsy Mama’s website – though she goes by Lisa-Jo Baker nowadays – and see for yourselves:

Somedays, I think I look at life like this – just a little bit cock-eyed and slightly out of focus.

Today’s prompt: FOCUS

GO:

For me, photography has become a kind of sacramental act. I have a camera with me at all times and frequently annoy my family by poking it in their faces at the most inopportune moments.

Mostly, however, I use my camera to notice things.

To pay attention.

To look more closely,

see the details,

the angle of the light,

the wonder of a baby’s laugh,

the cobweb, backlit by morning sunshine,

the power of a breaking wave.

The camera becomes an extension of my eyes, allowing me to slow down a bit – forcing me to slow down a bit, encouraging me to savor, sift, concentrate, focus.

Looking through the lens requires me to double check and see if things are lining up straight or are slightly askew. Focusing that lens means taking the time to choose where to look first.

To see this family playing in the water, I had to disarm the auto-focus on the camera because
it wanted to see the bushes clearly. I did not. I get to choose what I see most clearly.

There are lessons here, lessons beyond the extended ocular sensitivity that my camera provides. Because focus is important in all of life . . . choosing where I’m going to look first.

Will I look at the Truth or the lie?

Will I look at the Good or the not-so-good?

Will I look at and for the spark of the Spirit in each person I encounter during the day, or will I forget, and allow myself to be distracted, to intentionally turn away?

Today, I choose to look,

to look with intention, commitment, focus.

Maybe tomorrow, too?

STOP

About one minute over – pictures, captions and formatting added later.

Filed Under: 5 Minute Friday, personal journey, photography

Paying Attention: A Prayer with Photos

August 14, 2012 By Diana

Grant that I may I have eyes to see you, Lord.

To see you in the light,

to see you in the dark.

To see you in the rainbow,

to see you in the clouds.

To see you in the new,

to see you in the worn and weary.

To see you in the blessed and blissful details,

to see you in the rougher edges.

To see you in the easy, graceful gifts,

to see you in the slogging, stultifying backwater.

To see you in the immensity of the universe,

to see you in the intensity of a single cell.

Grant that I may have a heart to hear you, Lord.

To hear you in the laughter of children,

to hear you in the slowing of age.

To hear you in the soft sighs of the sea,

to hear you in the harsh cries of the hawk.

To hear you when the joy breaks loose,

to hear you when the sobs don’t stop.

To hear you in a beating heart,

to hear you when the beating stops.

To hear you in the wonder of a well-fed child,

to hear you in the one who starves.

To hear you in the still, small voice,

to hear you in the silence
of questions without answer.

Even there, O Lord.

Even there.

May I have eyes to see,

ears to hear,

and a tongue to tell

the glory of our God.

Even.There.

The photo of the ‘shoes’ near the end of this prayer is from eastern Europe –
a WWII memorial sculpture commemorating Hungarian Jews
who were lined up on the edge of the river,
told to take off their shoes, and then shot to death.
This reflection was prompted by a post about photography and truth at Kelly Sauer’s blog today. She was pondering old versus new in her photographic style. That got me to thinking and praying about the contrasts in this life; that the light and the dark are often closely connected and reflective of one another; that God doesn’t abandon us when life looks dismal or terrifying. I need eyes and ears that look and SEE and hear and LISTEN for evidence of the Presence of God – wherever and whatever and whenever.
Sometime during the dark morning hours, I realized that this post was also triggered by the powerful WWII story shared by Ann Voskamp in yesterday’s blog post.
Even in the most horrific of human-devised schemes,
God does not abandon us, God is not absent.
So thank you, Kelly. And thank you, Ann.
I’ll put this one with Michelle tonight, Jen tomorrow, and Ann on Wednesday and Duane and Jennifer, too.

Here is a legend for the photographs.

1. Reflections of stained glass on the stone walls of a cathedral in Cologne, Germany, 2009.

2. Sunlight breaking through the clouds as we flew from Florida home to LAX, May 2012

3. Cloud-covered moonlight over Puget Sound while staying on Whidbey Island, August 2007

4. Layers of color at sunset at the same place and time as photo #3

5. Our youngest granddaughter Lilly on the day she was born – 2/25/10

6. An oversized drawing entered in an art contest spotlighting the homeless population of Haarlem, The Netherlands, 2009

7. Our dining room pine buffet, loaded with my much-loved Fiestaware, taken on the day of my mom’s 90th birthday party, June 2011

8. Silhouetted ruins above the Rhine River, 2009

9. A tableau of bicycle against the stone wall of a local Catholic retreat center, Spring 2011

10. Garbage gathered at the edge of a marina in Miami FL, May 2012

11. Yosemite National Park, summer 2010

12. A birch leaf in our front yard, fall 2010

13. Sunlight through amber windows at the New Camoldolese (Benedictine) Hermitage Retreat Center, near Big Sur CA, December 2011

14. Our granddaughter Gracie, aged 2, laughing at the antics of her cousin Griffin, aged 2, on Whidbey Island, August 2007 (They’re six years old now, soon to turn 7)

15. My favorite centering prayer spot – the beat-up swing that hangs from an oak tree in our front yard, taken in the spring of 2010

16. Hendry’s Beach, Santa Barbara CA (officially known as Arroyo Burro State Beach), sunset, winter 2011

17. A bird of prey overhead – maybe a hawk, maybe an osprey, in British Columbia, summer 2007

18. Municipal flower garden, Nuremburg, Germany, 2009

19. The cross on our back fence that marks the place where my youngest brother’s ashes are buried. Taken in the spring of 2011.

20. Lilly, playing in her tent, Christmas 2011

21. Santa Barbara cemetery on a foggy morning, winter 2011

22. Lilly’s adorable bunny slippers, Christmas 2011

23. A skeletized leaf, picked up by my grandson while we were hiking in the Redwoods near Santa Cruz CA, summer 2011

24. Window angel spotted in a side street of Regensburg, Germany, 2009

25. War Memorial in honor of slain Jewish citizens, Budapest Hungary, 2009

26. Approaching Laity Lodge through the Frio River, the hill country of Texas, September 2011

Filed Under: hope, personal journey, Photo Essay, photography, prayer

An African Journal – Post One: Beneath the Surface

August 11, 2012 By Diana

With this post, I am beginning what I hope will be a series of reflections and rememberings about a formative part of my life and journey as a Jesus follower – the two years we spent living in Zambia in the 1960’s. As I’ve noted elsewhere on this blog, one of my primary purposes in writing here is to have a record for my grandchildren, most especially my two young granddaughters, a record that tells a little about who I am and how I got here. I so wish I had something like this from my own grandparents! I am deeply grateful to my grandson Joel Fischinger for scanning our 500 slides from that time so that I can access them for these pages.

The VW Kombi bus labored a bit as it climbed the hill just before the border crossing. Before us spread the great savannah of central Africa, dotted with trees and brush that were strange to our eyes, yet oddly reminiscent of our southern California home.

This label made us giggle. Yes, it was a BIG tree – a baobab tree.

I look at these pictures and think, “We were such babies!” I was 21, he was 24.

“Look! What’s that?” I cried from the passenger seat.

“Honey, don’t tell me to look over there,” my new husband begged, with the beginnings of a quaver in his voice. “I can barely manage to keep this thing in the lane!” After all, he was driving on the right side of the car and the wrong side of the road.

“Just slow down a little bit and look over there to the left,” I continued. “Do you see what I see?”

“Give me a sec,” he agreed, slowing the bus just a little. “Wow! What the heck is that?”

“Look, look, look! It’s a whole tribe of baboons! Slow down, oh, please! Slow down!”

We were too startled to pull out our tiny, square-format Kodak 126 camera when those baboons traipsed across the road in front of us. But here are two unrelated pictures of two different kinds of monkeys we saw at later dates.

And he did, mouth agape, startled to see an entire troupe of 50-60 monkeys serenely crossing the road right in front of us. Mamas carrying babies, larger males, young adults – the whole extended family was there – scampering, to be sure – but unafraid of us or our vehicle.

“Holey moley, honey! We are not in Kansas anymore!”

“You’re not kidding. I can’t believe it! Did that really just happen?”

We had traveled far to be in that van on a sunny Monday morning: California to Brooklyn by car, Brooklyn to Capetown by freighter, Capetown north through Rhodesia in a van to be shared with other missionaries, yet to be met. We were on our way to Zambia, a land completely unknown to us, a land that would be our home for the next two years.

Married just 8 months before, we were young, idealistic and ready for adventure. It was the mid 1960’s and the escalating war in Vietnam brought deep soul-searching for many men of draft-able age. My husband had a unique up-bringing which led to an unusual choice, a choice which took him far away from the jungles of Southeast Asia.

“The draft” had been part of American life since the early years of WWII and the nation was heaving with discontent as the war in Southeast Asia continued to escalate. A saving grace in the draft process was the option to register as a 1-W – a person “opposed to bearing arms by reason of personal religious conviction.”

And that’s exactly what my husband had done. Raised as a pacifist, with family members on both sides vehemently opposed to killing for any reason, he had registered as a conscientious objector (CO) when he turned 18. He knew that meant two years of service offered in lieu of joining the military.

My husband wanted to do those two years somewhere far from home, somewhere that would require an element of sacrifice on his part, somewhere that the cause of peace could be served in a practical, hands-on way. Every 1-W during those years was drafted. Most of them chose to work within the continental US for their two years, but he wanted something different.

The school that would be our home and workplace from 1966-68.

And that’s what brought us to the center of Africa. Working with the Mennonite Central Committee, we would teach at a boarding school in the small town of Choma. The school itself was run by two denominations – my husband’s and one other, even more conservative in both dress code and theology. Given his own life experience, my husband had more than an inkling of what our life might be like.

I, on the other hand, had never heard of a CO before I fell in love with my husband. Intrigued by the idea – and thrilled at the possibility of a cross-cultural adventure – I was eager to unpack, settle in and get to work. Both of us were committed followers of Jesus, we just came to that place down very different roads.

The small town of Choma, about 2 miles from our campus by bicycle or Kombi-bus. I’ll write more about Choma in later posts.

And now we were driving 1400 miles north on the Cape to Cairo road, blithely unaware of what was ahead of us. Two fifty-gallon oil drums crammed to the top with wedding gifts – waiting to be opened and sorted; a campus and a town waiting to be navigated; new neighbors waiting to be met.

And most of those looked a whole lot different than I did.

Our home for those two years – cinder-block to distract the termites, 3 bedrooms and electricity most of the time. FAR nicer than the tiny 1-bedroom apartment we lived in while I finished at UCLA.

“Did you see how many of these women are wearing prayer bonnets?” I asked plaintively as we took a walk around our new, small neighborhood.

“And look at the length of those skirts! Wow, do I feel out of place! Who in their right minds wears long sleeves in weather like this?”

“Well, it is a little more ‘cloistered’ than I thought it might be. On the west coast, we don’t see as many with this sort of Amish look. But relax, sweetheart. I don’t want you to look like these women – I want you to be you.”

We moved into a house that had been inhabited by missionaries on furlough. They planted this HUGE garden, which to my very young and inexperienced eyes looked overwhelming. We managed to keep much of it alive and put up 40 jars of tomato juice our first month on site.

Momentarily mollified, I fingered the pearls at my neck. They had been a gift from Dick on the day of our wedding and I loved them. Somehow, touching them from time to time brought back happy memories of that day and of the courtship that led to it.

I had always considered myself to be on the conservative side – modest in dress, wearing only a little make-up, hard-working and committed to my faith.

But here?

Here, I was a wild-eyed liberal, a hussy who colored and cut my hair, who wore sleeveless shirts and skirts at the knee. And jewelry. I wore jewelry.

What in the world had I gotten myself into?

A staff Thanksgiving celebration, near the end of our time there.

“What’s this?” I asked my husband several weeks later, fingering a letter from the local denominational bishop.

“Um…well…,” he stuttered, dreading the reaction he knew was coming. “It’s a list. A list of things you are not to do.”

“A what? A list of laws? Are you kidding me?” And I burst into tears. For the first time in our nearly two months away, I was desperately homesick.

Dick folded me into his arms, sighing into my hair – my short, artificially colored hair – and held me while I sobbed.

Between hiccoughs and tears, I sputtered, “Are they really serious? I can’t wear my wedding pearls, even just to the staff gatherings? I can’t wear ANY make-up? I have to cover up my arms and lengthen my skirts?”

Slowly, I calmed down and began to let the shock dissipate a bit. Dick kept apologizing and patting my back, trying to assure me that I was fine, just FINE exactly as I was.

And slowly, I began to believe him.

“You know what? This is not going to work for me. At all. The jewelry thing – I get not wanting to look ‘rich’ in front of the students. I get that. But at Bible study, off campus, with just staff? I will wear my pearls once in a while, whether he likes it or not.”

“That’s my girl!” Dick smiled.

“And I’ll try to talk to the bishop about what I believe, about how I know and experience Jesus and see if we can maybe meet in the middle. What do you think?”

“I think maybe our friend the bishop has met his match in you. And I’ll go with you to that meeting.”

It was not the most comfortable 45 minutes of my life, but that meeting helped cement in my spirit the importance of being open to a wide variety of faith expressions within the Christian community. We both gave a little space to the other – I would not wear jewelry or sleeveless dresses in the classroom. He would not complain if I wore my pearls to Bible study or dressed more casually at home or in town.

Over the next two years, we lived in community well. A new bishop arrived, one with a few less concerns about dress code. And a few women actually cut their hair short and began wearing lighter-weight clothing, with shorter sleeves and hemlines.

I grew up a little and began to see beneath the prayer coverings and the pinafore-style dresses and sensible shoes. To see the tender hearts and deep commitment of these neighbors who were fast becoming friends.

They introduced me to Pennsylvania Dutch cooking; I introduced them to homemade flour tortillas and ground beef tacos. We laughed, we loved our students, we commiserated over the obstacles in their way and celebrated their accomplishments. We realized that not one of us had it all figured out – and that God loved us all anyhow.

And I was never homesick again.

We arrived the end of August, had that meeting with the bishop in mid-October and celebrated our first wedding anniversary in December. One of our new friends baked us this cake and we had a lovely evening celebrating together.

Because this is an exercise in ‘playing’ with my past story, I’ll be connecting these posts with Laura Boggess’s invitation to a Playdate with God and with Laura Barkat’s In, On and Around Mondays. Also joining with the sisterhood at Jen’s place and a new one to me, Hazel Moon’s “Tell Me a Story”: