A Church Story - Part 2

Losing my church was like another divorce. Life would never be the same. My deepest disappointment was from knowing that my children were at the age when they would not blindly follow me to another church. Why would they risk another rejection in their lives? After all I had done to assure their Christian upbringing, now they would not even have a church home. I didn't know if my parents and I would end up at the same church either. I was disgusted with organized religion altogether after I witnessed the way doctrine could be skewed in the wrong direction anyway.

I cannot judge what degree of faith my children have or ever had. Maybe church was just a social place for them. Maybe they never experienced decision of faith as I had thought. Maybe that was my story - not theirs. But I feel as if I failed at my most important responsibility as a parent.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you.

Jeremiah 29:11-14

Train a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not turn from it.

Proverbs 22:6

I cling to these verses and to stories from other parents - good, Christian, non-divorced parents that struggle with the same concerns. They tell me that my faith cannot be inherited by my children, but they must acquire one of their own. I cannot help but see the two most painful times of my life as contributing to my children not needing church any longer. Two upheavals that left only ashes of what once was a part of their lives. I could blame myself completely, but I know that God is bigger than my failures.

I'll never forget sitting in the car with my son in the church parking lot shortly before it closed. He felt bitter at all he had seen, and rightly so. I said, "God had nothing to do with what happened here. People made these decisions, not God. It's that free will part of being human that messes everything up."

How do I say to my children - this is what you really need in life - when they have witnessed my battles and failures? Why is it I need faith so badly, believe so strongly, defend it so vehemently? Because God proved himself to me long ago by living inside me, by being there in my darkest moments - the ones I created out of my own free choices. In this life on Earth there is little else we can count on but God - not even a church.

What I know for sure is that God will be there on any given day in their lives when they need Him and call on Him. And the happy ending is that my parents and I found a wonderful church in a community between our homes. My mother and I sit in the choir loft next to each other once again just as we did for so many years in our former church. An added bonus is the fact that over 30 members from my former church have made a decision to join my new church! So there are familiar faces everywhere. I know that this new church will welcome my children as well if they ever need it.

I have to add that my daughter and son are good people. They overcame a lot and had the integrity to put it behind them. We have a wonderful relationship and even as adults they continue to bring great joy to my life. So I cannot say that many of my prayers have not been answered. I see the answers every time I see them.

A Church Story - Part 1

I attended a Methodist church in my childhood and participated in all the opportunities one would expect: Sunday school, vacation bible school, children's choir. The church and its youth program became central to my teenage years. One of the ministers and his wife were musicians and they spent all their free time leading us in musical endeavors. On weekends we traveled to evangelize other youth. Then, to include the adults, they wrote an entire musical and whole families traveled and performed together. My mom, brother, sister and I all sang and danced and my dad was the business manager. They were glorious years that none of us will ever forget.

Each experience grew my faith and love for God. Music was a way to share that and my church was home in every sense of the word. I married and had two children and my greatest hope was for them to have the same meaningful experiences in the same church. As children they learned about God in the same classrooms and sanctuary where their parents were married and they were baptised. At home we read Bible stories, had birthday parties for Jesus and discussed the true meaning of Christian holidays. They had fun at the same Methodist summer camp that I had loved so well. They sang in some musical events and participated in the weekly youth group meetings. My dream had come true - three generations of my family in the same church every Sunday morning. A beautiful and rare thing. Both of my children were on their way to a life of faith just as I had hoped and prayed. You can give your children many things in this life, but I always believed that a grounded faith was the most precious gift you could give them. Something that will last into eternity. As a Christian parent I took that role very seriously.

Then the teenage years happened. I was, and still am, proud of the unique and uncompromising individuals my children are, but as you might expect, they rebelled when their father and I divorced. My daughter clung tightly to her church friends. My son - not so much. As they expressed their individuality they sensed rejection by some of the adult youth leaders. The clothes and hair styles that are so important to self-expression at that age were criticized. My life unexpectedly falling apart and then the comforts of church vanishing changed everything. I watched the dream disintegrate before my eyes.

Not only did my personal crisis change their lives, but then the church literally left us! Some of the newer members were put in leadership roles and it was decided that the present site of the church was inadequate. I unwittingly became a leader against the move. My church was the cornerstone of the community in its location and historic presence there for 150 years. Petitions were signed, television reporters came, dozens of painful meetings were attended and after a long battle, we lost. The church was divided in two. Friendships were ended and relationships damaged. I did not lose faith in God, but I certainly did in organized religion. It had turned on me and I could barely conceive of the impact on my family. I could never have dreamed that the one place that I had counted on my whole life would close down and move to another community. I felt like a tumbleweed with no direction or purpose, and I think that's the way my teenage children felt too.

To be continued. . . .

New Eyes

On January 1st I wrote about a sort of resolution I had to see with new eyes this year. To focus on what I have and not what I don't have.
I used the quote from Marcel Proust: The only real voyage of discovery consists of not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.

I have always been filled with gratitude for my life and I know Who to thank, but I am often just as observant of things that aren't just the way I'd like them. Well, I already screwed up - but am recently back on the right track. To me, this is grace.

Grace is a tricky concept and although we may have grown up singing about how amazing it is - I don't think it can be understood until it is truly experienced. Sometimes it seems like an answer to a prayer, but sometimes it is a gift that was not expected. It is more than you imagined. To feel as if you are seeing the world with new eyes is no small feat. It is an internal experience and no one can give it to you, except God.

Anne Lamott says: I do not understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.

Frank Stella writes in"A Faith Worth Believing":
Perhaps grace is not so graceful after all. Perhaps it's in our disgraced moments that the mystery of God's presence can impact us the most. When we glimpse Divinity in the dust or, better put, when we see the Divinity of dust and pain and all things and all people unattractive to us, then we've met grace face to face and can be led beyond our blindness to an acceptance of reality as it is, and of God, who is never apart from it.

March

The blue sky is a liar,

traitorous in its nearness

to zero.

Acting as if

it won't send more white

like a heavenly flour sifter,

creating ice impalers,

rendering every vehicle

monotone.
We wait

in warmth

and look out

at the ice

blue sky.

Quote for a Monday Morning

I believe in taking a positive attitude toward the world, toward people, and toward my work. I think I'm here for a purpose. I think it's likely that we all are, but I'm only sure about myself. I try to tune myself in to whatever it is that I'm supposed to be, and I try to think of myself as a part of all of us - all mankind and all life. I find it's not easy to keep these lofty thoughts in mind as the day goes by, but it certainly helps me a great deal to start out this way.

Jim Henson

There's Nothing Wrong With Your Face

I'm a new and devoted fan of singer/songwriter Ani DiFranco (thanks to my daughter knowing me so well). Her new CD has a song called "Present/Infant." I love these lyrics:

Lately I've been glaring into mirrors
picking myself apart
you'd think at my age I'd have thought of
something better to do
than make insecurity into a full-time job
make insecurity into an art

I fear my life will be over
and I will never have lived it unfettered
always glaring into mirrors
mad I don't look better

But now here's this tiny baby
and they say she looks just like me
and she is smiling at me
with that present/infant glee
and I would defend
to the ends of the eath
her perfect right to be

So I'm beginning to see some problems
with the ongoing work of my mind
and I've got myself a new mantra
it says: don't forget to have a good time!
Don't let the sellers of stuff power enough
to rob you of your grace
love is all over the place
there's nothing wrong with your face
love is all over the place
there's nothing wrong with your face

Loud Silence

I turned down the volume of life
to be quiet with God -
for I cannot hear Him

over the din of children in school halls,
the vacuum sucking dirt from my rugs
or the traffic sounds on my daily route.

The only sound was the speaking of my failures
and fears as I curled up in His open hand
to find grace with no language.

What will I do with something
I cannot attach words to?
Stop and wait for His poetry, not mine.

I heard the vocalizing of my tears
as they washed my corneas of the world,
making way for new eyes.

My nativity was at the bedside,
sore knees, leaking nose and a vow to
stop assigning God new jobs and accept
the one He's given me.

Lent in Your Messy House

I have been reading "Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith" by Kathleen Norris. Norris takes faith words, or religious words, and discusses a different one in each chapter. Today is Ash Wednesday so I flipped through for an idea. When I got to "repentance" it seemed to fit. I have always been a Protestant and so giving up something for Lent has never been stressed, but it always seemed to me that giving up something is sometimes viewed as a sort of self-punishment for the sins we've committed during the previous year - or it could be a matter of focus, of not letting that beloved little addiction distract us from the meaning of the days leading up to Easter.

In the "repentance" chapter Norris tells a story of a little boy who wrote a poem called "The Monster Who was Sorry".

He began by admitting that he hates it when his father yells at him; his response in the poem is to throw his sister down the stairs, and then to wreck his room, and finally to wreck the whole town. The poem concludes - " Then I sit in my messy house and say to myself - I shouldn't have done all that." My Messy House says it all: with more honesty than most adults could have mustered, the boy made a metaphor for himself that admitted the depth of his rage and also gave him a way out. If that boy had been a novice in the fourth-century monastic desert, his elders might have told him that he was well on his way toward repentence, not such a monster after all, but only human. If the house is messy, they might have said, why not clean it up, why not make it into a place where God might wish to dwell?

I always think of Lent as a chance to clean up the messy house inside me, but more importantly to remember that God is waiting to be invited into my house every single day whether it's messy or not.

What I Fear

Lightning - the bolt that cracked open
our graceful willow tree with power
to transform it into fuel for campfires.

Sudden sounds - the thunderclap
after the lightning, firecrackers
shooing geese off the neighbor's lawn,
popping balloons, a phone call in the night.

Fire - in the children's ward so long ago
I saw a little boy's charred skin.
Burning leaves in ditches, infernos
that smell like childhood.

Flames haunted my dreams -
dreams of saving
my little brother and sister
as they rolled towards the orange heat.

Wasting time - always in a rush
to accomplish something, leave something behind
with the prescient knowledge
of life's brevity and its immutable end.

I fear - my children making the same
mistakes their parents made,
and I would live in a fiery thundercloud
and be struck by lightning
if I could keep that from happening.

Only Breath

Art by Bruce Holwerda. Poetry by Rumi

Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu

Buddhist, Sufi or zen. Not any religion

or cultural system. I am not from the East

or the West, not out of the ocean or up

from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not

composed of elements at all. I do not exist,

am not an entity in this world or the next,

did not descend from Adam or Eve or any

origin story. My place is placeless, a trace

of the traceless. Neither body nor soul,

I belong to the beloved, have seen the two

worlds as one and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner, only that

breath breathing human being.

Bad News, Very Bad News

I had heard vague whisperings and inferences, but I didn't believe it - couldn't believe it. But now I have read it in black and white from a style reporter - straight from New York Fashion Week (for fall 2009). We're regressing back to the style of the 1980's, and when I use the word regressing I mean it in the worst possible way. Four seemingly innocent words, when put together make me shudder - big hair, shoulder pads. Actually big hair wasn't mentioned, but just the thought of it makes me want to throw up a little bit. I can't even extrapolate my hair into medium let alone big. My only hope in the 80's was a curly perm. I had one good one and 27 bad ones (well, it seemed like that many). Even then I had to bribe and coax my lifeless locks daily to get them to be anything but small hair.

Shoulder pads - I spent an entire decade cutting them out of every piece of clothing I bought. I already have the shoulders of Michael Phelps - no help needed. I collected a whole drawer full of them and then realized I would never be using them and they went in the trash where they belonged.

Let's see, what else was fun about the 80's? Bushy eyebrows? ( I don't even have any eyebrows to speak of), ripped sweatshirts, leg warmers to attractively add to the bulk of your calves, dresses that hit that unflattering mid-calf section, humongous costume jewelry - nope, none if it worked for me then - or now.

Oh well, hopefully this new trend will either stay on the runway or bring back such bad memories that consumers will boycott bringing back the worst fashion decade in history.

PS - don't click on the photo to enlarge unless you like being horrified.

Happy Friday Haiku

You will never trust
as you did when Dad held you
in strong and safe arms

(Happy Birthday Dad!)


This shell, this vessel
can succeed or disappoint
fighting fat daily


Years have come and passed
hands rise to cover her ears
and her weeping eyes

Coexist XX

I have spread my dreams at your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
William Butler Yeats

Paper

I daydream of papercuts
on delicate places
the innocence of the white paper
its purity defies
the pain it can hold
in flat black words
in the slicing of your skin

COEXIST XIX - Forgiveness

This is part of a report from ABC news on February 6, 2009

Man Asks Entire Town for Forgiveness for Racism

Nearly half a century ago, in a very different America, Elwin Wilson and John Lewis met under a veil of violence and race-inspired hate.
Wilson, a young, white Southern man, attacked Lewis, a freedom rider for Martin Luther King, in the "white" waiting room of a South Carolina bus station.
The men had not seen each other again until Tuesday when, with "Good Morning America's" help, Wilson approached Lewis again - this time offering an apology and a chance to relieve a burden he's carried for more than four decades.
"I'm so sorry about what happened back then," Wilson said breathlessly.
"It's OK. I forgive you," Lewis responded before a long-awaited hug.
For Lewis, who in the intervening years became a US representative from Georgia, the apology was an unexpected symbol of the change in time and hearts.
The outburst Wilson said, was just part of a life of hate he led for years.
"I had a black baby doll in the house, and I had a little rope, and I tied it to a limb and let it hang there," he said. Wilson went back to a diner where he threw eggs. He went all around town, apologizing to anyone he may have wronged. Pretty soon, he found out that one of the men he wanted to apologize to was a US representative.
"I never thought this would happen," Lewis told GMA, "It says something about the power of love, of grace, the power of the people being able to say,'I'm sorry' and move on. And I deeply appreciate it. It's very meaningful for me."

On the President's Day I am thinking Abe would be proud too.

Hapy Valentine's Day

These words have been going through my head recently. They are the lyrics to an old Amy Grant song that I have always loved called "Doubly Good to You" (I teared up just typing them. ) I think it can refer to any type of relationship.

If you look in the mirror at the end of a hard day
and you know in you heart you have not lied
and if you gave love freely, if you earned an honest wage
and if you've got Jesus by your side
you can thank the Father for the things that He has done
and thank Him for the things He's yet to do
and if you find someone who's tender
if you find someone who's true
thank the Lord
He's been doubly good to you.

Valentine from the Past

This is a mushy Valentine poem I wrote to my beloved a long time ago but I feel the same way now:

I only knew a Valentine
six years ago
when you became mine

grace revealed
in a burning love
we go in passionate waves

where
were you before
when I thought I knew of love?

now
your arms around me
are life-giving and we have created
memories in the cradle of our united life

even
when you are unaware
my bond and gratitude
are ever-present

then
I asked you to stay
and share the journey with me

now
I feel the same
only more

It's Good to be an American

This was in today's paper:
New Delhi, India

Eight people were killed and their mutilated bodies thrown into a river over a wedding not approved by the couple's families in eastern India, police said Wednesday. Police said fifteen people have been charged with the murders in the Bhagalpur district of the Bihar state. The killings took place during a meeting between families and their supporters, police said. Police found eight bodies, four of them beheaded and others multilated, in a river Tuesday. No arrests had been made. The couple eloped and married against the wishes of their families in January.

God Bless America. 'Nuff said.

My High School Art Teacher and Frank Lloyd Wright

My high school art teacher was Louis Penfield. Mr. Penfield was 6 ft 8 in. tall and kind of a kooky eccentric type. He didn't do a lot of teaching, but he did a lot of art. In class we were mostly allowed to just do our own thing - and Mr. Penfield would do his own thing off in a corner painting in his watercolors. I guess he thought demonstration was the best form of teaching. Every once in a while he'd get up, walk across the room and draw right on what ever I was working on (GRrrrrrr - can't you just TELL me what's wrong with it?) He was cool in that he let us bring in albums to play. I remember a whole year of "Tapestry". Once on a beautiful autumn day he took us to his home to sketch. I remember that he told us that his house was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, but that did not impress me at the time.

Flash forward to this past summer. My book club read a book called "Loving Frank" by Nancy Horan. It's a novel based on one woman's affair with Frank Lloyd Wright. It sparked my interest and I discovered that Mr. Penfield's house can now be rented out for two days at a time. The house was indeed designed by Wright just for Mr. Penfield due to his height. It is one of about 100 Usonian houses and was built in 1955 on 30 wooded acres in Willoughby, Ohio. Only 1800 square feet, it has a floating staircase, a bottleneck entryway and several walls made almost entirely of windows. One might wonder how Mr. Penfield could afford to have a house designed by the renown Wright (specifically designed for his 6'8" height) on 30 acres on a high school teacher salary. I'm not sure, but I do know that Penfield was a prominent family and owned other property in the area.

So, I wish I would've paid more attention all those years ago, and I recommend the book "Loving Frank" too.

For more info go here or here.

Here's Where Things Started Going Wrong. . .

Scroll down to my January 26th poem - this photo could accompany it.

Today

I will return hatred
with love
When I ask myself
am I a spark or an ash
I will turn away
from the ocean of self-doubt
to belief
I will write my birth poems
and sing my praise songs
I will kiss my life
before I sleep this night

I only desire to be known

Coexist XVIII - Differing Viewpoints

This week I received several emails with messages referring to our new president's "evil attempt to impose socialism" on us. I would prefer not to receive these emails and here is why:

1. The campaign is over. Barack Obama is our president.

2. I am one of those who is choosing hope over fear. I have to because in the past eight years my stocks and retirement accounts have greatly diminished, 3.6 million Americans have lost their jobs since December 2007, sons and daughters my own children's ages are traumatized and dying from two wars, our country is eight years behind scientifically (science that my God created in His wisdom), and as a public school teacher I have seen first-hand the devastating effects of No Child Left Behind. I have to hope for something better.

3. No matter what I thought of our last president I constantly reminded my students that, as our president, he was to be respected. Now I get emails disrespecting a president that has been in office a whopping three weeks. Give the guy a chance.

4. You do not have to agree with me, but I don't have to agree with you either. Let's COEXIST and maybe do our part to bring this country back together again.

5. Luke 11:17 Any kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and a house divided against itself will fall.

Coexist XVII - Religions

Today President Obama signed an order establishing a White House office of faith-based initiatives called the Office of Faith-Based and Neighborhood Partnerships. He said that it was proper for the government to be providing help to Americans but the change will not come from government alone. He said the program would not show favoritism to any religious group and would adhere to the separation of church and state.

He said this at the National Prayer Breakfast:

"We know too that whatever our differences, there is one law that binds all great religions together. Jesus told us to 'love thy neighbor as thyself'. The Torah commands 'That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow man." In Islam, there is a hadith that reads 'None of you truly believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself.' And the same is true for Buddhists and Hindus; for followers of Confucious and for humanists. It is, of course, the Golden Rule - the call to love one another; to understand one another; to treat with dignity and respect those with whom we share a brief moment on this Earth."

Even though faith too often has been used "as a tool to divide us from one another," there is no religion in the world that is based on hatred.

COEXIST

Barbeque Anyone?

Maybe lounge on the deck with an ice tea? It's hard to remember all the months we sat in these chairs looking out on the back yard - but it WILL come again - God never fails. I do love the snow , but yeah, it's getting old now. Stay warm my blogging friends.

Proverbs

I have been participating in reading a daily selection from the scriptures and pondering a response to it along with people in my church. It is called Transformation Journal. I have to admit some of the Old Testament was excruciating to read. I had trouble focusing and gleaning from is what I was supposed to. Now I'm up through Isaiah (a beautiful book), Psalms, Proverbs and Ecclesiastes - all poetic writing full of wisdom. Some of it I have not read for a long time and I thought I'd share some favorite Proverbs.

Let your eyes look straight ahead, fix your gaze directly before you. Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. Do not swerve to the right or the left, keep your foot from evil. Proverbs 4:25-27

For wisdom is more precious than rubies and nothing you desire can compare with her. Proverbs 8:11

Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but he who hates correction is stupid. Proverbs 12:1

Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy. Proverbs 14:10

Gray hair is a crown of splendor, it is attained by a righteous life. ( why are we all hiding it then?) Proverbs 16:31

A friend loves at all times. Proverbs 17:17

A fool finds no pleasure in understanding, but delights in airing his own opinions. (Know anyone like that?) Proverbs 18:2

Give me neither riches nor poverty but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise I may have too much and disown you. Proverbs 30:8

Hawking Liquid Rubies

When I got my box of "Liquid Rubies" , I promised myself that I would not be overly sensitive to the fact that many people I know would completely ignore my sense of accomplishment, many would never understand the work that went into it, many would never bother to read one poem. I know this all to be true because I have another book and experienced all this before. But I'm still struggling. I want to share it with people I'm close to because it's a part of me.

Anne Lamott says," Even if only the people in your writing group read your memoirs or stories or novel, even if you only wrote your story so that one day your children would know what life was like when you were a child and you knew the name of every dog in town - still, to have written your version is an honorable thing to have done. Against all odds, you have put it down on paper so it won't be lost. And who knows? Maybe what you've written will help others, will be a small part of the solution. You don't even have to know how or in what way, but if you are writing the clearest, truest words you can find, and doing the best you can to understand and communicate, this will shine on paper like its own little lighthouse. Lighthouses don't go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining."

I need to absorb that message even though I want to say - that's easy for you to say, Anne Lamott, you're a famous writer!

I also understand that most people are afraid of poetry because they think they're not going to get it or don't know anything about it. Many of my poems are small stories or slices of life. Not so hard to comprehend. My little book doesn't look like much, but it represents hundreds of hours of writing and revising, of organizing a cohesive grouping of poems, of researching publishers and mailing out varying collections to suit their needs - and then, finally, after years of learning the craft, being mentored by other poets, years of effort and hope - someone says YES - I love your poetry collection! I will publish it!

Gertrude Stein said, "Everyone who writes is interested in living inside themselves in order to tell what is inside themselves." So I will continue to write, I'm sure, no matter who reads it - or not - and in time I will surrender to that which I do not understand - just as I have so many times on this life journey.

It's Secret Service Life Now, Baby

All this and romance too.

A Happy Birthday

Tomorrow is my birthday. I was going to try to write something profound about it but I think it's all been said. I love this little poem called "A Happy Birthday" so I thought I'd share it. I know I will have a happy birthday because I will celebrate with the people I love.

by Ted Kooser

This evening, I sat by an open window
and read until the light was gone

and the book was no more

than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.

More Haiku!

I always wanted
a circular drive to let
people in - or out.

Some scars are unseen
demons of iniquity
embedded with tears.

Many years gone by
I believe much more in that
which I cannot see.

Deer huddle in snow
silhouetted in stark white
just head and ears show.

She

It starts at eleven,
stripped to the world,
eyes unveiled, set to please.
She is just beginning to feel herself
be something else nice and polite,
a shape shifter in her own skin.
A vacancy at the core
of only what a girl can know.

When fate offers its hand
she grabs on and goes for the ride
in a garden with nothing blooming.
Diminished in the mirror,
acid rain on her face,
scraping skin on the way to
a doubt only a woman knows.

She listens to the songs boiling
and bubbling out of her throat,
reaching out an imperfect arm,
pushed back in private,
melted down in public.
She must be cheerful
as only a woman can be.

Now she's driving her pink car
with a dozen tattooes.
Her primal scream brings relief
from the Kristallnacht in her chest.
She can't be enough of a daughter,
wife, friend, mother, lover.
Enough of all a woman must be.

Painting by Norman Rockwell

Imagine

Today we begin in earnest the work of making sure that the world we leave our children is just a little better than the one we inhabit today. Barack Obama

To All Blogoholics

For centuries, writer have experimented with forms that evoke the imperfection of thought, the inconstancy of human affairs, and the chastening passage of time. But as blogging evolves as a literary form, it is generating a new and quintessentially postmodern idiom that's enabling writers to express themselves in ways that have never been seen or understood before. Its truths are provisional, and its ethos collective and messy. Yet the interaction it enables between writer and reader is unprecedented, visceral, and sometimes brutal. And make no mistake: it heralds a golden era for journalism.

Andrew Sullivan

The Atlantic November 2008

Coexist XVI - A Class on Two Faiths

I found this today in my local newspaper:

Congregation Kol Chadash and Pioneer Memorial Presbyterian Church are offering a joint adult education class, "Jews and Christians: Enhancing our Understanding of Each Other's Beliefs and Practices."

The Class will explore issues such as sin, afterlife, faith, prayer and obligation to improve the world from both faith traditions and ways to work together to strengthen the community.

Our Freedom of Speech

I've listened to President Obama's inaugural address twice. I'm no expert in speeches or politics but my feeling was that he didn't pull any punches - he told it like it is and he said what he wanted to say. Of course, a president or any leader should have the confidence to do just that.

On the way home from work today the radio program was recounting how other world leaders reacted yesterday to our new president and what he had to say. In China Obama's speech was censored when he referenced communism and again when he spoke of those countries that use force to get what they want. I found myself trying to imagine censorship like that in our country - a freedom we so often take for granted.

Last week on Ruth's recommendation I watched a movie called "The Lives of Others". It was set in East Germany in 1984 - not that long ago. The movie was about a writer and his actress girlfriend who were under constant surveillance by the state police for their suspicious creative expressions. Wow. I think that sort of government would lead all of us bloggers to jail eventually.

So today I honor our freedom of speech - the right for a new president to tell the world exactly what he wants to say - the right for clergy to pray exactly what they wanted to pray - the right we all have everyday but rarely recognize. Above is part of Norman Rockwell's "Four Freedoms" - the Freedom of Speech.

Hope and Sizzle

Today is Inauguration Day for Barack Obama. I fancy myself a wordsmith but I was not going to write anything today because what can I say about this national event? This day that has brought "hope and sizzle" to America? I heard that phrase on NPR - so I can't take credit for it, but boy does it describe this day. Only once in my life have I felt a collective patriotism and that was of course after September 11th when every house had a flag flying.

But today, for the first time in my life, I feel a collective HOPE. It's a beautiful feeling. Today all the televisions in the school were on, the children were learning, the teachers we were proud. I have never experienced a school day such as this one. As adults we feel hope for our children and their children today.

Obama is a great orator. He has the gift of inspiring others. This alone will not make him a great president, but it will go a long way in uniting this country, which will in turn bring greatness to our country once again. In his inauguration speech he said that America's greatness is not a given - it is earned.

Obama referenced I Corinthians 13:11-12 When I was a child I talked like a child, I thought like a child. When I became a man I put away childish things. I think he was telling us to put away the past and move forward and that he is able and willing to do that as well.

Well, I have nothing more - just hope and sizzle - God bless America.

Oh, Yes He Did

"I learned to step back and forth between my black and white worlds, understanding that each possessed its own language and customs and structures of meaning, convinced that with a bit of translation on my part the two worlds would eventually cohere."

Barack Obama from Dreams From My Father 1995

A Good Eye

I have been like the little bird
with one good eye.
As I moved to the feeder
to refill the seeds
she didn't see me.
So I poked her purple wing
once, twice.
She hopped about to face me
with her one good eye
then flew away.

Even with two good eyes
I have only seen half
of what can be seen.
But year after year
my callow vision improves,
like veils being lifted away
one by one or
like a foreign language
that sounds like nonsense
until you learn it, speak it
understand its beauty.

The Nature of a Below Zero Day

"Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest but in a rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another." John Muir (naturalist and explorer 1838-1914)

Haiku for a Cold Thursday

Anger at others
who don't believe as you do
is a waste of life

Snow fairies falling
to earth, twinkling satellites
circling in a waltz

Slashes of scarlet
birds in a mass of gray twigs
at rest in the cold

Fear is like trying
to stop a roller coaster
with your bare feet

Coexist XV - Human Love and Commitment

Recently the Cleveland news was filled with the effort by a group of pastors advocating the revocation of a domestic-partner registry, which offers rights to not just gay couples, but heterosexual partnerships as well. They needed 1000 signatures and did not receive those, but did show themselves to be somewhat ignorant of the cause they were fighting. Of course, they used the old biblical passages in support of their crusade against gay rights.

The Cleveland newspaper is often blessed with the voice of reason in Rev. Kenneth W. Chalker, the senior pastor of First United Methodist Church of Cleveland. (makes me proud to be a Methodist) He wrote an excellent article on the confusion between religion and faith and how much damage has been done in the name of religion.

Merriam-Webster dictionary gives two definitions of religion as : 1.scrupulous conformity or 2.a personal set or institutionalized system of religious attitudes, beliefs and practices.

Faith is defined as 1. a firm belief in something for which there is no proof or 2. a belief and trust in and loyalty to God.

See the difference?

The following quotes are from Rev. Chalker's article:

"Pastors who would oppose a domestic-partner registry and work to prohibit any public recognition of committed, loving relationships beyond the confines of a particular religious belief are participating in an act of spiritual tyranny and civic injustice."

"

It is not unlike the pastors 150 years ago who proclaimed the Bible's endorsement of slavery as a legitmate enterprise, argued that there was no valid marriage between slaves, and therefore no reason to recognize loving relationships between slaves or recognize, in a legal way, their children."

"It is not unlike a number of leading pastors in Birmingham, Alabama who joined together in 1963 to give biblically endorsed reasons why the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was out of line and moving too fast with his advocacy for civil rights and the elimination of legal segregation based on race and skin color. It is all the result of confusing religion with faith. Religion, at its worst, has nothing to do with affirming God in life or advocating and making a just society. Religion is a matter of cornering power, categorizing sinners, gentiles, and infidels - all the while arrogantly defending man-made, theological doctrines, catechisms, and all-too-frequent institutional nonsense. It is a terrible trivial pursuit."

Rev. Chalker goes on to suggest that it is taking the Lord's name in vain by using God's name for the religious sanction for our human prejudices. I believe taking the Lord's name in vain is one of the commandments - sexual orientation didn't make the top ten.

An Artist's Work

This is what is written on the inside cover of my chapbook. I'm not sharing it to tell about myself. I share it because I think it refers to all artists of all kinds. Those who pursue creative endeavors rarely receive recognition or understanding for the years of effort it takes to perfect any type of craft. (only actors get that)And we almost never can make a living at the thing we really love doing. People only see the finished product. We are bombarded by so much every day. Do we ever stop to think about the talents it took to create a unique ad in a magazine? Or the years of work it took to practice painting with oils or watercolors? Or write a book? Create a beautiful piece of clothing? I dedicate this to all the artists who continue to share what they've been given with the world around them.

Publisher's Position Statement on the Value of Poetry Arts

This chapbook is limited edition fine art from the poet Diane Vogel Ferri whose work you support for a few cents a page. You are not buying paper and printer's ink by weight. You selected language art that took as long to create as paintings or other fine art. Pudding House caters to those who understand the value of the poet's good work. We are in business to expand reputations rather than to assure profits for our press. Manuscripts are chosen on the basis of their contribution to literary arts and to the popular culture. On behalf of a large community of contemporary poets, this poet in particular, independent and small press publishing, and Pudding House publications, thank you for supporting this good work.

Stella in the Snow

Stella bounded out this morning for her usual sniff-fest - but finding the scents covered in snow, and having a little trouble navigating the drifts - she decided to hang out under a table where the snow wasn't quite as deep.

Wisdom in Decoupage

Anyone remember decoupage? It was back when knick-knacks and brick-a-brack were somehow important and popular. I worked in a gift shop for many years in high school and college. It was filled with a lot of unnecessary but attractive stuff. I kind of miss having gift shops around to give you ideas of unnecessary stuff to give people. Anyway! On January 3rd I wrote about opening up an old cedar chest after many years. In it I found a whole lot of wooden plaques I'd either painted or decoupaged some wisdom on. Lots of corny stuff, but I thought this one was still worth sharing:

Live each day to the fullest. Get the most from each hour, each day, and each age of your life. Then you can look forward with confidence and back without regrets.

Be yourself - but be your best self. Dare to be different and to follow your own star. And don't be afraid to be happy. Enjoy what is beautiful. Love with all your heart and soul. Believe that those you love, love you.

Forget what you have done for your friends and remember what they have done for you. Disregard what the world owes you, and concentrate on what you owe the world.

When you are faced with a decision, make that decision as wisely as possible - then forget it. The moment of absolute certainty never arrives.

And above all, remember that God helps those who help themselves. Act as if everything depended on you, and pray as if everything depended upon God.

S.H.Payer

LIQUID RUBIES is published!!!

My poetry chapbook, "Liquid Rubies" arrived on my doorstep today and I had to share my good news. I will post information about ordering it as soon as I can. I will warn you that they are not pretty poems. The term "Liquid Rubies" comes from the notion of the blood we shed and the scars we accumulate in this life here on earth. Here is a poem included in this collection:

Deliverance

In the womb my blood sifted into her, through
the portal she was resurrected into hands, arms, light.

Rivers of blood followed her out of my body
for days my cowardly legs refused the sanitary corridors.

Transfused with exotic plasma
God lifted my veil to see

a new body, a new world and my lifeblood
in her innocent earlobes and unscarred knees.

It was Mother's Day as it has been
ever since the bloodletting.

As a child I told my mother
I loved her so much it was red,

red as the sight of liquid rubies
coming from nose and toes until

it was my daughter and I bleeding
in the same space, two women.

Now we walk the New York streets and my love
for her is as red as the blood she owns or

my relentless bloodletting
letting go.

Why I Love Sad Songs

It's the 50th anniversary of Motown! While reading an article about this momentous occassion :) I thought about how much I loved Motown songs starting from about fifth grade on. I had big posters of the Supremes on my bedroom walls for quite some time. I thought about some of my favorite songs and yes, they were mostly sad songs. I need to feel something to really enjoy a song. The lyrics are paramount (now anyway, when I was eleven I didn't have a clue.) Some of my favorites were "I Wish it Would Rain" and "Since I Lost My Baby" by the Temptations. "Love Child" and "Reflections" by the Supremes, "Tracks of my Tears" and "Ooh Baby, Baby" by Smoky Robinson. All tear-jerkers.

Back then (in ancient times) I never thought about any cultural differences. Even though I didn't really know any black people in my childhood, these singers were my idols. They brought the best songs to a Junior High heart - simple, catchy, easy to sing along to.

So this may explain why I love sad songs. I like to cry or commiserate right along with the singer. I like to know that I'm not the only one who's felt that way. It's cleansing.

I dug out a few of my albums and 45's (Yeah, I'm old) for your viewing pleasure. Or if you're old like me - a nice memory.

Sailor Boy

This is a poem I wrote for my son this Christmas.

The boat sways restlessly,

silent and shackled to a bollard,

the white sails furled and still.

Water laps indifferently at the hull

as the yellow-clad boy lovingly releases

the boat from its confinement and from

what anchors his spirit to the immovable land.

He feels a heartbeat in the water,

a drumming rhythm in the waves.

A true wind blows as he tacks through sea spray.

The mast aims at heaven,

the bow points to tomorrow.

The God of the wind mightily pulls

the sails through the summer air and

sends protection from the power of the sea.

This is the vessel that carries all

boyhood freedom dreams,

the unknown world and all its tears.

It is here the boy becomes a man.

As he comes about to see eternity on the horizon.

He owns his place in the universe.

The young man turns and looks towards the stern

and understands in the boat's wake

is winter - and all that he will leave behind.

My Two Lives

The cedar chest sat in the dusty back corner of the crawl space for many years. Nothing in particular brought it to my mind, but after all this time it was unburied, pulled out and set in the light of an eastern window to breathe again. I lovingly wiped off the cobwebs and dust and opened the heavy tapestry-like lid.

One by one I unwrapped the 1996 newspaper from each item. That was the year I left my first life and started my second one. Commemorative glassware from long-ago proms, a family photograph of a now partially intact family, Grandma's figurines, remnants of my multiple craft attempts - needlepoint, cross-stitch, decoupage, my painted wooden plaques. I wound up a music box and it played "My Favorite Things " as I uncovered engraved baby plates for my daughter and my son, and other small mementos I'd made and that had hung in their bedrooms for so long.

I sat in the midst of crumpled newspaper and piles of my old life and wept, overwhelmed at trying to reconcile my two lives with each other. I wept at having no one with which to share these memories. These items, that are without monetary value, I had put away literally and figuratively for far too long.

Be Patient with Yourself

One of my favorite, most profound and thoughtful beautiful bloggers is Fran. Today she posted a great quote for the new year. As we try to make resolutions one of the frequent results of making promises to ourselves is often disappointment, followed by beating ourselves up, followed by lowered self-esteem. Who needs that?

Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them - every day begin the task anew. St. Francis de Sales

For a lovely new year's inspirational post go HERE.

Happy New Year 2009

The word January comes from the Roman god Janus - the god of gates, doors and beginnings, so on this January 1st I wish you open gates and doors to all you wish for - and for all that you have not yet known that awaits you. I was inspired yesterday while watching a woman on TV who had lost her husband and two-year old son in a plane crash. To move on with her life she said she stopped seeing only what was taken from her and started seeing what she had been given. She had had a great marriage and the joy of a son for two years - something, she said, that others had never been given. If we could do that everyday I'm sure we would all truly have a happy new year.

And especially for my writing friends as we struggle along with our passion for words, sometimes misunderstood and lonely on our quest - T.S. Eliot said "For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning." Yes, there are endless words and language waiting for us this year.

And one more quote from Marcel Proust:

"The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

I love that one - having new eyes. I am not going to resolve to lose five pounds or exercise more this year - I am going to try to have new eyes to all that is around me.

Happy, happy new year to all. Thank you for reading this blog and for your always kind and encouraging comments.

The Phenomenon of Blogging Friends

I am grieving today for a woman I never met. A friend I never saw. We linked each others' blogs and encouraged each other. I sensed her inner beauty and saw her amazing talents on my computer screen. She had a keen eye for the quirky and an ability to mix beauty and humor. Sometimes I'd click on her name just to see the title photo at the top of her blog which I thought was the coolest photo ever. But she is gone now.

While browsing through my favorite blogs yesterday I read about her but didn't even know her real name - just Liquid Illuzion. (click to see yourself) At Writing in Faith I discovered that on Christmas Eve a blogger shot herself. Sandy wrote an eloquent post about suicide. I clicked on the link and it was Liquid Illuzion. I clicked off - there must be a mistake - I clicked on it again. She had posted a humorous photo on Christmas Eve and then shot herself? Then I found other bloggers who had dedicated their posts to Suzanne Horne since last week. I cried. I wondered why. I didn't even know her, but this blogging phenomenon makes us friends. I know more about some of you out there than some of the people I see every day. You know more about me than many people who see me everyday too, I'm sure. But if we are to take the joy of our blogging community then we must endure the sorrow also.

Good-bye Liquid Illuzion - good-bye Suzanne. I can truly say I will miss you and the beauty you brought to the world. I wish you would have seen the beauty yourself.

Vandals

No one would choose to be gay
I heard him say, I'm surprised I lived through
my adolescence.

An abandoned child remains in neglect
in lieu of two moms or two dads that love.

Why would someone escape their own beautiful island
into the sinking boat of a cloistered world

of vandalism and horse blinders, of rosy
perceptions and boomerang standards,

while the poverty of minds and imaginations
that sacked Rome in AD 455 still lives on?

Who can be a mouthpiece for the ages?
In the bathtub don't we all sit in our own dirt?

Paper can spiral ashes from the fire,
but words can live on in their infamy.

You can try to sew up the wound with
catgut thread, but you still killed the cat.

Coexist XIV- Social Situations

You can probably tell by the name of this blog that I am not confortable with conflict or confrontation. Coexisting appeals to me, in part, because I lived through a few horrific years of conflict and rage. In those years I became quite adept at expressing my anger, then I learned, I grew and I had to depend on God's healing to go on living a productive life. I intend to never go there again. I had to be done with anger.

Judgment is often a precursor to conflict. It is difficult to be at peace when your mind is focused on the weakness, opposing opinions or wrongdoings of other. This year I found it difficult to deal with those that had vehement political beliefs that I did not share. I was completely okay with their beliefs, but they weren't okay with mine. I did not voice my opinions in order to avoid the conflict or hurt feelings it may have caused.

I'm not sure that was a good solution. How do you deal with social situations when people are critical or judgmental of you, what you believe, or what you choose to do with your life? When you are constantly hearing pejorative remarks about yourself and your interests - how do you react? I am always blindsided by comments like you must have too much time on your hands or you need to get a life or something else that infers that my interests in writing, blogging or any other creative endeavor I choose to pursue is a waste of time. I feel foolish when I have no comeback for these comments even though it happens at every get-together. I don't anticipate being put-down because I do not concern myself with what others choose to do with their life.

At work I often encounter teachers that compare how much work others have or how hard (or not) they are working. I never think about what another teacher is doing - I have enough to worry about with my own job, let alone someone elses! I assume everyone is doing their best.

In these social situations (that I hope to enjoy) I suppose I can continue to take the negative comments that feel like a slap in the face and turn the other cheek for the next slap. But I have a relentless and annoying need to understand why. Am I offensive in some way? Are they trying to boost themselves up by putting me down? Is it a joke and I don't get the punch line? Do they truly think so little of me? Any advice out there in the blogosphere?

Coexisting includes allowing others to have differing opinions and not be enraged by them. Coexisting allows others to make their own life choices without judging them. I certainly have not always lived up to these standards, but the older I get the easier it seems to let others be as they are. It is not my concern. Jesus accepted, befriended and loved the sinners in His path with no conditions. I am not even close to that ideal, but I am working on it. I find that allowing others to have their own opinions and live the way they see fit is freeing. I no longer carry the burden of judgment. That is God's job, not mine. And His world would be a boring place if we all did and thought alike.

During the Presidential campaign, the reporters could not wait to get Obama's comments on the newly revealed pregnancy of Sarah Palin's unwed teenage daughter - I loved and admired his comment, which I think is the essence of coexisting, even in competition when he could have slammed the Palin family.

He simply said - "My mother had me when she was eighteen years old."

That's coexisting peacefully.

The Prophecy of Isaiah

During the Christmas season my church choir did two selections from Handel's Messiah. As a first soprano and classical choral music lover singing this is a always a real joy and thrill for me, and always has been. Not only could I sing Messiah selections all year long and be a happy camper but I am continually amazed at the text. Of course Handel did not write the text - it is all from the book of Isaiah. Messiah tells the life of Jesus, taken from Isaiah, which was written about 700 years before the birth of Christ. Really. Read it again and be amazed.

He grew up like a tender root out of dry ground.

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,

nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

He was despised and rejected by men,

a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering...

Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows,

yet we considered him stricken by God,

smitten by him and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,

he was crushed for our iniquities;

the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,

and by his wounds we are healed.

We all, like sheep have gone astray

each of us has turned to our own way;

and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.

He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth,

he was led like a lamb to the slaughter.

For Unto Us a Child is Born

"A Christmas Story" House!

If you watch any of the 24 hours of "A Christmas Story" on TBS tonight or tomorrow you will see this house located on the near west side of Cleveland. We finally got over there to see it yesterday, but we picked the day it was closed! I really just wanted to see the outside anyway. You can see the leg lamp in the window of course. Across the street there is a museum and gift shop as well. For more info check my December 19 post. You can click on the photos for a better look. Merry Christmas and if you get a BB gun don't shoot your eye out!

Disruption

Conceived in a scandal, born in a barn,
Jesus disrupts and disturbs fallow lives.

He offended his people by breaking their rules,
bringing not peace but a sword

to vanquish the old ways, to unshackle the laws.
He was a dissident, an insurgent, a dent in the world.

Some who'd awaited God's final word
were disappointed, insulted, outraged.

There was no throne, just a stumbling stone
no peace before or after that day.

Your waiting is ended this Christmas morn,
a soul choice is His unending gift.

He is here. All is changed.
Now in silence He waits for you.

Robert Shaw Chorale

It is not Christmas morning if I do not hear a certain hymn. "Break Forth O Beauteous Heavenly Light" from "The Many Moods of Christmas" by the Robert Shaw Chorale.

Break forth O beauteous heavenly light
and usher in the morning;
Ye shepherds shrink not with afright,
But hear the angel's warning.
This child now weak in infancy,
Our confidence and joy shall be.
The power of Satan breaking,
Our peace eternal making.

I thought the piece was written by J.S.Bach, but on closer inspection I see that he wrote the harmonies - which are gorgeous. Johann Schop wrote the melody. The song just sounds like Christmas to me, but beyond that I am reminded of singing with the great Robert Shaw in 1990. Robert Shaw is considered to be the most influential choral conductor in American history. I had heard about him all my life from my mother who sang with the Mendelssohn Chorus in Pittsburgh under Shaw's direction. Growing up I heard the music of his chorale and stories about the amazing and charismatic man he was.

In 1990 I was singing in the summer version of the Cleveland Orchestra Chorus - The Blosson Festival Chorus. I actually lost count of how many years I sang with them in the summers. (14-15 I think!) It was a great thrill to sit behind the Cleveland Orchestra, long thought to be one of the greatest in the world, and to sing with many guest conductors. Not only did I meet Mr. Shaw (and get his autograph) that summer we did my favorite choral work with him - Brahm's German Requiem. It was an experience I will never forget. My mother was thrilled that I had the experience as well, of course.

The Many Moods of Christmas is the quintessential Christmas album. It was originally recorded in 1963, but you can still buy it today. Click on both of his names above to learn more.

Cleveland Christmas Memories

In the first half of the twentieth century Cleveland was a well established major city, endowed with the cultural arts thanks to people with names like Rockefeller. Christmas was a magical time. I grew up in a village in the eastern suburbs about 20 miles from the city, but it seemed like another world. In the city I saw people with different skin color than mine for the first time. The gaseous fumes from buses was foreign to me. My mother and I would venture downtown on the "rapid transit" and visit my great-aunt Irene who worked at The May Company, which later became Kaufman's and now Macy's. Sadly, all the downtown department stores are now gone. Back then the store windows would display elaborate Christmas scenes with moving figures. At The May Company I remember being relegated to a children's playroom so my mom could shop.

Higbee's was another department store. Established in 1929, it became Dillard's in 1992. Higbee's was a store with wooden escalators and revolving doors. It had a well-loved restaurant called The Silver Grille. It was THE place to see Santa. At Twigbee's, children could do their own shopping. But the best thing was to see Mr. Jingaling! Mr. Jingaling was a Cleveland Christmas institution for 25 years. His real name was Earl Keyes, which is ironic because Mr. Jingaling was the keeper of Santa's keys. Not only could you visit him on Halle's seventh floor (the other big store), but you could receive a coveted cardboard key. I still have one stashed in a trunk somewhere. Mr. Jingaling would come on the local TV station every evening during the season, so he was a celebrity.

I still remember his song -

Mr. Jingaling, how you tingaling

Keeper of the keys

On Halle's seventh floor

We'll be looking for

You to turn the key.

We still saw him occasionally until his death in 2000. Once I saw him in a store and practically had a conniption. My children were with me, but were completely unimpressed by the weird looking dude.

If you watch "The Christmas Story" this season you will see Higbee's prominently featured in the movie. Part of the movie was filmed on Public Square in Cleveland and you can go to see "The Christmas Story" house which is now a public attraction in an area called Tremont. (I was hoping to report first-hand, but I haven't made it there yet.) There was a "Christmas Story"convention in town a few weeks ago and 4000 people traipsed through the house to see the leg lamp.

From 1909 to 1968 there was another large store called Sterling Lindner. Every year it would put up a Christmas tree that was purported to be the largest in the nation. Another must-see. Other attractions from childhood included the lighting display on Public Square and at Nela Park (the GE plant). My dad made sure we had an annual trek in the station wagon to see all the lights.

These are a big part of my Christmas memories and I know they are to others my age as well. The magic existed because there weren't a lot of special things the rest of the year. My childhood was somewhat prosaic and normal, so an animated store window was something special. Making an effort to go all the way downtown to see the one and only Santa was so believable. Meeting Santa's helper in person - priceless!

I don't want to sound like an old fart, but I wonder what is special to children now? They don't have to wait in anticipation all year to see Rudolph or Frosty - they own them on DVD. Animations and special effects are a part of their everyday lives. Maybe - I hope - there are magical experiences to replace the ones we had. I know nothing stays the same - but sometimes I wish it would.

For the Love of Winter

My abundance is in winter.

I dwell in the peace

of the silent snow,

sitting by the yellow

light of a lamp

with a blanket and a book,

or comfortably close

to him on the love seat.

I find joy in the lack of humidity and

the offensive noise of lawn mowers.

I feel happy covering my homely limbs

with sweaters and jeans instead

of sticky sunscreen and sweat,

and I am justified drinking another hot tea.

There is beauty in the stark outline

of trees and squirrels against whiteness,

or watching my little dog sniff deer tracks

and race inside with a snowy nose.

To come out of the quiet cold

into the warmth of a home,

to hear the furnace kick on,

to snuggle up to a warmer body

under chilly bedsheets

is the abundance of winter.

Angels I Have Seen on Google - and Karen Carpenter

I painted these angels as gifts for my friends, but they're so cute I want to keep them! Here's something weird: the photo to the right - the one of the angel with a trumpet? I painted that. It's sitting, as we speak, on my shelf just as I photographed it last year and put it on my blog last year. Recently I was looking up Christmas pictures on Google Images and there was my angel! In my house! And I didn't put it there! How did it get there? Weird.

Here's a random Christmas memory. When I was very young - fourteen to be exact - I had a boyfriend and we were deeply in love. :) God knew I was getting in too deep and had the boy's parents move him to Albuquerque, New Mexico that autumn. That Christmas, my singing idol, Karen Carpenter had a popular song - Merry Christmas, Darling come out. If you have lived in America for more than a year I'm sure you're familiar. It's a beautiful song sung by an amazing talent. Well, every time I hear it, even all these years later, I think of that sweet boyfriend, Doug. I remember spending a lot of time that Christmas season in my bedroom sitting by my little electric heater crying my eyes out and singing " I've just one wish on this Christmas Eve, I wish I were with you - I wish I were with you...." I can still remember how that felt. How unfair to have him taken from me - how unfair to have that song come out that same Christmas! If, for some reason, you've never heard it click HERE.