Beverly blogs

Anointing

2011-04-13T10:55:00.002-05:00

Last weekend Girl Scouts put a small green plastic bag on my front door. It’s time for April Showers—when the Girl Scouts collect personal care items and turn them over to food pantries for distribution. Personal care items like toothpaste, soap, shampoo, hand lotion etc. are not eligible to be paid by food stamps, and so this annual collection is our opportunity to help the pantries fill up their shelves.

Yesterday I shopped to fill my green bag. I bought some bath soap and toothpaste, then decided to add some hand lotion to my collection. I am always amused by how many different brands of lotions are now available for purchase. How does one choose? By fragrance? By product promises? By attractive packaging? I stood in front of the shelves filled with lotions and creams for hands, feet, face, really the whole body, and wondered which one I should get. Admittedly I did think to myself, “Just get the least expensive, it will be fine.”

As soon as that thought passed through me, I remembered a conversation I had just been a part of earlier in the day. With colleagues I had been discussing the Maundy Thursday Liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer. We shared stories of anointing and washing feet, and in some cases having our feet washed. We talked about the blessing we feel at being able to wash another’s feet, and having a stranger or friend wash ours. Several mentioned that they were going to add a component of anointing with fragrant oil the feet that were washed. And we also shared various experiences in congregations with those who do not at all what to have their feet washed—by anyone.

As I stood trying to choose a brand of lotion, I realized that whatever lotion I purchased and then donated was an opportunity to anoint the end user of the product. Perhaps it was my way to extend the blessings I feel on Maundy Thursday to a few I will never meet. Perhaps I could share a time of refreshment for some whose struggles to keep food on the table may afford little time for herself. So I chose Jergens, the cherry almond scent, because this is the brand my mother used when I was growing up. After applying the lotion in the evening my mother would come into my room and kiss me goodnight, and that scent—that cherry almond scent—reminds me, transports me to those moments of love and affection.

I will never meet the ones who use the lotion, the ones who tenderly massage their hands with cherry almond and then perhaps kiss their children. On Saturday I will put the bag of personal care items on my porch and smile at the Scouts who pick them up. Then I’ll put a dab of lotion on my hands and remember that in scent and touch God is also present working the universe into softness.

Fall splendor

2010-11-09T09:48:00.001-06:00

Of the many gifts of our new home in St. Louis, this red maple is one of them. Its color is not reflected in the picture, which is only an image of the true beauty the tree radiates. This tree more than makes up for the pesky sweet gum, which is shedding spiky balls over our front yard!

Autumn, that quirky season during which we wake up in 40 degree weather and end the day in the low 80s. Indian summer, “they” call it. In any case, this year the maples are outstanding examples of natural color, and I’ll be sorry to see them go for another year.

Road trip 2010

2010-08-07T09:33:00.003-05:00

We left home about 7:15a.m. on July 31st headed for Oklahoma City. It was a long drive, yet easy. We are “seeing the USA in a Chevrolet.” The Impala is comfortable, and drives like our Malibu. Before we left, Louie and Phoebe hung around looking sad. I kept reassuring them that they were not being taken to the “spa,” however it seemed to do no good.
Lunched in Joplin, Missouri at Wendy’s to the background of Jesus music. West Missouri is beautiful. Lush. Oklahoma is much drier. It cost us $8 to pay the toll fees. AAA had not warned us about that! We crossed the Arkansas river, passed a coal train and finally arrived at our destination about 3:30p.m. After some time to relax, we went out for dinner at Iguana’s. Good Mexican food. Colorful atmosphere. I need to remember that ordering Mexican food with peppers in this area might mean a fiery meal!
On Sunday morning we left early for Albuquerque. Very warm day. Left Oklahoma and crossed into the Texas panhandle. I understand now what Wayne Smith means when he says that if you stand on a tuna can you can see 100 miles. The panhandle is a spacious, open, flat. Many wind farms, sunflowers, cattle dot the scenery. Again we lunched at Wendy’s to the background of Jesus music. What is this about??? The scenery changed as we crossed into New Mexico—mesas, scrub, then mountains and rain. Enjoyed a very nice dinner at Pelicans. Mike’s treat.
On Monday we left early for a long days’ drive to the north rim of Grand Canyon National Park. We did gain an hour, because the Park does not observe daylight savings time. Arrived about 4:30p.m. Hoards of people. Checked in to our lodge rooms. Really wished we were in a cabin, however since it is difficult to get reservations in the Lodge, I am thankful for our room. It is smallish and adequate. Hey, it has a coffee maker and we brought our coffee, so what else could we possibly want! Mike is a little annoyed that the property is not taken better care of, however this is my idea of camping—rustic with indoor plumbing.
Could not get into the dining room—packed for the evening, so we ended up eating on the large porch on the southwest side of the Lodge. Enjoyed a lovely sunset and simple dining fare, which can be ordered to be eaten there. Peter has roast chicken, I had grilled vegetables. It was coolish and delightful. Many families were ordering pizza from the deli and enjoying the moment as were we. Clearly the seats to have are along the rim of the porch. We were lucky to have a table in the back area. On the rim the view is unobstructed. Sunset is a gorgeous time to be outside. On Tuesday evening Peter and I were lucky to find rocking chairs on the rim and we sat for a long time just enjoying the air, the quiet, the gracefulness of the diminishing light.
On Tuesday, August 3rd I was up at 6a.m. Put on my walking shoes, long pants and a sweater and took my mug of coffee out to the porch. From there I walked to an overlook. Gasp—me on an overlook—where I stood for some time watching the light of day return. All I could think of was “O Lord, how wonderful are your works in all the world.” The view is spectacular. It is peaceful and quiet, and so many people are in awe that there is not a lot of unnecessary chatter. I walked the Bright Angel Trail and then joined Peter for breakfast. We had a rim table on the eastern side of the dining room.
Later that morning Mike and I drove about 24 miles so we could walk the short path to view Angels Window and then we hiked the Cape Final trail, which is 4 miles round trip. I am feeling all of my 63 years. The Cape Royal trail, which one walks to see Angel’s Window, is paved and about 1.2 miles round trip. It has a fabulous overlook from which one can see the Colorado River. I have come a long way since 6th grade, when the Hansens, my girl scout troop leaders, and my sister girl scouts had to coax me over the narrow path that leads to Green Peak in the Waianae mountain range! Did not see any wildlife, did see a turkey print and heard a branch fall in the forest. Trail to Cape Final was very rocky, and we later found out that there had been a flash flood in that area over the weekend.
Which reminds me that today I heard that over the weekend the canyon had been socked in, and no one could see anything. There were many angry tourists, which, I guess, is why we noticed a sign at the park entrance that said, “No refunds for bad weather.”
A bit of trivia. If one occupant of the car coming into the park is 62 years or older, an unlimited pass to all the national parks can be purchased for $10. Woohoo, something good out of older age!
After Cape Final, I dropped Mike off so that he could hike the North Kaibob trail. There was not going to be any way I could do that. Later I picked him up at the trail head, and he said it was an awesome hike, but challenging because of the change of altitude. Let me just say here that all of us notice that walking up hill at this elevation of about 8200 feet. We walk just a bit more slowly when going up stairs and trails!
I am not as sore today as I thought I would be, though when on the longer hike yesterday I could feel that my body is changing. Arthritis taking its toll. No wonder so many older people go on cruises when they vacation—nothing much expected other than sitting on lounge chairs and eating! I do like the level of activity offered in the park.
Up early again today. Took my coffee and found a rock out on the Bright Angel Point trail on which to park myself for some moments of solitude and quiet. In some way I feel time moves more slowly here, because when the sun rises or sets there is a gradual change of light over the canyon. The canyon drifts slowly toward light or darkness.
Later—I dropped Mike off so that he could do the Widforss Trail, which is 10 miles round trip. Later I drove back to do some of the trail, did not think I could do the whole hike! Beautiful trail—some rocky uphill and then lovely meadows of fragrant wildflowers. Fortunately I was able to pick up a good smallish branch to use for a walking stick, which I needed for hiking back down the steep steps carved out of stone. Again, it was a beautiful day. Not too warm. Mike and I got back to the lodge about 1:30p.m. and had a bite to eat before spending the afternoon relaxing and repacking for the next leg of our journey.

The Help

2010-07-23T17:49:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I finished The Help, Kathryn Stockett’s wonderful first novel. I wept as I read through the last pages. In a few small ways I also lived this story. I remember my grandparents’ Louise and Glennie. It has occurred to me that my dad was probably raised by an “Aibilene.” Most likely the fried chicken recipe I have always known as my grandmother’s, was not hers, but some recipe from the past, shared through the years by the help that would come and go. I am amazed that the recipe in the book is the same as the recipe I learned, except I do not soak the chicken in milk. Oh but I do use Crisco, even for chocolate chip cookies!

Louise (I am acutely aware that I never knew hers or Glennie’s last names) was Gramma’s maid through a lot of her life in Barnwell, South Carolina. Glennie was the man that came into Gramps’ and Gramma’s home after Gramp’s stroke. He took care of Gramps every day but Sunday. He was a tall patient man of few words. He and Louise ate together in the kitchen. I remember the loving care he gave my grandfather for many years, and I am ashamed I knew so little about him. In some ways Louise and Glennie were fixtures in my grandparents’ home. Louise could cook, and the noon meal, dinner in that house, was always a good meal. Before she would leave for the day, Louise would fix and leave supper in the refrigerator. The main meal was at noon—always hot, always served with iced tea, always on a beautifully set table. I remember that on one of our visits Louise cut herself and my sister Jane, who was quite young at the time, commented that her blood was the same color as ours! My dad told that story for years.

I was born in Columbia, South Carolina. In 1948 we moved to Honolulu, Hawaii, my mother’s hometown. I was a year old. Visits to Barnwell began in 1952 or so, and ended when I graduated college in 1969. I well remember the first time I saw two water fountains in the airport in Augusta, Georgia—one for white people and one for colored people. Same for the bathrooms. I was probably five years old, and it was surprising, because coming from Hawaii, I had never ever seen anything like that before. When my father took a 3 month sabbatical from Bishop Trust, we spent the entire time in Barnwell and I attended a segregated school. I do not remember questioning anything having to do with the way things were in the South. Yet if one looks at all my primary school class pictures one will see that my best friend and I and one other girl were the only white children in the class. All the others were Japanese, Chinese and Korean.

The book brought back some of the feelings I experienced when I read To Kill a Mockingbird and saw Driving Miss Daisy, feelings of helplessness, loss, frustration, anger, rage, disbelief and sorrow. Sadly racism still exists in the world. Hawaii was not perfect, not at all, but at least I was given the sense that many people of many races could work together, albeit with friction from time to time. The Help is a good story, but it is very surprising that it has not won an award. I wonder what that is about.

The trip to Hawaii

2009-09-12T18:42:00.003-05:00

Thank God for the tradewinds in Hawaii!

I’ve been in Honolulu for two days, and every time I walk outside I have been refreshed by the winds that grace this state. Here I am for the 85th birthday of my mother and it is turning out to be just the best visit ever!

The scents of Hawaii surround me every time I take my morning walk: plumeria, car exhaust, huli huli chicken, ginger blossoms and on and on. There is no feeling in the world like the feeling of morning in Hawaii.

The weather has been beautiful! Each morning I have started my walk at 6:30a.m. Near to Fernhurst, the Y facility for women close to Punahou School is near a coffee shop on the corner of Kewalo and Wilder. I get my coffee and continue down Keeaumoku to Beretania, where I turn left. At Punahou Street I turn left again and make my way to Arcadia, where my mom lives. She and I have breakfast together. Today I had fresh papaya and an apple banana. Heaven. I am very grateful the coffee shop because at Fernhurst coffee may not be taken out of the dining room! On the first morning I was here I was so desperate for caffeine I wanted to open up my veins and just have it pumped in! Not good.

Yesterday we all went to lunch at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Fondly known in Hawaii as the Pink Lady. Read about it here: http://www.royal-hawaiian.com. The Royal has been renovated and refurbished. We were not all that impressed. Jane, one of my sisters, and I checked out the bathroom across from the Monarch Room and were very disappointed. When we were young and our mom was dancing in the Junior League Follies, we would play at the Royal during rehearsals. At some point we would go into the ornate and beautiful ladies’ bathroom and be totally impressed. Now it is very ordinary; we are sad. Apparently many old timers and kamaainas are disappointed in the rehab. As a friend said, “They are taking the Hawaii out of Hawaii.” What will the tourists do? Diamond Head at noon on September 11, 2009:

Here are some of the pictures from our lunch. Lucky Claire, one of the CNAs at Arcadia got to come with us—I am sure her co-workers are jealous—and she took one of the pictures.

I just finished lunch after having my haircut by the stylist who cut my hair for over 20 years. She brought over manapua, pork hash, and peanut candy. To that we added poi (pounded taro root with water), lomi salmon (king salmon bits, tomato and onion), and ahi sesame poke (raw fish with a little sesame oil and soyu). The best meal I have since arriving!

Tonight Jane, Nancy and Scott, and I are going to the Punahou Kamehameha football game. Punahou is our high school, yes the same school that our President, Barak Obama graduated. Should be a good game, each school always fields good teams and I will especially enjoy hearing the Kamehameha Alma Mater, which was always my favorite of all the schools.

I am glad to be in Hawaii for my mom’s birthday, I love to visit, but do not want to live here anymore. Its fun reconnecting with my sisters and doing what I can for my mom. Have seen some good old friends and will see a few more tomorrow and Monday. For now, I’m relaxing in mother’s apartment and we are watching the University of Hawaii football game. Jane arrives any minute now!

A holiday in Iowa City

2009-08-13T12:32:00.005-05:00

By Sunday afternoon I was ready to move to Iowa City! Peter and I had had a good visit with Sam, and this time we really got to see more of the town than we had before. As usual we stayed at the Holiday Inn Express in Coralville—which, by the way, provides an awesome hot breakfast! Even if Sam did not live there, I would like that town—it has good hospitals, an awesome Farmers’ Market, a Food Co-op, and a great bookstore—Prairie Lights, which also sells the most wonderful coffee. http://www.prairielights.com/

Coralville, adjacent to Iowa City, is a shopping Mecca for the area—the Dillard’s store is one I really like, because it is all on one level. There are several knit shops—one in which I found the size 17 needles I needed. There are good restaurants; good parks, and all would be perfect if it were not for the fact that winter can be a real bear.

Anyway, we enjoyed our holiday. Did I mention that we also went to church at Trinity in Iowa City, where Sam currently attends? http://www.trinityic.org/ We enjoyed lunch with the associate rector, Raisin Horn (Rector Mel Schlacter was away) after worshipping in the parish hall—Trinity is currently engaged in a huge rebuilding project—we ate lunch at Atlas—delicious Thai chicken salad and then drove back home. http://www.atlasiowacity.com/ Raisin is also the college chaplain for UI. She was great to talk to, knows Bp. Smith from the old days, and is a 3 time deputy to General Convention. I have to say I am really happy that Sam has found a church.

At the Farmer’s market on Saturday morning we ran into Sam’s adviser, Bonnie. We had never met her and were glad for the opportunity. She is cool.

There is just plain abundance at that market. This year I went to the Cupcake Lady and purchased a carrot cupcake with the softest of cream cheese frostings. Yum. Then I found the chard and so also purchased some new potatoes and red onions and cooked “Gary’s Chard” for dinner. We had it along with grass fed New York steaks from the coop, and I guess I am not a fan of “grass fed”—the flavor seemed off to me, not spoiled, just different.

After the Farmer’s market we ate lunch at the Hamburg Inn #2—where lots of Democratic Party candidates like to hang out during primary season. The restaurant is an experience—if you go, take care not to lop off your head when you go down the stairs to the bathroom! http://www.hamburginn.com/

Sam did take us on a flood tour of the city—like New Orleans, the scars of last year’s flood are still visible—the art and music buildings at the university sustained such horrible damage that they will not be rebuilt in the location by the river. (I did wonder why they were built by the river in the first place!!) The loss of music instruments was tragic. Sam did a lot of sandbagging around the city and he pointed out the various places he worked. Sam is lucky to live above the river—because he was not at all affected by the devastation in his part of town. This was a 500 year flood, and does bear witness to some of the problems we have created with levees and other man made progressive efforts.

On Saturday afternoon, he and I walked in Hickory Hill Park, which is close to his condo. We say lots of wildflowers, including the prettiest lady slippers. I did not have my camera with me  Then we came upon what we called the “first leaf of fall.” Fully red and beautiful—can this mean that football season is soon to be upon us?!!!!

My vacation is coming to a close, and Peter’s retirement is just beginning—it is an interesting place to be, and I have really enjoyed this month filled with lazy mornings and light schedules. Yet I do feel a stirring within me to get back to the routine and so I am sure I’ll be ready next week.

Knitting is a mystery

2009-07-17T14:13:00.002-05:00

Last night for the second time I made same mistake on my “learning to cable scarf.” I am not sure how I make this particular mistake, perhaps my brain takes a break and wanders away, while my finger keeping going. I am thinking that when I should put the cable needle in front of my left needle, I am putting it behind, or the reverse; who knows??!! Anyway, this time I decided to try to fix the error, which for me is a huge undertaking, because I am not an experienced knitter and I have trouble figuring out where I am after I unravel a row or two. It took me several cycles of knitting two rows, realizing that the cable was then on the underside of the scarf, and unraveling the rows again, until I found my way back to the row I needed to be on, the one that corresponded to the pattern. Sigh. At least I think it is the right one. I was too frustrated to knit another row after finding my way out of the puzzle I had created for myself.

From the time of my youth, I have loved the words in the Prayer Book, “Knit together in constant affection…” Admittedly I was not feeling affectionate about the scarf last night; however those words have always captivated my imagination. I have noticed that in whatever I am knitting, each stitch is connected to the one before and after, and no stitch would be there, except for all the rest of stitches holding the blanket, scarf or whatever together. When a stitch is dropped, a hole is made, and the hole remains if the stitch is not found and put back in its place.

One of my most horrific recurring nightmares is the one in which I imagine someone washing one the prayer shawls I have made, a stitch accidentally coming undone, and the whole shawl unraveling until only a pile of crinkly yarn remains. Yikes!

Not to push the metaphor too far, but it seems that what we knit is a community of stitches, all dependent on each other to help them stay in place, and together be a hat or a sweater or whatever they are being knit to be. I like thinking that God is knitting me into the fabric of life, knitting all of us together, stopping to pick up one who has strayed or fallen, unraveling a row here and there when we need correction.

What did Cranmer know about knitting when he wove this language into our Prayer Book? Was his mom a prolific knitter like my friend Marylen? In any event, the more I knit, the more I think about being knit together with others, perhaps one day becoming what God is calling us to be together.

Pete's retirement!

2009-06-30T10:35:00.001-05:00

At the end of August, my husband Peter will retire after 39 years as an ordained minister in the Episcopal Church. It feels like just yesterday that we arrived in Boise, Idaho, as a newly married couple looking forward to serving in our first congregation. Thirty-nine years is a long time to give to one vocation, and Peter has loyally served with eight Bishops in four dioceses and with countless other clergy and lay people all over the Church. His ministry began as Curate at All Saints’ in Boise. A few years later he was called to be a college chaplain at California State University in Fresno. After our first son, Sam, was born, he accepted Bishop Lani Hanchett’s call to become the Vicar of St. John’s in Kula, Maui. In a few years, this little mission church became a parish, and he was called as its first Rector. Our second son, Michael, was born on Maui, and when Michael was three years old, Peter was called to a congregation in Honolulu, where he was Rector and Principal of its day school! After Bishop Edmond Browning was elected as Presiding Bishop, he asked Peter to become the temporary administrator of the Diocese of Hawaii, until a new Bishop was elected. When Bishop Donald Hart was elected to succeed Bishop Browning, he asked Peter to become his Canon to the Ordinary. Some years later, after a rich ministry with Bishop Hart and the congregations in Hawaii, he settled back into small church ministry, which had captured his heart many years before. Eventually Peter was called to All Saints’ in Farmington, Missouri, and now we live with three cats in Bonne Terre. During all these years Peter has generously given of his time and taken on many other responsibilities on the National and Diocesan church level, always willing to serve when asked.

Peter and I have sometimes joked that we have never known a time in the Episcopal Church when it was not embroiled in some kind of conflict. We began our life together when the 1928 Prayer Book was being revised. A few years later the Church finally approved the ordination of women. The “to do” over the ordination of Bishop Gene Robinson felt like old times! Yet, through it all the Episcopal Church has continued to open its doors every Sunday so that folks, young and old, men, women and children, gay and straight, black, white, and whatever, could come to God’s table and receive the bread of eternal life.

When I look at the arc of Peter’s ministry and recall many of the details, I see ever more clearly how God has been faithful to the Church and to us, and I know that God will continue to guide All Saints’ in Farmington as it seeks its future. In the same way, I am confident that this transition for the Van Hornes will be rich with new experiences, fresh challenges and other opportunities to serve the Church we love.

For the time being, I plan no changes—one retirement at a time in our household is quite enough of an adjustment for me! In the meantime, as our future unfolds, Trinity and I will enjoy having Peter around as “our” clergy spouse!

Retirement?

2009-06-05T15:43:00.004-05:00

I always thought retirement would arrive with joy and anticipation for the future. Not to be –at least not right this moment. Peter’s congregation can no longer afford to pay him, so he will retire on the first of September 2009. After a flurry of activity notifying the Church Pension Fund and a few others, we have sat back to wait what comes next and consider some of the choices we have to make. Since he is not yet 65 and I will not be 65 until April 2012, it feels like we are suddenly in the “health insurance in jeopardy” program, like so many others in our country and around the world. I feel some solidarity with them at this moment, and because I know how many folks are suffering because of the economy, the war and the general angst of the times, I feel guilty if I indulge in too much self pity. Yet this moment has hit me hard.

The initial shock has not worn off. Peter is too young to fully retire. He has many gifts to offer—to the church and to other organizations. Perhaps I am in denial about this, but it was a lot easier to see myself through the “empty nest” syndrome than it is to anticipate this new stage in our life! In any case we will adjust just as we always have. The “honey do” list and “job jar” are being developed!

I am grateful for the Church Pension Fund, for the assistance we will have with the health insurance issues and for the kindness of those who administer these areas of our common life. However I am ever so much more grateful for the opportunity to have served among so many wonderful people in congregations and dioceses from Idaho, to the San Joaquin Valley to Hawaii and now in Missouri.

Not that I am saying good bye—I will continue at Trinity where my heart is firmly set –I am too young to retire! We are praying for a position for Peter, an interim position, part time, where he can use his baptismal gifts, or a fuller time position for awhile, perhaps as a counselor or teacher.

In the meantime, the garden is calling—I’ve posted some pictures—the chard is not yet ready for the harvest, but the radishes are, and we have been enjoying them along with tender romaine lettuce and spinach.

In many ways I have never thought that there would come a time in which I would not be laboring in whatever garden God placed me. My mother did not retire until she was 81 or 82, and I guess I have thought that I too would go on and on and on. Yet, even in my garden—the plant life has its moments of maturity with brilliant flowers or tasty vegetables, after which they reach a new stage where they offer seeds for the future. It’s those seeds for my future I am praying to be revealed.

Mrs. Chang, Rest in peace

2009-05-07T09:28:00.001-05:00

May 7, 2009

Early this morning I got news that Flora Chang, mother of the retired Bishop of Hawaii, Richard Chang, died yesterday afternoon at her home surrounded by loved ones. A flood of memories came to mind as I recalled what a lovely and loving lady she was.

So it seemed entirely appropriate that in this morning’s reading from Wisdom we find, “But the righteous live forever, and their reward is with the Lord; the Most High takes care of them. Therefore they will receive a glorious crown and a beautiful diadem from the hand of the Lord, because with his right hand he will cover them, and with his arm he will shield them.” Flora Chang was a righteous woman.

Mrs. Chang (I really cannot call her Flora—it has always seemed disrespectful to me) was a member of St. Andrew’s Cathedral in Honolulu, Hawaii—my home parish. She was active, especially on the altar guild and of course the mother of Dick Chang, with whom I spent many years in ministry, beginning at Camp Mokuleia, where we worked at summer camp. My fondest memories of Mrs. Chang are of spending time with the family at their home to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Delectable Chinese food filled the dining table—she and Mr. Chang were a wonderful host and hostess. In those days, Honolulu was not obsessed with fireworks, so we could still carry on a conversation as midnight approached. However, at midnight, hundreds of thousands of firecrackers were set off in the neighborhood. These were elaborate strings of firecrackers and it took some time for them to finish popping. Yet as soon as the string was completed burned out, and all the neighbors’ were too, the street would be filled with people sweeping up the mess of red paper and cleaning the street. I have always remembered this conscious of act of environmental stewardship, and it reminds me of how it is possible to celebrate robustly and yet, not rampantly.

Mrs. Chang cared for Creation, and when I look at all the trash that litters my neighborhood, from beer cans to McDonald’s wrappers to cigarette butts, I am horrified at how careless we Americans have become. Sweeping up a pail full of red paper after scaring away evil spirits seems like a trivial act, and yet, that is how we begin to care for our environment, by taking the time to properly dispose of trash. Thank you Mrs. Chang for the lessons you taught me. Rest in peace.

Wiki etal

2009-05-01T17:28:00.000-05:00

Blogging, Twittering, Wiki-ing—website, email—I am becoming so “reachable”, in an attempt to help my small congregation in rural Missouri become so findable and locatable on the map of worship communities in Jefferson County. Yet, the little voice nagging me is the one about the Gospel, the Good News of Jesus, and the proclamation of a way of life in service to God as disciples of Jesus. How do these various communication tools promote the Gospel and the community I lead that worships Jesus, loves Jesus, cares for one another and for many of those on the margins in Jefferson County?

By following this blog or twitter.com/trinityteasers, how do folks hear the Good News, that God’s love is available for them, that Jesus has stretched out his arms in welcome to all those who come to him in faith? At Trinity we are trying to create relationships with each other and with God, so it seems to me our communications need to focus on helping to create these relationships.

I have learned, sometimes painfully so, that relationships are treasures worth fostering and sustaining, be they with the Divine or just ordinary folks. In fact, relationships are the real jewels in our lives. Sometimes they can tarnish or make their way to back of a drawer and be hidden from sight, but when we find them again, or polish and repair them, we are re created in ways that only God’s grace can gift us. Relationships are mysteries, especially our relationship to God, and it is in communion with God and others that at Trinity we are seeking to become a harbor to be sent from as the hands of Jesus in this world.

Fundamental to creating and sustaining relationships is being face to face with God and others; I question whether one can really be in relationship with others if all one ever does is email, blog, twitter, wiki or whatever. We have to rub up against each other’s sandpaper in order to get to the soft fur. We have to learn to be in community with each other by being present with each in person. Hiding behind our laptops and blackberries is isolating, no matter how we much we may be in contact with others. We have to see the whites of people’s eyes to really be in relationship. Think about how many pen pals (now I am dating myself) wanted oh so badly to meet each other. Consider how many opportunities we now have to post our pictures for the entire world to see.

Who can predict where all these communication tools will take us, hopefully closer to the hearts of others, who may accidentally come upon a word they need, and then personally come to a real geographic space at the corner of 2nd Avenue and Miller Street in De Soto, Missouri, Trinity Episcopal Church, where they will be greeted warmly. Find out more at www.trinityjeffersoncount.org

Social networking and introverts

2009-04-22T08:53:00.000-05:00

Last night I went to a workshop on “Twittering.” I learned (sort of) about Tweet Deck, hash marks and all kinds of other ways to manage information about “what I am doing now” so that my life can be available to anyone I want to let into my social network. Except, I am an introvert and I do not know if I want all these people who are asking to be able to see my “tweets”, to be able to see them. Do they need to know when I am shopping, or reading, or gardening or whatever?!
What are other introverts doing about this surge in being in touch? Let it be known that I am late in coming into this networking revolution. I spent most of my professional life, emphasis professional, networking, marketing, developing products and relationships, but the boundaries were clearer. Now the Director of Communications, who answers directly to my boss, the Bishop of Missouri, wants me to give her permission to follow me on Twitter. All the little cells in my brain are twittering to me—“No, Twitter is a SOCIAL NETWORKING site, why would you want your boss, or one who answers to your boss, to cross over into your social space?” Why indeed.
It’s not personal. It may have something to do with being an introvert. I just do not want to be that available, reachable or touchable. So, it comes down right now to the fact that I am not clear about how the networking boundaries are changing, or if they are. Yet I feel a need to tip toe and take some time to ponder her request. And to ponder whether a member of my congregation should be a part of my “social network.”

Twigs and things

2009-04-16T09:22:00.000-05:00

As the season moves into Spring, I walk out in our backyard more often. Of course I am out there almost daily to feed the birds, but as the weather gets warmer, I am more likely to peer here and there, and see what has either sprung up, or fallen off. We have a number of wildflowers sprouting up in the little patch of forest behind our house. The chives I planted last year barely survived winter and possibly a too wet area, yet what is most noticeable are the twigs and small branches that litter the yard. Storms bring them down, and I use some of them to dig out the mucky seed that stops up the bird feeders. The rest of them are gathered into a small pile and burned—their ashes turned into the soil where I will later sow seeds for marigolds. As the season progresses I will gather up more of the larger branches and put them out for the large trash pickup, which the city collects the first week every month from April to October.

Something made me remember these scrawny little twigs when I read the passage from John’s gospel about the vine and the branches. Something drove home to me the tragic end when we become separated from the vine and are no longer attached to the strong, life giving vine. The vine that pumps nutrients into us nourishing us with all we need to remain attached and productive. It seems so easy to become unattached. A storm can rip us off, or perhaps a longing for a space of time when no one, not one, can make a demand on us. It’s that vision of those small, dry twigs, scattered on the ground, alone, that saddens me.

We have to hold on to the vine, even when we feel weak, because actually the vine is holding on to us, and it is our life.

Dear Mr. President

2009-02-09T15:24:00.000-06:00

Dear Mr. President:

With each passing day I am getting more and more confused about how to fix our economy. Your opponents have done a good job stalling, because I have had more time to think about the whole issue of pumping money into banks, unemployment insurance, local governments and private industry. Not that I think that they are right, I don’t; I think they helped to get us into this mess. Yet now I am really confused.
I guess what is concerning me today is that while you say that it will take years for our economy to recover, you want $800 billion dollars NOW. Immediately. If it is going to take years for our economy to settle down, then perhaps we should take a little more time to get accountability systems in place so that the funds are not wasted, or that the funds do not find their way into the pockets of those who do not have the best interest of the American people at heart.
People are suffering. Families are scared. Our elders are terrified, having lost a great deal of their savings. Folks are also disillusioned. They see that being dishonest and irresponsible may have paid off those who engaged in dishonest and irresponsible behavior. Those who have lived their lives within their financial limitations are becoming cynical, wondering if their sacrifices were necessary, or if they should have blown their future on a luxury trip to Fiji.
Then there is the steady drip drip drip of bad news. I would like to see you call together the leaders of the Fortune 500, the American Medical Association and perhaps the Social Security Administration for a meeting in which they tell you and us their best guess for the next 12 to 15 months. I think this would help us come to grips with the future. When the stock market is up one day and down the next, folks have a hard time getting their arms around the dire predictions. One or two comprehensive reports would help us understand what we are facing.
Thank you for attempting to curtail Wall Street executives’ ridiculous pay scales. Thank you for shaming Wells Fargo into cancelling their flamboyant celebration in Las Vegas. Now take your bully pulpit and remind us who we are. Remind us of our strength, remind us of our resilience and remind us of our willingness to make sacrifices when freedom and our way of life is threatened. Remind us to help others and share what we have, to let those with less cut in the handout line.
Finally don’t fix the situation too quickly. This time of challenge may teach us a few things, and we may come out stronger on the other side. In my church we pray for you every Sunday; may God bless you and yours.

Stuck in winter

2009-01-28T15:28:00.000-06:00

When I looked outside this morning it seemed like only another four inches of snow had fallen late last night. So I finished prepping the church newsletter and decided to drive down to the post office. It’s only a mile drive. Most people know I do not like to drive in snow or on snowy roads. Peter asked if I wanted him to drive me. I said I thought I could do it, “How bad could it be?” (Completely forgetting that the additional snow had fallen on sleet and ice.) For some reason I thought that the main roads would be in pretty good shape, even though only one lane on our street had been roughly cleared. I made it out of our driveway and off of our street then barely got up the hill and over the train tracks. I became concerned that on my drive home I might not get back up the hill, which is steeper coming in the other direction–it was looking awfully slushy and there was a whole lot more snow that I had thought there was. My tax dollars didn’t seem to be at work–not much of the six to eight more inches had been cleared. At that point I remembered I had left my cell phone on my desk. The roads were a mess. Oh, and this should have been a clue, hardly anyone was on the road. I was passed by one very fast red SUV; he’s probably in a ditch somewhere.
When I got to the post office I chose to use the drop boxes, because the sidewalks had not been cleared. I slid up to the drop boxes and deposited the newsletters, then fish tailed around to the intersection. I had a plan to go up the hill and over the tracks. I thought if I could build up enough speed, inertia or some other principle of physics would propel me over. I also had a plan if that were not possible; I would slide down to the park and leave the car. I did notice that with all the snow it was hard to tell where the lake began and the curb ended. I was not looking forward to walking home from the park, because in addition to not having my phone, my coat was still hanging in the mud room. It’s about a quarter mile walk.
My plan to conquer the hill worked, and I managed to drive over a lot of snow to get onto my street. Feeling very pleased with myself (this bit of self congratulatory pride was probably when I went down hill spiritually), I pressed the garage door control and turned into the driveway. That’s when my front wheels started spinning. I was stuck–halfway in the street. For about five minutes I tried everything I knew to do (which is limited I might add). Then I trudged up to the front porch to get Peter. We worked for about thirty minutes making very little progress. We used kitty litter, newspaper, towels, and planks of wood. Finally I suggested we call Triple A. About ½ hour later a gentleman with a tow truck arrived, and he towed my car onto the street, then Peter drove it as far onto the drive way as the car would go. Then Peter called a snow removal company. Did I forget to mention that the starter is not working on our snow blower?
It’s almost February, the armpit of the year. I do feel stuck in winter, and I am looking forward to spring. So I hope all this snow, and ice and sleet is doing whatever it needs to so that when those first crocuses appear they’ll be as beautiful as the promise.

Election Day! (Finally...)

2008-11-04T13:55:00.001-06:00

I voted early today. It was a beautiful Autumn morning, a bit breezy, a clear blue sky and not too cool. Driving up to the polling place, it was obvious that many people were out to vote as early as I was. I wondered if there would be a line, so I took a book with me. I was not prepared for my reaction. As I walked into the building, tears welled up in my eyes, here I was, a “sixties person,” on my way to cast my ballot for an African American for President. Oh, that he is black is not the reason I voted for him; I believe he is a transformational leader and has the potential to garner the energies of many citizens for change. At a time when our country is in trouble, economically challenged, involved in two miserable wars, and seems to have lost direction and vision, we finally have the chance to gradually rebuild our future so that we can once again be a beacon of hope for all. I do not believe this can happen under the leadership of the other candidate, who continually uses hostile words like, fight, force and attack in his vocabulary.
No matter what happens today, I believe we are a changed nation, because so many folks have exercised their right to vote. I cannot recall an election since I began voting when there was as much enthusiasm as there is today. I sense we are holding our breath, waiting to finally exhale when the first returns begin to come in tonight!
As I marked my ballot, I found myself taking great care to mark it perfectly. When I slid my ballot into the scanner, I made sure to notice that the total number of ballots cast increased by one. At 8:30a.m., my ballot was number 335! There was not much of a line, people were friendly and everything seemed to be in order. As I walked into the sunshine and watched many more folks wend their way into the building, I felt blessed to have had the opportunity in my lifetime to be a part of an election that had broken down many barriers, including gender and race.
Yes, I am on pins and needles–tonight cannot come soon enough. I pray we will know by tomorrow who our next president will be, because I do not think I have enough patience to sit through another election debacle like 2000. In any case, I feel proud of my fellow citizens, who in droves are taking time today to make their voices heard.

Packing for the mission trip

2008-08-16T09:27:00.000-05:00

Four weeks ago I was packing for a trip to Hawaii to co-preside at the wedding of our niece, Michelle. Besides vestments, I packed a dress to wear to the wedding reception, shoes, of course and a smart looking small handbag. In addition I packed, various apparel for luncheons and dinners with an eye on being comfortable yet appropriately dressed in fresh clothing.
Today I am packing for the mission trip to New Orleans. This is a totally different experience. With an eye on packing as lightly as possible, I am realizing that most likely I will not have clean clothes to wear by mid week–there is just not room to pack fresh clean work clothes for each day. I will have clean underwear, beyond that I will have to make do.
Being spoiled, this is a real challenge to me. I am used to getting filthy dirty because for seven years I lived on 3.1 acres in Farmington, and for all but 3 or so months of the year I was outside maintaining gardens and mowing grass, putting down mulch, pruning, trimming, weeding, planting, sometimes in 110 degree weather. However, and this is big for me, I could wash the clothes I had worn and put them on again the next day.
I get it that most of the world cares not about dressing in clean clothes every day. And I can see how in so many ways I do not live a “green life.” I recycle plastic, paper and aluminum and other metal. I save most glass jars, despite Peter’s frustration that they are reproducing at a rapid rate. Hey–he is a pack rat–so what if I save some jars!!! Anyway, my need for cleanliness is an issue, and preparing for this trip has brought it front and center.
In addition, I am traveling to an area so devastated by Hurricane Katrina, that my trivial concern about having enough clean clothes is embarrassing, somehow it makes the trip more about me than about those I am hoping to serve. So tonight, when I finish my packing, I hope I will give thanks that I have a choice of clothes to pack, the opportunity to make the trip and the possibility of exploring more what it means to lead the kind of privileged life I do.

Every ten years or so

2008-08-15T09:41:00.000-05:00

Every ten years or so I do something that I have never done before. In 1998 I went on a Benedictine Retreat led by Norvene Vest to reflect and pray the spirituality of work. The retreat was at the Episcopal House of Prayer in the Diocese of Minnesota, which is located on the grounds of St. John’s Abbey, a Roman Catholic Benedictine Monastery. Check out the website at http://www.ehouseofprayer.org .
When I arrived at the Abbey for Sunday worship tears began to stream down my face; I felt I was home. The spent with men and women from all over the country, all seeking to discover together the deeper connections between prayer and work, provided a thin space in which I could ponder my life and its future. Ten years later I am an ordained episcopal priest in the Diocese of Missouri, serving a small congregation in a rural area. I live a charmed and blessed life.
Now it is ten years later. Two days from now I will travel with others from the Diocese of Missouri on a mission trip to New Orleans to participate in the Diocese of Louisiana’s program to assist with rebuilding homes devastated by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. Check out the Diocese of Louisiana at this site: www.edola.org . I am nervous, excited, curious and wondering what I was thinking when I signed up!!! Nevertheless, I am full of anticipation. The last time I was on a work trip was in high school, when we cleaned up the priests house and yard at Holy Innocents’ Church in Lahaina, Hawaii prior to the arrival of the new pastor.
In New Orleans I imagine there will be all kinds of challenges, from bugs, heat, humidity and hammered thumbs, to finding our way in the large city. I know that there will be many to help us get our bearings and send us on our way each day. I also know that many are depending on folks like us from all over the country to show up and serve those who have lost so much. In the five days we volunteer, we cannot “save” New Orleans, no one can, yet I believe with my heart that we can send the message that we care to those whose lives were turned inside out. We can do a little, together many can do a lot to help those who need it.
Each day will bring surprises, new experiences, new friendships and new challenges to our community. We will begin the day with prayers and through out each day we will remember who is strengthening us for the tasks at hand. Whatever inconveniences we experience, whatever missed meals and thirsty afternoons, these will not compare to losing one’s home, one’s well being. I pray I will remember to keep this perspective in the midst of 90% humidity and temperatures over 90 degrees!
I also hope to be strengthened by those whose faith has been tested, those who have suffered mightily and still hope for restoration of the life they once had. There will be many gifts offered to us all, most of them will not be things, I believe they will be gifts of compassion, hope and a realization that there is still so much work to be done to help make the world the way God wants it to be.

Golf lessons

2008-07-16T15:28:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I had my first golf lesson. It was in a word, helpful; helpful to learn that the way I gripped the club was wrong; the way I approached the ball was wrong; and my swing was wrong. All wrong. Now in fairness to me, I have never had a golf lesson. So I think I was doing pretty well for being so completely untrained. I’m never going to be a Michelle Wie or Nancy Lopez, and I really don’t care, because for me, golf is a way to relax and have fun.

When I play golf, I use a different part of my brain, not the evaluative, consultative, analytical brain cells, but the ones that keep me from swaying or taking my eye off the ball. Swaying, that’s something I learned, and I learned I do it all the time. Swaying happens when I don’t shift my weight to the inside of my right foot as my swing comes back down and I follow through. Or, I think that’s what it is; I had so many new learnings it’s difficult to keep them clear!

Somewhere I learned that it takes six hours for brain cells to absorb and begin to integrate new learning, especially the kind I was exposed to during my golf lesson. So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I dreamed about golfing the night after my lesson! Those brain cells were in overdrive.

My next time on the golf course reminded me of the old joke, “How does one get to Carnegie Hall?” Answer: “Practice, Practice, Practice!” While the golf lesson heightened my awareness of how I move when I take a shot at the ball, what actually happened on the golf course was a disaster. Relearning and learning the grip, the stance, the swing and follow thru is much more challenging than I thought it would be.

I have not given up, in fact when it all comes together , and (those rare times) the ball I hit soars up and out, I feel a momentary sense of “oh, that’s how it’s done!” Would that I could do it each time! For now though, it’s practice, practice, practice.

Oh, and I am not keeping a score card this summer! I simply am looking for some progress, not perfection. Even Tiger Woods cannot play a perfect golf game, so why should I make that a goal for me? No, my goal is to continue to enjoy the game, relish being outside in the sunshine on a clear day and listening to the mockingbird at the second green run through it’s repertoire of calls. I am sure it’s not mocking me; it’s showing off its calls, which I am sure it learned through practice, practice, practice.

Blueberries or lack thereof

2008-06-23T12:15:00.000-05:00

Seven years ago PVH (my dear husband) and I moved to Missouri. After our move, blueberries came into season and we picked them at a blueberry farm, and then learned we could order them from another farm in southeastern Missouri. For five years I faithfully made two drives to Millersville to pick up several quarts at a ridiculously low price, compared to what we had paid in Hawaii. We thought we were in hog heaven. We ate blueberries on cereal, in pancakes, as snacks and in salads. We gorged ourselves for five years, and were dripping with antioxidants. (For the health benefits, go to http://www.deliciousorganics.com/Controversies/antioxidants.htm)
Then, in 2007, on the weekend of Easter, we had a hard freeze that lasted three days. It was awful; all the berry flowers were lost, and come June, there were no blueberries to be found, except those in the grocery store that had been shipped in from goodness knows where. We did not have blueberries in 2007.
Several months ago I began to look forward to my drive south. For one, it is a beautiful drive through forests and farmland that make up a portion of southeastern Missouri. PVH and I began to salivate at the thought of blueberries again. Did I mention it is his favorite berry? Two weeks ago I received my postcard announcing the date the farm would open for picking and orders. I looked at my calendar and found the day I could drive down (of course making the berries a bit more costly–what with the price of gas), and called the farm to place an order. “Oh,” said the gentleman who took my call, “There are not that many berries this year, and what we have is being sold early every day. We don’t think we’ll be able to fill any orders; you can pick your own, but call before you come.” Sigh.
The farm opens at 7:30a.m. for picking. It is at least an hour’s drive from where we now live, perhaps even an hour and a half. However I am debating a trip to pick them, and I am wondering if the peaches that were missing last year, will also be scarce this year. What about tomatoes and zucchini that overwhelm the Farmer’s market? Will they be available?
It seems even the world of flowers and vegetables takes a long time to recover from a bad hit. As I write, those in Missouri living and working along the Mississippi are anxiously watching the river. It has already breached levees, ruined people’s homes and done 3 billion dollars worth of damage to the crops in Iowa. How long will it take to recover from this crisis–which falls on the back of so many others, tornadoes, flooding, earthquakes...
It’s easy for me to become self focused and see all these disasters through a prism of not enjoying blueberries this year. What if I had lost my home, my family pictures and momentos, my family records, my cats? How would I grieve and begin to recover. How long would it take to begin again? What’s a blueberry in the face of thirty foot crest of river headed towards the life one has created? Not much, yet I am hopeful, hopeful that next year there will be an abundance of blueberries and a scarcity of weather events that challenge our wellbeing and lead to so much suffering and loss. God bless all those in the face of storms, those the weather brings and those that find us in life.

Summer Reading

2008-06-12T11:35:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I was remembering a couple of books I read one summer, and I thought I would recommend them to those who might happen upon this blog. Each book became a good friend, and each book had gifts to share with me.

A Fine Balance, by Rohinton Mistry

This book is a fine tale about the unfairness of life and the ability of some people to rise above that fact to adapt and thrive, and the inability of others to be able to “go with the flow.” The book takes place in India in the 1970s. The book is full of wonderful reflective statements like, “Loss is essential. Loss is part and parcel of that necessary calamity called life. Mind you, I am not complaining. Thanks to some inexplicable universal guiding force, it is always the worthless things we lose—slough off, like a molting snake. Losing and losing again, is the very basis of the life process, till all we are left with is the bare essence of human existence.”

The passage that really called me up short is this one in which one of the characters is describing another, “His skin, wrinkled and scaly, like a harmless reptile’s, filled her with wonder and sorrow. ‘Why did I dislike him so much?’, she asked herself. Where humans were concerned, the only emotion that made sense was wonder, at their ability to endure. . .”

Let Your Life Speak, by Parker Palmer

Parker Palmer, a Quaker, is a writer, teacher and activist. This book drove the point home to me that one’s vocation is a gift. Palmer writes, “Vocation does not mean a goal that I pursue. It means a calling that I hear.” He talks about how one’s vocation is something one cannot not do. That a vocation arises up, not from an external voice calling us to some profession or occupation, but from that within us that calls us to be who we are, who God has created us to be.

2008-05-14T09:59:00.000-05:00

There is a small but loyal group of members of my church who can’t wait for the hummingbirds to arrive each Spring. We put our feeders out by April 15th, and then wait for the scout to arrive, and when it does we cheer and let everyone know the following Sunday at church. Some of us call each other to share the good news that the hummingbirds are back.

The return of the hummingbirds after a long winter is a ritual of Spring. To comfort and encourage them, we make a stronger syrup for the first weeks they are back. This means we add probably a cup and a quarter or half of granulated sugar to the four cups of water we boil to make the nectar. I used to buy the red syrup and mix it for them, however in the past few years I have been unable to feed them the red dye that no doubt is an additive to the store bought product. I have learned that they will come to the clear syrup as long as the feeder is red.

Hummingbirds are tiny and energetic. They buzz around like bees, sometimes swooping and nipping at each other. We have an “alpha” hummingbird. He (or she) sits on the post above the feeder and guards it. When another bird approaches, he defends his territory. Sometimes other hummers organize themselves and send a decoy to lure alpha bird away while another bird swoops in to take a drink.

I could watch these birds all day, their antics are better than the best television has to offer, which is not much, so this is not a good comparison! I imagine that just as God created the Leviathan for the sport of it, God created these tiny creatures for the joy that arrives with them.

The gifts of Spring

2008-05-07T12:00:00.000-05:00

One of the unexpected gifts this Spring season has been the number of wild flowers growing in the narrow forest behind my home. I am fascinated by their tiny size, the incredible variety of color and their hardiness. After all, they are growing in an area that has spent much of the early months of this year under water or very damp. Yet there they are, having conquered a few obstacles, blooming for all they are worth.
They showed up without much fanfare, which is why I was so surprised to find them. Yet, now that I know they are there, I suddenly feel responsible for their welfare, so that next year they’ll be back. As if I could protect them. For goodness sakes, they seemed to do just fine without my knowing they were there!
Anyway, I do not need one more thing to stress out over, though I am wondering, what parts of my life do I needlessly and endlessly fret about? What are the “wild flowers” in my life that will flourish without any need on my part to micro manage them. Definitely some reflection on my part needed here, because it is clear to me that Jesus spoke the truth, “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.” (Matthew 6:28b NRSV)