INTO THE SILENCES

Our priest, revLois, has introduced periods of silence into our worship. It began the first Sunday in Advent and the silences were short. The first silence just before the confession during the Penitential Order; the second after the sermon, the third during the Eucharist just after the breaking of the consecrated bread.

The silences were very short in the beginning, lengthening week by week. I welcome these silences. They help me to focus on my worship 'business' at appropriate times. Before the confession I have the opportunity to consider more deeply those things that I have done and those that I have left undone. It is an opening up to God. It is a cleansing time, even before the absolution.

The silence after the sermon is, of course, time to reflect upon what the sermon says to me. At first there was much rustling of service leaflets and general fidgeting in the congregation. But as the season of Advent progresses, the silences are becoming still. We reflect. We sit in the quiet. Perhaps we just rest ourselves from the week's busyness. Whatever. We are still. We are in silence with God.

Just before receiving God's spiritual food is the best silence of all. A time to truly appreciate the gifts we are about to receive. A time to fully remember that we are the People of God. We are in the company of all God's people everywhere. ALL God's People.

I try to take the practice of silence home with me. It is not the same. There is just something enormously special about the corporate silence, just as corporate worship is special and different from my private worship. I will look forward to the silences next Sunday.

COMMENTS

Please read Lois' "Upon Moderating comments" over on Rambling's With Lois. I seem to have been hit by the same person. I think I now have my blog set to moderate comments. I don't like doing it as much as Lois does not like it. Sometimes things are just necessary for our own sanctity and those of our readers.

Sorry to any of you who were subjected to the off subject comment.

THE UPPER ROOM

WE are in the upper room. Grace Church is in that upper room. The disciples did not know how to cope without Jesus. They locked themselves into the upper room because they were fearful. Grace Church has locked itself into the past because we are fearful of losing the past. The disciples could not understand the death of Jesus and how they could go on with life. The Grace Church congregation does not understand the death of Grace Church as we know it or consider how to go on with life.

The disciples did not realize that life would never be the same. Grace Church does not realize that she will never be the same. Death changes everything. Death changes life. And so we sit as the disciples sat. Frightened. Bereft. Hopeless. Aimless. We are an apathetic bunch, waiting for things to get back to the way they were. Waiting. Hopeless. Aimless.

The disciples waiting in the upper room did not have the experience of the resurrection. We do. We have heard the story over and over and over again. Do we believe? Do we REALLY believe in resurrection? We are NOT the disciples sitting in the upper room. We have the benefit of knowing the story. We have the benefit of knowing that Jesus came to his bereft disciples and is already with us. If we believe we will look to resurrection and what that means to us right now.

It is not going to happen on it’s own, folks. We have to believe it. More that that, we have to LIVE it. Death changes life. We are being changed. NOTHING will ever be the same. We can accept that or we can deny it. Denial will be a slow and agonizing death. Accepting that this death we are experiencing will change how we gather, how we worship, how we view ourselves as disciples in the community is a call to act. What we DO!

Wake up, people! It is time to DO! It isn’t about what the church can do for us, it is about what we can do as church. We have to DO the doing. Wake up, people, everywhere. We don’t have to sit idle and frightened, locked in an upper room. We can gather together in hope and go out into the world living out the Good News. And we can encourage and support one another in our individual and collective endeavors.

Grace Church as we have known it is DEAD. It can be remembered. It can be celebrated as a good thing of the past. Now, let us all work together to resurrect ourselves as a church that will be a monumental credit to those who have gone before us and a church worthy of who we are as a people of today and build for tomorrow.

Death changes life. Let us choose the new life that we can be.

Jesus is here. Choose Jesus and the new life.

LESSONS LEARNED FROM AUNT MARY

Actually, the title might be Lessons BEING Learned from Aunt Mary.

We drove over to Springfield for my annual visit (Jacq gets there twice a year or more.). Aunt Manry was prepared. She had her latest paintings on display in the living room. Last year she won first prize for this painting -- Girl with Umbrella.

There were two more paintings that she has done since then. She has discovered a new medium -- watercolor that paints like her tried and true oil. This is a better medium for her now that she is reaching her 101st birthday. It isn't quite like oil. Very similar. She is still learning about it. She is wanting to do more experimenting with it but she has two commissions to be done before she can allow herself that extravagance of time.

One hundred and one and experimenting with a new medium. Now that's a lesson to learn -- we are NEVER too old for the new 'stuff' that is constantly appearing.

Mary said she was turning over a corner of her living room to her artwork done AFTER one hundred. She would take down the portrait she had done of my uncle and a couple of other wonderful paintings and put up this prize winner and two other paintings done this summer with the new medium. (Really sorry I didn't take pictures of them while we were there -- next time.)

Soon after our arrival Mary's granddaughter and husband arrived with pizza and salad for lunch. Mary had 'a bite' of salad but certainly enjoyed the pizza. We caught up on news. Laughed. And soon it was time to move to the kitchen for haircutting -- Mary is particular about convenience of maintenance and because her hair was getting in the way she had been at it with sewing scissors. I had the privilege of giving her a nice shingled haircut that would make for ease of maintenance, for a while anyway. She pulled some strands onto her forehead to create some wisps for what she feels is an expansive forehead. Lesson: always care about your appearance.

It was Saturday and the kitchen radio was broadcasting an opera. "I'm trying to learn to like opera," she informed me. Not "appreciate" but 'like." Another area of learning -- stretch from what is familiar and comfortable and challenge yourself. Amazing!

From the kitchen window we could see snow coming down in great whorls and so we decided that we must be on our way back to Indiana before we were caught. It was a bit of a sad parting. We were just past the getting comfortable stage and ready to share our important feelings and insights. Another year. Way too long.

Will there be another visit? God willing.

ANNUAL VISIT TO INDIANA....

...to stay with my sister, Jacq. To relax. To laugh, reminisce, cry if needs be. Sisters are something pretty special. At least mine is. She just accepts me. The whole me. Whatever size or shape or attitude or weird phase I happen to currently espouse. She just loves me. It is the most wonderful gift of the whole world.

SOooo, I have pretty much wrapped up my current responsibilities at church. Today we hosted an Open House so that we might come face to face with others that share our space. We have a Haitian Baptist group that has been worshiping at our church for over twenty years, The Temple of Deliverance who has been worshiping at our church for three years. We worship at different times and this was an opportunity to get to talk with one another and share some of our story. As Episcopalians we are blessed to be able to share our space with such diverse worshipers. There are also three AA groups, a Mental Health Support group, Literacy Volunteers, and other community groups.

Our church is also in the process of assisting one of the local Methodist churches in their annual Community Thanksgiving Dinner. This is their tenth year and as with many congregations their numbers have dwindled over the years and so we decided to be a part of that with them. It is coming to the place where many churches cannot do alone what they did in the past. And how simple to join forces. I hope that we can do more of this community work.

Packing, of course. I sent a box of clothes ahead as I will be in IN for two weeks. And getting the house ready for Thanksgiving. I return the day before the PA family comes up for the holiday. The dining room table and chairs are arranged and the table linens and decorations placed. I even had the inspiration to make and freeze a scrumptious Sunday Italian Gravy for our Friday or Saturday meal. It is going to be great fun and I am going to be refreshed and renewed from my visit.

Two more days. I am so excited. Our Vestry meeting is Monday evening and I fly out on Tuesday. I am the Parish Clerk and as part of the Vestry I really want to be at every possible meeting. We are at a critical stage. The make or break stage. The, when are we going to have to close the doors stage, so I want very much to be part of the decision making.

Two more days.

PRAYER

Sometime during the wee smalls of Sunday night/Monday morning, I was awakened. "Pray for Dodie," I was instructed. And so I did. I prayed for Dodie whose heart is severely damaged and who has suffered repeated heart attacks. He refuses to have the five by-pass surgery that his cardiologists suggest would help. He's ready, he tells his lovely wife,Tomi. He's ready to die. He is ready to be with God. Whenever.

Tomi works in the accounting department in the doctor's office where I share the responsibilities for the front desk service operations. Tomi is a year older than I and I am seventy one. Dodie is up there too. And he has made his decision -- no by-pass surgery. She will honor his decision.

I prayed for Dodie.

When I went in to work today and talked with Tomi, she told me that Dodie was doing better today but that yesterday was NOT a good day for him and that during that night he had a really hard time.

Comparing times, we concluded that the message that came to me probably corresponded to Dodie's distress during the wee smalls. Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe you would think that. I don't. I KNOW that I was called upon to be in contact with God as Dodie was having his difficult time.

God needs help. When God calls, I respond. I do prayer. Prayer is what I do.

THE DAY OF THE MOOSE

Well, it's as good as an entrance back into this world of blogging that I can mange right now. But anything is a breakthrough from all of the silence to whicdh I have subjected y'all.

So here it is: Barbara meeting the 'meese' in Bennigton, VT.

So here you have Barbara meeting life. This day it was enjoying the artwork of the Benninton meese. The next day I was involved in the life of outlet mall shopping. Today I am enjoying a respite from doing 'vacation' because the rain is falling and offering the peace of quietude. A time to relax and be. Watch a little TV. Read. Do a Sudoku puzzle. Knit. Yes, knit. Soon I will show y'all my adventures into knitting having been inspired by the Yarn Harlot.

And maybe I can even get back on track and do some more frequent postings. I have been mulling that. Just what to post and not to post. We'll see the results of these mullings. I have been symied lately by some sort of intimidation. But maybe I am over that now and can go back to publishing my rants and opinions.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 9 -- ANNIVERSARY EVENT

Fifty years ago this day, Neal and I were married. We had thirty-four years together and as marriages of the fifties go, ours was pretty good. We matured together and prospered and raised two wonderful sons. And then in the fall of 1992, Neal died. I call those years my 'past' life. I am fortunate enough to have moved on to a present life full of love and family and friends and spiritual and intellectual growth. I am happy.

But this is not about me, it is about the celebration of forty years of marriage of Sue and Jack. Neal and I met Sue and her girls through a mutual friend in the middle sixties. Because her daughters and our sons were the same age, and because Sue and Neal were both teachers, we soon became good friends and have remained so.

Sue was a widow, struggling with a job and raising children and trying to establish some sense of self and so decided to give Parents Without Partners a try. There she met Jack. Jack brought seven daughters and one son into the marriage, Sue , her two daughters. The son died along the way and was sorely grieved. The nine daughters all grew into wonderful young adults and are each one a credit to the love and guidance and support that Sue and Jack have given them.

Sue and Jack have retired to Maine and the daughters have spread throughout the country. All but one of the daughters were able to come for the event, some husbands, many grandchildren and one fiance. It was wonderful to see them -- some of whom had been in Neal's History classes, some whose weddings we attended, all I have known and admired for their various successes. Not all of the successes have been happy. There have been estrangements and divorces, disagreements, reconciliations. There are yet a couple of underlying problems but I have faith that they will one day be resolved. That is my prayer.

We enjoyed fine wine and conversation, scrumptious canapes and conversation, good food and conversation, photo albums, a collection of pictures on DVD -- and did I mention conversation? It was a wonderful evening. It just doesn't get better than being with old friends. Friends forever.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 8 -- THE WEDDING

Let me preface this wedding stuff with the declaration that the bride was fantastically radiant, drop dead georgeous, serene, completely composed, and eagerly anticipating her new life. Oh, and did I mention she was beautiful?

The weddding was to take place at the Redding Town Hall at three. We had to leave our house by one thirty to get to their house before going to the Town Hall. That is a lot of time between waking and having to leave. I opted to go to work so I would not be the frantic nag herding Bill toward the ETD. Bill's instructions for the morning were to take garbage and trash to the dump and get a ribbon for the gift. One out of two was good -- at least it was the ribbon.

The NYC family was picked up at the train station at noon. The photographer arrived shortly thereafter by car. I was just getting us all on the road at one twenty-five when I was informed that a fast food stop was necessary. Ooops! Change in route. But manageable. I'm flexible :)

We arrived at the house just before one thirty, piled out of our cars and were heading toward the door when up the driveway comes the bride, on foot, veil affixed to her freshly saloned hair, and looking somewhat flustered. While at the hairdresser she had been locked out of the house, had no keys and no cell phone. Thus a trip to the house next door to make a needed phone call.

The keys duly arrived. The bride and the flower girl donned their dresses. The bride was primped and pampered and was all aglow. It was only three and we were leaving. Oooops! One of the new kittens slipped into the garage as we were on our way out of the house. The next several minutes were spent coaxing her out from underneath the car and into the house.

Three oh nine and we were finally all on our way to the Town Hall. The judge awaited us on the steps, the guests were gathered expectantly inside, the cellist had about exhausted her repetoire. But the bride was finally there. I went on down and took my seat in the front row on the left. I felt so priveleged. Then the bride music started and our Mia came sedately down the aisle spreading her rose petals with great precision and solemnity.

Then the bride on her father's arm. (Did I mention she was beautiful?) Bill looked happy, and he is happy for her and Ryan. Amy looked beyond happy. And there standing in front to meet her were Ryan and her three boys -- all with smiles about to burst right off their faces. During the exchange of vows I could see pure delight, love and reverence shining in Ryan's eyes, his face was just complete joy and happiness.

And now they are family. All five of them.

The reception was a delight despite the drenching we all recieved as the skies opened up after the wedding and before we could get to the reception. It was a time for reacquainting with relatives not seen in months/years. One of those being Bill and Bill's sister Mary and her husband, plus Bill's sister Ann's children. It was good to catch up on successes and share in the sadness of sorrows.

All generations danced to the music provided by the excellent DJ and the bride and groom were constantly circulating among their guests creating a celebratory atmosphere for the whole event. Food, champagne, cake, music and dancing, laughter -- and family. It just doesn't get any better than that.

(Oh, and did I mention the bride was beautiful?)

30% OFF AT KOHL'S

A nasty virus interrupted my "Wedding" reflection which I will finish up after this brief interlude.

We had a thirty percent off coupon for Kohl's. Thirty percent is a LOT and not to be ignored. So off we went this evening to peruse the merchandise and see if there was anything without which we could live. My goal was to add into my wardrobe another "shaper" thingie. Now a shaper is an undergarment, meant for females, and squeezes together the loose, flabby, floppy, excesses. Since I have lost weight, I notice some, maybe not all, of these conditions.

In my youth, more than fifty years ago, we squeezed our mid regions into elasticized tubing. We would step into the tube, pull, wiggle, pull, squiggle, tug, even lie back on the bed and squirm our mid region into place. The name of the tube was girdle. Located at the bottom of the girdle, which ended anywhere from just below the crotch to slightly above the knee, were four tabs onto which we fastened our stockings -- hose, they were called -- long skinny tubes to cover our legs. If you were not fairly solidly built, the area between the bottom of the girdle and the top of the hose was....well, a bulge.

"Shapers" also come in various lengths, with and without legs. And of varying degrees of squish. I happened upon a seamless, mid thigh, comfortably squish style. I wore it to the fortieth anniversary, which I will recall for you after the wedding piece. A wonderful little undergarment. AND 30% OFF!

THURSDAY, AUGUST 7 -- ALIVE @ FIVE

We had gone to the previous Thursday's, Alive @ Five concert in Columbus park in Stamford. We had a good time, enjoyed the music (somewhat), had a burger and some chips, and of course a couple of beers. We also stood around for two or three hours. Bill wanted to go in to this last concert of the season. Boyz II Men was the group. Never heard of them myself, but what do I know.

The 'twenty-four hour without incident' mark was passed. No more TIA episodes and I was feeling like my regular normal self. I went in to work my regularly scheduled Thursday afternoon. I agreed to go to the concert but wanted to take the chairs this time. Bill said he would pick up something to eat at Costco and we'd take the picnic basket.

When I got in from work shortly after five, Bill was getting the picnic basket ready and we were soon off to Stamford. We found one of the last places to park on a side street off Washington Boulevard and walked a block and a half to Columbus Park. There seemed to be a LOT of people. There WERE a lot of people. We got checked in and tried to make our way to the grassy area. This took some maneuvering as there were so many people and not very much pass through space. We did, however, manage to not hit too many people with our chairs and basket, but it wasn't easy. It was tight. Not like the last Thursday when there was plenty of space to walk around from one side of the park to the other.

We found a teenie, weenie patch of grass and set up our chairs. The warm up group was playing. They were not bad. (Just not my music.) We were surrounded on one side by other chairs packed in tightly together and on the other by standees. Everyone was conversing over the music. It was very loud. We ate our supper. People flowing past all the time ABOVE MY HEAD. Really a LOT of people.

The warm up group finished up. The Boyz came on to much screaming and jumping up and down and the base notes vibrated the ground. The music(?) started. Everyone seemed to know all the lyrics and jumped up and down shouting them loudly. I think part of the jumping was so they could see the group over the heads of those in front of them.

A little girl behind us wanted to see. Bill put her up on his shoulders and carried her forward so that she could see the group. I was very nervous about this. The mother seemed a little nervous too after some minutes had passed and they were not back. But eventually Bill brought her back and she was thrilled with the experience.

Meanwhile the crowd was getting louder and tighter and more vociferous. I was getting very jittery. I took as much as I could and then told Bill that we had to leave. We packed up our chairs and started for the gate. HA! Fat chance. We could barely move. We literally pushed our way between the standing crowd. Forcing our way actually. LOTS and LOTS of people. When we finally got to the exit area there were streams of people trying to get in. There were twice as many policemen as when we had arrived. And they were nervous.

I was glad to get away and across the street where there were more people enjoying the music but it wasn't that crowded. I was still feeling panicky as we made our way back to the car. And then getting out onto Washington Boulevard was difficult -- bumper to bumper cars coming and going. Part of the boulevard had to be closed off to traffic coming toward Columbus Park. It was the biggest crowd of all the Alive @ Five concerts and they are rethinking next season. As well they should.

And so the second adventure of the week ended without disaster. On to the wedding.......

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 8 -- TIA

Transient Ischemic Attack

I'm going to back all of this up a little bit so that the chronology flows forward instead of backward. I hate reading books that are consistent flashbacks so I won't do that to my readers.

Last Wednesday morning began like every other morning. Just plain ol' boring normal. And then around ten as I was straightening up, and for once getting things in their proper places, I headed downstairs to put an extra tape dispenser in the secretary. Half way down the stairs my right arm went numb. I shook it out a little thinking -- what was I thinking? -- nothing. I went on into the sitting room and went to turn the key in the door of the secretary to lift it open. My fingers wouldn't work.

I am looking at my fingers and I know what they are supposed to be doing, only they're not doin' it. I can't make my fingers close around the key in order to turn it. And my hand is feeling very, very odd. I can feel it, but I can't feel it. This lasted a few seconds and then began to pass. I put the tape holder away. I flex my hand. I walk to the phone and call the doctors' office.

The women where I work are sort of 'family.' I was told to come right down to the office. I did. Well, I did eventually. It seemed to take Bill forever to get on shoes and shirt and gather his 'stuff.' On the way to the office my left arm started to feel odd. I know that the hand thing is a TIA. Some little part of my brain has been deprived of blood supply. I am scared. Shaky. Teary.

A very thorough examination -- my blood pressure is perfect, my heart rate is perfect, my strength is perfect, my sensory sensations are perfect, my coordination is perfect. The doctor is puzzled and orders blood tests and a CT scan -- NOW. Modern medicine is amazing. This intricate machine can see inside your head. Well, other body parts too, but the head is the focus for me. It takes all of three minutes of just lying still. A couple of hours later the doctor called me at home to say that the CT scan does not give us an answer. Well, that is good news and bad news.

The good news is that there was not anything significant -- like a bleed or a clot. The bad news is that we still need to know what happened. So more comprehensive blood work and a carotid ultrasound on Monday and I am put on a medication called Aggrenox which will keep the blood from forming clots.

But this is only Wednesday. The further good news is that I am okay and can get on with life. Great things are coming up in the next three days. God is good. Stay tuned.....

UNRECOGNIZED SPIRITUAL AWAKENINGS

The Gospel reading for Monday was the beginning verses of John. Today's reading had John the Baptist "crying in the wilderness" which sent me back to yesterday's reading: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." In my head, I substitute periods for the commas in this sentence making it three distinct pronouncements.

These pronouncements always stir something within me. Fifty five years or so ago, when I was in my 'look at how pious I am' mode, this reading caused me to put aside my piousness OR it was put aside for me. My whole being seemed infused with wonder and awe, humbleness. That one sentence made me feel different. Outside of myself somehow. Outside of myself yet part of everything. Whole. An amazing feeling for such a young girl

I could not have put any of this into words at that time. Even thought. It has taken years for me to realize that what I had experienced was the touch of God in my soul. It was one of my first awakenings to the experience of God. And I didn't know it. Had no clue. But it was there. It is here. It is part of who I am.

A SHIFT IS IN THE MAKING???

Once again there is a feeling of change. I am such a creature of habit that I just go along day after day following the same routine. Once in a while I pick up something new or drop something old. Not very often though, because being a creature of habit doesn't allow for a great deal of change.

This morning, however, I noticed that the coffee was 'off.' Just didn't taste quite as rich and robust. Flat even. And then, thinking about it, I realize that this isn't new today. It is a repeat over the last week or so. And the morning Sudoku puzzle didn't seem to be the challenge it is on most mornings. Not that the difficulty wasn't there, the enticement and interest weren't there. I felt bored.

Last Monday I started on the treadmill again after many, many weeks of avoidance. I stepped up on to the belt, turned it on, set the preferences and off I went. The new TV remote didn't seem to work so I settled for quiet. I enjoyed that so much that I continued for the rest of the week and today with no blather. Just my own thoughts. Trying to figure out the previous night's dreams. And today was able to compose a special gift card note. Really a productive time -- in more ways that one.

Small shifts in the norm but altogether maybe ominous. I am open to what might come.

HOPE ABOUNDS

Our priest, Lois, is in the process of interviewing and hiring a nursery care person for Sundays. It has been over a year since we lost our last one and did not replace her. There were no children. Well, children, but not infants and toddlers who needed nursery care during worship.

As is usually the case in organizations, that which is not used falls into unkempt disarray. Thus the state of the nursery is not up to Diocesan standards -- by a long shot. The call went out. We need a new crib and changing table, new mattresses, toy sorting and cleansing.

The nursery is a very important piece of hospitality. It needs to be the best that we can offer. Parents need to feel confident that they are leaving their children in a place of comfort and safety. I was eager to answer the call and asked if others would join me. Others will. People will donate their time to sort and clean and organize. People will donate curtains/shades for the windows, people will donate mattresses. AND when I was doing an evaluation of the necessary work to be done, I found that someone had donated a large, new chest/bench for storing toys.

I am overwhelmed with this response. Who would have thought that a call to clean and sort and bring the nursery up to safety standards would bring such a response. I am overjoyed. Hope abounds!

And this is what seems to be the beginning of some new energy that is surfacing at Grace. The Mission Congregation is bubbling with eagerness to begin doing some outreach. Maybe not on our own -- yet. And that is more than okay. There are other churches that need more helping hands than they have of their own right now. Helping with another denomination's Thanksgiving Dinner is a possibility. And yet another denomination needs help with their Soup Kitchen commitment. Hope Abounds! We're on our way!

"PRAY FOR ME"

This is Bishop Gene's plea to us in his blog from Canterbury. Go on over and read the whole message. He is hurting -- and angry. He is feeling the pains of being a gay person in what is assumed by straight people to be a straight world. Well, people, it ISN'T a straight world. It is a great big conglomeration of a LOT of differences, sexuality being probably one of the least of differences. I will pray for Bishop Gene.

I remember being different. For some reason, around the age of twelve, my style of walking was just not right. I walked with my forehead leading the way and my butt bringing up a prominent rear. And my strides were very long. I didn't know about this difference until one day in the classroom a fellow student did a gross imitation of my walk and the resultant sniggering from my classmates was so embarrassing. Humiliating. I looked different. I was different. The same but different. Why is it that some differences are so painful? I think in many instances it is because other people are not willing to accept differences and are very quick to make issues about them. I will pray for Bishop Gene.

Bishop Gene is different because he is a Bishop -- we don't have many of those. He is also gay. I don't really know how many gay Bishops there are -- probably a lot more than we think. Bishop Gene has chosen to be honest and forthright about his life. I will pray for Bishop Gene.

The pain of living amongst the reactions of others to being different is always present. I know that my son, Jeffri, does not generally talk about it, but once in while something slips into our conversation together and I know that he experiences a LOT of discomfort from being who he is -- a gay man. There is hurt and anger, sometimes fear, self doubt. Life isn't easy. I pray for Jeffri and I will pray for Bishop Gene.

All of the Bishops need my prayer. And I will certainly pray for them as they come together at Lambeth -- without Bishop Gene, of course. I am personally angry that he was not invited. They all need to be given a time out. Who's right? Who's wrong? Who cares? Just grow up and learn that walking in the other person's shoes gives everything a whole different sense of being. I will pray for the work at Lambeth. I will pray for bishop Gene.

MISSION CONGREGATION

The Mission Congregation of Grace Episcopal Church. 'What's that?' people ask. There have been Sunday announcements. There have been articles in the last three monthly newsletters. When I try to encourage people to try it out, they say to me 'what is it?' and in return I ask if they have read about it in the newsletter. 'Oh I don't read the newsletter."

WAKE UP PEOPLE!!!

SO... here it is again -- in MY own words this time.

A group of 'seeking' people come together about once a month on a Saturday morning to support and encourage one another in our questions and our search for more. More than Sunday worship. More than Bible study. More than just talk. MORE!! And it has become more because we share in the search. We share our stories. We listen. We pray together. We learn.

It is interesting that this group first came together in an effort to determine what was holding up progress in the parish. We called ourselves the Visioning Committee and our purpose was to talk about why were we not drawing in new people; where the families with children were . Why were people so complacent? Why was there no interest in educational offerings? And on and on and on some more. We realized after meeting two or three times that we were going over and over the same old stuff. Questions we have been asking ourselves for the past fifteen, twenty, thirty years. Dreams we have all shared for the past fifteen, twenty, thirty years. And still no answers. And still no progress.

Toward the end of our last 'fixit' session we began to express our own personal needs and hungers for more. As the wheels were spinning some of our sorrows and hurts spilled onto the table. We were hungering and thirsting for something we did not have. The 'same ol' just wasn't cutting it any longer. We wanted more. More intimate worship, more meaningful Bible Study, more opportunity to ask questions and hear the questions and longing of others. We were not UNhappy with the same ol' Sunday Worship, but we felt that there could be more.

And so we began to meet to try to fulfill some of our needs. We schedule three hours and are reluctant to depart when the time is up. We are learning to share our deepest doubts, and share how, we personally, have been trying to find answers. We involve ourselves in scripture and seek how it is meaningful to our current lives. Our prayers are open and from our hearts -- shared, heard, and held sincerely one for the other.

We all continue Sunday worship with the parish. It is part of who we are. We still long for more people to join us with our Mission Congregation. When there is more, it needs to be shared.

TRANSITION/TRANSFORMATION

I have avoided talking about "my" church on this blog because it is listed on the "Resource" page of our web site and I was uncomfortable really speaking my mind for all those parishioners to read. BUT, as you notice, I have not posted in over a month. My prayer and ponder time is pretty much focused on the health and well being of my parish and the ability to express that was being stifled by this feeling of exposure. And so I am not going to hold back any longer. I am going to put it out here for any and all to read. Read and respond -- with respect, dignity and integrity for all who choose to share

We have made the transition of healing from our past life into this new life with our new priest. She is titled "Priest-in-Charge" because we are not financially stable enough to call a rector. We are drawing down our endowment at an alarming rate -- all things being equal we will be out of endowment by mid 2011 and will have to close our doors. (I think I got that right. Anyone reading may make a correction of this statement.) That does not give us very much time for transformation.

Many in our parish are still into the thinking that whatever we do going forward is to save Grace Church. OR, even worse, fix Grace Church. It isn't about paying the oil bill and the electric bill and putting on a new roof. It isn't about pulling in more people to help share the financial load. It's about US. Too many of us are not willing to look to ourselves, individually and collectively, and see that WE, we persons, we Christians, are the ones that need saving. So many of us have decided that we're done. DONE? How can that be? How can we sit in the pews Sunday after Sunday with the smug, snug feeling that we have done whatever we needed to have done. WRONG!!!

There is more. There is always more. More to learn: a deeper experience of God; a closer relationship with neighbor -- pewmate, lifemate, workmate, streetmate; a sense of responsibility to our own small community, and even more to the community outside our doors. AND there is more than Sunday worship. Of the 168 hours of our week we spend 1.25 at worship. Of the 166.75 remaining hours, how many do each of us give to ministry? I'm talking about 'in-house' ministry and the ministry we do in our week-day lives. Do the math, make a pie chart. Be accountable to yourself.

This is only a beginning. I'm just getting started.

SUBLIMINAL CHANGES

Changes sneak into our routine without us really noticing. Because Bill is no longer driving a school bus, we no longer have to get moving so early in the day. Nature has taken over the awakening role in my life. It begins about four fifteen in the morning. A single chirp. An answering chirp. A reply. It isn't long before other cheeps and chirps join in. By four thirty to four forty five there is a great symphony of bird sounds. Then even more join until there is a great crescendo of sound which continues until well past five and then slowly settles to a more quiet and infrequent exchange.

I lie abed and wonder what they can be saying to one another. It is such a joyous commotion. I wish that I might have such a choir of acquaintances. Then again -- not. I am too private a person. But I do love to eavesdrop on these early morning beings. I snuggle into my pillow and listen. I listen also for the resident coo coo to announce the time. I no longer have to get up before six. I can if I want to. Don't have to. Such a luxury.

Many days I choose to get up with the birds and have my morning coffee in the quiet of the morning. Read the paper. Do the daily sudoku puzzle. It is a different routine from six months ago. I like it. The change is good.

For another insight on morning sounds and memories check out Barbara Crafton's e-mo over at Geranium Farm.

MAY 31, 2008

I am crawling out of May like the groundhog from her hole on February 2. There is light and there is shadow. Shall I crawl back in for another six weeks or shall I stay and make the best of it? Have I had enough 'down' time or need I take more? It would feel really, really good to crawl back into the comfort of that hole, but I am not seeing a benefit.

Somehow, I feel the need to stay. Make some changes, but stay all the same. The following came to me this morning during reflection time:

it is the last of the days of May
my world is lush with green
and the flowering of spring.
May is the month of hope and promise
and I have used this time to retreat
into the innermost part of my being.
there have been days and days of seeming waste
and yet that time was rest and renewal.

it is in the quiet times that I feel God's Presence.
my quiet, not the quiet of the world,
and I am slow to awaken to the obvious.
God demands this quiet time.
time to be.....

PAY ATTENTION, BARB!!!

When I got on the scales this morning I weighed one hundred and twenty eight pounds. One twenty is a good weight for me. One twenty five is a wee bit over the top. One twenty eight is beyond reason. I haven't been paying attention. I have been wallowing in circumstances that make me believe that God is present with me. Shocking. Humbling. More than a little scary.

Well, duh, God is ALWAYS present with each of us ALL the time. But I have been feeling a physical indication that God is with me -- now. I just don't know what to make of that. I am numb with unbelief and yet I believe. I don't want to put it into words because it might go away -- and how egotistic is that? OR it might be more. And so I ponder. I contemplate. I pace. I try to understand. And most of all I pray.

Perhaps this Presence of God that I am experiencing is an admonition to prayer. Worked, that's for sure. I find myself in prayer more and more times during the day. Sometimes conversation with God. Sometimes mental pictures. Many times just sensation. More often than not just 'being.'

But being with God cannot exclude being in the world -- at least not for now. And so I must learn to manage both/all. Gaining weight is both unhealthy and economically unwise as I have a simple wardrobe that fits one twenty to one twenty five. What was that lesson of being "in" the world and being "of" the world. Don't remember. But I do know for now that I need to acknowledge this Presence of God in the world in which I exist and must function on a daily basis.

Close my lips. Accept less food. Be prudent. But above all, give thanks for the presence of God.

HOLDING PATTERN

I am in a spiritual holding pattern, drifting somewhat easily, trying to discern what it is that God is trying to tell me -- or not. There are a lot of key words in that sentence. Maybe they are all key. The good news is that it is mostly a comfortable place to be. But I don't want to get too comfortable.

And there is a niggling to be more actively exploring. Exploring what? Good question. I asked for and was given a few books to peruse and have chose one -- Joyce Rupp's "Dear Heart, Come Home - A Path of Midlife Spirituality." The 'midlife' part held me back at the beginning. I mean, here I am at seventy, well beyond midlife. BUT, if you subtract the thirty years that I opted out of anything religious, theological, or spiritual I am about right, I guess. And then, of course, I have those thirty years of observing life that must account for something.

At the beginning of the preface of this book there is a poem by Joyce Rupp. I read it several times before I chose the book. I have read it a kazillion times since; copied it out and keep it here on my desk. It is a jumping off place. Not a starting place because as I said in a previous post, the beginning was probably ever so long ago. It is a continued search.

At the end of each chapter there are what Rupp refers to as 'simmering times.' Suggestions on how one might contemplate the material in that chapter. Some are ideas to journal, or paint or sketch, some are just for thinking or discussing with a friend or a chosen group. The one that popped out at me is "Search within to see if you have any fears of going inward." OUCH! You mean look at myself -- the deep down self?

My very first thought was, Well, yeah, I have fears. What if I look inward and don't like what I see? Now THAT is scary. OR, worse yet, what if I look inward and nothing is there. Well, I am hoping these are my worst thoughts. I am going to continue to contemplate this search within and how I feel about it.

BREAK THROUGH

God has broken through my spiritual drought. The Presence of God is at hand and I am at once startled and comforted, unsettled and pacified. God is. That much is certain. But what does it mean and what is expected and how do I proceed? Big questions.

An IPod comes with a detailed instruction manual. So does a lawn mower, and so does a jig saw. There are no instructions that come with this Presence. Jeffri says I need a burning bush. I would be happy to awaken one morning to words scrawled across the wall that say ' now do this......,' but neither is going to happen. I am going to have to figure it out somehow -- or not. I can only liken it to a marriage. Each day is a new day and we figure it out as it comes -- or not. The 'or not' option is troubling. I do not want there to be an or not. I want there to be fruition, progression, growth, continuing enlightenment, and above all, goodness. Please, God, let there be goodness.

Prayer comes to me easily now. And often. Not formal prayer. Mostly not even words. Feelings, a knowledge that God is with me and I am with God. Images too. Images of those for whom I pray. And energy. Energy to and fro and all over the place, connecting my prayer and God and my prayer people. The most astounding experience. Hard to put into words. Reluctant to put it out here. But for those who know and see and believe, those of you who experience God, you will know. You will believe.

I am now into the middle of a journey. The beginning began so long ago that I don't remember it. If it was even 'my' beginning. Beginnings are a myth, I think. Except for the WORD. I believe this was the true beginning. All other beginnings after that were probably 'middles.' There are probably no forks in the road just as there are no going backs in life. The choice is how we move forward.

That is the current dilemma -- how to move forward, how to work with this Presence in my life. A dear friend tells me that this is too new to be thinking about any whys or hows. So I think I will just be with it for now. Experience it. Rest in it as I did the drought. Experience it but don't get too comfortable. The way may be easy but, frankly, the yoke is NOT light. The yoke is the yoke of responsibility and that is not easy.

And so this is more journey. I really have come to dislike this term that is bandied about in the jargon of the church. But it IS a journey. And I have this feeling that it is not going to be an easy one. It will be fraught with emotional and spiritual challenges. There will doubts. There will be denials. There will be confrontations with the past and the self. I am at once daunted and excited for that which is to come.

SPIRITUAL DROUGHT

It happens sometimes. The spirit just seems to not be there. For a great long period this time. I haven't written pages forever. No prayer before sleep. No thankful awakening prayer. No formal prayer at all. Not even Celtic prayers. No relevant spiritual reading. Not much of anything.

And I haven't fought to get it either. In the past I would delve into something I felt should be in place. Prayer beads. Palm cross. Daily Office. Morning pages. All those practices that I thought were supposed to make me a spiritual person. All plastic. Once in awhile I would fall into good prayer but it was not a lasting thing. Did the candle lighting thing. Made a quiet 'sacred' space. Nothing was lasting.

Today I was able to name it -- Spiritual Drought. And face it too. Here it is. Here I am. I seem to have been here for longer than I have been aware. It is not a very comfortable place to be. But here I am. And I have decided to not fight it this time. Just be in it. Allow myself to feel it and to lean back into the tension that is here.

Eventually there will be a spark that will ignite my inner core. I will nurture it. I will make it mine

CULMINATION SUNDAY

Just as Friday signals the week's end, I look upon Sunday as the culmination of the week. It is the beginning and the end. It is the pivotal time of being. Saturday is the time for replenishing my physical resources. Saturday is the ketchup (for you non-Bancroft people that is catch up) day of the week. Laundry, sleep in, mail, read, relax, run errands, anything, everything.

But Sunday. Sunday is the most special day of all. Sunday means church. Sunday means being with God in a corporate way as opposed to the solitudinous way of the week. Solitudinous -- it's a word, an adjective, I just looked it up in the dictionary and it means what I want it to mean. Sunday is the high point of my week. It carries me forth to the middle and carries me forward from the middle.

Church is the liturgy. Church is the people. Church is my corporate connection with God. Church is where Jesus welcomes me to table to share the blessed meal. Church is music -- today it was "I Walk In The Garden Alone." My mother was a Methodist. Her father was a Methodist minister, of sorts. She sang the old hymns. The Presbyterian Church where I sometimes did Sunday School also did these old hymns. The 'garden' is one of my favorite places to be with God and it was a special moment for me in today's service.

Sunday morning church is a 'high' for me. A beautiful, natural, God-given high that sends me forth into the Kingdom to do God's work. Do I always do it? Not always. Do I want to? Yes. Do I try to? Yes. Am I successful? Sometimes? Does it matter? Not at all. What matters is the caring and the effort.

WEEK END

It is Friday. The end of the week. I am weary. No energy. No spark of interest. Just a lackluster being sitting at the computer reading other people's blogs. I have always been drawn to human interest stories and there are certainly a myriad of them being blogged.

You will note on the side bar 'Blogs I Follow' that there is a variety in the blog topics. I usually check in on them daily and sometimes, moved by the Spirit, I will leave a comment. People offer so much of themselves. I am astounded at how open people can be with their thoughts and feelings. Some of the bloggers write anonymously, others quite publicly. I congratulate those who are able to write openly and share their lives with us. I applaud and delight in their accomplishments and am encouraged to get on with my own creativity.

And I cherish the writings of the anonymous writers who are struggling with personal life issues. These struggles reach my heart and enter into my prayers

As for me, I will blather on in my mundane way until one day I will stumble upon a natural thread that will lead me into some serious blogging.

SPRING BREAKS

It rained today in Connecticut. All day. A gentle rain that clung to the trees in heavy droplets. Tiny buds just barely bursting forth. The promise of leaf. The grass is greening. It is daylight at 6:30 when we get up in the morning. We have supper in this light of day. Our spirits lift. Spring!

And in the front yard the maple towers above with its own swelling red buds against the bleak gray sky. Soon they will burst forth, spilling onto the ground, staining porch and steps with their redness. Spring!

Indoors, however, things are really bleak. The Brugmansia that I brought in when the fall weather came on are not doing well. In fact they are doing badly. I won't even take pictures of straggly, leafless stems. They are constantly bug laden even though I frequently spray them with soap insecticide. Spring can't come soon enough for these guys. I just hope they survive.

The good news is that the brugmansia cuttings that I took in the fall are doing fairly well. At least they are green and growing. Of the fifteen, six have survived. Of the four cuttings that I brought back from Indiana, one has survived. I hope it makes it because I want to see that wonderful peach blossom and smell the intoxicating aroma. Spring is hope.

WAVY HAIR

On Gabriel anyway. Heretofore he has always had straight hair because I either took him to the groomer or shampooed him and blow dried him myself. But I decided that if shampoo wasn't good for me it probably is not good for him either. And he hates being groomed -- the wetting and the drying. So at least I am eliminating one half of the torture.

By eliminating the shampoo, I have eliminated half the wet time also. Just rinse with warm water, apply conditioner, another short rinse and then a towel dry for as long as he will allow -- which isn't long. He wants to be out and about shaking the wetness away, rubbing his head on the rug to dry it, and then he goes and sits on the back of the couch in the sunshine.

The snarls that he gets in his long tail hairs are not as bad now because I have been getting at them right away with more hair conditioner. He also gets snarls in the fine hair on his underside and he HATES when I pull on those but with the hair conditioner I can work them out with my fingertips.

It is amazing what one article in the news paper can do to change habits. I am speaking, of course, on the Devacurl article about curly hair and hair products that was in the paper over a week ago. I just took off on the ideas. I read many articles every morning on a variety of topics - gardening, cooking, home design, new products and new ways of doing things. This article is the first in a longa, longa time that left an impression and encouraged further study and action.

Well, this is my 100th blog posting. I hope it won't get more boring than this.

LEMONS

Okay, so this picture itself is pretty much of a lemon but I was in a rush this morning and hurriedly snapped it before taking it downstairs and tossing it into the compost on my way to work. Actually the lemon is left over from last evening's shower. The juice went into a cup with a little bit of hair conditioner and after thoroughly rinsing my hair under the warm shower water, I used this mixture as a scalp cleanser. Then I rubbed the open half of the lemon on my face as a cleanser. That felt so good that I just scrubbed myself all over with the lemon.

I've been reading again. In my past life, my then husband would jestingly threaten to take away my library card -- we had library cards then, no computers. Periodically, I would suddenly get an interest in some whacky thing and do multitudinous reading on the subject. I have became fairly knowledgeable on goat husbandry, solar heating, breadmaking (which I actually did), and lots of other stuff -- too much to list right now. I have now added 'Googling' to my resources.

The latest reading is curly/wavy hair. And I haven't really done all that much reading. I fell onto this subject through an article in our local newspaper about a hair stylist that specialized in cutting, styling, and teaching the care of curly hair. It mentioned a 'devacurl' demo. I Googled 'devacurl' and found that this was a hair product - plural, There was such a variety of hair products available that I was over my head in offerings.

At the library that same evening, I took out two books on curly hair. There is still something very special about books -- oops, that's another blog post. Anyway, the book Curly Girl by Lorrain Massey with Deborah Chiel is the one that makes sense to me. I do a lot of reading and research, throw out what makes no sense, is too expensive, or just doesn't fit my way of thinking or life style. Usually there isn't much left. I learn a lot through the process though.

So: nix on shampoo, blow dryers, hair spray. That all works for me. My hair had become stiff with hair spray, dry from shampoo and hair dryer and just plain blah. So week one into the new regime and there is actually a little body and a little wave, maybe even some half curls. Of course, my hair is very short and needs to grow out a bit and the top layer is too long for the lower layer so I have a bit of an adjustment period ahead. But, hey, why not?

PICTURES

I am going to have to start putting pictures on this blog. Many of the blogs that I read are made all the more interesting with pictures. The thing is that it is time consuming to download them from the camera, choose, sort, name, file and Blogger is awkward to maneuver text around pictures.

Sometimes as I am writing I think of a picture that would be perfect for the text. But then I don't run off to take the picture. Don't take the time. And possibly it is past the time for that particular picture anyway. I think I need to form some new habits. Like keeping my camera handy and just take pictures. DO IT, Barbara.

Does anyone have some helpful hints that would make this chore quicker and easier?

YOGURT

Frugal is a word that is sometimes applied to my spending habits. I like to think of myself as innovative. Novel. Prudent. Bill would sometimes like to say 'cheap' but I don't hardly allow that.

Anywhohow! I make my own yogurt. I have it for breakfast every day. I do the kind with the "unique probiotic strain of bifidobacteria" as found in Dannon's Activia. The website says it plays a role in my intestinal ecosystem. I didn't know my intestines had an ecosystem. I do know that yogurt is good for the digestive system. And I do know that it is expensive. And most yogurts contain a lot of stuff unnecessary for my health. When I make my own, I know what's in it. Almost. I haven't as yet just ordered some plain garbage free starter. I use one container of Light vanilla Activia to a half gallon of fat free milk. And the fat free milk is Hood's Simply Special, but I assume that any fat free milk will do.

I put a half gallon of milk on low heat and bring it to 170 degrees F. Then I take if off the heat and let it cool to 110. While the cooling process is happening, three quart mason jars are half filled with water and heated in the microwave for seven minutes on high. Then I dump this very warm water into a cooler that is just the size to hold the three mason jars.

When the milk mixture has almost reached 110, I stir in one cup of dry non fat milk granules, one third cup Splenda, and a dribble of vanilla extract. This combination works for me. A container of Activia yogurt is dumped into a two cup Pyrex measuring cup and some of the milk is poured in, stirred to mix and then poured back into the milk and stirred slowly, just enough to mix it all together. Distribute into the three mason jars, screw on the caps, place in the cooler -- which is now a 'warmer' -- and close.

Leave the warmer someplace where is will not be disturbed. I put it on a stuffed chair in the sitting room and cover it with a comforter. (My house is cold. 67 degrees.) Forget about it. Well, forget about it for several hours anyway. I have actually forgotten about it and finally retrieved it after thirteen hours. But it was still perfect. Six to eight hours is good. Then it goes into the frig.

When I have used the fourth of the Activia containers of yogurt, I save half a cup from the top of the third container of yogurt to be the 'starter' for the next batch. I think you can do this three or four times before it peters out. A batch of yogurt lasts me about ten days, maybe a little more. The process is time consuming only in the fact that you have to be around and watch the temperatures. There are a cazillion combinations of this process, I just put together what I had and what I could do. Works for me!

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GOOD FRIDAY - CHALLENGING WORSHIP

Good Friday, the most somber day of the church year. It is all about death. It is all about what Jesus did for us. OR how the New Testament authors told the story of the fulfillment of Old Testament scripture. However we worship on this day, it is somber.

We enter a church stripped of all her refinement -- no candles, no fair linen everything taken away last evening by the Altar Guild. We pick up our service bulletins and take our seats quietly, barely nodding our greeting to others. We silently pray. We look over the service bulletin to check our responses. We await the entrance of the priest and choir who will enter in silence.

But WAIT! What is that I hear? Not the murmurings of the choir gathering, not whispered conversation from those seated behind. What is it? I hear 'Yes, Jesus.' I hear 'Hallelujah.' Those are the only words that I pick up but I hear the cadence and it is all well miked. It is the congregation that worships in the Undercroft beneath this worship space. They are NOT quiet worshipers. They want God to hear them. It is not the quiet way that we worship on this day. But it is their way.

At first I am annoyed. How am I possibly going to manage under these conditions? How dare my worship be compromised. But who are the interlopers here? They are worshipping at their regularly scheduled time. WE are the ones who are out of the norm. This is THEIR time. Well, really it is God's time. We worship in a way differently than they do. It is all the same God. Isn't it wonderful that we can all share this space and worship the same God albeit in a different manner.

I turn my attention to our own service. I have to concentrate. We pray part of Psalm 22 together. Together we can hear ourselves. The Passion is read. We hear it all. Clearly. Perhaps the congregation downstairs is having silent prayer. I don't know. I don't remember. During the sermon I have to watch Lois' mouth to be sure that I hear and understand the words. I have to concentrate. I am eventually able to let the downstairs service be a background for the sermon. It isn't easy but I manage. I hear the sermon. I understand the sermon. I get the message. We sing "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" We leave in silence. Was there really silence? I don't remember.

FOOT WASHING - WHO WOULDA THUNK

Our Maunday Thursday service began with a covered dish supper, candles on the table, real plates and flatware, tables set up in a large "U" shape set for thirty. There might have even been thirty of us there. The important thing is there were enough. Enough participants. Enough food. Enough spirit. Enough time for the enough people to greet one another and share a meal.

When the children became bored which, of course results in noise, Lois, our priest, softly rang her brass singing bowl with her little wooden mallet thingie. It is a soft sound -- but audible -- just. But the soft sound continues and the children finally catch it and begin to quiet down. The sound continues until they are silent. She calls them back to table to hear a story -- Raven Steals the Sun, Stars and Moon. We continued to eat. We listen to the story. The story is short. The children once again grow restless and then boisterous.

I grow uneasy with this distraction. This sound of disruption is annoying. They will soon be out of control running with abandon and squealing with the delight of their uninterrupted antics.

The calling of the bowl repeats and children are called back to hear the short reading before the foot washing begins. The foot washing ceremony is a very meaningful ritual for me. It not only instills in me, once again, how Jesus became servant, but allows me to be served and to be servant. It is ritual filled with holy love -- for the person being washed and the one doing the washing. It is a solemn ritual, done in a hushed atmosphere....

Add children. Add water.

Lois explains the procedure. The children immediately rip off their shoes and socks and gather around ready to 'participate.' Lois washes the feet. Lois dries. Lois washes more feet. Lois dries. Then she is tapped on the shoulder. The tapper wants to take a turn being the washer. AHAH! His sister is next in line to be washed. He wants to wash his younger sister. As the pessimistic observer, I can see water all over the place, tickling of feet, screams, and kicks. But Lois has him sit on the floor next to her and turns to the second chair where a washee awaits. She guides him through the washing and tells him how to dry. He listens and follows her instruction. Lois meanwhile washes the feet of the sister. The brother continues to wash feet of others. Slowly. Solemnly. With great attention and with great care.

I decide that I will have my feet washed. The sister is there to do it. "I'm tired," she says to me. "Too tired to wash my feet?" I ask. "Oh, no," she replies, "I can do it." And she does. It is not the slow and careful ritual that I have experienced in the past. But this child is serious about this washing. It is quick. Pour the water, swipe the towel. She has an observing helper who points out that she missed the water on the bottom of my feet. The bottoms of my feet are duly dried. I return to my place at table. Others have their feet washed. The young boy stands up from his last foot washing, stretches out his arms and says, "Any more customers?"

Foot washing is done. We move on to share communion. These children probably do not fully grasp what we have just experienced together. And that's okay. Next year when we gather for this same ritual, they will remember. They will be one year older. They will be in a different place spiritually. They will understand a little more. They may participate, they may not. But they will remember.

I will remember.

CASCADING CLUTTER

Once again there is just too much stuff. I don't even know if all of this stuff has a home. And if it doesn't have a home, should I make one or just toss? Now there is a dilemma. Probably why so much stuff is collecting -- no designated home. And yet with the clutter comes an inner sense of instability -- almost panic. Too much to do. Not enough time. Not enough space to do the work. My mind gets boggled and crowded and my sense of self gets confused and productivity comes at a price. And the price usually is cluttering up another sight with yet other stuff.

It gets just so deep and then action must be taken. Usually I know what is in the layers. Not exactly 'where' but at least 'what.' When I lose track of the 'whats' because they have been there for so long and the 'where' of what I do remember is history, then I must DO something. The call to action is brought on by a variety of things: a lost important something; lack of space even for list making; a torrential cascade that threatens to finally slip away to the floor when I try to get to my calender; molding citrus rinds; and most of all the sense of futility it instills in me.

So the day after the above picture was taken I vowed to clear the clutter. It took the better part of the day. I made sure that what I picked up found a place to live -- or was history into the round file. And while I was at it the places that I went with 'stuff' got a little attention also. But the primary goal was to clear down to the desktop. To have no clutter. To relieve my stress. To bring peace into my life.

And this is how it looked when I was finished. And I have been able to keep it this way for almost a week. I am having to relearn efficiency and organizational principles. Basics: take care of mail -- NOW; return items to proper place when finished; make new homes for new items or projects; don't even think I am going to come back to finish something, either finish it or put it away.

I am enjoying this. It is freeing. Spirit lifting. Opens a world of possibilities instead of 'have tos.' There is still more to come, of course. I am negotiating for a new desk and counter and places to have things at hand that I use often. Work in progress. Isn't that wonderful?

JESUS AND THE FIG TREE

This morning's reading always amazes me. I would just as soon have titled this piece Vindictive Jesus, or Spoiled Brat Jesus or any number of other heretical titles. But, really! What gives with this Jesus. His infantile hunger prompts him to put a curse on an innocent fig tree, just because the tree has not offered him an out of season fig to satisfy his immediate need. He has a temper tantrum. The fig tree withers and dies.

When questioned, Jesus came forth with the 'faith can move mountains' analogy. For me it would have been a better lesson if he had commanded the out of season fruit to spring forth for his satisfaction rather than condemn the tree to death. I abhor the thought that 'faith' can be used unjustly.

Scripture bewilders me and angers me.

THE SLOG IS OVER

Not to mean that Lent is over, but that we are now into Holy Week. The liturgy of Palm Sunday has been laid to rest for yet another year. The palms are still green and flexible and beautiful. The music still echoes in our minds. The Passion has been read -- Matthew this year. I was privileged to read the 'Evangelist' part. I love reading this part because it is the glue that holds it all together. The whole of the congregation participates. We live the story of the betrayal and the condemnation and the crucifixion. But it is only a 'taste' of the story. As the week goes on we will participate more fully in the events that lead to the cross.

And isn't it odd that when I was at the halfway mark of Lent, I thought it would never end. Now I am feeling as though it has sneaked up on me and I am ill prepared. Did I do all those things I wanted to do? Have I been prayerful? What about repentance, self-denial, fasting, reading, meditating? How am I measuring up? And who is doing the measuring anyway.

This is one of the lessons that I have to learn. NO ONE is watching me. NO ONE is keeping score. No one probably even cares. Whatever it is, whatever choices I make, it is between me and God. And it is for that relationship with God that I strive.

FOLLOWING JOHN TO LAMBETH

... or Jeffri as the case may be. I finally succombed and downloaded the Reading Plan that has been issued for daily contemplation leading up to the meeting of Anglican/Episcopal Bishops who are to attend their once a decade meeting at Lambeth in June. It has been interesting reading Jeffri's interpretations. He has been reading the Daily Bible Commentary Edited by Richard A. Burridge so we have yet another interpretation.

Lambeth is a ways off in time as well as distance and if you are interested it isn't too late to join in the reading of John and commentary by Jeffri.

CHANGE

There is this saying that goes "The more things change, the more things stay the same." I want someone to tell me how that is. Like give me an example. I'm not getting it. Change for me is a major event. Even if it is a change that I am expecting or planning, it is still major. Causing unsettledness and discomfort -- usually, not always. And that may be okay, but it still is a disruption to the rhythm of my life.

Many changes I can 'take in stride.' Don't you love all these little sayings that we use to describe things for ourselves. Stride. Well to take it in stride means that the rhythm does NOT change. In order for that to happen, requires a great deal of concentration. Read self discipline. Maybe even preplanning. And even though the obvious stride does not change does not mean that the inner stride follows suit. In order to appear that the change is accepted may mean an internal upheaval. Which, of course, will eventually throw one off stride. Oh, dear.

I have survived any number of life changes. Too many to enumerate. Most of them pretty ordinary. Still in all some of them pretty major for me. More changes are coming, of course. That's life. What is worrisome, however, is how I will experience the changes, and how I will handle the changes. OR will the changes handle me?

Grace Church is going to change. What we look like and what we are is going to be way different than what I now know it to be. This gives me feelings of expectation and apprehension. I don't know what the changes will be. There is nothing to prepare me for the newness that is coming. The expectation is that it is necessary for our survival and it will be good. The apprehension is that I do not see myself in the new. Will this old self fit in to the new fabric of Grace Church?