napkins

I always forget napkins.  The table will be set, food is hot, family gathered, and someone will say "do we have any napkins?"  I will jump back up and grab a handful of paper towels.  Because "no we do not EVER have napkins."  The paper towel thing is fine when it is just the four of us on a week night.  We aren't fancy.  But for Thanksgiving or Easter or weekends with company? When a lot of work has gone into making the table look nice....the wad of paper towels just doesn't cut it.  Must remember to get napkins!

Which is why I was so tickled when my in-laws showed up around noon on Christmas with a package of beautiful Christmassy paper napkins.  "We thought you might need these," my mother-in-law said as she handed them to me.  I did!  They brought many other things, boxes of presents, food and drink, but those napkins are still making me smile.  I think it's the great combination of being truly known, and truly taken care of.

I felt that combination with the cozy pink coat from my parents.  It's a continuing gift of fresh color and warmth as I stand outside and greet students every morning.  And the afternoon trip to Sensibilities Spa with my sister-in-law from my brother's family. It was the perfect mix of quiet relaxation and fun chattering.   And my fitbit from Steve and the boys - just the right incentive and social competition that I needed.   I could go on...

Christmas can be a great physical reminder of God's abundant love.  My God will richly supply all your needs through Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:19 .  It was for me this year, and I am so grateful.

And there were more napkins.  Later in the day I unwrapped a package of cream-colored cloth napkins with words of gratitude printed in black script.  I had seen them at Pier One, thought they would be great for Thanksgiving and hinted that I wanted them.  (Can it still be called hinting if you call your mother-in-law and say "I really want these specific napkins from this specific store"?)  

One of my resolutions for 2015 is to Use It Up.  Don't save things for later.  I tend to tuck things away for a special occasions -soft scarves, gift boxes of unique tea flavors, pretty candles, the good plates or better silverware. But NOW is a special occasion.  Dinners on Wednesday evenings and baths on Tuesday nights, and getting dressed for cold Monday mornings.  Use It Up is a regular reminder to live in the moment, that my family is worth it, that I am worth it.   I have been inspired by Gretchen Rubin's call to spend it out and Shauna Niequist's burn the candles post, and want to live into this paradigm. 

So Friday night I pulled out the beautiful Thanksgiving napkins and set the table with candles.  I controlled my wincing as spaghetti mouths were wiped on the new napkins.  They can be washed.  And if they don't make it til next Thanksgiving think of all the gratitude-infused meals we will enjoy in the mean time.

The paper towels can wait.

tantrums

At school today a little girl was marched into my office.  Her eyes were red and her shoulders were shaking.  She listened defiantly as I talked about how kindergarten students can not throw screaming fits over the shape of crackers served during snack time.  She was not convinced.  Or very sorry.

Actually I felt for her.  I know that helpless, angry frustration that sometimes wells up inside me looking for a way to escape.

I felt it this month.  After years of praying a very specific prayer and years of silence from Heaven in response. After laying out over and over and over what seemed to me a God-honoring, mostly unselfish plea.  After trying to be positive and grateful and teachable in spite of not seeing a light at the end of my tunnel.

Recently in my car I listened to an inspiring sermon on Daniel's three friends facing the wrath of the king.  How these men of faith faced the angry king and told him to his face "Our God is able to deliver us from this furnace.  But even if He does not we will still serve Him to our death."  The point of the sermon was sometimes God delivers us FROM the fiery furnace.  And sometimes God delivers us IN the fiery furnace.  We don't always get the rescue, the answers, the solutions we want or need, but this doesn't have to shake our faith.

As if.  

I love my faith.  It's the air I breathe and the road I walk on.  It is guiding, helpful, comforting, delightful, interesting, challenging, grounded.  What it is not is Unshakable.

I falter in front of a furnace.  Or in pitch blackness.  Or dead quiet.  I need more burning bushes and wall writing and nets overflowing with fish.  I'd like a city falling down and seas parting please.

But no.  What started with a hope-crushing text last week, ended with me in the bath tub having a spiritual hissy fit.   I didn't renounce my religion or curse at God.  Just kicked and cried and pouted.  "God, what in the world is wrong with you?  How clear do I have to be?"

When I was still doing hospice full time I ordered Barbara Brown Taylor's new book Learning to Walk in the Dark.  I thought I would be good for my patients.  I pulled it out recently and found that what it is really good for is people in mid-tantrum.   This paragraph spoke to me.

This darkness and cloud is always between you and God, no matter what you do," wrote the anonymous fourteenth-century author of The Cloud of Unknowing, "and it prevents you from seeing Him clearly by the light of understanding in your reason and from experiencing Him in sweetness of love in your affection.  So set yourself to rest in this darkness as long as you can, always crying out after Him whom you love.  For if you are to experience Him or to see Him at all, insofar as it is possible here, it must always be in this cloud and in this darkness."

I climbed out of the tub, spent and resigned.  Red eyes and shaky shoulders.  So be it cloud and darkness.

And then the next day.  The next day! Things dramatically changed.  Better than I could have scripted or hoped for. Steve was offered a new job.  With people that valued his years of commitment and consistency.  People who said things like "Wow, we are so excited to get to work with you." With plenty of stable work, affirming staff and new challenges.   The desires of my heart.  What feels like the warm smiles of God.

And with my joy and gratitude comes sheepishness.  Why couldn't I have held that tantrum off twenty four hours? Why couldn't I have embraced one more night of the darkness and announced "Even if He does not!" Why such a vivid reminder that my faith is sometimes still in kindergarten?

There will be other cloudy nights and long tunnels.  I know that. What I hope is that I can carry this experience and so many others through the darkness.  That I will remember there is a fourth being holding my hand in the furnace.  That instead of yelling at I can cry out after Him whom I love.

And maybe a little less pouting and kicking.....

a christmas story

What started as a normal Saturday, made a detour.  I was walking into church when my on-call phone beeped. Minutes later I was driving into down winding country roads.  I walked into Fred and Anna's home, minutes after Fred passed away.  I was halfway across the living room when Anna wrapped her petite body around me and sobbed.  After a while we made our way to their bed room and sat on either side of Fred.  As we waited for her sons to arrive, Anna began to share stories for their sixty+ year marriage and their childhoods on the other side of the world.  Some of the stories were filled with happy memories.  Some made us weep.

Fred was one of nine children.  One brother was killed in the war.  One sister died from injuries when bombs hit their village.  Anna  was a few years younger and lived a couple hundred miles away.  She talked about soldiers invading her village.  About beatings and rape and murder.  With the men off fighting several mothers decide to flee to safety.  Anna's mother wrapped her children in blankets and laid her baby in a buggy that she and her neighbor pushed through the snow.  Two solders stopped them mid hike.  One soldier demanded that Anna's mother remove her boots and give them to him.  He tried them on but realized they were way too small.  This angered him.  He threw them back at her yelling "stupid woman!"  Anna realized that if the boots had fit the soldier, her mother would have been left barefoot in the snow.   

The story got worse.  Anna's baby brother died toward the end of the hike to the next village.   Anna watched her mother lay the baby on a table and wash his emaciated body.  She remembered her mother saying "This is so much better.  He will never have to suffer again."
       
And now it was Anna's time to say that as she looked at Fred.  "He will never have to suffer again."  In the midst of Anna's grief she realized that Fred would get to meet her little brother for the first time in Heaven.  She talked about how glad she was Fred was no longer in pain, that he had poured so much love into their family.  She couldn't wait for the resurrection.

I drove home with a heavy heart, trying to understand a world where husbands die, sons are sent to war, where women stand barefoot in the snow and lose their babies.  I tried to wrap my head around experiencing that level of loss and grief and still having rich, funny stories to tell and a warm heart full of love.  It felt confusing to carry Anna's story home through blinking Christmas lights and Christmas carols.

But beyond Silent Night and Oh Little Town of Bethlehem I thought of the whole Christmas Story.  The part about all baby boys under the age of two being killed, about weeping and mourning and the holy family escaping in the night through the desert.  How in a world "dark with the misapprehension of God"  an angel said to shepherds, "do not be afraid.  I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people.  11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord."

This Christmas we need a Savior as much as Bethlehem did.  This Christmas we need Hope as much as we did in 1942.  This Christmas, once again we are given Good News of Great Joy.  

Oh come, oh come Emmanuel....

thanksgiving

Today is my 45th Thanksgiving.  If I try to look back at them, they run together.  Into a stream of happy memories and trusted traditions.  Mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie.  Dad's personalized pilgrim face name cards. Mom's Alpine Casserole.  Turkey Trots.  Raspberry-Cranberry Jello.  Trips to California and to Maryland. Pecan pie.  Matt and Jenn's red dining room. Martinellis.  Hiking at Bent Creek.  Stuffed mushrooms.  Being full and grateful.

In all those forty-five Thanksgivings, 3 distinct memories stand out.  And they are my only negative Thanksgiving memories. Why these?  I don't know. But they ring clear as a bell, make me smile, and remind me so much of what Thanksgiving is all about. 

1.  Football?
I remember being little and loving the I Love Lucy marathons that were on all Thanksgiving day.  I remember Mom cooking and Dad and I watching and laughing.  This was a great holiday tradition and one that I would always enjoy.  Until that one year when Matty reached the age of TV opinions and I found Dad and him watching football.  Which I found irritating and confusing.  Why would any one want to watch football on Thanksgiving?

2.  Nothing?
I remember being a sophomore in college.  My boyfriend broke up with me right before Thanksgiving break.  I remember sitting around a bountiful table, loaded with delicious food.  I was surrounded by my precious family. And when it was my turn to share what I was thankful for I could think of absolutely nothing.  Which is what I said when asked.   "Nothing." (yes, I was a teenage girl.  And yes, a few years later that boy asked me to marry him and has spent the last 24 Thanksgivings with me...)

3.  Non-traditional?
I remember being a young married couple.  It was our first Thanksgiving alone.  And three days before Thanksgiving we had had a miscarriage. We were grieving and out of place and not feeling festive.
Thanksgiving morning when we woke up, we found a brand new mountain bike propped against our front door.  Steve's good friend was loving us the best way he knew how - with gifts and hobbies.  We decided to go see a movie and picked what looked like a romantic comedy.  Meet Joe Black.  It turned out to be a strange, awful death/afterlife story.  We stumbled out of the theater disturbed and decided to redeem the day by making a traditional meal.  Which is when we learned that a frozen turkey at 3:00 pm will do no one any good on Thanksgiving. We had delicious sandwiches with our bubbly.

Strange little dark spots in a sea of good memories. Funny now.  But so filled with the truths that make Thanksgiving so special.

Thanksgiving is about connection and love, not about being the center of the universe.   
           Be generous!
We are surrounded with blessings whether we are thankful for them or not. 
          Be grateful!
The spirit of Thanksgiving goes way beyond traditions or centerpieces or smiles.  It is knowing that nothing can separate us from the love of God.  It is hope.  
        Be graced!

Happy Thanksgiving!

main thing

In my last post I described my short lived career in ziplining.  After hiking back to the lodge, I huddled in the heated conference room and looked out the floor to ceiling windows at the forest below.  I was still trying to get warm.  Still trying to adjust to the fact that I hadn't finished the course.

I had only been there about thirty minutes when four students from my team walked in.  My son and three friends.

"How are you back so soon?"  I asked.

"Too cold."  "Not that fun." "We'd had enough" they answered.

"How far did you go?"  I asked.

"To the 4th platform. That one had steps.  So we walked down and hiked back."

I wanted to say "No!!!  I didn't have a choice to keep going.  You did.  It was supposed to get warmer. You should have hung in there. You needed to finish."

We had about two hours to wait for the rest of the group to reach the end and return.  I worried that they would come back triumphant and adventurous and my four would feel unfinished and slackerish. That they had wasted their ticket prices.  That they had missed out on the main thing we came here to do.

And then I watched them.

Sitting on oversized chairs on the covered porch.  Overlooking the forest.  Drinking cup after cup of the  hot chocolate the lodge provided for free. They were laughing and talking nonstop.  Telling stories and jokes.  Totally enjoying each others company.  Clearly no place they'd rather be.

They'd tried the expensive, thrilling adventure.  It was fine.  Hanging with their buddies at camp was better.  So maybe this was the main thing. 

Sometimes I have a hard time figuring out what the main thing is. 

     Company is coming over and I'm organizing the shoes in the back of my closet instead of vacuuming the living room.
    Settling out my weights, yoga mat and exercise clothes the night before and then turning off the alarm at 5:00 am and going back to sleep.
     Finding myself cranky and snapping at the boys while I am cooking dinner so we can all sit lovingly around the table.
     Missing the main thing....

I guess I'm not the only one.  Stephen Covey writes that “Most of us spend too much time on what is urgent and not enough time on what is important.” 

Jesus wrote about it too. Seek first the Kingdom of God and his Righteousness.  And all these things will be given to you as well.  Matthew 6:33

I will this morning.  Early.  Curled up on my cozy chair.  Hot chocolate in my pink bunny mug. Worship book in my hand.  Starting with the main thing.

bucket lists

One of my bucket list items is to make a bucket list.  I can't believe I don't have one.  I love lists!  I have a huge imagination and love to dream.  I get so excited hearing about other people's lists and what they have checked off.  And I keep starting my bucket list:
*See every square inch of Ireland
*Write a book
*Visit all 50 States
*Recover my dining room chairs
*Clean my bathroom
*Make sure Josh practiced the trumpet today. Oh dear,  I'm sliding into another list.

This month I got to do two things that would have been on my bucket list if I'd had one.

Josh's class had a week of outdoor ed and on the last day they went zip lining.  As they talked about zipping through the trees I realized that I have always been intrigued by this.  It sounded so adventurous and fun.  I immediately volunteered to chaperone and join in.

And it was awesome.  A huge, modern/rustic building and outdoorsy staff welcomed us in to get into our harnesses.  They talked us through the swinging through the treetops, platform by platform down the mountain. Total bucket list worthy.

But... It was 23 degrees outside.  We stood on the first platform for over 30 minutes learning the ropes and waiting our turn.  I had dressed in layer upon layer.  Yet my hands and feet grew numb with cold.  I was the last one in our group to go.  My heart was pounding as I stepped off the platform.  Nothing prepared me for the speed and freezing air that made my eyes water so badly that I couldn't see the instructor motion for me to get in landing position.  So I hit the endzone unprepared and swung around wildly for a moment.  "There is no way I am going to survive this day" I thought to myself, while I smiled and told the class what fun I was having.

Once I got my footing on Platform 1 I found out that one of the students already there had been badly shaken by the zip.  I looked in his eyes and realized that enough was enough for him.  The instructor radio'ed back to base that they were sending him back.  Then the instructor turned to me and said "you will have to go with him."  Wait!  I'm in the middle of a once-in-a-life time bucket list experience.  I can't stop now.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  To be relieved or disappointed.

So they rappelled the two of us off the seventy foot platform.  Had I ever thought to put rappelling on my bucket list I could have checked that off too.  We hiked back to camp.  We told each other that we had indeed zip lined. And on the longest and steepest run.  So I guess that's a check.

My friend Daina gave me her last session of acupuncture when she moved to Honduras.  I have always been curious about the whole idea of paying someone to stick you with needles.  And heard miracle stories of the effectiveness of this treatment.  It should have been on the bucket list.  So I made the appointment.

I met with the needle lady.  She did a through background check of my medical background.  Asked all kinds of interesting questions.  She talked about my blocked chakras and energy fields.  Then she stuck tiny needles into corresponding "blocked" areas - my forehead, my hand, my legs and between my toes.  That one hurt!  I laid quietly listening to soothing music and unblocking, hopefully.

And then it was over.  I don't think you can judge much from one session.  I'm also not sure when another  $70 needle stick will make it to the top of my to do list.  So I guess that's a check too.

I learned a German proverb while I was in Spartanburg.  Nacher is jeder klug.  In English it means "Afterwards, everyone is smart." It's like "well now you know." Not every thing you do will change your life.  But you don't know til you try.

I still want to make a bucket list.  And keep adding things retroactively so I can reappreciate my adventures.

Seeing The Lost Colony play on the Outer Banks with my parents and family should have been on my bucket list.  It was awesome!  Unforgettable.  Check.

Making the Martha Stewart Pumpkin Bread Pudding for Thanksgiving that I have been eyeing for a year.  eeehhh.  Once was enough.  Check.

Now I know...

cat pee and refuge

Homebody.  Noun. A person who enjoys the warmth and simple pleasures of being at home.  

I am the total definition of a home body.  I love a day where I don't have to leave at all. I could spend weeks puttering, organizing, rearranging, cooking, touching up....

At the end of a long day I can't wait to get home, get the fire going, watch HGTV while I unload the dishwasher and tidy up my little refuge.  My house reflects my tastes and my priorities.  It is filled with my treasures and my necessities.  It is my ultimate comfort zone.

So you can imagine my displeasure to arrive home last week and smell a very awful smell.  Cat pee.  Maybe the worst possible smell.  I quickly checked the litter box. Clean.  I followed my nose to a corner of the living room carpet.  Damp and stinky.  After three years of mr. kitty being immaculately house trained what could have possible gone wrong?  I got out carpet shampoo and spent my first hour at home scrubbing the floor.

The next day I could still smell it on arrival home.  I steam-cleaned the carpet.  My chairs were all piled up and the table was scooted against the wall.  The fan was on full blast making my living room feel like The North Pole.

The room smelled fresh and clean for a couple hours.  But I woke up the next morning and could smell pee.  I lifted the rug to see multiple dark spots.  How long has this been going on?

The next day I went to Pet Smart.  I bought dog and cat spray to clean carpets and keep animals far away.  Back at home I doused and scrubbed and aired and dried.  I was desperate to have my peaceful aromatic refuge back.

In the midst of this frustration, I was also preparing a sermon. I was studying 1 Samuel 22 about David who was also looking for refuge.

In Eugene Peterson's wonderful book Leap Over A Wall, he writes about this.

"In David's prayers refuge refers to a good experience, but what got him to refuge was a bad experience.  He started out running for his life; and at some point he found the life he was running for, and the name for that life was God.  "God is my refuge"

This happens all the time: it's one of the fundamental surprises in spirituality.  Whatever we start out feeling or doing or thinking can lead us to God, whater directly or meanderingly.

Whatever our ingredients - a messy house, a flat tire, a cranky boss, late homeowrk, another fill.  There are good ingredients too - fall colors, warm smiles, strong hugs, dear friends.  Whatever the ingredients they can lead us to God."

In this line of thinking, the smell of cat pee ruining my house should remind me that God is my real refuge.  If I'm spiritually mature enough to go there. 

Until I've reached the level I'm ripping out the carpet.  I want my house back. 

burning bushes

I love autumn!  The break in humidity.  Cool mornings. Soup. Return to routines. Pumpkins and hot apple cider.  And here in Asheville the riot of color - golds and reds - that marks this season and bring the tourists flocking in.

Today I drove past a tree that was so flaming red that it was almost unbelievable.  I wanted to stop and take a picture.  But I was in a hurry.

Barbara Brown Taylor writes about reverence.  

"Reverence requires a certain pace.  It requires a wilingness to take detours, even side trips, which are not part of the original plan. I can stop what I am doing long enough to see where I am, who I am there with, and how awesome the place is.  I can flag one more gate to heaven - one more patch of ordinary earth with ladder marks on it - where the divine traffic is heavy when I notice it and even when I do not.  I can see it for once, instead of walking right past it maybe even setting a stone or saying a blessing before I move on to wherever I am due next." 


Taylor talks about Moses having this kind of reverence.  Exodus 3 says
Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. ² There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. ³ So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.” And Moses said, “Here I am.” ⁴ When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, “Moses! Moses!”

Moses' willingness to stop and notice the burning bush led to him having an unexpected experience with God and started him on a life changing path.   How many burning bushes/flaming trees have I rushed past this week.  How many God encounters have I breezed over?

Taylor quotes one of the wise women in Alice Walker's book The Color Purple.  "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it."

This makes me smile.  It is not the picture I have of God, but I think it is a good reminder to be on the lookout for those beautiful, flaming red, autumn trees. 

closet full

This weekend a good friend is getting married.  We are making a quick trip to Maryland for a mini reunion/wedding.  So for the last couple of weeks the drum solo in my head has been beating out "go-to-the-store-buy-something-new-to-wear" over and over.

There is a myth that I've bought in to for a long time.  That the outfit I need to make me feel thin-energetic-successful is just waiting at a store for me.  Probably on sale.

But I have a closet jammed with clothes.   Some I love, like presents from my stylish, pro shopper Mom.  She takes time to consider flattering fit and wearer's delight. Some are hand-me-downs, practical pieces that are now part of my every day rotation.  Some I've grabbed, running through a store, because they were soft or a pretty color and only $6.00 on clearance. I've got lots of pieces, so many clothes and yet I'm still waiting for something else.

This summer I put a ban on more shopping.  I got strict with myself.  "Go to your closet."  I said.  "Dig deeper.  Be creative.  Stop thinking it's out there.  Find it in here."

The day of Jake's graduation, deep in my closet, I found a green and raspberry floral shell.  It was two years old, tags still on and beautiful.  I didn't have anything to wear with it.  Except a raspberry sweater that I bought a year ago and wear all the time.  Put them together with my white pants and I had a new party outfit.

A couple months later I was packing for my trip to California.  The one thing I was missing was a pair of nice, dark-ish pants to wear on the plane.  I kept thinking I would get to the store, and then found just what I needed at the bottom of my summer box, clean and folded since last year.

Yesterday I found an emerald green sweater to brighten my gray and black outfit and fight the chilly fall air. It was in a bag, bought on clearance during humid, hot days and tucked away.  It looks great with a multi-colored scarf I've had for years.

I need to trust that the closet is adequate. In so many ways.  Not just with clothes.  I find myself panicking about being equipped for my new job.  That what will make me feel thin-energetic-successful as a principal are the classes I can't take until next year, or the books I haven't finished reading, or the review I will get from my boss. The drum solo beats "you-don't-know-what-you-are-doing. You-are-in-over-your-head."

Then I look inside.  I realize that chaplain months in emergency waiting rooms with families, swallowing pat answers so I could hear their pain, is just the tool I need with frustrated parents.  Drawing out shy hospice patients is surprisingly not that different from drawing out shy 6th graders.  Plotting a sermon series uses many of the same skills that creating an art curriculum takes.  And leading an interdisciplinary team is a lot like leading a faculty meeting.

When I start to freak out I have to get strict with myself. "Dig deeper.  Be creative.  Stop thinking it's all out there.  Find it in here." I may be a brand new principal, and I can't wait to have more experience, but there are some good things in the closet.

I think about Elijah, looking for God outside of the cave, in the wind and fire and earthquake.  But God was inside the cave, Elijah's closet, whispering quietly to him.

So it's back in the closet for me.  To listen to God's quiet voice, to trust in my journey, and right now to find something to wear with a purple lacy J Crew skirt for the wedding.

blue -part one and two

Part one:  Once upon a time I had a blue office.  It was a really cool office, with tall windows, a square black table-desk, and two beautiful blue walls.  I loved this office.  I loved the color and the space.  I loved to sit at the table, look at the mountains and write and plan and think.  

Then I lost the office.  

After a while I started working at Spartanburg Hospital.  I had a cubicle.  And I was very thankful for the cubicle.  I hung a blue picture on the wall and learned to chaplain and chart and bare my soul.

Fourteen months later I became a hospice chaplain in Buncombe County.  I didn't have an office but I worked from my blue car.  I was so happy to be back in Asheville.  I visited and comforted and prayed with my patients.

I loved my work.  But it was hard and sad.  Sometimes, in the quiet of my bedroom or while driving back roads I would dream about someday having an office again.  With blue walls like the one I had lost.

I found out about the Principal job, interviewed and accepted it within one weekend.  I didn't even think about it coming with an office.  And then I walked into my new space and saw blue walls.  In that moment I felt God's personal, redeeming love with such force that I could hardly breathe.


Part two:  My blue walled office had been inhabited by a string of men.  It was very utilitarian.  There was a huge leather couch that took up half the room.  A third of the room was used for storage of various boxes and supplies. There were five different styles of chairs in one room.  I didn't care.  It had blue walls.

But I did call my friend Angela.  Angela is one of those friends who will sit in your living room and chat with you for hours.  And she will never wince at the dust piling up on the piano, or mention the door knob that has been broken for 36.5 months, or point out the slip-covered chair that once was white.  She is just restful and calm and friendly.  Until you call with a decorating emergency.  And then mild mannered Clark Kent turns into Super Decorating Woman.  You haven't had fun until you've watched dainty Angela move huge pieces of furniture back and forth across a room. Or balance on a chair to hang a picture.  Or sweep the room with her laser eyes before coming up with the perfect solution.    She is my hip fairy god decorator.   She took one look at the office and said "well, the couch has to go." And I knew things were going to get good.

She showed up with bags and furniture.  She brought chairs from her basement.  She found a beautiful table and lamp, a colorful rug, pillows, and a blue mosaic mirror.  Lots of rearranging and artistic perspectives later and my office is bright, welcoming, feminine, beautiful and.... blue.  I still cannot believe that this amazing room is my office!

I love this quote from C.S. Lewis about restoration and rebuilding. I can't read it without tearing up, because it reminds me that what Angela has done for my office, God is doing with my heart.

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” 
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

dayenu

It's one of the realities of school life in 2014 - We have several students with food allergies.  One of the third grade boys is allergic to gluten.   I am too, so I am very sympathetic. His parents arranged to bring g-free muffins and donuts in and put them in our freezer.  That way if someone in his class has party or brings treats he won't be left out.  They arrived with a big bag of deliciousness and on their way to the kitchen, handed me a fresh loaf of g-free rye bread.

Rewind.  I have always been a sandwich girl.  Put it between two pieces of bread and I am happy.  Gluten intolerance and carb watching have put an enormous dent in my joy.  Once in a blue moon I will make a Udi's bread sandwich and feel content.

But this rye bread was exceptional.  It had that rye-ie smell.  It had the little rye seeds.  It was soft and promised delicious sandwiches.  I stopped at the store on the way home and bought sharp cheddar cheese, a cucumber and two tomatoes.  I swooned.  I had sandwiches for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner.  With every bite I thought "If this was the only food in the world, it would be enough."

And every time I said that it reminded me of a paragraph from Naked Spirituality.  Finally I got the book out and found this quote.

There is a Hebrew word.  Dayenu. The word is from a Jewish song that has been a key part of the passover celebration for over a thousand years.  It means, "It would have been enough," and it functions within the retelling of the story of God's goodness over the generations:
If God had brought us out of Egypt, Dayenu - it would have been enough.
If God had split the sea for us, Dayenu-it would have been enough.
If God had led us through on dry land, Dayenu -it would have been enough.
If God had provided for our needs in the wilderness for forty years, Dayenu - it would have been enough.
If God had fed us manna, Dayenu -it would have been enough
If God had given us Shabbat, Dayenu - it would have been enough.

Singing this song fills one with a sense of surplus, of being superabundantly blessed, of being saturated with good things, of one's cup being full and running over.  And it fills one with a corresponding appreciation of God's unlimited generosity:  Dayenu-but there's more!  Dayenu but there's more! and more, and more!  Thanks be to God!"  Naked Spirituality Brian BcLaren

I love the spirit of gratitude that seems to be growing.  I see gratitude lists on facebook, and books on gratitude continue to be published.

I will add a few from my list.
My three boys. Healthy and happy.
My phone, which keeps me connected, at the touch of a button, to my faraway family
Weekends.  And the God who invented Sabbath.
My 205,000 mile car which is still limping along.
My cozy house
My high styling office (thank you Angela.  That's a whole 'nother post....)
And the genius baker who made G-free rye bread.  Dayenu!

opinions

The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions.  Leonardo da Vinci.

I don't think of myself as an opinionated person. I'm a peace-loving phlegmatic ENFJ 9.  When people start raging on politics or painting team colors on their faces or going into debt for a certain kind of car, I'm baffled.  What is worth that much angst?  I am amused hearing Steve passionately discuss the merits of the pedaling kayak.  When Jake and Josh argue about McDonald's french fries vs. Sonic, I have nothing to add.

But then I remember that I could wax eloquent on why Ben and Jerry's Heath Bar Coffee ice cream is the best in the world.  I am very decided on the certainty of the Loch Ness Monster.  I feel my blood pressure rise when contemporary worship is debated.  I could tell you a thing or two about exceptional weddings and the need for chaplains in hospice.

So maybe I am opinionated.  I asked my husband, who can always be trusted for a truthful answer.  He thought about it for a while and said "It's hard to separate bossiness with being opinionated. But I'd say you have the right number of opinions. "  Hummm.  I actually do have a few opinions on why I might be bossy.....

One of the strangest parts of my new job is the amount of opinions I am supposed to have.  And how quickly I am supposed to form them.  

Do I want the bell choir to wear tux shirts or white polos?
Should we retill the mulch or order more?
Can the lunch tables stay up during band?
Do we want to install a keyless entry system?
Is it ok to serve cotton candy at the fall festival?
Should 5 or 7 tardies by the limit?
Can girls wear scarfs on cold days?
What color should our new kickballs be?
How do I feel about number 2 pencils?

I don't!  No opinions.  Make your own decision and then tell me about it.  Don't care.  

But I have to.  It's my job.  Not only to form opinions but to follow through.  To learn to care and figure out how it will affect or help people, to make decisions.

Ernest Renan once said "Our opinions become fixed at the point where we stop thinking."  That's probably often true.  But I'm realizing there is a difference between having opinions and being opinionated.  I'm learning to ask better questions, listen more carefully and then engage in the discussion and provide direction.  I'm learning to have resonable, flexible answers.

By the way, I think our new kickballs should be red.  This year anyway.

recharging

I hit the wall at approximately 8:37 pm last night.  Yep.  This is the whining part of the post.  July was a crazy month.  Winding down one job while ramping up the other.  Hospice by day and principal by night.  Visiting families for both. Reading for both. Schedules and paperwork for both.

Hospice ended on Wednesday.  On Thursday I packed clothes and food for the boys for their Maryland trip, tidied the house, and then left for a long weekend of teacher's meetings in Gatlinburg.  The meetings were good.  Good speakers, nice people, fun conversations with my new team.  I learned a lot.

Monday and Tuesday were long school days getting ready for registration.  We cleaned, dusted, mopped, scrubbed.  Then we organized, set up and discussed what needed to be included in the Principal's talk.  I came in early to run the track and then weed the school's front garden before rushing home to shower.  I stayed out late shopping for a new, principally pant suit.  Everyone was pitching in.  Everyone was working hard.

Which culminated in three hours of a loud and boisterous registration.  Students happy to be reunited with their friends.  Parents harried to get forms signed and bills paid.  Teachers touring and explaining and greeting. I smiled and shook hands and talked and listened.  And just before the end, I realized that my tank was empty.  I'd hit the wall.  I gritted through the last few minutes and limped to the car.

In 18 hours I had to board a plane to California. But right now I was too tired to drive 7 minutes home. I was too drained to cry.  I was even to spent to call my mom and get some comfort.  But I could hear her voice in my head.  "Go home, take a bath, crawl in bed Annie, you will make it."  I did.  

Mid cozy warm bubble bath I realized that I had 18 free hours to replenish in any way I chose.  To do anything I wanted to fill up.  Who gets that?  How lucky am I? And then I got to get on a plane and jet through the night to see my family.  To celebrate and chatter and catch up.  I was so excited to plan my renewing day that I wondered if I would be able to sleep.  I wondered that for 3.6 seconds after my head hit the pillow. zzzzzzzzz.

So what would you do with 18 hours?  Here are my ingredients -
1. Sleep - 8 hours of quiet peace.  A dark room and a cozy bed. I could have stayed there half the day, but I love watching the first 30 minutes of the Today.  It was lovely to become awake on the couch while Matt, Savannah, Al and Natalie shared the news with happy camaraderie.

2.  Quiet - Silence is healing to me.  After the news, the TV went off for the rest of the day.  I didn't turn on the radio in the car.  I didn't take headphones on my walk.  I listened for the whir of the fan, the purring of my cat, the gurgling of the water and birds singing to each other.

3.  Exercise - The last thing I felt like was pushing myself.  But I knew that a long airport to airport day would be much better if I got my blood pumping.  I headed to the park along the river before it got too hot.  The fresh air and elevated heart rate were healing and relaxing.

4.  Food - And then I was starved.  I had emptied the fridge since no one would be home for over a week.  So I checked out Biscuit Head, a tempting West Asheville bakery and bought a gluten-free egg and cheese biscuit. And a few doors down, Urban Burrito, where I grabbed a big salad to eat later.

5.  Tasks - Then home.  To leisurely pack. To clean the kitchen and finish the laundry.  To read a couple chapters of my current book. To choose which magazines should go in my carry on.

And then it was time to head to the airport.  I was relaxed and excited, packed and tidied.  Ready to nap on the plane.  Even more ready to see my parents and brothers.  So thankful for a replenishing morning.

last day

My last day at hospice was Wednesday.  The Friday before was a wonderful going-away party.  Perfect for many reasons.  It was for both me and our beloved boss Craig so not too much spotlight on me.  We ate Mellow Mushroom pizza and home-made peach blueberry crisp with vanilla ice cream.  There was lots of laughter and fun to off set the sweet words and goodbyes.

I planned to be done with visits by Friday.  To have the last three days of this week for paper work, last minute conversations and turning everything in.  But of course things didn't go as planned.  My last day I had three scheduled visits.

They couldn't have been more different.  A Hungarian couple, he in a nursing home bed sleeping.  She by his side every day, hungry for company.  Their priest had been by that morning to give communion.  But she wanted someone to hold her hand and listen to stories of the war, and how they'd met.  In the last 6 months, I have so enjoyed her stories. 

My second visit was to a tiny Asian Buddhist woman who lives alone in a log cabin in the woods forty-five minutes out of town.  She wanted to talk about how faith carries a person through sickness into death.  And how to know if you picked the right faith when it comes down to the end.  Rich discussions interspersed with "where to get great chinese food" when she wanted a break from the seriousness.  I could have visited her for many months to come and looked forward to each visit.

Last was my favorite.  Larry, a North Carolinian Baptist.  I started visiting him three years ago in his home.  Now he lives in an assisted living center.  Each week we talk about his wife, who passed away five years ago.  We talk about Heaven and what he is longing for there.  We talk about Nascar and Duck Dynasty, hamburgers and the beach. As it was my last Hospice day, I asked Larry's permission to visit occasionally as a friend.  I know, it's my issue.  I want to finish the journey I started with him.  Larry's response was classic Larry.  "You better."

As I drove home, I thought about how much I have loved the last 5 years of chaplaining.  I love my team.  I love a lot of my patients.  I love exploring the county in my little blue car and designing my own schedule.  I love all the prayers and spiritual conversations I get to be a part of.  I felt a wave of fear and regret to be leaving all this.

Then I remembered what my supervisor Robin told us as we left chaplain school.  "Each time you make a change, the adjustment gets easier.  You take with you every single thing you've learned and apply it to the next job, the next team, the next patients."

T.S. Elliot had a different spin on it. “If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” 

So here I come school.  Ready for a new team of teachers, and a case load of vibrant, healthy students.   Willing to embrace all the changes and challenges ahead.  Ready to share all the wisdom I've learned in five years of chaplaining.  And so ready to face all that I don't have a clue about.

runner

This July is full of surprises.  I was offered a new job.  New as in totally unexpected.  Principal to elementary school children instead of chaplain to hospice patients.  This month I will be finishing my old job while I start my new one.  A new identity as well as exciting challenges and timely solutions.  I'm blown away!

But as I'm reeling with the changes, my twelve year old turned thirteen. We picked up five boys, fed them all the pizza and rootbeer floats they could handle and let them play basketball at the gym until they were totally worn out.  Josh was in his glory.

Three day's later it was Steve's birthday. I wanted something a little less little-caesars and a little more grown-up-celebration.  I made my mom's to-die-for eggplant patties with arrabbiata sauce, fresh green beans and corn, salad and bread.  And of course, Steve's must-have Southern Living's Best Carrot Cake Ever.    

An hour before our friends arrived for the birthday dinner, I did finishing touches on the house and set the table.  All week I had planned to use a beautiful woven runner for the table that went with my flowers and plates.  I had planned the decorations around it, but our table is a mess, and no matter what way I turned the runner, I couldn't get it right.  So I found a blue table cloth and a red flowered napkin that did the trick.

The next day I got a call from a patient's wife.  She said Larry was rallying today and was wondering if the baptism we had talked about for so long could actually happen today.  I told her I was on my way over.  I looked around my house for what I could take to make this chair bound, spontaneous baptism feel holy and eternal.  I got my Bible and a little glass pitcher.  And on the way out, I grabbed the folded woven runner.

Larry and Gail are  sweet people with a simple, tenacious faith.  Illness has tested it over and over, but they have kept their warm, grateful spirits.  They inspire me every time I visit.  

Come Thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy praise.

Today we read Matthew 3 together.  How John was a voice calling in the wilderness  "Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him." We talked about how we want to remove any stumbling blocks from our hearts and clear the way for God to have unobstructed access.  We talked about the symbol of baptism and what it means to hear God's voice saying "This is my beloved child."  We prayed together.  Then I wrapped the woven runner around Larry's neck.  With the pitcher of water I baptized him in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for sounds of loudest praise.

As I dried Larry's head with the ends of the runner, I thought about how an ordinary table cloth had become sacramental stole. Ordained fabric.  I thought about how often I make plans.  Even lovely plans.  But sometimes they just aren't high enough.  

Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.