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.