A New Year, A New Day, and An Invitation for YOU

It's been quite a year.

Filled with beauty and wonder,

sadness and loss.

And through it all,

I've been meeting with friends in this space

to process, reflect, celebrate, remember.

But today marks a time of beginning,

turning a page on the past.

So I'd like to invite you to follow me

over to a brand new home,

one that looks a little different from this one,

but not terribly unfamiliar.

It's a truly lovely place,

and if all goes well,

subscribers should just come right along with me.

If you haven't subscribed yet,

there is space to do so where we're headed,

so, please . . .

come on over and share a cup of tea, okay?

I look forward to welcoming you there!

I've even got a button, all my own - 

thanks to the talents of Lyla Lindquist, 

whose technical skill and eye for detail 

made this move possible in the first place.

Try it . . . I know you'll like it!!

"When I'm 64..." - 2009 - Archive-Diving

And here is one more from the deep pit of 2009 -- a post written on my birthday that year.

Well, in 95 minutes, I will be.

Who woulda thunk it? 
How is it possible to feel every age I've ever been - but this one, least of all?

At some points, my 14-year-old self is just inside my skin - especially when I feel naive, gullible, misled.

At other points, my feisty, unnecessarily self-confident 22-year-old self pops up and surprises me with her strong opinions and readiness to express them.

There are even those rare moments when a tall-for-her-age 5-year-old shows up, filled with joie-de-vivre whenever the sun is shining and the water is clear.

Sadly, the 64-year-old shows up when I have to stand up after sitting a while, or climb stairs that are uneven, or try to read the really fine print. 

 And yet...there is something to be said for age. Not much, but....something.

Perhaps the best thing is that every age I have ever been is still available to me at a moment's notice, that what I've learned at each of those ages is usually pretty close to the surface when needed, that I know that the reservoirs of love, affection, commitment developed over a lifetime are deeper than I could have imagined at 5, 14, 22 or even 45.

I am deeply grateful that my partner of 43 years still chooses to love me, 'when I'm 64.'

And overall, life has been good; through it all, God is good.

My restless, often rebellious nature can still trip me up from time to time, but one good thing about 64 is that I have learned to be just a little bit more patient with those parts of myself, sometimes even grateful for them.

Restlessness can lead to dissatisfaction with the status quo and a willingness to make changes when needed.

Even rebelliousness has its plusses, for asking questions about seemingly foregone conclusions can keep the fires of curiosity burning. And I never did believe it killed the cat!

Happy Birthday to me. I am glad I was born, I am grateful for my life, I hope it lasts a while longer.

On Retreat - February, 2009 - Archive-Diving

A remarkably beautiful weekend away with women pastor friends, words and photos I want to save, memories that are precious to me.

Last Friday morning, my husband was kind enough to drive me to the Bob Hope Airport in Burbank on his way to work, so that I could catch a flight to Seattle.

Since the mid-1990s, I have been 1/6th of a group of women pastors ordained in the Evangelical Covenant denomination. Sometimes I wonder what sparks friendship, what bonds people to a commitment to one another. I think we found a certain commonality in our mid-life call to ministry, our shared experiences within the denomination and a rather off-beat sense of the absurd. (As a fine example of that last point, we called ourselves the Ya-Ya Goddesses. Yes, we did.)

About once a year, we tried to gather for a period of retreat - usually about a week long - with days spent in silence and solitude and evenings spent in conversation and community. We searched for someplace beautiful and quiet, some place that would allow us time to savor the goodness of God in the natural world while at the same time enjoying the conveniences of indoor plumbing and cooking facilities. Due to a long list of stresses in all of our lives, it has been almost 5 years since we have attempted to get together and now a weekend opened up for 4 of us and we grabbed it.

I met my friend Nancy in the Seattle airport, picked up a rental car and drove 2 hours north through rush hour traffic to the Stanwood exit, following lovely 2-lane country roads to one friend's spectacular home and guest apartment on Camano Island.

Oh, my. 

      What a view. 

           What a house. 

                What a welcome. 

Because we have been unable to squeeze out travel time in these last five years, this year's gathering was filled with catching up, story-sharing, lots of laughter and a few tears here and there - in addition to fabulous food, cooked by Diane and Vicki and cleaned up by Diana and Nancy.

Basically, we had 2 days together rather than our usual 4 or 5, as one whole day on each end was spent in travel. During these years since our last gathering:

     one of us has lost a daughter to breast cancer, 

     one has lost a son-in-law to the after effects of cancer 

               treatment many years ago, 

     one has survived (successfully) a drawn-out lawsuit and 

               built a new home, 

     one has endured terrible disappointment in her job 

               situation and has very recently both remarried and 

               moved from one state to another.

So there was LOTS to talk about.

And talk we did, until fairly late into the evening on Friday and Saturday nights. And on Sunday night? Well, on Sunday night....we ordered pizza by the boxload, enjoyed hot fudge sundaes AND watched the Red Carpet and the Oscars. What more could you ask for?

Diane's home and apartment mirror each other architecturally and are both lovely to look at and live in. The apartment is dedicated to providing retreat/renewal space for weary pastors - what a glorious gift to offer the church!

When I went back to work on Tuesday, my boss asked me what I had gained 'spiritually' while away on retreat with my friends.

At first, I was stymied - this gathering was filled with more talk and less silence than most. But as I thought about his question, I was once again reminded that often very profound things can happen spiritually when you least intend it and seemingly don't plan for it.

I went away this last weekend in a spirit of openness to whatever God might do with our time together. And it was so good for me to hear something of each of their stories --- in order to make better sense -- or perhaps to have a better sense -- of my own.

For of the six of us, I am the last remaining pastor serving in a local church. Two work in retirement community environments, one teaches, two are 'retired,' though both are active in the parish churches they currently attend.

My pastoral role has been a gift to me, to my family and, hopefully, to the churches that I have served. And as I reflected on both the question I was asked and on my time away from the routines of life and work in Santa Barbara, I discovered (or re-discovered) these important truths about myself:

          1. I am a person who needs regular exposure to God's beautiful creation to function well in ministry and in life.

          2. I am a person who needs some kind of regular interaction with long-time, hold-me-accountable, encourage-my-gifts, listen-to-my-crap friends, friends who know something about me in my local setting but are not a part of that setting.

          3. I am a pastor who is called to serve the Lord in the local church.

          4. I am a pastor who sometimes needs reminding that taking a break, setting a boundary and stepping out of the routine are necessary and important things to do from time to time.

          5. I am a person who, despite being in the throes of long-term, low (and sometimes high)-level-anxiety-and-concern-now-moving-into-grief - I am a person who needs to have some order around her. And that sense of order has just fallen off the cliff during these years of illness and worry in our family.

After seeing the lovely, quiet and restful spaces that Diane has created in her home, I am encouraged and challenged to make such spaces around me in my work environment and in my home office environment. Slowly, slowly, I am going to purge my book collection, get rid of extraneous paper and create workspaces that are conducive to reflection, writing, thinking and prayer.

          6. I am a person who will very likely apply for the next go-round of the Center for Spiritual Direction, offered by our denominational seminary and ministerium. It's been on the back burner for a number of years, and I think the Spirit is nudging me to move in that direction NOW. (Applications are due March 31.)

So, yes, it appears that some things did happen spiritually during this time away. Thanks be to God - and to really good friends.

Nancy and Diana with Diane
Nancy and Diana with Vicki (Maybe next time, we'll master that automatic picture-taking thingy.)

An Advent Journey: Stop, Look, Listen - Day 7

"God, it seems you've been our home forever;

long before the mountains were born,

long before you brought earth itself to birth,

from 'once upon a time' to 'kingdom come' -- you are GOD.

So don't return us to mud, saying,

'Back to where you came from!"

Patience!

You've got all the time in the world --

whether a thousand years or a day,

it's all the same to you.

Are we no more to you than a wispy dream,

no more than a blade of grass that springs up gloriously 

with the rising sun and is cut down without a second thought?

Your anger is far and away too much for us;

we're at the end of our rope.

You keep track of all our sins; 

every misdeed since we were children

is entered in your books.

All we can remember is that frown on your face.

Is that all we're ever going to get?

We live for seventy years or so 

(with luck we might make it to eighty),

and what do we have to show for it?

Trouble.

Toil and trouble and a marker in the graveyard.

Who can make sense of such rage,

such anger against the very ones who fear you?

Oh! teach us to live well!

Teach us to live wisely and well!

Come back, GOD --

how long do we have to wait --

and treat your servants with kindness for a change.

Surprise us with love at daybreak;

then we'll skip and dance all the day long.

Make up for the bad times with some good times;

we've seen enough evil to last a lifetime.

Let your servants see what you're best at --

the ways you rule and bless your children.

And let the loveliness of our Lord, our God,

rest on us, confirming the work that we do.

Oh, yes. Affirm the work that we do!"

-- Psalm 90, The Message

Sounds like the psalmist has had a rough week. More likely, a rough few years. Can you relate to the very real emotions expressed in this remarkable song? These are core questions, aren't they?

          Must we suffer like this forever?

          Where the heck are you?

          Our lives are like leaves, falling from the trees --

                    swept away like yesterday's garbage . . .

                    when will you smile at us again, God?

          Have mercy, O LORD. Have mercy.

I've been struggling with some very hard news from dear friends as they grapple with a fresh, harsh diagnosis of leukemia for their beautiful toddler boy. And word from another friend, who is struggling to find ways to comfort someone whose child was violently killed. And our own moms' slow fade from the planet. 

So sometimes, this is a song I need to sing, a lament I need to raise. There is a sense in which Advent is a time of mourning, I think. A time for recognizing that we live in a messed-up world, filled with too many messed-up people, including me. We live in a world that needs saving, day in and day out.

We ache for things to shift enough to provide some relief. I think that's why the singer has chosen to use the image of God's wrath or anger in this song. Because in the midst of the muck, it can sometimes make it easier to bear if we picture God as the source of it all. Then we can turn the blame in a clear direction. 

And we know that God is big enough to handle our fussing and fuming and wondering and worrying. And as the song draws to an end, the psalmist remembers the whole picture, the overwhelmingly reassuring picture that God is the God of loveliness and good work, the One who teaches us to live wisely and well. 

Even when it feels as though surely God must be angry with us, else why would we be suffering so much - even there, even then, it is good to come round home again. To acknowledge that God is the God who walks beside us, through thick and thin, through loveliness and horror, through joy and sorrow. In the grand scheme of things, our lives may indeed have the transience of falling leaves, BUT God sees those leaves as they fall, each and every one, and God has assigned each one a value beyond measure.

O LORD, there are days when all I want to do is shake my fist in your face and cry out for 'mercy.' And so I do. Mercy, LORD, mercy. Yet even as the words leave my lips, I recognize that they are, in reality, the very same word. For you are mercy, my God. Thank you, thank you.

A Deeper Family - A December I Do

We chose a Saturday afternoon at 3:30, the hand of the clock on the upswing during the ceremony. It was my mom and I who carefully and frugally planned the day, beginning with my dress, which was 'worn' for a bridal fashion show and cost $60.00. This was 1965 and my father was a junior college administrator, my mother, a homemaker; there was not a lot of extra cash for fancy parties. 

The church was an old, Gothic brownstone, one block from the library in Glendale, California. It was my family's church, Presbyterian, large and conservative. About 650 of our closest family and friends came striding down the aisles of that glorious old sanctuary to hear us say, "I do." That number was possible because people didn't 'do' dinners for wedding receptions in those days. It never occurred to us.

We offered wedding cake (baked by a neighbor), nuts in a cup, buttery mints, punch, coffee and tea. Homemade table decor graced rounds of eight, set up in the church gymnasium where we greeted our guests. . . all our guests. I don't think we ever ate a bite of cake, past the obligatory one for picture-taking. . .

To read the rest of our story, I invite you to join me at A Deeper Family today. I am so grateful to be writing in that space. . .

Breathing in the Beauty - 2008 - Archive-Diving

This post was originally written about four years ago and was probably the first time 

I wrote about the restorative qualities of time spent at Butterfly Beach.

I kept personal posts off of the blog until the beginning of 2011 and am now 

editing a few of them as I prepare to transfer my blog to a new site.

You'll note that we were both still working at this point in time.

You'll also notice that I write about some of the very same themes today.

Last week, the weather turned warm and balmy. Dick had been in southern CA working from Tues-Thurs and it was Friday, with an afternoon off for both of us. I came back from errand running and said, "Let's drive down to the beach!"

We each picked up a book to read, drove the two miles straight down the hill and parked on the slope of Channel Drive, just above this old cypress tree. With both front windows down, the moon-roof open and the seats leaning about as far back as we could get them, we slowly sank into the beauty of this place in which we are blessed to live.

Winter is the best time of the year at the beach in Santa Barbara. No tourists. No crowds. The sun sets directly over the water, the dolphins and sea lions come in close to the shore and the birds hang out in droves.

We are both tired, the kind of tired that seeps into your bones. The kind of tired that has little connection to how much sleep or exercise you're getting. It's the kind of tired that builds up over many months of watching people you love suffer greatly. It's the kind of tired that comes from grieving the death of someone dear, and the related losses that come with that: the death of dreams and hopes and plans.

We know where this deep tiredness is coming from and we know it cannot be avoided. It's part and parcel of living to have to deal with grief and it cannot be gotten around, only walked through. But last Friday afternoon, we were so grateful for a chance to just sit and breathe in the beauty of God's world for a couple of hours.

Dick napped a little, I read a lot, and I just sat and looked out at the ocean a lot. The sight, sound and smell of the ocean is like medicine for what ails me - it truly brings healing and comfort. And a reminder that there is a bigness to God and to God's creation that can handle all the pain and struggle we suffer in this life. Perhaps even more powerfully true than that, it is a reminder to look for the beauty around us, wherever it can be found. And to take a little time to savor it and let it speak.

Of Sunshine and Seasides and Hope - A Photo Essay

See that girl in the pink?

She is the best medicine in our lives just now,

and we had ourselves a good, healthy dose yesterday.

Last week's visit to my mom was hard,

and the road ahead will continue to be so. 

This end-of-life journey will be fraught with 

confusion and loss

and I will hate it.

A lot.

I am talking to God about it,

often yelling while I do,

but also coming back round to center,

remembering that no matter how lost

my mother feels to me,

she is never lost to God.

Never.

So. Yesterday was a school holiday for our girl,

and we were given the gift of being with her.

The.Entire.Day.

She sprang through our door about 8:45 a.m.,

dressed from head to toe in HOT pink,

complete with sequins lining the pockets of her fleece jacket.

A new outfit from Target, picked out by herself. . .

and of course, it had to be pink.

And not just pink, but PINK. 

We pulled out the Lego bins, filled with

colorful bricks that once belonged to her dad,

and she dug in with gusto.

Almost three hours for this 7-year-old

of creating, disassembling, re-arranging

and fun. 

I sat at the table, 10 feet away,

reading blogs and email,

 enjoying her easy company and occasional conversation.

Then we piled into the car about noon,

and headed out to the wharf.

It was a stunning day.

Crystal clear, about 60 degrees, 

with warm sun on our shoulders.

We went to the local Sea Center,

a small marine museum, featuring exhibits

about the creatures which inhabit these coastal

waters in the Santa Barbara channel.

This is a very bright girl,

eternally curious and actively engaged with 

whatever is going on around her.

From tiger sharks to sea stars,

from restless Garibaldi to the breathtaking view 

out the back wall,

she explored it all.

In the 'wet room,' where buckets are dropped 

directly into the ocean through a large hole

in the wharf,

she watched, intrigued,

as several students older than she

put the contents of a bucketload through a 

sifter and then a microscope.

Upstairs was a small exhibit of jellyfish,

those brainless creatures of grace and transparency.

You can just make her out to the left of

the observation window, 

momentarily entranced.

Against a very dark wall, there was a slide

of moving shapes and colors

and Gracie wanted a picture in front of it.

A little bit too dark, however, 

and the flash obliterated the slide on the wall.

In the upstairs gangway, there was a small puppet theater,

which enraptured her. 

She had such fun entertaining us with

each and every one.

Each.And.Every.One.

Smile.

One look at this sweet girl's face

and all the sadness just sort of lifted

away like a cloak,

dropping to the floor around me.

This guy apparently inflicted some pain!

But the dolphin was sweet as could be.

We took her to lunch at Longboard's about 90 minutes later.

She loves the peanut barrel there,

where you can scoop up as much as you want,

eat as much as you want, and --

wait for it! --

toss all the peanut shells right onto the deck!

How cool is that??

We finished our adventure with a trip to the

ice cream shoppe -

single scoop of Cotton Candy on a sugar cone, please.

It even matched her outfit.

She ate every last bite, too --

without spilling a drop on her new outfit --

until that very last bite, when the cone

broke. . . and there was a bright blue

spot in the middle of all that pink.

As we sat in the sun, enjoying our ice cream,

this catamaran came within about a stone's throw,

gliding through the sea,

loaded with inquisitive tourists,

eager to view the coastline and enjoy

their afternoon on the water.

I took a deep breath, trying to capture the moment.

A beautiful grandchild - one of eight such

magnificent gifts in our life.

A spectacular day - in a magnificent location.

And we get to live here,

fifteen minutes from this girl and her sister.

The older kids live one to three hours south of here,

so these are the kiddos we see most often

and are graced to care for from time to time.

This, this is gift.

And I am grateful.

And for a while, as the sun shone down,

and the water sparkled,

and the glory-girl grinned her toothless

grin at me while her Poppy watched with love --

for a while, that hurting place in my heart

was healed right over.

Thank you, Gracie, for being you:

God's gift to all of us.

Signing on with Michelle DeRusha, Jen Ferguson, Laura Boggess and Ann Voskamp. Sad to say good-bye to Seedlings in Stone this week - but trust that Laura Barkat's fine work will continue to show up in some other sparkling setting - I know it will show up at TSP!