In the Middle of the Mess - Archive-Diving, 2008

Once again, plowing through the archives to salvage some of the written record of the last five years or so. This was was written in November of 2008, and as I look at this gathered community, I am hushed. One marriage, broken. One infant, now a healthy almost-5-year-old, one dear mother-in-law, now unable to speak and fading, fading, fading. Time is relentless.

You might think this an odd picture to publish with the title listed above. But for me, right now, on a Monday late afternoon, sitting at my desk and prayerfully holding before God so many people that I care about who are definitely in the middle of some kind of mess....this picture is a powerful reminder to me of God's faithfulness.

Faithfulness in, through, around, and right smack dab in the middle of the mess.

The date this picture was taken? November 16, 2008.

The context? Our Sunday morning worship gathering after the Tea Fire, which had swept through Santa Barbara during the immediately preceding three days. Our church building was still part of the evacuation area for that fire, an area which had begun to shrink some the night before, but which at 10:00 a.m. on Sunday morning still included the access roads to our property.

My husband and I had also been evacuated and had returned home late in the evening on Saturday. And 14 families in our community had seen their homes either destroyed or severely damaged from the ravenous, wind-driven flames of that terrifying time. We were all in the very heart of the most painful and frightening mess most of us could just about ever remember.

And right there - in the middle of it all - we saw remarkable signs of God's faithfulness, of God's loving presence, of God's provisional care, even in the throes of a natural disaster. We found amazing evidences of grace everywhere we looked.

No one in our church community, or in the broader neighborhood, sustained serious injury; the wonders of modern technology enabled us to stay in contact throughout the three days of electrical and wireless disruption; the church was spared and immediately useful for community communication and encouragement gatherings of all kinds; staff and lay leadership rallied to plan and pull off a worship service at an alternate site - the local country club, of all places! - and we were reminded throughout that service of God's presence, deliverance and providential care, despite the enormity of the mess.

So today, as I pray for a wide variety of painful, frightening and messy situations - I am grateful to remember God's faithfulness in the midst of a pretty big mess not all that long ago.

I'm not a fan of messes. Don't enjoy them all that much - would, of course, prefer not to have lived through most of the ones I've experienced.

But this much I know: God will meet me there, right in the middle of it.

We are not alone, sometimes despite all kinds of evidence to the contrary. So, Lord, have mercy. Have mercy in the mess. And thank you for stepping into the muck with us.

My Mom - A Woman of Valor: Guest Post at RHE

My beautiful mom, picture taken by my sister-in-law, Sandy Gold, on Thanksgiving this year.

It is my honor to be posting in Rachel Held Evans' series on Women of Valor today. Last month, I told you I would give you a link to this essay when it came up today, and I will do that in just a moment. 

I submitted two essays to Rachel about mom - one outlined her wonderful life with a list of facts and tidbits. The second, which you will find if you click on this sentence came pouring out of me after I had submitted the first one. This is the one I believe the Holy Spirit wrote in me and it tells more than facts, it tells truth in so much love. I love my mom more than I can even begin to put into words - she has been an anchor in my life for all of these nearly 68 years. So watching her fade into this fog has been agonizing on many, many levels. But she is THERE still and some part of her always will be. And all of who she is, her story, her present, her future --- all of it is held safely and lovingly by the Shepherd she has followed since she was a teenager. Thanks be to God.

I invite you to read more at Rachel's place today. Thanks so much.

P.S. I was wrong! This is not the last essay in the series. It will continue until year's end. Such a wonderful list of valorous women!!

An Advent Journey: Stop, Look, Listen - Day One, First Sunday

"O LORD, I give my life to you.

I trust in you, my God!

Do not let me be disgraced,

or let my enemies rejoice in my defeat.

No one who trusts in you will ever be disgraced,

but disgrace comes to those who try to deceive others.

Show me the right path, O LORD; 

point out the road for me to follow.

Lead me by your truth and teach me,

for you are the God who saves me.

All day long I put my hope in you. 

Remember, O LORD, your compassion and unfailing love,

which you have shown from long ages past.

Do not remember the rebellious sins of my youth.

Remember me in the light of your unfailing love,

for you are merciful, O LORD.

The LORD is good and does what is right;

he shows the proper path to those who go astray.

He leads the humble in doing right,

teaching them his way.

The LORD leads with unfailing love and faithfulness

all who keep his covenant and obey his commands."

Psalm 25:1-10, NLT

Somewhere on the internet this past week, I saw a little tidbit  about Frederick Buechner's 'last' book, one that he, one of the most popular Christian authors of the last 30 years, had a hard time getting published. To say I was stunned would be a very large understatement. So I promptly looked up the book (The Yellow Leaves: A Miscellany) and ordered a copy for myself. It was eventually published -- now fours years ago (!) -- and consists of remembrances, short essays, assorted bits and pieces from his long, literary life. I am loving it as I chew on a morsel or two each evening.

Here is a brief paragraph that grabbed me by the neck this past week and shook me pretty hard. It is part of a chapter entitled, "Bulletin Board," in which Buechner describes a variety of photographs scattered around his office, telling a brief story about each person pictured:

"Frank Tracy Griswold, presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, is smiling benignly in his dog collar and steel-rimmed glasses, that strikingly intelligent, articulate, sweet-tempered man. He told me that once when he was taking a shower, he distinctly heard a voice from somewhere saying, 'Why do you take your sins so much more seriously than I do?' His first reaction was to burst into laughter. His second was to burst into tears."

All my life, I've been taught that my sins, and the sins of everyone else in this wide, wonderful world, are the reason that Jesus came in the flesh. The love of God was in there somewhere, but my own sin sort of took center stage in the teaching of my youth. So reading a small, explosive paragraph like this one sometimes stops me in my tracks. 

Then I read through the psalm for today, the first day of Advent - the first Sunday of Advent. And I remembered: the Psalmist, singing centuries before that Baby was born in the stable, the Psalmist sings about 'unfailing love,' about mercy, about God's gentle guidance in the way that is right and true. This song is about God pointing the way, pointing the right way. 

And I began to remember, to see, to celebrate that Jesus came to show us how: how to live in this world, how to die to this world, how to live forever. And showing us the way includes pointing out the sin that cripples and wounds us. It includes the shedding of precious blood and the rending of tender flesh that we might be healed. It includes learning to live in the center of God's goodness and grace and 'unfailing love.' 

Contrition is right and good and necessary. Repentance is right and good and necessary. But focusing exclusively on how terrible we are ultimately turns the whole wonderful story completely on its head. Love comes first. Forgiveness comes first. Desire for relationship and healing and wholeness - these are far more serious than our sin. And that is cause for wonder, cause even for joyous laughter.

And that is also, of course, cause for tears. Tears of gratitude, humility, and tender homage. Because that precious Baby came -- and that Glorious Savior will come -- for love's sake alone. Imagine that!

Point us in the right direction, Jesus. As we step into Advent this year, remind us where we fall short, yes, we need those reminders. But O LORD, whisper to us of love, sing to us of forgiveness, beckon us toward holy righteousness. Because YOU are righteous and because of Jesus, so are we. Thank you!

A Season for the King

We were late to church yesterday morning.

Lots of travel last week,

all of it good, fun, comforting, interesting.

But . . .

we were tired

and moving very s-l-o-w-l-y.

The sanctuary was full as we snuck in the back door,

so we sat in the balcony,

which provides an unusual view.

The large chandeliers that took on the look of a double crown in the photograph.

 It wasn't until I looked at the photo 

that I saw that our view was remarkably apt

for this particular Sunday in the church calendar:

Christ the King Sunday,

the last one in the liturgical year.

Next Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent, 

the turning of a new calendar page.

But yesterday. . .

yesterday was a celebration of the Cosmic Christ,

the One who sits at the right hand of the Father,

the One who will come again in glory,

the One who intercedes for us,

who reigns on our behalf,

and the One for whom the stars sing.

 In the northern hemisphere,

this Sunday comes in the midst of Autumn,

the time of dying,

dying in full, vibrant color.

 It feels fitting to celebrate Christ as King

in this season of the year,

perhaps because it also feels a little bit upside-down.

Wouldn't the bright pinks and purples of spring or summer

be better suited to this kind of recognition?

 Christ is surely King in any season of our years,

but somehow the Fall feels 'right' to me,

a good season to make special note of this truth.

After all, Jesus did not become the kind of king 

that people were anticipating.

He shattered every preconception, every expectation,

every dream that was built on the power structures of our world.

In ways that are deep and profound,

Jesus of Nazareth did not become

Christ the King until

after

the cross,

the empty tomb,

the ascension into the heavenly realms.

Is there any more backwards way to become

a person of royalty than his way?

The way of death,

and resurrection,

and ascension?

 So as the days get shorter,

and the hours of darkness grow;

as the leaves turn brilliant in their farewell address,

as the flowers dry on the stem

and the shadows lengthen on the lawn,

this is the time,

the perfect time,

to remember and to honor our King.

The One who was with God and who became a human person,

taking that long and winding downward journey,

living a more fully human life than any other ever has.

He died an ignominious death,

and by that death and the resurrection

which followed it,

brought us the gift of Full Life

in fellowship with the Triune God.

Only then, did he return to his rightful place

on the throne.

So YES, this season seems about right.

The season of dying in full, vibrant color.

 On this Sunday, we celebrate that the King is for us.

We remember the greatness of our God,

we acknowledge the Glory of a Savior

who is much grander, fuller, more all-compassing

than any Being we can imagine or dream.

Lord of the Harvest?

Surely so.

 Grand Creator of the universe in all its richness and variety?

Yes and amen. 

The One who is above all, around all,

through all and in all?

Yes, yes, yes and YES.

So we sing, "Holy, Holy, Holy," and

"Crown Him with Many Crowns," and

"Creation Song," and "Revelation Song," and

any other hymn of praise that rises to our lips

as we recognize the Bigness of our God.

Next week, we celebrate the Littleness.

Isn't that amazing?

Joining this with Laura Boggess and Jen Ferguson and the Sisterhood, with Cheryl Hyatt Smith and Ann Voskamp this week.

Doesn't quite fit any of their themes exactly, but. . . this is what I've got.

   

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.

Light and Dark - Spring, 2007 (Archive-Diving)

I am about to undergo a blog 'makeover,' so I'm looking things over around here. And I've found a few draft pieces that never got published. From time to time over the next month or so, I will publish them, but I will note that these are from a time long past. Those of you who have followed this blog in the last two years will recognize the two babies featured here - they are now active, bright, fun and fearsome 7-year-olds, and we have added another little girl to our family circle. Mark died about 18 months after I wrote this piece and three years later, our daughter re-married. (Their engagement and wedding story are told here, here, here, and, finally, here. I have not yet been able to write very much about Mark's death, but there is one post about our final good-bye to him to be found here. )

Despite the pressures of a remodel gone terribly, terribly wrong; despite the gnawing concern about my son-in-law's health and my daughter's intensive education program; despite my own recurrent struggles with overeating and under-exercising, with my own idiosyncratically strange mix of laziness, drivenness, self-doubt and grandiosity - despite the various stresses and messes of my life and my family's life and my community's life...this has been a Holy Week filled with gratitude and grace.

Our immediate family of 15 had a sweet afternoon together one week before this week began. Dick turned 65 and we all gathered together at a tappan restaurant in Thousand Oaks on a Sunday afternoon. We had two super samurai chefs, with their slicing and dicing and volcano-making skills dazzling us all.

We laughed as Dick donned a strange looking headpiece and bright blue kimono for a birthday picture. Then we traveled to Lisa and Mark's home to enjoy birthday cake and babies. These two beautiful gifts of God have lightened and brightened our family gatherings for 18 months now, reminding us, even in the midst of all the pain and uncertainty of Mark and Lisa's struggle, that life is a glorious gift, no matter what. They are living reminders of all that is good and beautiful, fun and fragile about this world.


Griffin is 18 months old, full of vinegar, climbing all over everywhere and keeping his mom awake most of the night. He is comical, loves to giggle, babbles to himself constantly - complete with inflection - moves around as quick as lightning and his smile lights up the room.


Gracie is 17 months old, loves to dance and sing, and recently, she too, is busy babbling to herself. Very soon now, they will both burst forth with full-fledged sentences and stun us all. Put them together in the same space, and the real fun begins. Whether stacking colored, wooden rings or banging out harmonies on the piano, they are quite a pair.










Life is such a bittersweet experience, filled with wonder and grief. How very grateful I am for these two precious reminders of all that is wonder-filled and glorious about the human experience.

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!