Kissing Play Doh

It was the biggest Women's Retreat we've ever had.  It may have even been the biggest adult group ever at Camp Gilmont. The Garland women have been coming to Gilmont for over ten years now and the group has grown beyond our church.  Now we have women from about four other Presbyterian churches plus our daughters, sisters, neighbors, co-workers.  Even a few Baptists and Methodists have sneaked in.  We're a friendly group with a "come One, Come All" attitude. We don't take ourselves too seriously.  This year we brought back on of my favorite musical numbers from about ten years ago. The Sisters in Christ.

I told you we don't take ourselves too seriously. 

While I was at the store getting the nun outfit I found a banana costume.  Who can resist dressing up in a banana outfit?

 What's not to like about dressing up in a banana suit?  It was on Clearance after Halloween.  I just had to buy it. It helps me find my "inner child" and that was the whole theme of the retreat:  "Like a Child." 

OK, so my own Inner Child is not usually very hard to find but maybe it helped give others permission to find hers.

We had three keynote sessions led by Traci Truly to explain the theme to us with a communion service Sunday morning. In between keynote we left most of Saturday open for the ladies to choose how they want to spend their time.  Some of the activities for free time included canoeing, crafts, bird watching, afternoon tea with a showing of Downton Abbey.  Then we had a Taize service, antique shopping in town, bingo, massages, singing around an evening campfire eating S'mores, and a bible study in the afternoon.  We always explain that in the midst of all the free time fun activities there's also the option called "Doing Absolutely Nothing."  We are a mixture of ages--some retired and some working 40 hours a week with children at home. So, for the overworked, the "Nothing" option holds its own special delight.

For some of us just catching up with each other and telling stories was fun. I could have sat all day listening to Linda Peavy's stories. Especially the story of the time her daddy was driving a hearse for the town funeral home and offered a hitchiker a lift with a corpse in the back. That reminded me to tell my story about the time Kit and I went to the wrong viewing room at a crowded funeral home and burst out laughing when we found a total stranger in the coffin then couldn't stop laughing. So then Dana had to tell the story about.....well, you get the picture. For some reason the subject of death always has really some funny stories.

It was a good weekend with old friends and new.The weather was perfect Thank you, God. The food was great.  How many camps do you visit where the food was so good everyone asked the cooks for recipes? The Broccoli Salad recipe is now posted to the retreat facebook page.

The best part for some people was going down the zipline. Gilmont has had a zipline for a couple of years now but we never thought to use it until this year.  I'm sure the prevailing instinct was that the zipline was for the kids and a retreat full of 85 women, most of us "mature", wouldn't be interested.  But when I asked last year how many women would enjoy it the whole table raised their hands. And we had our theme, "Like a Child."  

It turns out that it's really hard to get a picture of someone zipping past you going 100 miles an hour. Nancy took a great video of Candy going down the zipline upside down (on purpose).  After you finish watching the youtube you'll have to click on the arrow to come back here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rp2KEgwY7iw&feature=youtube_gdata_player


 However, the best zipline moment was actually about an hour long and came when our oldest "zipper", 77-year old Joan, climbed to the top of the pole and zipped down.  It took a lot of time, courage and physical determination but she got a standing ovation back in the meeting room that evening when she walked in.

With the theme, "Like a Child" we were free to explore all the aspects of being a child again. We decorated the tables with retro toys. We gave away Slinkys and Etch-a-Sketches. We played hopscotch on the concrete. 

The music pulled from favorite childhood tunes and, of course was the most basic," Jesus Loves Me." There is just something about the sound of 85 women singing that is really beautiful

Here's another video I took for the sound more than the sight.  It's from our Taize service Saturday night and if you haven't ever heard of Taize, I encourage you to look it up on Google.

I always learn something at a retreat.  All I have to do is wait and pay attention.  The revelation this time came almost at the end.  During worship Sunday morning Traci included a Children's Sermon because of the theme.  She encouraged a few of us to come forward and sit on the floor.  Without any further prompting we all fell into the scene we've watched countless times: acting like childrren.  Traci supplied each of us with a small container of play doh.  Her intention was to guide us through the Genesis story.  But the minute we got our hands on the play doh, we started throwing it at each other, asking off-topic questions, wandering around, complaining about the others.....all the things we've seen the children do in church.

When she finally got us settled down and proceeded to read the story we "created" along with God using our Play Doh:  starting with a great void then splitting into light and darkness, then the earth separated from the waters, trees. fish and animals appeared, and finally, humanity.  With each new creation we formed something out of our play doh. 

By this time I was fully into being a child and thinking as a child does.  So when God declared the creation was good, without hesitation or question I gave my ball of play doh a big kiss. 

I can still smell and taste the playdoh.  And I wonder if God can, too.  Can God still smell the dirt from that first moment of creation?  Does it smell like Springtime?  Like the outdoors smells now?  Like the pines? And the grass?  And flowers?  I think from now on whenever I feel the warmth of the sun on my cheeks, the kiss of the sun, I will remember God's pleasure in our earth and its inhabitants.  Yes, God so loved the world that He gave His only son..........but he also kissed our earth with pleasure and satisfaction. 

When I was a child a neighbor had this sign in her garden:

The kiss of the sun for pardon. 
The song of the birds for mirth. 
One's nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.

Now, it's time to go outside and plant our gardens.

Please Shut the Closet Door on Your Way Out

Well, the blog is a little late this week because I’ve had a bunch of stuff going on—not the least of which was that our neighbor finally caught the chicken-killing stray dog that’s been hanging around our neck of the woods. And we weren’t even here to enjoy it.

Instead we were at the funeral for one of Beaven’s cousins. And I can honestly say it was the first funeral I’ve ever been to where they played “Dancing Queen” as part of the funeral service. Cousin Ricky was farther out of the closet than we ever dreamed, I guess, but it made for a great funeral. Except that he died far, far too young. The world needs a whole lot more folks who would want songs like “Dancing Queen” played at their funerals. But we don’t want the funerals. We need people like that alive and walking around among us spreading their effervescent joi de vivre. Everyone should have the zest that Ricky had. However, sad to say, not everyone does. Not in a way that we can see.

Because there is still one more closet some people are hiding in. People who have been born just a bit different from the rest of us, an invisible condition that keeps them hidden from society’s gaze. While all the lesbians, gays, bis, and transgendered people are jumping out of closets right and left to resounding cheers from people like me, there is still one group of people hiding in the back of their own closets begging for us to keep the door shut. These people are cowered there in the dark holding the door shut with both hands with all their might. You can’t tell by looking at them. You would never guess what they are unless they told you.

Introverts.

Not only did I inadvertently marry one, I gave birth to two of them. Coincidentally, they are all three left-handed. I’m not saying there is a correlation. But they out-numbered me in our household and never realized the power they held. They could have demanded the entire house be arranged for left-handed people but didn’t. Instead, they chose to wield the Introvert Hatchet on many a potential social event, which was far more painful for me than living in a left-handed house.

I passed up a zillion cool parties because I couldn’t get anyone to go with me. I eventually began hosting my own parties for friends whenever Beaven went out of town. Now that he’s retired and doesn’t travel for work I encourage him to attend his annual Ham Radio Convention in May. It’s the best party of the year. In fact, lately I’ve had to give two parties that weekend now that I have friends here in Winnsboro. Come one, come all.

I understand introverts up to a certain point but never well enough, it seems. Any discussion of how hard it is to be an introvert usually ends with me desperately wanting to form an Introvert’s Club so they would have friends to commiserate with. The plans grow in my mind in a burst of mental energy: they could have conventions and reunions and theme parties. I visualize monogrammed jackets: “International Introverts Association.” And no sooner do these thoughts pop into my mind than I have to laugh at myself. Because I give a typical extrovert solution to an introvert’s problem.

A perfect example of the Introvert’s Curse is that Elizabeth and the dear departed cousin Ricky were in a class together in high school. (I told you he was too young to die.) Ok, wait—we have to back up to an ever better example. First you have to know that Beaven never wanted to attend large family gatherings with his cousins because they were large family gatherings. Even Family stuff. Get the picture? Consequently, our kids didn’t grow up knowing their cousins. And dear extroverted Ricky, bouncing out of his own closet hopped into Elizabeth’s on the first day of a class. Hearing Elizabeth’s last name he told her he thought he was related to her. Mortified to be outed as an introvert, she avoided him the rest of the semester and missed a great opportunity for a family connection. Even Family, folks. It is that bad.

I will never understand these people and they will probably never understand me. Elizabeth, Emily and Beaven understand each other and I am left in the dark most times.

They don’t do parties or large crowds. They hate being the center of attention. The only time either one of my daughters did anything remotely extrovert-ish was walk down the aisle at their own weddings with a couple hundred people watching. And I’m still trying to figure out how they managed to pull it off. I know they both were in cold sweats at their own bridal showers. And Emily made me promise I wouldn’t let anyone give her a baby shower. Her fear of being on stage far outweighed any desire for material gain or homage to her fertility. Beaven had an offer to be in a movie Oliver Stone was making in Dallas once and he turned it down not once, but twice.

There’s an excellent  new book out called The Introvert’s Way. It’s by Sophia Dembling and I highly recommend it to anyone who is introverted or loves someone who is. It’s full of concrete and helpful hints. I especially liked her suggestion to go to the bathroom at a party whether you need to or not because being in your own small private space for just a few minutes can help. I have a friend who regularly goes to huge week-long youth retreats even though she’s an introvert. I asked her how she manages during the week and she told me she takes long showers as often as she can.  Just like going to the bathroom at a party, having a small, private space of your own helps.

Probably the hardest part is getting the other half of the world to understand that introverts aren't  stuck-up or stand-offish. Because this personality quirk is invisible, people have no idea why they are so quiet in crowds and thus misunderstand their lack of social engagement.

And you’re sure as hell not going to get them into personalized black leather jackets that read “Introverts Club.”

So back into the closet they go, reminding me to shut the door on my way out.

Where Do the Hallelujahs Go to Hide?

Lent is another one of those church events that neither God nor Jesus told us we needed to fool with. I think they would much prefer us to spend our time feeding the hungry and tending to the sick rather than special worship services kicking off  a frenzy of either self-deprivation or self-indulgence.

So Lent seems to be a human invention. We like to periodically go off the scales thinking it will make us better people.

After spending time in New Orleans during Mardi Gras I think I understand it. It’s a bit like Christmas: part tradition, part family reunion, and part economic boost. Did you know the New Orleans schools take the week off for Mardi Gras? The banks were closed yesterday, too.

It is entirely possible that Jesus would have enjoyed a good Mardi Gras parade. He was in that parade riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, after all. I’m talking about the good parades like they have in the neighborhoods like Slidell that are very family oriented. These clubs are formed specifically for the parade to highlight some special interest group like the one for women business owners.Where floats hold the elementary school football teams.  I'm not so sure about the ones on Bourbon Street. No, definitely not those parades. No beads for Jesus.

But the solemnity of a season like Lent holds back my natural exuberance and I feel a bit like a dog with a tight collar on its neck.

I do, however, fervently agree with the concept of seasons for the church. The church year is a cycle and we need an occasional up and down to keep things from getting boring. I like the rhythm of worship: we gather ourselves in, read the word, hear it explained to us, then go out to live what we learned. Like waves on the ocean, we come in and go out.

I also enjoy a time of quiet contemplation. And I need it enforced upon me once in a while or I might not ever take it upon myself to be still. I once organized a retreat to study the Spiritual Practices mostly because I wanted to study them but needed structure for my study. As I age, being still is easier but thoughtful prayer is still a bit of a problem.

And I still struggle with the idea of giving things up for Lent. It’s an old Catholic custom and I don’t think it applies to a good Presbyterian like me. Maybe once in a while it’s good to have a discipline to attend to, a limit to our lives—to pull us back into ourselves. But there are limits to what I want to limit. I spent one Lent without a morsel of Chocolate and I think once in a lifetime is quite enough, ThankYouVeryMuch.

There is one peculiar habit I’ve seen in churches that causes me to pause and think. Some of the more fervent churches eliminate “Hallelujah"s during Lent. They banish it from all the songs and liturgy during the Lenten season. I understand their reasoning. I guess the word doesn’t fit into their idea of solemnity. But it chaffs sometimes to have this particular restriction. Chocolate is bad enough. Getting rid of the Hallelujahs makes life even more somber.

For the last year or so I’ve been playing with a poem. I taped it to my bathroom mirror and occasionally move a word around here and there. I don’t usually write poetry so when I do I get really proud of myself.

I will leave you with it today. Be gentle. Poetry is like a small child to the author. We trust you to accept it with love.

Where Do the Hallelujahs Go to Hide?

Where do the Hallelujahs go to hide during Lent?
When they are banished from sanctuaries
And silenced from our songs
When they are politely told
It’s nothing personal but
They are not appropriate until Easter morning.

“Come back on Easter,” we tell them
We need to be quiet for a while

I think they hide in the playgrounds
Where they whisper themselves to the children
Periodically burping into a giggle here and there
Quietly biding their time in the midst of play

Then on Easter morning they return
Louder then ever
Striding into the Sanctuary with bold, strong steps
Ripping down the black drapes
Bringing the lights up
Cuing the trumpets

Then winking at the children for their shared secret
With promises to sing at their weddings.

I'm a COG, URACOG

I guess this makes it official: I really am a member of the First Presbyterian Church of Winnsboro.

My nametag was a bit of a shock. And I think it may have been a shock for my Garland peeps to see me with another church. But everything else last weekend was so comfortable and felt sooo “normal” that I soon forgot that I now belonged to a different congregation. And when I saw so many old friends from churches all over Texas I realized we’re all members of one great big church that sometimes goes by different names. We are each one of us part of the whole body of Christ.

The day Beaven and I joined the church in Winnsboro, their youth director, Kelly Holloman, announced that she is pregnant with their second child. Not only is she scheduled to deliver around the same time as the Duchess of Cornwall,  she also shares a bit of the same morning sickness problem.  So she immediately put me to work as their substitute sponsor to the Senior High Youth Connection.  I was in heaven.

We spent the weekend playing mostly. But once in a while we would gather to be reminded that we are all children of a God who loves us. A God who gave us brains and expects us to use them.

Here’s what I learned:

I am a child of God, sealed by the Holy Spirit, marked as Christ’s forever and nothing anybody can say or do will ever make that not true

* I learned that God doesn’t give me a road map. God gives me gas for the trip. (This is an important point. Presbyterians have been tagged with that whole "Predestination" label and we spend a lot of time explaining it to other people as well as ourselves.)

* There are ten body parts with three letters in their name. And it takes a group of 8 people a lot longer than you might think to come up with all ten. But eventually we named them all. I dare you to try it.

*  It takes a lot of guts to provide 4 rolls of toilet paper to around 40 groups of teenagers then leave the doors unlocked for two days. I was personally amazed at their restraint.

* You are a Child of God. And if you want to text it fast it comes up: URACOG.

Presbyterians are good at doing things as the body of Christ. From worship to mission we are all about doing things as a community. No independent individualists here. Except for a few things like bathing we prefer to do things as a group. This is what makes us so good at mission. If you hurt, I hurt.

Every time you get more than two Presbyterians together we start looking for ways to share God's love so you can expect a mission project.  This year it was in conjunction with Kids Against Hunger. 

First we all had to put on hair nets.  You can always tell you're going to have fun when hair nets are involved.

We  filled bags with a special combination of rice, textured vegetable protein, vegetables and flavoring. The bags will be sent to Honduras to help mal-nourished children on the brink of starvation.  You just add water and have a nutritious and tasty meal.  One of the girls in my group had tasted one of these meals and she said they're really good.

It was the Body of Christ at work: some of us scooped the four ingredients, some held the bags under a funnel while others scooped, some sealed the bags, others packed the bags, sealed the boxes, stacked the boxes and then a collection of roving muscles would periodically refill the tubs from 50 pound bags of rice or the textured protein.

Our goal was to assemble 60,000 meals in two and a half hours. Working in shifts, we were so well-organized and efficient we assembled 60,150 meals in two hours.  The only thing that stopped us was that we used up all the rice.

So we celebrated with a dance and a talent show while others walked a labyrinth in a quiet room down the hall and upstairs. We had something for everyone because each Child of God is different.

Then, just to prove my point that we are all interconnected with one another, when I woke up this morning, one of my friends from Guatemala, Karla Cordon,  posted this on facebook:

See?  It's universal.  'nuf said.